Page 38 of Craving Venom (The Venomous Beauty Trilogy #1)

CHAPTER TWENTY

THE BEAUTY

B ritt looks between me and Tria, already knowing we’re up to some bullshit. “You want Trevor’s jersey?”

“Yeah. Just for the game.”

“Since when do you give a fuck about football?”

Tria butts in before I can respond. “Oh my God, Britt, just give her the damn jersey. It’s not that deep.”

Britt sighs dramatically but turns toward her locker. “Fine, fine. But if you so much as stretch it, you’re dead. Trevor hates it when his jerseys get ruined.”

As she rummages through her collection—because of course Britt hoards every piece of football memorabilia she can get her hands on—I stare down at my hands, a dull knot forming in my stomach.

I am using Trevor.

There’s no other way to spin it.

He’s never been anything but nice to me. I shouldn’t even be thinking about using him just to put on a show, but what other choice do I have?

Zane had told me to find a boyfriend, hadn’t he?

Fine. Maybe Trevor won’t be my boyfriend, but if Zane happens to see me wrapped up in someone safe, someone who isn’t him, then maybe he’ll back off.

Britt, oblivious to my internal crisis, shrugs and turns to her locker. She pulls out a folded jersey and tosses it at me. “Here. Just return it in one piece. Trevor hates when his jerseys get ruined.”

I catch it, rubbing the soft fabric between my fingers. “Got it.”

Tria elbows me, already grinning. “See? This is fate. You and Trevor—”

I tune her out.

Because this isn’t fate. This is me being desperate.

I slide the jersey over my head as we take our seats. I stare at the field, watching the players run drills. The game hasn’t started yet, but the energy is already high.

I don’t care.

Football has never interested me.

So my eyes wander, and I find Zane leaning against a tree in the distance. A cigarette is dangling from his fingers, smoke curling lazily into the air. His hoodie is pulled up, his stance casual, but there’s nothing casual about the way he’s watching me.

We lock eyes.

And suddenly, everything else fades.

I don’t know how long we stare at each other. A second? A minute? It stretches into something that makes the hair on my arms stand up.

The longer I look, the scarier he becomes.

It’s fucking weird that my body reacts to the fear, to the knowledge that if he walked over here right now, there wouldn’t be a damn thing I could do to stop him.

I know I should look away, but I can’t, not until Tria suddenly jumps on me, wrapping her arms around me in an excited hug. I jolt, the spell shattering as reality rushes back in, grounding me. Around us, the crowd erupts, cheers and whistles filling the air.

I blink, trying to catch up. “What the fuck?”

Tria grins, still hugging me. “We scored!”

I glance at the scoreboard, my brain scrambling to switch gears, to process anything other than the way my body still buzzes from locking eyes with the one person who should never have this kind of power over me.

My phone pings. I already know who it is. I should ignore it. I should focus on the game, on Tria, on anything that isn’t Zane Valehart, but I don’t have self-control.

I don’t have self-respect.

I don’t have a single shred of self-anything when it comes to him.

So, like a fucking idiot, I reach for my phone.

UNKNOWN NUMBER: I should’ve made you come before I let you go. You look way too comfortable for someone who was trembling in my hands hours ago.

My grip on my phone tightens. Heat burns up my neck, spreading all the way down to my toes. I type back before I can stop myself.

I should’ve called the police.

Three dots appear immediately.

You know what happens when you put an animal in a cage? It only comes out hungrier. I walked out once. I will do it again. And if they catch me? I’ll still get out. You know why?

I hesitate before my thumbs move.

Why?

UNKNOWN NUMBER: Because I have something worth escaping for. Tell me, good girl, if I broke into your apartment tonight, would you scream for help? Or would you let me take what I should’ve taken hours ago?

My throat closes.

You’re so full of yourself.

UNKNOWN NUMBER: You won’t be complaining when, in no time, I’ll have you so full of me, craving Every. Last. Inch.

My fingers strangle around my phone, and when I look up again, Zane is still there, leaning against that tree, I lift my hand and flip him off.

Zane tips his cigarette in a lazy, mocking cheers before taking another slow drag.

Fucking psycho.

I shove my phone into my pocket and push to my feet. Tria doesn’t even notice. I could tell her I’m about to go sell my organs on the black market, and she’d still be screaming for Xaden’s next pass.

I need air.

I push my way through the stands and take the nearest exit, moving toward the back of the stadium when a hand grabs my wrist.

I yank back, but it’s too late.

Zane pulls me into the shadows, and my back slams against the rough brick wall behind the bleachers.

“What the fu—”

The gleam of metal shuts me up.

A knife.

I go still, my pulse spikes into a frenzy as my entire body locks in place.

“What?” he murmurs. “Where’s all that attitude now?”

“Zane—”

He presses in closer, his body crowding mine, the scent of smoke and danger curling around me. “Careful,” he warns, dragging the flat of the blade down my chest.

I flinch, not from pain, but from the fear clawing at my ribs, from the way my nipples tighten under the thin material of the jersey.

Zane’s eyes flicker down. “You scared, baby?”

I squeeze my eyes shut, tight enough that colors burst behind my lids, bleeding into one another in flashes of red, yellow, white. I turn my head to the side, exposing my throat in a desperate attempt to get away from the knife, to make myself smaller, but it’s useless. “Please put the knife away.”

He ignores me, dragging the blade lower until I hear a Riipppp . I crack one eye open, bracing for the worst, only to see fabric parting under the blade.

Relief seeps in, but only barely. I open my other eye, glancing down to see Trevor’s jersey split in half, the two ragged pieces dangling uselessly before falling to the ground.

“Are you fucking serious?” I slap his chest, pushing him back, but he doesn’t move.

“You were wearing Travis’s name,” he says pocketing the knife.

I grit my teeth. “It’s Trevor. Not Travis, you dumbass.”

“And who’s going to care,” he murmurs, “when he’s gone?”

“What now? Are you going to kill him too?”

“Of course, I will. But killing him would be merciful. I’ll make him beg for it first. What do you think of that, good girl?”

I scoff, forcing down the coil of fear twisting through me. “I think you’re—” I swallow. “I think you’re a lunatic.”

“Lunatics don’t plan. I do.”

“You’re sentenced to life in prison,” I hiss. Anger burns through my veins, pushing past the fear. “I’ll happily testify against you and make sure they sentence you to death.”

From what little space I have between him and the wall, I try to step past him. My fingers twitch first, then my arm. It’s the only part of me I can shift, so I go for it, trying to angle my body just enough to slip away.

I don’t make it an inch before Zane catches my wrist mid-movement. He slams my hand against the wall, pinning it there. A sharp sting shoots up my arm. I gasp, a curse biting into my tongue as the rough brick scrapes against my knuckles.

“Six feet under doesn’t sound half bad.” The way he says it... it’s not fear. Not regret. It’s temptation. A confession. “Especially if it promises those mere six inches from your lips.”

His gaze zeroes in on my mouth, consuming every shallow breath I take.

“Life’s just a different kind of prison, Faith.

” The blade of his nose traces just along my cheek, the sharp exhale of his breath hitting the corner of my mouth as his grip tightens, enough to make my head tip back an inch.

“But those lips?” His thumb brushes the inside of my wrist in slow circles, soothing a pulse that he’s the one making frantic in the first place.

“That’s the kind of freedom I’d slit throats for.

It’s a thrill, trading the endgame for a shot at heaven on the way down.

Death has its appeal, but damn, the idea of those lips on mine is like a live wire to my heart, ready to electrocute me long before my body gets its turn. ”

My legs won’t fucking move.

I should scream for help, but I’m frozen in something so darkly intoxicating it sends a riot of confusion and need tearing through my body.

I hate him.

I fear him.

But some part of me wants him to make good on every single fucking threat.

Zane finally releases my wrist, but before I can even think of moving, he reaches for my throat instead. His thumb brushes over the bite mark he left behind.

“Does it still hurt?” His voice is quieter now, but that only makes it worse because it makes it feel more intimate.

I barely nod because my throat is too tight to force out words.

Zane’s fingers tighten on my hip before his lips press against the mark.

It’s soft, a direct contrast to how he put the wound there in the first place. The way his lips drag over the skin, smoothing over the damage, it almost makes me dizzy. My fingers press against the wall behind me as my breath shudders out of me.

“Relax, good girl,” he soothes against my skin.

He drags his mouth lower, his breath seeping through the thin fabric of my camisole as he noses along my collarbone. His palms ball around my tits, squeezing just enough to make my breath hitch. I try to swat him away, but his hands keep roaming down my waist.

His fingers slide around the swell of my ass, kneading, before his hand drifts lower, his knuckles grazing against my pussy through the tight denim of my jeans.

His grip tightens around my ass as he lifts me off the ground, pinning me against the wall. A startled gasp leaves my lips, but I don’t fight him. My legs wrap around his waist.