Beautiful Venom: A Dark Hockey Romance (Vipers Book 1)

Two days later, Kane sent me an invitation to a party.

Not just any party.

A members-only party.

To say I wish I could high-five myself would be an understatement. I knew that patience would eventually get me here.

To Ravenswood Hill.

The Armstrongs are hosting this event in their extravagant mansion.

The security is tight around the gated community, and my invitation had to be scanned by some special infrared machine, and I was thoroughly searched for weapons.

Even though the invitation said to dress formal and wear the Vencor mask, I had to remove it for security reasons and then put it back on.

As for the formal part, I had to wear the dress I found in a box that came with the invitation.

The dress is pure sin, a deep, dark red that clings to every curve like blood-soaked silk. A slit slices up my leg, stopping just above my left knee, teasing with every step I take. The luxurious fabric hugs my waist, the neckline plunging just enough to toe the line between elegance and danger.

It fits me well. Too well, actually.

The fact that Kane knows my size is unnerving.

I tucked away the invitation card, but I couldn’t hide the dress from Megan. She freaked out for half an hour about how stunning I looked and how gorgeous the dress was.

Oh, and there were black designer heels, which I’m struggling to walk in.

According to Megan, the dress and heels cost at least twenty grand. All I could think about was how that amount of money could help with my sister’s medical care.

Though I’m uncomfortable with the gift and plan to return it as soon as the party is over, I couldn’t come to my first Vencor party with an inappropriate outfit.

I’m also thankful for the mask. At least this way, anonymity protects me, in a sense.

My steps falter as I enter the main hall.

I’ve always heard stories about people living in a detached, different world, but I haven’t fully understood the meaning until now.

The Armstrong mansion is a palace wrapped in shadows, opulence dripping from every corner. The massive crystal chandeliers cast fractured light across the black marble floors, the shimmer of gold and silver reflecting off the walls like a thousand stars trapped indoors.

Everything gleams—from the polished wood, extravagant sculptures, and the ancient art that shouldn’t belong to this world.

I’m completely and utterly dazzled by a type of money I’ve never witnessed in my life. Not even in movies.

Suddenly, trepidation pulses through my every nerve, and I feel like a mouse trapped in cat land.

The ballroom is massive, too large for comfort, with towering windows draped in rich velvet. The curtains fall heavy and dark, almost swallowing the light. Tables are scattered with fine crystal and gleaming silverware, the flicker of candlelight casting shadows that dance across the masked faces.

It’s all too sparkling, too extravagant, as if the wealth and power could drown me if I stayed or stared for too long.

Everything about this place feels dangerous. Beautiful. Like a trap that glitters just enough to make you forget there’s no way out.

The air is thick with the scent of expensive cologne, champagne, and something darker. It clings to my skin, mixing with the low hum of whispered conversations and faint laughter that echoes off the walls.

The members move like ghosts in the flickering light, their silver and black masks hiding their faces, but not the depravity in their eyes. Every movement feels calculated, every glance loaded with silent power.

This is on a completely different level than the Drayton party. That one feels like entry-level compared to this.

Which makes me abandon any ideas about collecting DNA samples or even snooping around. I glimpse numerous cameras blinking in every corner, and the feeling of being trapped and constantly watched coils in my stomach like a disease.

It’s better to be careful this time, keep a low profile, and observe. Since it’s my first invitation, it could be a test.

I grab a flute of champagne from a waiter and nestle in a corner. Even the staff is wearing silver half masks, and they’re groomed to perfection.

My eyes keep flitting over the members with black masks and rings. Their number exceeds those who were present during my initiation. I spot at least twenty in total, but many of them have older voices, so perhaps they’re politicians and public figures and, therefore, the mask is a perfect camouflage. Also, their rings don’t have distinctive symbols like the ones on Kane’s, Jude’s, and Preston’s.

I keep craning my head, looking for Kane, but come up empty. It’s impossible to single him out among so many people.

I spot three silver-masked men by a table and inch closer so that I’m around the corner from them. Out of sight but close enough to hear their conversation.

“…And you’re okay with your sister being kicked out, Gav?”

Ryder Price. That’s his voice.

The one he’s talking to is Gavin Drayton.

The latter loosens his bow tie and sips from his glass beneath the mask. “There’s nothing I can do. If three Seniors vote her out, she’s out.”

“She did mess with Davenport’s latest toy when he warned her to back off. She had it coming.” The third one—a player because I heard his voice before, but I can’t place him.

Gavin slams his glass on the table. “Well, my father is locking her up and taking her privileges for a couple of weeks. I think she’s suffered enough blows to call it quits. No need to rub it in.”

“Hey, don’t get so worked up.” Ryder wraps an arm around Gavin’s shoulders. “At least you’re still in, so silver linings. We can still make it to Senior members after graduation if we keep in line.”

“Is something wrong, boys?” A woman wearing a stunning green dress and a black-and-red mask saunters to the middle of the trio.

Black and red.

A Founder?

A woman who’s part of the upper echelon. I lean in against the wall.

“Nothing at all,” Ryder says with a grin. “You look amazing, Serena. As usual.”

Serena… Serena…

Where have I heard that name?

Oh.

An article I read a while ago comes to mind. “Serena Osborn Says Fundamental Change Is the Only Change Needed in the Industry.”

The current CEO of Osborn Enterprises?

She strokes Ryder’s mask. “You’re a darling. Did any of you see Julian?”

“I don’t think so,” Gavin says. “We saw his brother, Jude, with Preston earlier.”

Jude’s brother, Julian. I remember reading about him, too. If I remember correctly, Julian Callahan’s name was brought up as the country’s top innovator in the pharmaceutical sector.

“I see.” Serena pats Ryder’s mask again and he freezes as if he doesn’t dare to breathe.

It’s amazing how an average-height woman can make three men who are double and triple her size stand so still in reverence.

“Have fun, boys.” She pauses and then tilts her head to the side. “Don’t give my brother a hard time in the upcoming game.”

“Yes, ma’am.” They all but salute.

Her throaty laughter carries in the air as she walks with purpose to the next group. All full of people in black-and-red masks.

I thought there were only four members who had those masks—meaning the heads of the founding families—but in that group alone, there are six. Serena is number seven.

“Don’t give her brother a hard time?” Gav scoffs, his voice low. “I’m surprised she hasn’t already put a target on Marcus’s back, considering he’s rumored to be absorbed back in so he can take her place in the family.”

“Who says she hasn’t?” the third person I can’t name says even lower. “Marcus is just a cat with nine lives.”

Right. Marcus.

I forgot that while I was observing. Marcus Osborn is Serena’s half-brother.

But hold on. Absorbed back in?noveldrama

Do they even know Marcus? He looks down on everything this world represents. I bet he’d rather be beaten to death than be part of the ‘pretentious snobs,’ as he calls them.

Ryder rubs his hair. “This internal power struggle is making me anxious. Dad says we need to pick a side sooner rather than later.”

“The whole four-families thing is absurd in the first place,” the third player says. “No matter how much they collaborate, they’ll end up stepping on each other’s toes sooner or later. Plus, the generation that preceded us, whether it’s Julian Callahan, Serena Osborn, Atlas Armstrong, or the currently banished Kayden Davenport, only knows how to go at each other’s throats.”

“Our generation is different, though,” Gavin says. “Kane, Jude, and Pres are tightly knit.”

“For now.” Player three stares into the distance. “After Kayden’s banishment, Grant Davenport’s business decisions suffered greatly, and it’s starting to impact their standing. It’s just a matter of time before either Serena, Julian, or Atlas uses that opening and crushes them. That will signal a war.”

“Fuck this,” Ryder grumbles. “I don’t like the unknown in this entire thing. I’d rather they send us to kill people instead of picking sides. Better yet, I just want to play hockey and hook up with beautiful women. Is that too much to ask?”

Gavin throws a hand on his shoulder. “We’ll survive. In the game of predators, small flies like us only need to know our place.”

As they walk away, I keep thinking about what they said.

Gavin Drayton, the son of the mayor, who lives in the biggest and most beautiful house I’ve ever seen, just called himself a fly. Also Ryder. Whose family literally owns a chain of shopping malls.

If they’re flies, what the hell am I?

The sound of metal clinking on glass echoes in the air, silencing everyone.

The crowd’s attention turns to the top of the marble stairs covered in a red carpet, where five people stand.

The man who’s holding the champagne glass is wearing a black-and-red mask. The woman to his right is donning a black mask, and the man to his left has a black-and-red mask. Another man stands a step down wearing a black mask while holding the hand of a little girl who’s wearing a pink, fluffy half mask.

I assume the man who commanded everyone’s attention is Lawrence Armstrong, a tycoon who owns an international energy resources company. The woman is probably his wife, and the third man is Atlas Armstrong, his younger brother.

The guy holding the girl’s hand is Preston, and the little girl must be his sister.

Lawrence raises his glass, then his voice echoes around the hall. “I’m honored to host you at my humble estate. Tonight is about forming connections between the members. Please don’t hesitate to ask our ingenious butler for your specific needs. No matter what they are.” He motions at a man who’s wearing a black half mask and he bows courteously. “With that, ladies and gentlemen, please enjoy your evening. In the shadows…”

“We rule!” everyone echoes at once, the hall vibrating with their voices.

The party continues with soft piano music playing in the background. I spot some Members, mostly in silver masks, being approached by the staff and then following them out.

I crane my head, searching for the best corner where I can hide and carry on my observation.

“You look lonely.”

I startle at the sudden voice. Jeez, I didn’t even notice him approaching. Dark eyes stare—or glare?—at me through the openings in the black mask, and his massive physique blocks my vision.

“Jude?” I ask, unsure if I heard his voice correctly.

He reaches a hand out, and I step aside, feeling a destructive energy directed at me, but he just grabs a silver fork from the table behind me and twirls it. “Have you ever heard of being at the wrong place at the wrong time?”

“Yes. Why?”

“You’re in that situation right now.”

“I was invited by Kane.”

“And you trust him to keep you safe?”

My mouth opens and then closes.

I…do.

In a deep part of me I don’t recognize, I feel like he’d keep me safe. Perhaps it’s because he’s shielded me twice—at Drayton’s party and after I was drugged. And though he can be intense with me, I don’t believe he’d expose me to danger.

At least, not intentionally.

I hope.

“You do,” Jude says when I remain silent. “You’re a lot more stupid than I thought.”

“Don’t insult me.”

“Then don’t put yourself in situations where you’re bound to be insulted.” He glares at me and I’m lost for words.

Why would Jude have this much hostility toward me? It’s almost as if he hates me. Though I noticed he treats everyone with the same energy, so perhaps it’s not only me, and he hates everyone.

A man wearing a black mask and a tailored suit wraps his arm around Jude. “Big man. Why are you wasting your time here? The show’s about to start.”

Preston.

“What show?” I ask.

He barely casts a glance in my direction. “None of your concern, Delilah.”

“It’s Dahlia.”

“Whatever it is, illegitimate Osborns and anyone related to them are not welcome here.” I can hear the permanent smirk in his voice.

“I’m not related to Marcus just because I went out with him for, like, two weeks. I’m a member, which is why I’m here.”

“On trial,” Jude says. “I wouldn’t hold my breath if I were you.”

“Here’s a secret.” Preston lowers his voice. “Ninety-five percent of Trial members get banished, and the five percent who get in are of our social standing.”

I swallow, staring between them as if they’re demons rearing their ugly heads.

“Aw.” Preston feigns sympathy. “You didn’t honestly think we pick up strays off the street, did you? We might indulge in some charity to feed you, provide a roof over your head, and keep you alive so you can oil the machine, but that’s all. The likes of you and that fucking thug Osborn are merely disposables. Your whole purpose is to serve as pawns on the chessboard that we can ditch at any point.”

I tighten my grip on the champagne flute. Though I knew what people like them thought of people like us, it still fills me with rage to hear it.

“Fuck off while you can,” Jude says in a hard voice. “I mean it.”

“I thought I couldn’t leave once I’m in.”

“I can ask my father for an exception,” Jude says. “Armstrong will help, right?”

“Gladly,” Preston says. “I don’t want you around.”

“Kane does,” I say, lifting my chin. “And to my understanding, he’s the only one who has a say in my acceptance.”

Preston strokes the chin of his mask, and I can almost see the evil slipping into his eyes. “He won’t after his father learns of his illogical actions.”

“You’d sell out your friend to get rid of me?”

“I’m doing him a favor. I’m sure Kane wouldn’t appreciate a spy in our midst.”

“A spy? For whom?”

“That thug boyfriend of yours.”

“He was never my boyfriend, and why would I spy for him?”

“I don’t know yet, but I’ll figure it out. Soon.”

Jude is about to say something when a member of the staff who’s wearing a half mask approaches us. “Ms. Thorne.”

“Yes?”

“Please follow me.”

I stare at Jude and Preston to try to make out if they’re behind this, but they’re already walking away.

My hand trembles around the flute of champagne. Is this part of the test? Are those two messing with me?

Considering their hostility just now, I doubt they’ll make it easy.

“Ms. Thorne?” the staff member says again, his voice cold but professional.

I carefully abandon my flute of champagne on the table. “Where are we going?”

“Follow me,” he repeats, completely ignoring my question.

My steps are heavy and my heels dig into my skin with every move. Pretty sure I have a blister, and it throbs with an unrelenting pulse. The discomfort mixes with apprehension, and I draw circles on my thumb as I study the long hall adorned with dark-green wallpaper and muted wall lamps.

There are no people nor is there any indication of our destination. The noise from the party slowly fades until it disappears, leaving space for the man’s hushed footsteps and my louder ones.

“Where are you taking me?” My carefully voiced question pierces the silence.

“We’ll arrive soon.”

He doesn’t even acknowledge me as he speaks.

Images from that hellish initiation play in my head on a loop, and I tense up in anticipation of whatever they have planned for me.

At the end of the hall, the man takes a few complicated turns that I can’t keep up with and then unlocks a door and pulls it open. “Please proceed.”

I hesitate, but upon seeing what appears to be a garden, I relax a little and step out.

The door clicks shut behind me, but I pause when I find out that I wasn’t led to a garden, but more like a structure of strategically cut trees and hedges.

I walk for a bit, taking note of the trunks and memorizing the shapes. It’s dark, though, with only a line of light tucked deep between the clouds, so it’s difficult to see.

The cold air clings to my skin, sharp and biting, and I wrap my arms around myself for some semblance of warmth. The night is thick and heavy, pressing in on me from all sides, and the faint rustle of leaves is the only sound in this endless stretch of unsettling silence.

My heels sink into the damp grass with every step, the soft squish beneath me unnerving. The hedges loom tall, twisting and turning, swallowing the path in front of me.

Wait.

Didn’t I just pass by that tree?

I look behind me and freeze.

This isn’t just a quirky garden.

It’s a maze.

I can barely see two feet in front of me. The shadows move as if they’re alive, the moon slipping through the clouds doing little to pierce through the blanket of black that wraps around everything.

My breath fogs the air, mixing with the cold that’s already sinking into my bones. Each step feels heavier than the last, my legs aching, the sharp pinch of my heels digging into my feet and worsening the blisters.

A rustle sounds behind me, but before I can turn, a large body envelops my back.

A cold blade presses against my throat.

My breath freezes and my body jerks, but a strong arm wraps around my waist, pulling me back. I stumble, the grass slick beneath my heels as I’m yanked into something solid—someone solid.

The air turns thick with danger, and the warmth of his breath skates across the back of my neck until goosebumps erupt on the flesh.

I’m pinned against him, the knife a whisper away from my skin. A strangled cry forms at the back of my throat but refuses to break free as I catch a glimpse of the horrifying black mask with heinous serpentine details.

My pulse thrums, my entire body awakening in response.

His breath is steady, barely a ripple in the air. Each exhale is slow, deliberate, brushing against my skin as if it’s his hand.

It’s warm despite the coldness of everything else around us but also feels like a warning—too quiet, too composed—as if he’s holding back something darker beneath the surface.

“Kane?” I whisper.

“Shh…” He tightens his grip on my hip. “It’s time to test if you truly want this, Dahlia.”

“How…?”

“Run,” he growls, the word sliding like silk over my skin, low and dangerous.

He releases me and I stumble forward, my heels slipping on the grass.

I turn around and can barely discern his shadow in the darkness, tall and cloaked by the night.

“Three.” His voice is sharp, landing on my skin like a whip.

I take a step back, my heart hammering in my ears.

This is crazy.

“Two.”

I turn forward and my vision blurs as adrenaline kicks in.

Why do I want this?

“One.”

A yelp rips out of me as I lift my dress, kick off my heels, and do what he commanded.

I run.