Page 79 of Craving Venom

He’s holding the knife by the blade. His fingers are wrapped tight, and blood is leaking from his palm where the steel has bitten deep. He pries the knife from my grip and tosses it away.

His hand, still slick with his own blood, brushes against my lips. “Good girl.”

I flinch, my stomach lurching.

“How about you honor our deal?” he murmurs smearing crimson across my skin.

I force down the bile rising in my throat and shake my head. “No.”

The word comes out steadier than I feel. He cocks his head and I turn, grabbing the doorknob and twisting it hard.

Nothing.

I try again.

Still fucking nothing.

It’s locked.

I whip around, forcing my features into something unreadable. I am not letting this bastard see any more weakness. But he sees it anyway.

His free hand lashes out, wrapping around my throat and suddenly I’m airborne. The door slams into my spine as he lifts me off the ground, his grip tightening just enough to make my pulse stutter.

I claw at him and let my nails dig into his skin as they rake down his arm and across his jaw and anywhere I can reach, but he barely flinches.

“Come on, baby,” he coos. “You can do better than that.”

I kick, swinging my legs, aiming for his stomach, his ribs but he dodges every single one of them. Rage flares beneath my panic, and I manage to dig my nails into his cheek, dragging them down hard enough to hurt.

Zane’s grip tightens.

My breath stops.

He leans in, his forehead nearly touching mine. “That’s more like it.”

I see red.

I dig my nails deeper into his cheeks, harder this time, until I feel the skin break beneath my fingers. Warmth pools under my nails as his blood smears against my fingertips.

For a split second, I think maybe, just maybe, this will make him stop. Maybe hurting him will make him realize I’m not some toy to fuck with.

But when I see the blood, when it registers that I’ve actually done this, my stomach twists. I let go, dropping my hands to my sides. The fight drains out of me as fast as it came.

I’m not this person. I’m not.

Zane releases me like I’m nothing, like I’m not even worth the effort.

I drop to my knees and my hands fly to my throat, clutching at the burning ache, trying to pull in air, but it feels like my lungs are on fire. I cough, choking on the breath I finally manage to drag in, and for a split second, I swear I taste death.

I never thought dying would be this fucking terrifying. But it is. It’s the kind of fear that wraps around your bones, digs into your skin, and doesn’t let go. And right now, it’s takingeverything in me not to let the violent tremors in my body show. I don’t know if I’m succeeding. I don’t think I am.

“Stand up,” he orders.

I don’t move.

If he’s going to rip me apart, strip me of whatever dignity I have left, I’m sure as fuck not going to make it easy for him. He can drag me. He can fucking fight for it.

“If you stand up,” he coaxes, offering me kindness, “I’ll be nice to you. For five minutes.”

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