Page 76 of Beautiful Venom
As my world turns black, I come to a disturbing realization.
I trust a monster like Kane to keep me safe.
15
KANE
My vision is red.
My vision isneverred.
Ever since Jude called and told me he witnessed suspicious activity in the parking lot, my mood has taken a sharp dive.
After the game, I was already driving up the Hill for a meeting with Grant’s closest directors in the company. I’ve mastered pretending to do my bidding in the business I’ll inherit, but in reality, this is a way to build my connections and strip my father of his stronghold.
After Jude’s call, I made a U-turn and barely offered excuses for my absence from the meeting I spent weeks arranging.
It doesn’t matter that earlier tonight, I had this illogical need to strangle Dahlia because she was flirting with her fucking ex at my game.
While wearing my jersey.
With my name on her back.
That perplexing fire still burns my lungs, but it’s drowned out by the rage that clouds my vision with a crimson haze.
I’m about to break every bone in the bodies of the motherfuckers who had the audacity to touch what’s mine.
And I don’t resort to violence. I don’t even like violence.
In fact, I consider violent people—aside from Jude—weaklings with little to no brain capacity.
Yet the need to smash the two bastards’ heads in beats beneath my skin like a need.
An urge.
This is beginning to feel too much like an impulse.
“I’ll finish the job.” Jude throws the wailing scum on the floor as if he were excess baggage, then motions behind me. “She’s out.”
My gaze flickers toward her, and for the first time tonight, the red slowly retreats as Dahlia comes into focus.
Her skin is flushed, her cheeks a shade too deep, heat radiating from her in waves, and I can feel it even from across the room.
The rise and fall of her chest produces shallow, uneven breaths.
She looks small—too small—crumpled in on herself, her tangled brown hair sticking to her damp skin.
There’s a slight tremble in her fingers curling weakly on the bottom of the jersey, pulling it down to cover her upper thighs. It’s the only movement she makes.
The rest of her…still.
A sickening unknown emotion bubbles up in my throat, but I swallow it down as I close the distance.
The heat in the room intensifies and that’s when it hits me. Her skin burning, probably her body’s reaction to what they injected into her. My left index finger twitches—the urge to destroy something, someone, barely held at bay.
I kneel by the bed, and my fingertips graze the bare skin of her arm.
Just like that, her warmth sears into me.
