Page 290 of Craving Venom
I turn my head just enough to look at him.
He’s gone.
Not physically, he’s still under me, holding me, but his eyes are someplace else entirely. His body’s wound tight enough to tear, struggling to trap the rage boiling underneath.
The auctioneer steps forward. “We’ll begin the bidding at—”
He doesn’t finish because a flash of black slices the air and lands dead center between his teeth. My eyes snap to Zane’s to see him pull this off with so much precision.
The auctioneer stares ahead, gagged by elegance, humiliated in front of monsters. Then he straightens and announces through the teeth-clamped card, “Slave 1028 belongs to Master ID 319.”
Zane lifts me off his lap and gently places me in the chair, his hand trailing down my thigh in one final touch before he lets go, and then, without a word, he turns and walks toward the stage.
My limbs shake because I don’t know what he’s going to do. Is he going to fuck her in front of all of them? Is he going to kill her? Is he going to break her because he can?
He steps onto the stage and reaches Corrine.
Her body jerks back, ready to be ripped apart. But he doesn’t touch her roughly. A few gasps ripple through the room as he kneels in front of her and removes the tubes one by one, careful, as though they’re thorns buried beneath skin.
And then he presses his mouth to her ear.
I can’t hear the words.
Her eyes go wide with relief, her knees buckle, and she nearly drops. But before I can reach them, flashlights slice through the shadows and the doors slam open. Officers flood the room. People scream. Chairs flip. Bidders scatter in every direction.
I whip my head to Zane, and he’s already looking at me.
I expect fury. I expect pain. I expect betrayal to paint itself across his face, but the hurt I expected never comes. He doesn’t look angry. He doesn’t even look surprised. He looks at me like I just proved something he always believed about me.
That I could destroy him.
And somehow—
He’s proud.
The first bullet cracks the air like a whip before everything goes to hell.
Screams rip through the chamber, followed by a rain of gunfire so brutal it splits my eardrums. Glass shatters overhead. Velvet tears as easily as paper. Chairs flip. Tables collapse. Masked men duck and scramble. Blood spatters the marble. The chandelier swings wildly above us, loose from the ceiling, scattering diamond shards with every sway.
I close my eyes.
There’s no way I’m making it out of this.
Familiar hands slam into me, hard enough to knock the breath from my lungs. My back hits the wall. A grunt escapes me, but I don’t fall because Zane holds me upright.
His body presses into mine, shielding me with everything he is. His hand grabs the back of my neck and forces my head down as bullets fly overhead.
He’s already firing.
His arm stretches out behind him, as the trigger is pulled again and again with a clean rhythm. Every shot finds its mark. One to the throat. Another straight to the temple. A third through the knee before the next one takes out the man’s skull.
He’s not aiming to survive.
He’s aiming to end this.
He turns just enough to put his shoulder between me and another blast of bullets.
They’re missing him. Every fucking shot.
