Page 44 of Craving Venom

I let out a sharp laugh, bracing my elbows against the metal table. “You got all that from a couple of text messages, good girl? That’s impressive. Maybe you should go into fortune-telling instead of playing therapist.”

“I think I see you,” she corrects. “Whether or not you want to admit it is your problem.”

“Real fucking poetic. But let’s get something straight.” I drop my voice into something rough and low. “I don’t need you toseeme. I don’t need shit from you.”

“So why are you still on the phone?”

My fingers tighten around the receiver.

She’s got a fucking mouth on her.

I like it.

Hate it.

“Maybe I just enjoy the sound of your voice.”

“And what does my voice sound like, Zane?”

I shut my eyes for half a second. Let myself sink into the cadence of her.

I open my mouth, about to tell her the truth—

Then the phone cuts out.

“Fuck!”

The dial tone hums in my ear.

I slam the receiver down, shoving away from the table. “Piece of shit prison phones.”

The guard by the door gives me an unimpressed look. I flip him off.

Fucking system.

Fucking interruptions.

I shake my head and shove my hands into my pockets as I make my way back to my block. But the annoyance doesn’t settle.

And it’s not just the phone.

It’sher.

CHAPTER NINE

THE BEAUTY

The autumn air is crisp as I settle myself on a low wooden bench in the small grove just beyond the main campus. It’s one of the few quiet spots where I can actually think away from the never-ending chatter of the student center, away from the constant buzz of people who don’t know how to mind their own damn business.

A thick folder sits open in my lap with it’s pages covered in neat notes, stapled reports, and lists of potential sources. The name at the top of every page is the same.

Zane Valehart.

I tap my pen against my notebook, rereading the approval form I’d finally managed to get signed. Dr. Harrington had hesitated because he was concerned aboutethicsandboundariesbut I’d worn him down with just the right balance of persistence and logical argument. He’d signed off, which meant I now had more freedom to access non-personal records, and I was damn well going to take advantage of that.

All I had to do was piece together the right trail of where to look, who to ask and what to dig through.

I flip a page, underlining a few notes when suddenly my books and laptop nearly go flying as someone shoves a thick paper into my hands, knocking everything sideways in the process.

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