Page 247 of Craving Venom
She pauses. “Are you okay? What’s going on?”
“I’m fine,” I lie. “I’ll call you later.”
I hang up before she can respond.
Then I slowly close the door.
“Good girl.”
Zane speaks right at my neck as he slowly takes the phone from my hand and tosses it behind us without a second thought.
“I’ll scream,” I rasp.
“Yes.” He moves so close that the beak of his mask almost grazes my cheekbone. “Yes, you will.”
A tear slips down my cheek before I can stop it. It’s hot. Shameful. I hate that I’m crying more than I hate that he’s here.
I turn to face him.
And my knees nearly give out.
The mask is worse up close. The sketches didn’t get the texture right. It’s not smooth. It’s cracked, ancient, like something pulled out of the dirt and cursed by touch. The eyeholes are infinite, nothing but black. The kind of black that swallows things.
And that fissure around his eye socket splits him like a scar from hell. It gleams with a wet sheen, as if it’s still bleeding.
My body flushes with rage, fear, and something darker mixing in the space between my legs.
What a stupid cunt my cunt is.
I press my back to the door, needing the solid weight of it to keep myself upright.
“Where are the girls?” He cocks his head as if he’s amused by a rabbit baring its teeth. “Maya. Corrine. Celine. Nina. Where the fuck are they?”
“Safe.”
“That doesn’t mean anything from a man who skinned a senator.”
Another step closer. His boots are soundless. His breath isn’t.
“I never said I was a good man, Faith.”
I glare up at him, even as my heart slams against my ribs like it’s trying to tap out in Morse. “What the fuck do you want?”
He lifts his gloved hand and runs his knuckles along the side of my jaw. “You.”
“I don’t want you,” I snap, even though my throat’s closing in around the words.
“Baby.” His hand doesn’t leave my skin. His knuckles trail down my neck, ghost over my collarbone like he’s memorizing it in Braille. “You don’t have to be scared of me. I’ll do nothing to hurt you.”
“I’m not scared of you,” I bite out.
“You’re shaking,” he murmurs.
“From disgust,” I spit.
“You think this is disgust? I’ve seen disgust, good girl. It doesn’t come with dilated pupils and a heartbeat that skips like yours.”
My fingers grope behind me, trembling as I search for the lock. Cold metal kisses my knuckle. Good. It’s there. I’m not fucked yet.
