Page 69 of Beautiful Venom

“Oh, there’s a reason. He can’t beat or ruffle me, no matter what tactic he uses. It pisses him off. And I happen to enjoy seeing the little prince out of his depth.”

“Are you sure that’s all?”

“What else would there be? People like us don’t run in the same circles as them, sweetheart.” All his humor disappears. “You’ll figure that out in your own time.”

After that, he grows silent, more focused on the rink.

I’m distracted as well when the game turns into a literal war. A brutal clash of power and strategy.

Through it all, it’s Kane who holds me hostage. Even in the chaos, his control is absolute, and the way he commands the ice is mesmerizing. Every time he moves, it’s like a pulse through my body, reminding me of how dangerously close I plan to get to someone who should terrify me.

And yet the more I watch him, the stronger my sense of trepidation becomes.

What type of upbringing did Kane have that caused him to turn into a literal ice machine? Is it even possible for someone to be so technically perfect? I’m not sure if it’s because I only recently got into hockey, but I haven’t seen him make any mistakes.

After the game ends in the Vipers’ favor—barely—the players skate to the bench area and then to the locker room.

Kane follows with a hand on Preston’s neck as he speaks close to his ear, but he doesn’t acknowledge me.

At the beginning of the game, the first place he looked as soon as he got on the ice was at me. I even think I saw an expression of satisfaction.

But now, he leaves the rink without a look behind.

My heart sinks.

Why the hell did he ask me to come watch him if he was going to give me the cold shoulder? Is this another tactic?

As the arena starts to empty out, the crowd talking animatedly, Marcus and I don’t move.

He doesn’t seem to be in a hurry, but the last thing I want is to stay near the asshole. The only reason I stay is because I want to milk him for information.

I face him. “Hey, Marcus.”

“Yeah?”

“You’re a center like Kane, but how come you two play differently?”

He spears both hands behind his head and leans back against the seat. “So now you’re an expert in hockey? I swear you didn’t even know how many players were on a team a few months ago.”

“People learn. So tell me, what’s the difference between the two of you?”

“What did you notice that’s different?”

“Kane’s movements are smoother.”

“He’s boringly technical. Just like Armstrong. They learned hockey from expensive coaches and camps that could only be afforded by their generational wealth. They feel violence is beneath them, so they steer clear of it, no matter what. They should play tennis instead of hockey.”

“But Jude is violent.”

“He’s different. He has inborn talent that couldn’t be killed by expensive coaches. He’s the only one worthy of respect out of the three. Probably the one who dragged them into the game as well.”

“Am I right to think acquiring such technical skills means rigorous training and a strict routine?”

“Yes. Heard they spent their childhood in an all-boys boarding school, where they were taught…severediscipline.”

My scalp tingles with unease “How were they taught?”

“Ask him.” He smirks. “If you dare.”

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