Page 228 of Craving Venom

“He was supposed to take her to The Aether Club. After the initiation. It’s, fuck, it’s downtown, behind the old theatre on Blackmoor. It’s an invitation only event. Password at the door changes every event.”

“When?”

“T-Tomorrow night,” he gasps.

I pull the hunting knife, turn it in my fingers, then toss it beside him.

“You’ve got fifteen minutes to make it look like suicide.”

He looks up, eyes wide enough to drink in the whole room and still miss the point.

“Or I’ll come back,” I mutter. “And I won’t stop at the skin.”

I leave the door open when I walk out.

Let the silence in the hallway swallow the screams still echoing behind me. My boots carry the blood out with me, marking the pristine hotel carpet. Fifteen minutes. If he’s smart, he’ll do it in five.

But fuck, I want to go back.

My hands shiver at my sides. I clench them into fists. My knuckles itch, starved for release. I need a reason. A trigger. Anything.

Last time I snapped this hard, Mark was still in prison. Leaving Frank alive lit something in me that hasn’t burned out. I’ve been craving blood ever since.

Faith’s the only thing that grounds me now.

And I can’t even see her tonight.

I’m late. The clock’s ticking. My time out of the cell is up, and every extra breath out here is a gift I’m wasting. But I can’t bring myself to go back.

I scan every fucking face on the monitor that covers this entire building as I walk down the hallway. Old man with a limp, no. A mom and her kid, no. Drunk couple arguing by the elevator, close. The guy’s already grabbing her wrist too hard. One more step, I could justify it. Break his hand, shove a key through his eye.

But she slaps him and he stumbles away. No fun if she’s already won.

I head for the stairwell, taking the steps three at a time. A woman screams in the distance. Sirens wail somewhere below. The city’s already feeding off the bloodlust coming off me.

I push through the stairwell door and take a hard right, slipping past the ice machine and the vending alcove, into the part of the hotel that’s not meant for guests.

I shove the hood down, rip off the mask, and let the air hit my face. My pupils are blown wide. The man I keep chained is leaking through my pores.

And maybe... maybe that’s what I want.

Someone to see me.

I walk slowly with the mask in my hand and my eyes hunting for a target. Come on, give me a fucking excuse. Wrong place, wrong time, look at me the wrong way or smell like sin and I’ll carve a reason into your flesh if I have to.

I don’t just want to hurt someone.

I want to peel someone.

Bounce… bounce… bounce…

Basketball?

I tuck the mask back on fast, drag the hood up just as the sound gets closer.

And then turning the corner is a little boy, wide-eyed and small, holding a deflated rubber ball against his chest. He can’t be older than seven, with messy hair and torn sneakers. He blinks at me, as if he’s wandered into a monster movie by mistake.

He stops mid-step and clutches the ball tighter but doesn’t run, and neither do I.

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