Page 55 of Craving Venom

Where I can make an example of him.

By the time we step into the open air, the guy’s struggling, trying to pull back, but my grip on his collar is like iron. He’s scrawny. A fucking weasel.

I shove him forward, and he stumbles onto the dirt.

“Zane—” he starts, but I don’t let him finish.

I punch him. Hard. Right in the fucking gut.

He chokes, doubling over, but I grab his head and yank him up before slamming my fist into his face.

He stumbles back, trying to put distance between us. “I—I didn’t know—”

I hit him again.

And again.

My knuckles split open, but I don’t stop.

I grab his shirt, hauling him up before kneeing him in the ribs. He lets out a wheezing cough, spitting blood onto the dirt.

“Didn’t know what?” I growl, shaking him.

His hands grasp weakly at my wrist. “Didn’t know he was off-limits.”

I let out a cold laugh. “Off-limits?” I slam him into the ground. “Motherfucker, you shouldn’t need a fucking warning to know not to touch someone who doesn’t fucking want it.”

I shove him back down, pressing my knee against his ribs just hard enough to make him groan. “Tell me, asshole,” I say. “You ever hear about that bank job? The one from eight years ago. Big fucking deal at the time.”

His brow furrows, blood dripping from his busted lip.

Yeah. He remembers.

“The fuck does that have to do with me?” he rasps.

“You’re going to confess to it.”

His breath stutters. “What?”

I shift my weight, applying more pressure to his ribs until he wheezes. “That big, nasty fucking heist? The one that left two guards in the ground and a vault cleaned out? You did it.” I slap his chest. “Say it.”

His head jerks from side to side. “I didn’t—”

I grab his jaw, fingers digging into bruised flesh. “You didn’t?” I mock, leaning closer, letting my breath fan across his face. “I know you didn’t, dipshit. You were still running around doing petty-ass drug deals back then. But guess what?” I slap his face lightly, taunting. “It doesn’t fucking matter. You’re going to confess anyway.”

His nostrils flare. “Why the fuck would I do that?”

“Because if you don’t, I’ll make sure your ass lands in max security by the end of the fucking week.” I tilt my head. “And you know what happens to little shits like you in max, don’t you?”

I tap his cheek again, condescending as hell. “So what’s it going to be? You take the fall for something you already got a record for, or you end up with a whole new set of problems in a place where motherfuckers don’t take kindly to little rats like you?”

His throat bobs, and I see the wheels turning in his head. He’s trying to find a way out, some kind of deal.

Pathetic.

He licks his split lip, eyes darting around like salvation is gonna come crawling out of the fucking dirt. “What if—what if I can give you something else?”

I laugh, full and sharp. I grab his collar, yanking him close. “I don’t negotiate, I dictate.”

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