Page 184 of Beautiful Venom
“What were you murmuring to yourself?” he asks when I stop in front of him.
From this angle, the crucified Jesus looks looming, tall, the blood surrounding the holes in his wrists matching my red haze.
“I said Kane is just Kane. He’s not your plaything!” I shout as I pull out the scalpel and aim it at his throat.
Grant steps back at the last second and the scalpel only grazes his jaw. He grabs my hand and twists it so suddenly, a scream of pain bubbles out of me.
My grip loosens on the scalpel and it hits the ground with a clink as Grant kicks me in the stomach.
I fall to the harsh floor, coughing. A metallic taste fills my mouth and blood spills out of my lungs.
But I still crawl to the scalpel.
I’m going to kill him.
I’m going to kill him…
I’m going to kill him…
Just when I’m about to grab it, a shoe steps on my outstretched hand and I groan, then scream when he applies pressure.
Grant stands above me and motions somewhere behind me. He wipes the gushing blood from his jaw as he shakes his head.
“Looks like your time is up, Dahlia.”
My scream comes to an abrupt halt as something sharp pricks the back of my neck.
The scalpel turns blurry and a tear slides down my cheek.
As the darkness swallows me, my thoughts are of deep failure.
I’m sorry, Vi.
I’m sorry, Kane.
* * *
My senses come back in pieces—disjointed, hazy, but sharp enough that I jolt awake.
No matter how much I widen and blink my eyes, I only see darkness.
The air is thick, suffocating, reeking of mildew and something else—damp, rotting wood, maybe. A drip echoes in the distance, slow and methodical. It plants a seed of fear at the bottom of my stomach.
I try to move, but pain slices through my shoulders. The ache burns so much that everything snaps into focus.
My wrists are bound above me, the rough chains digging into my skin, pulling tight every time I shift. My bare feet barely touch the ground, just enough to feel the slick, wet floor beneath them, but not enough to steady myself.
Where am I?
Panic floods my chest, drowning out every coherent thought.
The thick darkness presses in on all sides as if the room itself is swallowing me whole. I blink rapidly, trying to adjust my sight, trying to see something,anything.
But there’s nothing.
Just the cold air clinging to my skin and the sound of my ragged breathing filling the space.
My mind scrambles, racing through fractured images. The last thing I remember is being injected with something and losing consciousness. After that…nothing.
