Page 8 of Beautiful Venom

The scent is so masculine, my head turns and heat creeps up my neck. I’ve always found men who smell nice attractive.

I forget to smile a few times as he snaps some successive pictures.

As he hands me the phone, I stare at his black ring for a beat too long and hope my inner disgust doesn’t make an appearance on my face.

“Now, why don’t you tell me the real reason you’re here, Dahlia Thorne?”

My fingers pause on the phone as he clutches the other end. He doesn’t release it when his eyes meet mine. His expression hasn’t changed, but a dark undercurrent has overshadowed his polite manners.

“How do you know my name?” I whisper.

“You applied for an intern position on the medical team, no? The résumé had your picture and name on it.”

“And you go through every application?”

“As the team captain, yes, I do. No one gets close to the Vipers without my knowledge.” He pauses and lets my phone go. “Or approval.”

I knew that. Iknewit, which is why getting close to the others would have been fruitless, not to mention dangerous. No matter who I targeted, I would’ve gotten Kane’s attention anyway, which is why I went for him from the beginning.

“How do you know I want to get close?” I ask, not bothering to deny his words. Kane is smart and trying to deflect would only backfire.

“Aside from applying to be part of the medical team, you’ve been asking around about administrative positions and trying to befriend those close to the team members.”

He found out about all that?How?

I stare at his ring. Vencor. Of course, as a member, he knows this place inside out.

Maybe I underestimated just how intricately they’re woven into the university’s and the team’s fabric.

“Have I made you suspicious of me?” I smile, deliberately making it appear awkward. Sheepish, even.

“I wouldn’t call it suspicion. Curiosity is more accurate.”

I swallow the saliva stuck in my throat. “What are you curious about?”

“Your motive.”

“I can’t be a fan?”

“You can. But your actions don’t reflect your claim.”

“How so?”

“First, you’re not wearing any of our jerseys, and while that’s normal for an occasional viewer, it’s bizarre for afan. Second, you said you only got into hockey recently, and yet you seem to know about my and Callahan’s play style as if you’ve been studying it instead of watching the game for fun. Lastly, if you were a fan, you would’ve jumped at the opportunity of getting a picture with me, Armstrong, and Callahan, but you were dead set on hiding and eavesdropping, so that tells me you have an agenda. That agenda is less related to the team and has more to do with my ring, because you’ve stolen at least three peeks at it since the start of this conversation.”

Damn, he’s good.

He’s so good, I’m speechless.

The way he delivered his analysis in tranquil, precise words is both impressive and nerve-racking. Just how far has he read into me?

And is it even safe to get entangled with him?

He’s frighteningly perceptive and a master at recognizing and linking patterns. It’s fascinating on the rink but lethal in real life.

Kane raises his hand, showcasing his index finger. “Do you know the meaning behind this ring?”

“Everyone in town does,” I say in a small voice.

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