Page 76 of Craving Venom (The Venomous Beauty Trilogy #1)

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

THE BEAUTY

T he phone won’t stop trembling in my hand. Maybe it’s me. Maybe I’m the one shaking, but it feels the other way around. I keep pacing barefoot as the cold hardwood bites into my soles. My thumb taps redial before I even think it through. Still no answer.

“Pick up, pick the fuck up,” I whisper, dragging my palm down my face. Sebastian’s voicemail kicks in again. I hang up before it even ends.

Tria left a couple hours ago, finally, after I practically had to scream at her to go be with Xaden. I promised her I’d be okay. I’m such a good liar, aren’t I?

I hit the call button again, this time on my mother’s number. My thumb hovers over the screen as I hold the phone to my ear. “Mom, I need you to try Sebastian. Please. Something’s wrong. I—”

No answer.

I check the screen again. Calling… Not connected yet. What the hell? My other hand clenches into a fist as I spin and dark my eyes around the room.

A few hours ago this place felt safe. Now the shadows stretch differently, like they’re watching me.

Feeding off my unease. I glance at the door.

It is closed with the hallway light spilling underneath in a sharp golden strip that cuts across the floor and then I see movement. A shadow is blocking the light.

I don’t want to go to the door, but I creep towards it anyway. Because I’m stupid. Because I’m curious. Because something inside me is broken and doesn’t understand survival instinct anymore.

I press my ear against the wood but there’s nothing. Just my heartbeat screaming in my ears. Maybe it’s nothing. Maybe I’m losing it again.

I unlatch the lock and twist the knob, cracking the door open to an empty hallway and nothing but silence.

I almost laugh, until I feel a body behind me.

The heat at my back spikes like a fever. The hairs at my nape rise. A breath ghosts against my neck, and I know. I fucking know.

My phone buzzes back to life, lighting up with a green icon. My mom. I raise it to my ear with the grace of a corpse.

“Faith?” her voice is groggy, confused. “Sweetie, it’s late, what’s wrong?”

“I… I just wanted to tell you I love you.”

She pauses. “Are you okay? What’s going on?”

“I’m fine,” I lie. “I’ll call you later.”

I hang up before she can respond.

Then I slowly close the door.

“Good girl.”

Zane speaks right at my neck as he slowly takes the phone from my hand and tosses it behind us without a second thought.

“I’ll scream,” I rasp.

“Yes.” He moves so close that the beak of his mask almost grazes my cheekbone. “Yes, you will.”

A tear slips down my cheek before I can stop it. It’s hot. Shameful. I hate that I’m crying more than I hate that he’s here.

I turn to face him.

And my knees nearly give out.

The mask is worse up close. The sketches didn’t get the texture right. It’s not smooth. It’s cracked, ancient, like something pulled out of the dirt and cursed by touch. The eyeholes are infinite, nothing but black. The kind of black that swallows things.

And that fissure around his eye socket splits him like a scar from hell. It gleams with a wet sheen, as if it’s still bleeding.

My body flushes with rage, fear, and something darker mixing in the space between my legs.

What a stupid cunt my cunt is.

I press my back to the door, needing the solid weight of it to keep myself upright.

“Where are the girls?” He cocks his head as if he’s amused by a rabbit baring its teeth. “Maya. Corrine. Celine. Nina. Where the fuck are they?”

“Safe.”

“That doesn’t mean anything from a man who skinned a senator.”

Another step closer. His boots are soundless. His breath isn’t.

“I never said I was a good man, Faith.”

I glare up at him, even as my heart slams against my ribs like it’s trying to tap out in Morse. “What the fuck do you want?”

He lifts his gloved hand and runs his knuckles along the side of my jaw. “You.”

“I don’t want you,” I snap, even though my throat’s closing in around the words.

“Baby.” His hand doesn’t leave my skin. His knuckles trail down my neck, ghost over my collarbone like he’s memorizing it in Braille. “You don’t have to be scared of me. I’ll do nothing to hurt you.”

“I’m not scared of you,” I bite out.

“You’re shaking,” he murmurs.

“From disgust,” I spit.

“You think this is disgust? I’ve seen disgust, good girl. It doesn’t come with dilated pupils and a heartbeat that skips like yours.”

My fingers grope behind me, trembling as I search for the lock. Cold metal kisses my knuckle. Good. It’s there. I’m not fucked yet.

“Why did you kill Trevor?” A distraction. That’s all this is. Keep him talking. Keep him away from the sound of metal shifting. “You shoved his own lip down his throat. What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“I wanted him to know how pathetic he tastes.” I gag. Not from imagination. From memory. “I’m sure you’ll agree.”

“No. No, I don’t.”

His fingers brush the edge of my mouth, and I jerk my head away. “That’s because,” he says, and I feel the key twist home, “you haven’t kissed me yet.”

“And I never will.”

That does something to him. His hand brushes the top of my shorts, dusting off a promise. He crowds the space between us, enough that his words slice into my ear.

“Will you deep throat my cock instead?”

Those words shouldn’t do anything except make me want to rip his tongue out and feed it to him. But they do. A shudder races through me, my body’s trying to purge the truth before I admit it to myself.

I’m not afraid he’ll hurt me. I’m afraid I’ll beg him to.

That I’ll drop to my knees, unzip him with shaking fingers, and open my mouth, ready to take him in, to let him shove every inch down my throat while I whimper, cry, and come from nothing but that.

I almost lose the lock. My fingers slip, slick with sweat and sin, and my palm smacks hard against the wood behind me.

Don’t fuck this up.

Then I shove the door open so fast it whips the air. I duck under his arm, slide out, and before he can react, I slam the door in his face with every ounce of strength I have.

I don’t move for five seconds. Ten. I keep my forehead pressed against the wood, hoping it’ll soak up the terror still rattling in my chest. My fingers tremble so hard I nearly drop the key. I slide it back into the pocket of my shorts.

Why do I have keys in my pocket? Because smart girls don’t leave keys on kitchen hooks. Smart girls know they need to lock their fucking doors even when it’s already too late.

My feet slap the hallway tiles as I run. I don’t look back. I barrel toward the third unit on the left, almost eat shit on the loose carpet edge, and slam my palm against the wood.

“Reese!” I bang. “Fucking open the door, Reese, please!”

There’s no light under the crack, no creak of wood, not even the whisper of movement.

I choke back the bile climbing up my throat and bolt for the stairs. I trip on the first one, catching the railing just before I smash my nose. My lungs burn. My thighs ache. My pussy’s still clenching around his phantom breath, too wrecked to recognize danger.

The hallway’s too quiet, every light in the stairwell is turned off, leaving only the dim green exit sign buzzing overhead.

I hit the lobby and shoulder-ram my way through the door to the front desk. My fingers fumble for the landline. The wire tangles around my wrist as I yank it free. I mash the keypad with sweaty fingers.

Dead.

I hang up and slam the receiver down. Pick it up again. Dial again.

Dead.

Again.

I shove the door open and sprint into the street. Gravel digs into my soles even through my shoes. The coffee shop across the street is closed and the lights are out. The bar beside it is silent with no sign of life. The entire block looks gutted and drained while I wasn’t looking.

Where the fuck is everyone?

I whirl around and check behind me. My heart knocks into my ribs, trying to punch its way out.

I’m alone.

Or I think I am.

Until I’m not.

Until I slam full-speed into something tall and warm.

The breath leaves my chest as arms wrap around me. A solid chest presses close. Fabric brushes my skin as a gloved hand catches my waist. I look up and see the mask.

My scream catches in my throat, dying in the shape of a sob. He’s not even breathing hard. Not out of breath. Just standing there, as though he’s been waiting for me to run all along.

His glove brushes my jaw. My body jerks but I can’t escape him. His fingers trail lower, ghosting my collarbone, then dragging down the center of my chest, grazing the space between my tits.

“You run like you’re hoping I’ll chase you.” My knees almost give. My thighs press tight. The heat pooling inside me is the worst betrayal of all. “Didn’t I tell you I’d never hurt you?”

He tips his head, mask cracking light down the middle like it’s bleeding its own madness. “Or do you just want me to drag you down to your knees and fuck the good girl right out of you?”

“Get off me!” I snarl, thrashing against his grip. “You’re not touching me again. I swear to God—”

One hand snakes behind my neck, the other clamping around my throat so tight my heels lift off the ground. My back hits the brick wall before I can scream, and he crushes my windpipe just enough to make the world go fuzzy at the edges.

“You came in your shorts the second I whispered in your ear,” he growls. “You think you can lie to me about what your pussy wants?”

“Fuck you,” I gasp out, struggling against the vise around my throat. “You’re sick. You’re a fucking monster,”

“I am,” he says, not denying it. “But I’m not the worst thing out there, Faith.”

My nails dig into his arm, useless against the leather. “You think that’s comforting?”

“I’ve slit throats that deserved worse,” he rasps. “I’ve taken out men whose crimes don’t make the news because no one mourns them. Not even their mothers.”

He drops me and I crumble to the ground, coughing and wheezing as oxygen claws back into my body. My knees scrape the pavement. My palms sting.