Page 57 of Craving Venom (The Venomous Beauty Trilogy #1)

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

THE BEAUTY

I sit in the farthest corner of the lecture hall, as far from the front as possible.

It’s the first time I’ve done that all semester, and I know Professor Harrington’s sharp eyes are going to catch it.

He doesn’t miss shit. If he calls me out—and fuck, he probably will—I won’t even be able to answer and I’m not about to risk having to explain why my voice sounds like I’ve been deepthroating a monster cock for hours.

Which, well… I did.

Zane’s cock rewired my entire neck, and now every swallow reminds me what he did. Every tiny shift of my jaw makes the soreness flare. And fuck, if that thought doesn’t send a flash of heat straight between my thighs, I might actually be beyond saving.

I’m so fucking angry. At him. At myself. I almost let him fuck me last night. I was this close to begging him to put his cock inside me and split me open. And when whatever black magic spell he has me under finally broke, all I wanted was to scrub his scent off my skin.

Why the fuck did I let him do that to me?

Because I’m a dumb bitch.

A dumb bitch who started this by stabbing him, thinking that would make him leave me alone. Thinking hurting him would scare him away.

Instead, it did the opposite.

At first, I felt bad. For a second, I thought I went too far.

But then…

Then he reminded me exactly why disgust is the only thing he deserves from me.

It’s almost like… My body doesn’t want to hate him. And that’s what makes me really hate myself. Because Zane gave me an out. He told me he’d answer one question. Honestly.

I could’ve asked him anything.

Anything.

Why he killed his mother. Why he murdered his little brother in cold blood. Why he became the monster he is today. Any one of those questions would’ve made sense.

Instead, I opened my stupid mouth and blurted out, “Why haven’t you kissed me?”

Seriously?

Not “why are you a murderer?” Not “what the fuck is wrong with you?” No. I asked why he hadn’t kissed me.

Why do I care?

My eyes drift to the corner of my desk.

The half-finished project stares back at me, taunting me like a reminder of how fucked up last night was. If I had known that my night would end with his cock down my throat instead of getting answers, I would’ve gladly gone to sleep when he’d asked.

But no.

I stayed awake. I pushed. And instead of getting the truth, I got used.

Used… and I liked it.

And the worst part is that I did get an answer, not the one I wanted but something else entirely, something that refuses to leave me.

Zane’s a liar. A manipulator. Everything out of his mouth is designed to fuck with people and I know that, but when he spoke of his mother, something was different.

It didn’t feel like manipulation.

It felt genuine.

And if Zane’s mother really was that good, if she didn’t deserve to die the way she did, then what’s the point of this project? I’m not offering anything new or groundbreaking, just another shallow dive into the mind of a man everyone has already decided is a monster.

My gaze wanders, scanning the room for something to latch onto. Students scribble notes, heads bent, the monotonous hum of the professor’s voice drowning in the buzz of my own mind. I blink past it and drag my eyes over the usual faces until they land on Maya’s chair. It’s empty.

Maya never misses this class. Not even when she’s sick. She’s the only one who could ramble about criminal behavior for hours without breaking a sweat. And she definitely wouldn’t skip without saying something.

I pull out my phone and shoot her a quick text.

Where are you?

I shove my phone away, tapping my pen mindlessly against the desk, the sound doing nothing to drown out the unease crawling under my skin.

When class finally ends, I don’t waste another minute. I push through the crowded hallway, ignoring the meaningless chatter.

Lisa’s the first familiar face I spot, tucked into a corner with her nose buried in her phone. Her blonde waves spill over her shoulders, hiding most of her face. I stride straight to her.

“Lisa.”

“Shit. Faith. You scared me.”

I don’t apologize. “Where’s Maya?”

“She—uh, she went home.”

“Why?”

“Something urgent came up.”

That’s bullshit. Maya’s the kind of person who plans things weeks in advance. She doesn’t just pack up and leave without a damn good reason.

“When?” My arms cross. “When did she leave?”

“Last night.”

That doesn’t make sense, because aside from me, she was the only one who even considered a prison visit for this project. And now… she just bailed?

“I’ll text her later,” I mutter, more to myself than Lisa.

“Yeah, she’ll probably get back to you soon.” Lisa offers a quick smile before ducking her head back down.

I nod and turn away.

It’s probably nothing.

The dress looks awful.

I tug at the hem, frowning as I turn from side to side, checking every angle in the mirror. The fabric is too tight across my hips, clinging in all the wrong places, and the neckline is choking me.

“Fuck this.”

I pull it over my head and toss it to the floor, adding it to the growing pile of discarded dresses. Four down, and not a single one looks right.

Why the fuck do I even care?

It’s a prison visit. I’m not walking into a club. I don’t need to impress anyone.

My fingers grip the next dress, a sleek black thing I barely remember buying, and I drag it over my head. It hugs my curves, stretches tight across my tits, and stops just short of indecent. It’s the best one so far, but it’s not right. I’m not right. I’ve fucking changed.

My reflection stares back at me, hair slightly mussed from all the changing, lips a little too swollen from biting down every time a memory of Zane crashes through me.

This prison visit is getting under my skin.

It’s not the prison itself, I’ve done the research, I know what to expect.

It’s not the guards, or the students, or the professors who’ll be watching.

It’s Zane.

The thought of being that close to him again makes something in my stomach knot.

He told me what would happen the next time he saw me.

My eyes drift to the dresser and land on the unopened box of birth control pills.

Why did I get them? I don’t need them since I’ve had an IUD for years, and I’m already covered and protected.

But still, I bought them. Something compelled me to.

Zane told me to. My fingers brush the edge of the box, but I don’t pick it up because it’s not like he’s going to fuck me in a prison.

Would he?

I don’t know anymore. The rules don’t apply to Zane, and they sure as hell don’t apply when it comes to me. Still, taking the pill feels wrong, an admission I’m not ready to face. I shove the box to the back of the dresser, burying it out of sight.

But the weight in my chest doesn’t lighten.

And no matter how many times I tell myself Zane’s not going to fuck me in that prison, I can’t stop my body from reacting to the possibility.

Because if he tries?

I’m not sure I’ll stop him.

Fuck it.

I pull on the tights, plain black and tight against my legs. I pull a simple camisole over my head and bury myself inside an oversized jacket. My bare feet press against the cold floor as I step back, scanning my reflection. It’s fine. I look fine.

“What the hell happened in here?”

I glance over my shoulder. Tria’s standing in the doorway, taking in the disaster I’ve made of my room.

“What’s with the fashion show? I thought we were going to a prison, not a runway.”

“I couldn’t decide.” I try to play it off, pulling my jacket tighter around me. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Faith.”

My name comes out softer this time.

Shit.

“Is everything okay?”

“Yeah,” I lie, adding a quick shrug as if that’ll sell it. “Just… tired.”

“Bullshit.”

Of course, she doesn’t buy it.

“You’ve been off since Halloween night,” she presses. “You never told me what happened after—”

I drop my head down, pretending to check something in my bag. “Nothing happened.”

“Faith. Talk to me.”

I zip the bag shut. “I said I’m fine.”

It’s a lie.

She knows it. I know it. But I can’t give her the truth.

“There’s something you need to know. About the night after Halloween.”

“I don’t have time for this.” I push past her, brushing against her shoulder as I head for the door. “Is Xaden driving us or not?”

“Yeah. He’s downstairs.”

I don’t look back.

Because if I do, she’ll see everything I’m trying to bury.