Page 285 of Craving Venom

Not because she doesn’t have anything to say.

But because now she’s wondering what kind of man turns a fortress into a fucking revolving door and uses it to hunt monsters.

Her eyes hold the windshield, watching the road, but she’s not really seeing it. I know that look. She’s processing. Running every word I said through that sharp little mind of hers.

“What if you get caught?”

I grin, not even pretending to hide it. My heart flutters at the thought of her worrying. Her picturing me cornered. Cuffed. Maybe dead.

“Then I’ll just use a different escape plan,” I say.

“How many of those do you have?”

I glance at her with that same grin. “Three hundred and sixty-five.”

I’m pretty sure she’s trying to find the line between sarcasm and sociopathy, and is finally realizing I don’t have one.

“Oh, and my plans have backup plans,” I say, slow enough for it to land. “Also, my backup plans?” I glance at her again and flash my teeth as my grip tightens on the wheel. “They’ve got backup plans too.”

Then she lets out a breathy, disbelieving laugh. “You’re insane.”

“I told you,” I say with a smug grin. “I don’t just break out. I walk out.”

And no one ever stops me.

She’s quiet again, but not for long.

“So if your backup plans have backup plans,” she says, shifting in her seat, “why are you still in prison? Why haven’t you escaped for good? Wouldn’t that be convenient?”

That smile of hers is sharp enough to cut, but I can tell she wants to know. Not just the logistics. The why.

I don’t answer right away.

Instead, I roll the car to a stop. We’re here. The compound looms ahead, dark and polished and rotten on the inside. It looks clean, almost holy, like the kind of place people go to be saved.

They don’t leave that way.

I stare at it for a second.

Then I turn to her.

“Guess I’ll have to answer that later, baby,” I say, not wanting to complicate things.

We both reach for our masks. Mine stretches over my jaw. Hers hugs the delicate curves of her cheekbones. She steps out first and pauses at the edge of the lot.

“You said it was a cult.”

I smirk beneath my mask. “What were you expecting, good girl? A forest clearing, a bonfire, tribal freaks in deer skulls and face paint? Maybe a couple wolves howling in the background?”

She shrugs, walking towards the entrance. “Maybe.”

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

THE BEAUTY

The mansion is obscene.

Three stories of carved stone and glass rising like a cathedral of excess, framed by gates that cost more than the home I grew up in. The driveway’s longer than most freeways. Palm trees line either side. The marble fountain in the center is bigger than some public pools. Gold-tipped water sprays from a naked goddess riding a lion. Real gold. I can tell by the way the light hits it.

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