Page 242 of Craving Venom

“Then why the hell did you kiss Trevor?”

The question punches me in the chest.

I lift my eyes to hers. “To drive Zane away.”

She stares at me, trying to connect dots that keep rearranging themselves.

“I panicked,” I confess. “Zane was getting too close. I didn’t know what to do. I thought maybe if he saw me kiss someone else he’d back off.”

“You didn’t just put yourself at risk. You put Trevor in danger.”

“I know,” I breathe. “God, I know. I was a stupid bitch, okay? I didn’t think it through.”

“Did he hurt Trevor?”

“No.”

“Well, at least that proves he’s harmless. So you think the shadowy figure I’ve been seeing…” Tria says, circling us back to where this conversation started. “Is Zane.”

My throat tightens. “Yes.”

It comes out flat. Ugly. Final.

“But he’s in prison,” I add, rubbing my temples, massaging logic back into this mess. “I mean, no matter how lax the security is there’s no way he can keep slipping out unnoticed. There’s no way the guards would cover for that. He’d have to give excuses, create distractions, manipulate entire shifts.”

“Faith.” Tria turns her head to face me. “This is the same man who burned down a prison to fuck you.”

I open my mouth, then close it, because yeah—when she puts it like that...

“And don’t forget,” she adds, “his grandfather built the prison. The man grew up inside the goddamn blueprints. If anyone knows where the cracks are, it’s him.”

My stomach drops straight to hell.

I bury my face in my hands. “Oh my God.”

“What?”

“What the fuck have I gotten myself into?”

My words crack on the last word because now that it’s out loud, now that it’s real, my brain can’t wrap itself around the scope of what I’ve done.

What I’ve invited in.

“I’m so stupid,” I whisper.

Tria nudges me, bumping her shoulder into mine. “No. You’re not stupid.”

“You literally just agreed I was.”

“Well, yeah, but that was ten minutes ago. Different context.”

I let out a strangled laugh, one hand still covering my face.

She pulls it down gently, and her eyes are softer now. “Look. You’re not the first girl to get pulled into something way over herhead. But this?” She gestures vaguely around my room, to the clean surfaces, to the silence hanging like a question mark. “This doesn’t have to own you.”

“I slept with a man who might be watching me while I sleep.”

“Yeah,” she nods, “but you also slept with a man who folded your laundry. Let’s not forget that.”

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