Page 187 of Craving Venom

“Don’t take this personally,” I grit out, adjusting my grip as I maneuver him into position. “You know how it is.”

But he doesn’t answer.

I let go, and Mark’s body slides down, hitting the bottom of the grave. I grab the shovel again, but I don’t move. I can’t look at him, but I don’t have to. The image is already burned into my brain.

The way he looked when I found him.

His face is all I can see, and fuck, I can’t stop seeing it. Bloated, mottled gray, his eyes blown wide and bulging as if he had stared into something too massive to survive. The rope had carved deep into his neck, leaving the flesh raw and puckered. His tongue, black and swollen, jutted from his mouth in a twisted mockery of breathing.

The guards cut him down, dumped his body, and left the mess behind for me to deal with. I try to shove the image away, but it’s burned into my skull.

No one knows I was the first to see him. I had walked past his cell this morning, something pulling me back, making me stop and look. And that’s when I saw him hanging. But I didn’t call for help because I knew it was too late. And now, as I stand here staring at the dirt, I feel something I haven’t touched in years.

Guilt.

Mark’s in this position because of Frank.

And Frank only went after him because of me.

Frank wanted power. I wanted him in the fucking ground. But when I didn’t finish the job, Mark got caught in the middle.

I should’ve killed Frank. Should’ve snapped his neck, torn him apart, dragged his body through the fucking dirt. Instead, I left him breathing.

That’s on me.

The weight of it sticks to my ribs as I drive the last shovel of dirt over the grave. It strikes the ground with a heavy, lifeless sound, sealing Mark beneath the earth as I stand there for a moment. Then I toss the shovel aside and the metal clatters against the gravel, echoing through the stillness as dust rises and settles over the packed earth.

Done.

Except it’s not. Not really.

I drag a hand down my face as my muscles ache, but the pain is nothing compared to the crushing weight pressing down on my chest.

“Thought I’d find you here.”

I don’t turn around.

“Really? What gave it away? The pile of dirt or my charming personality?”

“Neither. It’s the stench of guilt.”

“You must be mistaken. Guilt’s not exactly my thing.”

She doesn’t respond. I can feel her watching me, hoping I’ll let my guard slip. But I’m not in the mood for this.

“What do you want, Shirley?”

“I have a group of university students coming in today to observe and study prisoner behavior firsthand. They’ll be conducting interviews, taking notes, and analyzing interactions for their research.”

“How cute,” I sneer, brushing dirt from my hands. “Should I greet them with a welcome mat? Maybe throw in a murder demonstration for extra credit?”

“Not happening. You’re staying in your cell. Last thing I need is you getting bored and trying to impress them.”

“Come on, Shirley. You think I’d waste my charm on a bunch of wannabe FBI agents?”

“I think you’re off your game.”

“I’ve never been better.”

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