Page 196 of Craving Venom

“We’ve got time,” Tria presses, her curiosity getting the better of her.

“You sure you want to know?”

I nod before I can stop myself.

“Alright.” He swirls the coffee in his mug before looking at us. “I killed someone.”

Of course he did.

We’re in a fucking prison.

“Who?” Tria asks.

“My wife.”

My stomach clenches, but I keep my face neutral.

“She cheated,” he adds calmly. “I found out, and… well, I didn’t handle it well.”

Tria’s fingers tighten around her mug, and I stay just as silent, because anything I could say would feel wrong in the heavy air between us. Carlos lifts his eyes again, and for the briefest second, that easy, practiced smile falters.

“I don’t make excuses for it. I lost control. One moment of rage… and that was it.”

I finally find my voice.

“Do you… regret it?”

The question slips out before I can stop it, and though I think he won’t answer, he does.

“Every fucking day,” he whispers, and this time, there’s no hiding the pain in his eyes.

“Then I’m sure…” My throat tightens, and before I can stop myself, the words slip out. “I’m sure she’s forgiven you.”

“Why would you say that?”

I don’t look away.

“Because I know people who’ve done worse. People who don’t feel a shred of guilt.” People like Zane. I glance down, watching the swirl of coffee in my cup, trying to steady the tremor threatening to creep into my voice.

“But you do.” I lift my eyes back to his. “And that has to mean something.”

Carlos’s eyes soften, the pain in them momentarily giving way to something… lighter.

“Maybe.” He offers a small, sad smile. “But forgiveness… that’s harder to come by when you can’t forgive yourself.”

The words settle deep, hitting a part of me I don’t want to think about.

“Well.” Tria adjusts her grip on the mug, clearing her throat. “We still have time before we head back. Think you could give us a tour, Carlos?”

“A tour?” He props himself against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest as that easy grin slides effortlessly back into place.

“Yeah,” Tria says, her smile returning. “Show us the heart of the operation. I mean, you run this place, right?”

“I don’t run shit, sweetheart.” He pushes off the counter, but the warmth in his smile feels a little more genuine this time. “But…” He gestures toward the door. “I can show you around.”

But just as we’re about to move, a voice holds us back.

“Faith! Tria!”

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