Page 60 of Craving Venom (The Venomous Beauty Trilogy #1)

But that’s the point, isn’t it? A manufactured attempt to inject softness into something hard. The whole place is designed to make you forget what it really is.

Tria trails her fingers along a row of roses as the sunlight catches the delicate blooms, casting a warm glow over the garden.

“Yeah.” Though my eyes are fixed on the deep thorns lining the stems.

I reach out without thinking.

A sharp sting shoots through my fingertip.

“Shit.”

I pull back as a thin drop of blood wells up.

“Careful,” Tria cautions. “Come on, butterfingers. Let’s check out the music room. Xaden is in there.”

I nod, sucking the blood from my fingertip as we follow the path leading back inside.

The music hits before we even reach the door.

We step inside, and the sight that greets me is… unexpected.

Xaden’s at the drum kit, flying the sticks over the snares and cymbals with a focus that feels out of place on his usually bored face. He’s not beating at them in blind frustration. He’s good, precise, and he knows exactly what he’s doing.

Two inmates flank him.

The one on bass is tall and lean, with pale skin and a calm intensity in his eyes. His fingers pluck the strings as though they are an extension of himself

The other guy’s at the keyboard, shorter, stockier, with tattoos crawling up his arms and peeking out from beneath the sleeves of his jumpsuit.

“Damn.” Tria’s eyes widen at the sight. “I didn’t expect…”

“Professional-level talent?” I finish for her.

“Exactly.”

The beat slows and the rhythm softens as Xaden finally turns his attention to us.

“Ladies,” he drawls and twirls the drumsticks between his fingers.

“Didn’t know you had moves like that,” Tria teases.

“Many talents.” Xaden winks at her. “Come meet the band,” he says, standing up and gesturing toward them.

The guy on bass steps forward first.

“Michael.” He extends his hand.

“Tria,” she responds, her smile genuine as she shakes his hand. “Faith.”

“Nice to meet you,” I shake his hand, offering a small, polite smile.

“Likewise.”

The other guy moves next, wiping his hands on his pants before extending one toward Tria.

“Leo,” he says, flashing a grin that’s a little too cocky for someone locked behind bars. His tattoos snake up his neck, disappearing beneath his collar. “Keyboard maestro and occasional troublemaker.”

“Tria.” She smiles, shaking his hand.

“Faith,” I echo softly, shaking his hand.

“Faith,” he repeats, holding my gaze a second longer than necessary. “Pretty name.”

Xaden steps in, slinging an arm over Michael’s shoulder, settling into the easy familiarity of old friends.

“Are you girls here to join us?” Xaden asks, his eyes glinting with amusement.

I shake my head. “Rain check.”

“Same,” Tria adds.

“Suit yourselves.” Xaden smirks, but there’s no disappointment. He’s already gone, picking up the drumsticks again and falling back into rhythm with Michael and Leo.

“Kitchen next?” Tria asks.

“Yeah.”

We follow the corridor and the air grows warmer as we move deeper into the facility. The smell of freshly brewed coffee, mixed with the faint, comforting scent of baked bread, hits me first. When we step inside, it’s nothing like I expect.

The kitchen is way too clean. Stainless steel counters gleam under the fluorescent lights. The industrial oven hums quietly, and the smell of something sweet lingers in the air.

But it’s the man behind the counter that catches my attention.

He’s tall, lean, with sun-kissed skin and dark hair that’s just starting to gray at the temples. His sleeves are rolled up, revealing strong forearms dusted with flour. There’s a warmth in his smile that feels… out of place.

“Ladies, Name’s Carlos” he greets, flashing a grin that’s too easy for someone locked up in here. “What can I do for you?”

Tria glances at me, then back at him. “We’re just… looking around.”

“Well,” he wipes his hands on a towel, “you’re in the right place. Best coffee in the whole damn prison.”

He moves behind the counter, pulling out three mugs like this is just another day at the neighborhood café.

“Black?”

“Sure.” I take a seat on one of the stools as Tria settles in beside me.

“Same,” Tria adds, her gaze flicking around the space, taking everything in.

Carlos pours out the coffee with a steady hand. The scent fills the air and for a moment, I forget where I am.

“You’ve done this before.”

He smirks, sliding the mugs across the counter.

“Old habits die hard.”

I wrap my hands around the warm mug, letting the heat seep into my skin.

“Faith,” I introduce myself as he leans against the counter.

“Tria.”

“Pleasure.” He nods, but something in his eyes doesn’t quite match the easygoing smile on his face.

“You’ve been here a while?” Tria asks.

“Thirteen years.”

I blink. “Thirteen?”

“Long story.”

“We’ve got time,” Tria presses, her curiosity getting the better of her.

“You sure you want to know?”

I nod before I can stop myself.

“Alright.” He swirls the coffee in his mug before looking at us. “I killed someone.”

Of course he did.

We’re in a fucking prison.

“Who?” Tria asks.

“My wife.”

My stomach clenches, but I keep my face neutral.

“She cheated,” he adds calmly. “I found out, and… well, I didn’t handle it well.”

Tria’s fingers tighten around her mug, and I stay just as silent, because anything I could say would feel wrong in the heavy air between us. Carlos lifts his eyes again, and for the briefest second, that easy, practiced smile falters.

“I don’t make excuses for it. I lost control. One moment of rage… and that was it.”

I finally find my voice.

“Do you… regret it?”

The question slips out before I can stop it, and though I think he won’t answer, he does.

“Every fucking day,” he whispers, and this time, there’s no hiding the pain in his eyes.

“Then I’m sure…” My throat tightens, and before I can stop myself, the words slip out. “I’m sure she’s forgiven you.”

“Why would you say that?”

I don’t look away.

“Because I know people who’ve done worse. People who don’t feel a shred of guilt.” People like Zane. I glance down, watching the swirl of coffee in my cup, trying to steady the tremor threatening to creep into my voice.

“But you do.” I lift my eyes back to his. “And that has to mean something.”

Carlos’s eyes soften, the pain in them momentarily giving way to something… lighter.

“Maybe.” He offers a small, sad smile. “But forgiveness… that’s harder to come by when you can’t forgive yourself.”

The words settle deep, hitting a part of me I don’t want to think about.

“Well.” Tria adjusts her grip on the mug, clearing her throat. “We still have time before we head back. Think you could give us a tour, Carlos?”

“A tour?” He props himself against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest as that easy grin slides effortlessly back into place.

“Yeah,” Tria says, her smile returning. “Show us the heart of the operation. I mean, you run this place, right?”

“I don’t run shit, sweetheart.” He pushes off the counter, but the warmth in his smile feels a little more genuine this time. “But…” He gestures toward the door. “I can show you around.”

But just as we’re about to move, a voice holds us back.

“Faith! Tria!”

Tria and I both turn toward the sound, and a moment later, Lisa barrels into the kitchen, radiating the kind of excitement you’d expect from someone who just discovered the cure for cancer. Her face is flushed, and her chest rises and falls as if she’s just sprinted halfway across the damn prison.

“You guys are not going to believe what I just saw,” she gushes.

Oh no.

Tria raises a brow, arms crossing as she takes in Lisa’s breathless state. “What’s got you so worked up?”

“There’s a Greek god in the gym.”

“Greek god?” Tria repeats.

Lisa nods so fast I’m surprised her head doesn’t fall off.

“Tall,” she breathes, her hands carving the air the way an artist wrestles a statue into existence. “Built like a machine. And those silver eyes?” She fans herself, letting out a dramatic sigh. “Jesus, I think I forgot how to breathe.”

Zane.

“Wait…” Tria’s eyes narrow slightly as something clicks in her head. “Dark hair? Silver eyes?”

Lisa nods eagerly, practically bouncing where she stands.

“Holy shit.” Tria’s face lights up, the kind of spark you only see when everything finally makes sense. “You’re talking about Zane Valehart.”

“Yeah!” Lisa practically bounces on her toes. “I was in the gym, and I swear to God, I thought someone had carved a fucking Greek god out of stone.” She fans herself again. “And then I realized it was him.”

“Hot Damn.” Tria whistles low, her expression somewhere between awe and curiosity. “I read everything about that case. He’s insane. And so fucking hot.”

A shiver crawls down my spine, and I grip my mug harder to keep my hands steady.

“You saw him?” Tria’s brows lift. “What was he doing?”

“Working out,” Lisa gushes, as though that wasn’t already obvious. “I think he was benching like… three hundred pounds. Maybe more. And he didn’t even look like he was trying. The whole tortured bad boy thing? It’s giving dark romance novel.”

“Honestly? I get it. He’s hot. Like, criminally hot.”

Lisa snorts. “Pun intended?”

“Obviously.”

Hot. That’s what they see? Not the monster, not the fucking killer?

And the worst part is, this ugly, sharp feeling flares up inside me, a feeling I recognize as possessiveness.

It coils tighter, fueled by the idea that even their gaze on him is something I have the right to resent.

The minute it hits me, I recoil, disgust curling in my gut.

“He’s not in a romance novel,” I snap before I can stop myself. “He’s a murderer.”

“We know that.” Lisa’s eyes flick to me, startled. “Doesn’t mean we can’t look.”

Tria lifts a brow, studying me. “You good, Faith?”

“Fine,” I lie. “Just… don’t romanticize him. There’s nothing pretty about what he’s done.”

“You’re no fun,” she teases, nudging me lightly with her elbow. Then she turns to Carlos. “Can we check out the gym?”