Page 159 of Craving Venom

I know exactly where his cell is, third on the right. He always has a book propped in the corner and hums some dumb tune under his breath. But when I get there, it’s empty. No book, no Mark, just air. My jaw tightens as I turn and catch sight of a familiar face two cells down. It’s the new kid from the yard who was talking about Halloween plans with Mark.

I step toward him, and he notices me but it’s too late. My hand shoots out, grabbing the front of his shirt as I slam him against the bars behind him, his shoulders hitting hard. He flinches.

“Where is Mark?”

“Uh—he went to the library.”

I don’t even need to call bullshit. The kid reeks of it. His pulse is thundering under my hand, throat bobbing with a swallow he can’t control.

“Try again.”

“I—I don’t know, man. I’m not with him all the time.”

I drag him forward just enough to make his feet stumble beneath him, then slam him back against the bars. His skull hits the metal with a dull, wet thud, and he cries out and reaches for the back of his head, but he’s not quick enough to stop the blood that begins to snake down his neck.

“You’ve got three seconds to give me a name.” The threat curls under my breath like smoke. “Or I’ll pull your teeth out with my bare fucking hands and leave them in your pillowcase for a twisted little fairy to find.”

He panics as his eyes dart around, searching for an escape or a guard who might actually give a fuck and be close enough to help.

There isn’t.

“Okay! Okay! I—I saw him go into Frank’s cell.”

Everything inside me stills.

“Was he alone?”

“He was with Frank. And the other two—those guys that are always with him. I—I don’t know why, I swear.”

I release him, and he collapses against the bars, coughing and clutching his throat. I’m already walking away by the time he hits the ground.

Frank.

That greasy fuck’s been sniffing around too long without bleeding.

Time to change that.

I pick up speed as my boots hammer against the concrete and the buzz under my skin sharpens with every step.

If Frank laid a single finger on that kid, I’m going to make him eat it.

When I reach his cell, I don’t need to peek through the bars to know something’s fucked. The sounds tell me enough. The low, muffled grunts, the stifled gag, the steady, sickening slap of skin against skin, each noise keeps stacking on top of the last until the picture in my mind is worse than anything I could’ve seen.

I move closer and look inside. Mark is on his knees, completely naked. His shoulders are hunched and trembling, his head bowed so low that his chin nearly touches his chest.

One of Frank’s boys stands in front of Mark, holding a brutal grip on the back of his head as he shoves his cock deep down Mark’s throat. Another crony lounges on the lower bunk, leaning back with a bored smirk as he lazily strokes himself, clearly waiting for his turn.

Frank stands behind Mark, with one hand on his hip and the other tangled in his hair. He’s buried deep inside him, moving with controlled force, wearing a smug grin that makes me want to rip it off his face with my bare hands.

There’s a nylon string looped around one of his teeth, tethered to the upper bunk. It’s tight enough that if Frank’s movements shift him wrong, it’ll rip the tooth clean out.

Mark’s eyes meet mine, and what I see makes my chest collapse. They’re empty and blank, he’s already gone.

Something inside me breaks.

My hands slam against the cell door, the metal rattling under the force. I grip the bars and yank, throwing my full weight into it as I try to rip it open.

“Frank, you fucking piece of shit!”

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