Page 90 of Craving Venom (The Venomous Beauty Trilogy #1)

But then I hear another gunshot. The sound rips through my skull, pulls my mind back to the blood, the bodies, the why of why we’re even here.

And I can’t take it anymore.

My hands leave the back of his head and reach down between us. I slip my fingers under his jacket. Find the gun strapped at his waist.

He doesn’t notice.

“Gunshots,” he drags the words against my throat, “only kill clean in three places.”

“Right between the eyes.” He captures my lips again. “Straight through the throat if you want the spine. Or the dead center of the heart. Anywhere else?” He kisses me harder. “You just paralyze or make a mess.”

My hand’s still trembling around the gun. His grip is firm but not cruel. He’s not trying to stop me. He’s helping me.

He growls into the kiss, hot breath flooding my throat as he yanks my wrist between our bodies and guides the muzzle straight to his ribs.

Right under his heart.

“You don’t have my height. Or my reach. If you’re shooting me, your best shot’s the heart.”

He forces the metal tighter against his skin.

“Your arms aren’t long enough to hold the recoil from this angle,” he says between the kisses. “Too close to your body, you’ll eat the kickback and dislocate your elbow.”

My knees nearly buckle.

“Thumb stays here,” he says, sliding it over mine. “Not under the slide. You’ll lose the tip if you fire.”

Is he seriously giving me a fucking tutorial on how to kill him, all while kissing me and taking down the cops with deadly accuracy?

“You have one shot, Faith,” he breathes against my lips, his hand still guiding mine, still kissing me like we’ve got forever. Like the world isn’t burning down around us. “And it has to be perfect.”

“Why?”

“Shoot me, and it’s over.”

His grip tightens. His cock presses harder against my hip.

“Don’t…,” he bites my lower lip, “and I’ll fuck you until you beg me to stop.”

The moan rips from my throat before I can stop it. It pours straight into his mouth, louder than the staccato rhythm of death around us.

My grip on the gun shakes as tears sting my eyes.

“Why would you let me kill you?”

“Because killing me would be mercy. Loving me? You’re just craving venom that rots you from the inside.”

I know he’s not offering me one shot at mercy.

He’s offering me one last chance to stop craving the venom.

He’s offering me one shot at saving me from myself.

From the burn in my veins. From the way my soul is warping around his name.

From the fact that every kiss feels like branding and I’ve already lost the right to call my heart mine.

My mind whispers to pull the trigger, but the blood in my veins, it begs for him.

And I fucking kiss him harder because I’m not ready to let go of the poison.

“I love you, Faith Selestina Collins,” he breathes. “Getting killed at your hands is my only chance at heaven.”

His lips crash against mine mid-sentence, swallowing the gasp I didn’t mean to let out. Our mouths devour each other, every breath trembling with something between love and lunacy.

He pulls back, brushing his nose against mine. His next words ghost against my lips, “and the thought of you—” kiss “being my last sight—” kiss “that’s my idea of heaven.”

“Do you even want to go?” I gasp between his mouth dragging down my neck and back up to mine.

“Fuck yeah,” he growls, biting my lower lip and kissing it better in the same breath. “I’ll be waiting for you there. I’ll be the man you deserve.”

The kiss turns deeper, messier. His hand fists my hair, and mine is still trembling around the trigger.

“But if you don’t—” kiss “pull the trigger—” kiss “and I survive…” His teeth graze my bottom lip. “I’ll be the monster you crave.”

“What if I go to hell?”

He pulls back just an inch. His eyes blaze into mine, wild and ruined.

“Definitely heaven,” he crashes his mouth to mine, tongues clashing, breath stolen.

Our mouths crash like we’re trying to kill each other with lust. His hand is still holding the gun around my wrist. His mouth devours mine, tongue sliding deep, groaning like he’s seconds from fucking me against this wall.

Three more gunshots rip through the air, and the kiss falters. His lips part against mine and then he’s gone. His body slips from my grasp and hits the ground before I can catch it.

I stare down at him. His blood stains my knees, my thighs, my fucking hands. Then I glance at the gun. My finger is still curved around the trigger.

Did I?

I don’t even remember firing. But he’s on the ground now, completely still, and I can’t tell if it was me who pulled the trigger… or someone else.

I drop to my knees before I even realize I’ve moved. My hands reach for him but all I feel is blood. It’s spilling from him like the world’s already made its choice.

“Zane,” I whisper, trying to press my hands against the wound on his chest, trying to hold in the life draining out of him. “Zane, stay with me. Please. Please.”

A cough tears from his throat and blood flecks his lips, a cruel bloom of red against teeth that had just kissed me.He grips my wrist. “You’re crying,” he mutters, dazed. “Shit. Don’t cry, baby… don’t cry for me…”

“Step away!” A police officer barks at me.

Zane tries to sit up, blood gurgling from his mouth. “Stay back,” he growls, eyes blazing. “Don’t touch her.”

A baton slams into his ribs.

“No—STOP! He’s down! He’s not—stop!” I cry out, trying to throw myself between them.

Zane roars as he swings at one of the cops. He gets one good punch in before another baton hits the side of his head. Then his stomach. Then his back. He goes down, and they don’t stop.

He tries to lunge again, even blood-soaked and barely breathing, but another blow lands, this time to his temple, and he crumples again.

I try to shove forward, try to reach for Zane, but a rough hand yanks me back by the arm.

“ZANE!”

He lifts his head, and our hands stretch for each other—just inches apart—fingertips brushing.

For a heartbeat, we’re touching before they yank me back hard, and at the same time, a cop drives a baton into his stomach.

He folds with a choked sound. Our fingers slip—no, they’re ripped apart—like tearing stitches from raw skin.

As if the last thread holding me together just snapped with a scream I don’t have the breath to make.

I can still feel the shape of his hand in mine as they drag me away. Still feel the warmth. The promise.

Now broken.

I don’t cry because the pain is too sharp for tears. It sits in my throat as I watch them slam him to the ground and I can’t do anything, can’t help him , can’t even say his name because the breath has been knocked out of me by grief.

I’m not sure if it’s my heart breaking or just the sound of him hitting the floor again.

But either way, I’ll never forget the moment our hands let go. Not because we wanted to, but because the world tore us apart.

“Come on.” His hand presses lightly to my back. “Let’s get you out of here.”

The officer nudges gently. I step back once, then again, and then I turn. I walk through the door without looking back. My steps echo down the corridor each one further from the only person who ever made me feel like I was something more, even when he was a monster doing it.

One by one, the tears slip down my cheeks. I should feel powerful, after all I stopped a monster. This was supposed to save me, but instead, all I feel is shattered.

My purse vibrates against my hip. The sound feels so jarring in the silence that it might as well be a scream. I stop walking, but my tears won’t stop. They stream down my cheeks like they know something I don’t. Like they’ve known all along that this wasn’t justice. This was a funeral.

My hands shake as I click it open. The screen lights up. Tria. Her name flashes again and again, but I can’t answer.

My fingers are cold, blood-streaked, trembling as I hit decline, and my eyes follow a single unread message from Zane.

Earlier, I didn’t want to read it. I told myself it didn’t matter. That he’d lied. That knowing more would only hurt worse.

But now?

Now I’d give anything to hear his voice again, even if it was only in written words. I want to cling to every last thread of him. Every breath he left behind. Like maybe if I hold on tight enough, I can pull him back.

Maybe if I open this message, he won’t be gone.

My thumb hovers. Then taps, and I see a photo of Zane, Isabella and Alex.

Zane’s got his one arm around Isabella, his other hand resting protectively on Alex’s shoulder. Zane’s not even looking at the camera. He’s looking at them, and they’re all smiling.

Isabella’s wearing the same necklace that’s around my neck now.

The same necklace he gave me.

My hand flies to my throat, clutching the diamond.

I scroll down to read the caption.

For what it’s worth, I didn’t do it.

No.

No no no no no no no.

My knees almost give out. I slam against the wall, breathing like I’m being suffocated from the inside. He didn’t lie. He was here to save Corrine.

And I... I killed him. I fed him to the wolves. The scream finally comes. It rips from my chest, trying to drag my heart out with it.

My legs move before my mind catches up. I run faster than I ever have in my life. My lungs tear at my ribs. My vision blurs with tears that won’t stop.

I need to see him. I need to take it back. I need to beg him to get up, to breathe, to tell me I didn’t just kill the only person who ever loved me.

I reach the basement doors and they’re closed.

I slam both fists against it. “ZANE!”

I pound harder, screaming now.

“Zane, please.”

I hit the door again and again until my hands throb and my knuckles start to split.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, rocking. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”

Blood slips down my wrist and stains the metal, but I keep hitting the door, waiting for it to magically open.

“Zane,” I choke. My breath is breaking in pieces now. “Please.”

I drag myself back from the door and reach into my purse. I dig through it blindly until I find my phone. My blood-slick thumb swipes the screen, dialing Tria. I need help. I need her. I need someone to tell me what the fuck to do.

But there’s no signal.

“Fuck,” I gasp, stumbling to my feet.

I sprint up the stairs, taking the steps two at a time. My body trembles as I finally burst through the main doors. My phone vibrates with Tria’s incoming call the second I step outside.

But before I can say anything, she’s already speaking.

“Faith, you need to get out of there.”

“Wait—what?”

“I’m coming to get you,” she says fast, and I can tell she’s panicked. “But you need to get out of that house. Do you hear me? You have to get out.”

“No, why? What’s wrong?” I shout, spinning in place.

“The property your tracker pinged on?” She’s breathing fast. “It’s legally registered under Christopher Valehart’s name.”

I shake my head. My mouth opens, but no words come out.

Christopher Valehart.

Zane’s father.

Before I can process the full weight of it, a sharp tug yanks my head back by the hair. My scream cuts off halfway. The phone slips from my hand and crashes to the ground.

Tria’s voice still filters through the speaker—”Faith? Faith!”—but I can’t answer.

I thrash. My feet kick. My nails claw. But someone’s got me by the hair, dragging me backward. I twist, but a second hand slams against my waist and crushes me in place.

The last thing I see is my phone face-down on the pavement, before everything goes black.