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

Breathe.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Relax.

Lean into the pain.

My wrists burn where the chains cut into them, my arms stretched tight above me, my own weight pulling at my shoulders.

With every involuntary tremor that runs through my body, iron digs into my flesh.

The basement I’m hanging in swallows me whole, the cold biting into my skin. The stone walls are damp, reeking of mildew and the heavy smell of rusted metal.

As for the reason why I’m here—again—it’s simple.

Tonight, we lost our away game.

The Vipers lost a clean winning streak. Against the Stanton fucking Wolves.

To say the team’s morale is in the absolute gutter would be an understatement.

This was due to a culmination of unfortunate facts.

One, I wasn’t focused, and while my body existed on the rink, my mental presence suffered greatly.

The immaculate discipline I’ve spent over fifteen years honing to perfection has chipped at the edges, small cracks appearing on the foundation.

Two, perhaps it was the lack of my assertive leadership, but the rest of the team also spiraled, struggling to hold the Wolves—especially their captain—at bay.

Osborn toyed with the team spirit and paid extra attention to Preston, checking and even falling on top of him until our left wing could barely breathe. Like a man possessed, Osborn made Preston a target and kept relentlessly going at him as if my friend was the only Vipers player on the rink. And that, in retrospect, made Jude pick more fights than usual—he’s been notoriously protective of Preston since we were kids.

Three, Preston’s usual cold-bloodedness was nowhere to be seen. He held out for the first period but eventually fell for the skirmishes and whatever Osborn whispered to him every time he knocked him down. In the third period, Preston cracked and sent Osborn flying against the boards, which shattered to pieces.

Osborn’s only reaction was an evil laugh.

That was the first time Preston deliberately resorted to violence during a game. While he’s fine with murder, he believes hockey violence is beneath him and those who rely on their muscles are peasants.

Even in real life, Preston often delegates tasks to his family’s extensive network of private security guards, vehemently refusing to dirty his hands if the task is not interesting enough.

But he made a rookie mistake that landed him five minutes in the penalty box, which is a great part of the reason why we lost.

Those five minutes of power play were brutal, and Osborn made sure to wave at Preston every single time he scored. The Stanton Wolves crowd went wild for Osborn, cheering and chanting as if he were their god.

Even after Preston was released from the penalty box, he was practically useless. Osborn had already gotten into his head, so it was game over.

Jude and I held down the fort, which is why we didn’t completely get our asses kicked, but it was still a loss.

I don’t do well with losses.

I don’t lose. End of.

My entire upbringing was customized to teach me that people like us don’t lose. We’re always on the winning side.

Every fucking time.

So naturally, my father was displeased, and as an expression of his fury, he locked me up in my own hell.

A dark room in the basement of our house, because, yes, Grant Davenport has a chamber of torture where he can teach his kid discipline.

It started right here before the boarding school picked up the legacy. After I graduated, this place returned to being my prison cell.

My eyes are closed as I hang from the ceiling by my wrists, only wearing my jeans as my toes barely touch the cold, damp floor.

Now and again, the ceiling above me opens and I’m drenched with icy water so I don’t fall asleep.

A couple of years ago, I went into hypothermia, but Grant’s doctor saved me. Sometimes, when he’s truly disappointed in me, he’ll electrocute me enough to hurt but not kill me.

I used to be apprehensive about the punishments. I used to stiffen my muscles and lash out. But that only prolonged the suffering, so I learned patience.

Discipline.

Hardening my mind has allowed me to let whatever he sends my way roll off my skin.

The elements, the dark, the strain on my muscles—it’s all normal.

While time in this room is impossible to count, I usually spend the night here and am released in the morning before practice or open skate. Grant can’t have the outside world miss out on his golden boy, especially after I became a hockey star.

He takes my wins for granted and my losses as a slight to his honor.

Usually, I use this time to think about the next steps I need to take to bring him down, ruin his legacy, and smash his lifelong achievements.

But my head has other plans and keeps wandering back to a few days ago when I fucked Dahlia like an animal and let my last shred of control shatter.

I meant to fuck her and humiliate her. To use and discard her like that first time.

It was supposed to be a show of power so she would understand who was in control.

But then she took everything I dished out and enjoyed it. She moaned for it. Her inner animal clashed with mine, fitting my most depraved desires like a glove.

Not even in my wildest dreams did I think I’d meet someone who shares the same fabric of my depraved soul.

That’s why I never showed that side of me. Didn’t even consider it.

But with Dahlia? It came out so naturally.

She had the audacity to kiss me. To sink her tiny claws into me and sear me to her. To demand it, even.

Like she had every right to.

That’s when any semblance of rationality scattered into thin air. I lost my decade and a half of discipline in a fraction of a second.

And just like that, I succumbed to my instinctive primal side.

My lips twitch as if I can still taste her on my tongue.

It’s fucking irritating how a tiny woman with dubious intentions has the power to chip away at my barriers and erode my walls by just existing.

No. Not irritating.

Dangerous.

And the worst part?

After that encounter, she ghosted me.

Well, not quite, but ever since I gave her my jacket to cover up and led her out of the Armstrong mansion, then drove her to the dorms, she’s been ignoring me.

Her texts have been dry at best, and she always comes up with a way to avoid me.

The following day, I saw her limping her way to class and I, being a gentleman, checked on her.

Me

You’re limping.

Okay, it wasn’t entirely checking, but she got the gist. Or not. Because her reply was not what I was expecting. Not that I knew what I was expecting.

Dahlia

Thanks for the observation, Sherlock.

You hurt yourself?

You hurt me, prick. I can barely walk.

It was that good, huh?

It was THAT bad.

You came three times, wildflower. I don’t think it was THAT bad. Besides, you didn’t use your safe word.

She left me on Read.

Normally, I wouldn’t give a fuck, but I narrowed my eyes and left it alone. The following day, I started anew.

Is the limping gone?

What if it’s not? You’ll kiss it better?

I can try. Come to my place tonight.

No, thanks. I’m not in the mood to die.

I won’t fuck you. Don’t worry.

Yeah, no. I’m not falling for that.

Avoiding me is not the solution to whatever is going on in that head of yours.

Read. Again.

At this point, my eyebrows nearly shot to my hairline, but I gave her a couple of days to get over whatever got her panties in a twist.

It didn’t seem to be anything new in her life.

I know because I had my eyes on her. She’s always quite busy with classes, school projects, her part-time job, and the hospital at the end of the day. She also has this habit of staying at the lab for a long time.

Is your tantrum over?

I wasn’t throwing a tantrum, but if you want one, I’ll gladly deliver.

Deliver yourself to my place instead.

I’m busy.

Don’t make me show up at your dorm and terrorize your roommate.

It’s not open to outsiders.

It’s cute you think there’s somewhere in this town I don’t have access to.

Just leave me alone, Kane. I have to work late tonight.

Then quit the minimum-wage nonsense. I’ll arrange it so that you’re accepted as a paid intern on the medical team. We’ll triple your pay. You can start in two days.

Typical rich people. Throwing money at problems and hoping it works.

I don’t hope. I expect. Besides, didn’t you want to work with the team?

That was before I figured out I don’t want to spend more time in your company.

MVery funny. I’ll make arrangements so that you’re in more of an observant and medical log role.

Why that role specifically?

So you won’t be touching other players. I’m making your wish come true, so you should thank me.

Thanks, my liege, but I refuse. I’d rather earn my money fair and square.

I didn’t suggest you steal it. Quit the nonsense about poor people’s pride and being stubborn for the sake of it. If an opportunity presents itself, you don’t turn your back on it. You take it. I thought you didn’t want to be an outsider, but here you are choosing to be one.

You done lecturing?

I swear to fuck, you’re the most infuriating thing on the planet.

Thanks. You’re not so bad yourself.

Take the job, Dahlia. Your bank account will thank you.

She left me on Read. Again.

At that point, I was frowning so hard, Jude, who was changing beside me after practice, kicked my shin. “Something the matter?”

“What does it mean if you’re constantly left on Read?”

He paused, then slowly slipped his hoodie on. “Lack of interest?”

“She used to text me first.”

“Then loss of interest.”

“It’s not that.” I slammed the locker shut and left.

It was pointless to ask Jude anyway. He’s never had a relationship—doesn’t believe in them—and is a brute with no appreciation for anything soft and delicate. Jude is the type who calls flowers grass and chocolate an unnecessary sugar fest.

Preston could’ve been more help, but he’s also allergic to monogamy and that wasn’t the right time since he was in the zone prior to the Wolves game. That he still fucked up epically despite all his continuous warnings to Jude and the rest of the team to be in their best form.

It’s been two days and I still don’t understand the reason behind her leaving me on Read. Which might or might not have affected my play tonight—or yesterday. It’s probably early in the morning now.

A noise comes from above my head, scattering my thoughts.

Icy water slams into my skin like shards of glass, seeping through flesh and bone. I grind my teeth, my muscles locking against the onslaught, but it keeps coming, each wave colder than the last, trickling down my back, soaking my jeans until I’m nothing but freezing skin and rattling bones.

The floor beneath me is slick, the frosty bite crawling up from the ground, through my feet, and into my spine. The chains rattle above me, and my wrists scream from the strain.

Until I can’t tell where the water ends and the pain begins.

All I can hear is the steady drip, drip, drip echoing in the dark.

As my hardened body absorbs the shock, thoughts of Dahlia dim to a mere strip of light in the darkness, quickly vanishing under the whips of conditioning.

However, in this moment, I make a promise to myself.

This is the final time I allow Grant’s goons to kidnap and chain me to this place.

Next time, it’ll be him dangling from the ceiling.

As expected, Grant releases me at five in the morning.

Not in person.

He made it clear last night.

“My son can’t be a failure, understood?”

“Yes, sir,” was all I said before he closed the door.

One of his aides unlocks my chains and leaves me stumbling.

As I ascend the stairs to the main house, I find Samuel waiting with a towel, his erect posture appearing ready to snap.

He’s a wrinkly old bald-headed man who’s been our butler for as long as I’ve been alive. He barely speaks, but he always comes in with a towel and prepares me a warm bath, tea, and a meal after my torture sessions.

He also always has a doctor on standby just in case.

Grant certainly doesn’t want his son and only heir to expire. Not after my uncle is now out of the picture, probably living his best life with that young boyfriend of his.

Sometimes, I think being banished isn’t a bad idea.

But then I remember that I can’t let Grant have it all.

I’m not as magnanimous as my uncle.

I thank Samuel as I step into the bath. Heat flows through me, melting away the chill, but my muscles still contract. So I submerge fully for a couple of minutes before I surface again.

“Sir. Your phone.” Samuel stands by the side of the tub and hands it over.

But he doesn’t leave.

I wrap my blue-tinted fingers around the device. “What is it?”

“Your mother wants to see you.”

“No. Keep her away. I’ll leave in half an hour.”

“Noted.”

He exits the bathroom, the huge ornate door closing behind him.

I lean back against the bathtub and open my phone.

Countless notifications pop onto the screen, and I’m about to delete them all when I notice a few texts.

I straighten up, the water sloshing around me.

Dahlia

I know you lost for the first time this season, but you did your best.

You’re kind of a control freak, so you’re probably taking this personally, but you shouldn’t. If anything, Preston needs to feel bad and ask for forgiveness on his knees. God, he was such a joke, especially in the third period. What a useless piece of shit.

Anyway, you’re the reason the Vipers didn’t get wiped out. Silver linings, right?

I throw my head back and laugh.

Jesus fucking Christ.

Without thinking, I stand up, dry myself, and get dressed.

Then I drive all the way to the town center and to Graystone General Hospital, where she spends most of her nights.

The head nurse and the staff bow upon seeing me, but I pay them no attention as I take the elevator up and walk to the room at the end of the hall.

Sure enough, Dahlia’s sleeping in a chair, her head awkwardly lolling on the bed next to a pale-faced comatose woman. Her laptop is open and a few textbooks are scattered chaotically on either side of her.

The steady beep, beep, beep of the machines is the only sound that echoes in the room.

I walk to her as if she’s ensnaring me with an invisible rope.

As I approach, I cast a look at the laptop screen.

A school project, countless research-related tabs…

What do we have here?

A tab with an article about tonight’s game is minimized at the bottom of the screen. I click on it and enlarge it.

“The Vipers Are Crushed by the Wolves in a Sensational Night.”

I scroll to find that she has an account and her username is—I kid you not—ColdAsKane. And this alter ego has already posted numerous comments.

“Oh, fuck off. Crushed. You sound like a fucking child who’s yapping for attention and clicks. There was no crushing, and the Vipers would’ve held out just fine if it weren’t for that bitch Armstrong.”

“Sensational? More like pathetic. The Wolves couldn’t ‘crush’ anything if they didn’t have the refs in their pockets.”

“Bitch, please. One game doesn’t define a season. Get your facts straight, morons.”

‘Funny how a one-off win has Wolves fans foaming at the mouth. Desperate looks good on you.”

“The Wolves got lucky, but luck runs out. Vipers never do, motherfuckers.”

And when Wolves fans engaged, she was so passive-aggressive, calling them all sorts of names and trolling the hell out of them.

Jesus Christ.

She’s like the most toxic little hellion online, channeling the fans’ illogical feelings about games. I don’t think I’ve ever heard her curse this way in real life, but she’s proficient online.

It puts a smile on my face. At least she’s moved on from the Wolves and their bastard captain.

The thought that Osborn has had his hands on her before me makes me murderous.

I close the laptop and stroke a strand of hair that’s fallen on her face behind her ear.

She moans softly and leans into my palm, nuzzling her cheek as if she’s a dog.

This woman will be the death of me.

Her eyes blink open and she stares at me for a few seconds under the delicate early-morning light. The hazel slowly transforms into the clearest, most enchanting green.

She’s so fucking beautiful, it’s hard to look at her without feeling a burn.

As if waking from a daze, Dahlia springs up and stares between me and the patient, her posture stiffening.

Seeing her transform into protective mode in the blink of an eye is fascinating.

“What are you doing here?” she asks in a clear, hard voice.

Well, fuck. I came without a second thought, so I didn’t properly think of an excuse.

“An early-morning checkup before practice.”

“Don’t you have private doctors?”

“I do, but I needed to undergo tissue testing with a machine that’s only available here.”

She narrows her eyes. “How did you know I was in this room?”

“Jude.”

“Jude?”

Sorry, big man. I owe you one.

I motion behind me to the other inert patient in the room. “That’s his personal guard.”

“Oh.” She frowns. “I’ve never seen Jude visit him.”

“Not when you’re here since he doesn’t like company. If you don’t believe me, you can ask him.”

She hikes a hand on her hip. “Then you ask him. Call him and put it on speaker.”

“It sounds like you don’t believe me.”

“I don’t. Go on.”

Fuck.

I pull out my phone and call, but Jude doesn’t answer.

Good save.noveldrama

“Probably still asleep,” I say as I hang up and then shoot him a quick message, pretending to frown at my phone.

Me

At the hospital. You better be on your way.

Dahlia’s wide eyes are still narrowed, but she releases a sigh and tidies up her space. “You can go now. My sister is wary of strangers.”

“Pretty sure she can’t tell if she’s in a coma.”

She glares at me.

“Too soon?”

“Just go away.”

I sit on her chair and throw a fleeting glance at the slumbering patient.

“Half-sister?”

She sits on the bed, blocking my view. “Why do you think that?”

“You don’t look alike.”

“Foster sister.” Her voice softens as she takes her sister’s hand in hers. “She’s the only family I have.”

“What happened?” I feign interest.

“We don’t really know, but she was attacked and dropped off at a hospital in Stantonville. She’s been in a coma since.”

“I’m sorry.”

Her eyes meet mine, glittery, with an unnatural shine. “Thanks, but she’ll come back. I know it.”

I want to tell her not to hold on to false hope and to hit her upside the head with hard facts that comatose patients don’t just come back and she should give up, but I can’t bring myself to.

Usually, I don’t give a fuck about people’s feelings.

Dahlia is proving to be an exception in ways I fail to recognize.

But I still say, “If you want to handle her medical bills, isn’t it a smart idea to take the offer I gave you?”

“The foundation pays for her bills.”

“Then you can have an internship with reasonable hours, higher pay, and with enough prestige to add to your résumé. It’s the smartest thing to do.”

She releases her sister’s hand and whisper-yells, “You sure it’s not so you can have access to me at all times for your sick games?”

I pull her by the arm until she crashes against my chest, her face a breath away from mine. “Our sick games, and I can have access to you whether or not you’re on the team.”

Her breathing escapes in long, choppy sounds, her eyes flickering between dark green and furious brown.

I see it then. The reason she’s been avoiding me.

“You’re scared, aren’t you?” I murmur in hot words against her skin.

“I’m not scared.” She pushes my chest.

“You’re trembling, frightened that you love it so much. You’re appalled that if I hunt and chase and fuck you so brutally, you’ll fall apart all over again. Admit it, wildflower, your inner animal was made for mine.”

“You made me do it. I’m not as sick as you.”

“Then say ‘red’.”

She purses her lips.

I let my mouth curve in a smile. “You didn’t even think about that word, did you? You were enjoying it too much to consider stopping it. Bet you touched your tight little cunt to the memory.”

“Shut up.”

“As you wish.”

I lean closer, my attention on her mouth. Her fractured breathing skims over my skin.

I don’t even like kissing, but ever since she kissed me, I’ve been fantasizing about biting her lips, sinking my teeth into them and devouring her through them.

“Get a room and stop disturbing the patients,” Jude grunts, walking in with an ugly expression.

Dahlia stumbles back, her face paling and all traces of heat disappearing from her delicate features.

Fucking Jude will get his ass kicked in practice today.

We watch as he places a basket of fruit on his guard’s side table.

Dahlia stands upright, moving slowly to the other bed as if she can protect the patient. “You really know Mario?”

“What’s it to you?” He faces her fully and we exchange a look. “Besides, shouldn’t you be gone around this time so I can visit in peace?”

Dahlia frowns but says nothing.

I stand and offer her my hand. “Let me take you to get breakfast.”

She ignores me and kisses her sister on the forehead. “See you tonight, Vi.”

When she straightens, she glances at my hand and pauses, then takes it like a very good girl.

Not my hand, though.

Dahlia wraps both her palms around my wrist and pushes the sleeve of my pullover up, revealing the purple marks from the chain. Her eyes widen and I curse internally.

I was so hasty to come here, I forgot to wrap bandages around them.

“What happened?” Her voice is soft, but the alarmed look on her face stabs me worse than her words.

I don’t like pity in general, but I especially loathe it from Dahlia.

“Nothing you need to worry about.” I subtly tug my hand free and pull down the sleeve.

She opens her mouth to say something, but I cut her off, “Let’s get out of here.”

I catch a glimpse of Jude, who shakes his head.

Dahlia doesn’t resist as I guide her out of the room.

When I look back, Violet’s hand twitches on the sheet.