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

After the meeting with my father, I’m thirsty for a venting outlet.

Grant explicitly said that if Dahlia—the not-important member of the equally not-important Thorne family—proves to be a weakness, he’ll personally eliminate her.

I’m already a freak accident of my mother’s weak genes that he spent so much effort into molding into a true Davenport, and he will not allow any ‘gold-digging trailer trash’ to mess with his progress.

Progress.

I suppose that could also be another word for his fucked-up methods.

Regardless of Grant’s threats and unpleasant methods, this has only solidified the idea I’ve been shoving into the back of my mind for a while now.

I need to stay the fuck away from Dahlia.

She’s already proving to be a nuisance, digging her tiny claws where they don’t belong and burying her nose so far up in my business, it’s hard to maintain the mask I’ve been wearing almost all my life.

She knows the right words that push my buttons and always has her fucking hands all over me as if she has every right to. As if my clear rejections mean nothing.

This is my chance to categorically cut her off.

For her sake.

And mine.

She’s sent me several texts since Samuel had to drag her out of the house earlier this evening. And there was dragging, because I’ve seen security footage of that fucking girl trying to follow me. When Samuel stopped her, she screamed, “Either let me go or you check on him! Don’t just stand there and do nothing. Why does no one do anything?”

Since Samuel shares the same emotions as a wall, he carried her out and managed to drop her off at her dorm. He later told me she called him and Grant names the entire ride.

Afterward, she proceeded to bombard my phone.

Dahlia

Are you okay?

Please tell me you’re not hurt.

You’re wrong about what you said earlier. I don’t pity you. I’m scared, okay?

I know you think it’s nothing, and I can’t begin to imagine what it was like to have been exposed to that form of abuse since you were a child. But some of my foster parents beat me and, while it wasn’t systematic and usually happened because I rebelled, I know shit like that messes with your head, Kane. Childhood trauma changes the fabric of your soul. It sucks out the positive energy and replaces it with fragments of darkness. I know because it affected me. Losing my parents and knowing it was my fault made me think I deserved every hellish thing I went through afterward. It wasn’t until Violet came along and told me the accident wasn’t my fault and that blaming myself and spiraling wouldn’t make my parents happy in the least that I realized I was wrong. I still have my issues, and I’m by no means claiming to be perfect, but I don’t sweep my trauma under the rug. You shouldn’t either.

I hope that didn’t sound patronizing or wasn’t too much information. I’m not used to opening up to people, so I’m kind of new to this whole thing. I just…want to help, I guess.

Talk to me, Kane. We can listen to each other even if we come from different worlds.

As I said. I’m cutting her off.

She’s getting too close for comfort, and it’s reshuffling my priorities, hindering my goals, and clouding my judgment.

Liar. She’s been clouding your judgment since the first time you saw her.

“Ready for some fun?” Preston’s voice echoes around me, pulling me from my deep thoughts.

He’s standing at my left, draped head to toe in black, including the gloves. Even his blond hair takes on a shadowy hue in the night as he draws his turtleneck sweater up to his chin and toys with a knife.

“You can have all the fun you want, but his life is mine,” Jude says from my right as he twirls his hockey stick.

Like Preston and me, he’s dressed in black, but he’s also wearing a raincoat. Since he loves getting up close and personal with his victims—meaning smashing their skulls in—it’s a good idea to protect oneself from all the blood splashes.

When Jude sent the text to invite us to his latest ‘hunt,’ I agreed.

Usually, I don’t come along, leaving him and Preston to their own devices.

I don’t revel in bloodlust. Don’t consider killing and violence a viable purging method like Jude does.

When I’m assigned to kill someone, I do it with a gun and a silencer. Other times, I pay people to slip poison into their drink.

Because that’s how I deal with things—in a clean-cut way and under complete control.

I don’t like messes.

And I certainly loathe the cleanup.

Preston isn’t violent on the ice or in public, but in the darkness or when it’s only the three of us, he unleashes his unhinged side. Truth is, he’s a bloodthirsty motherfucker who revels in seeing the life leaving people’s eyes.

“No weapon?” Preston asks me.

I slip my phone into my pocket and push my jacket aside to reveal the gun.

“Man, you’re so boring.” Jude shakes his head. “I bet it comes with a silencer, too.”

“Naturally. Can’t leave evidence behind.”

“This is literally my family’s forest and we have the cleanup team on standby.” Preston walks up to Jude and wraps an arm around his shoulders. “Just say you hate life, unlike me and the big man.”

Jude slams his stick against Preston’s shoulder. “Don’t kill him. He’s all mine.”

“Finders keepers,” Preston sings in a manic tone, then jumps off the porch.

“Motherfucker.” Jude rushes behind him, and soon, they both disappear between the tall trees in a blur of movements.

I remain still for a few seconds, then take the stairs one at a time.

Jude released his target for the night about fifteen minutes ago, and we all watched the sleazy middle-aged man go north.

There’s no need to rush.

Tall trees loom above me, their branches reaching out like skeletal hands against the dark sky. The moon slips in and out of view, its pale light flickering through the thick clouds, casting silver slashes across the forest floor.

As I walk, the dirt beneath my shoes crunches, the sound swallowed immediately by the weight of the night.

I stop, my breath steady as I study the ground and turn on my flashlight.

There they are.

Hectic, heavy nonconformist footsteps in the mud.

I ignore the other footsteps that barely leave any trace. They’re Preston’s. Jude’s are heavier, but not as irregular and they certainly don’t stink of terror.

The air smells of damp earth and pine, sharp and fresh, but it also reeks of decay. Old leaves rot in the underbrush, the scent mingling with the cold bite of the wind as it snakes through the trees. Although amidst it, there’s the tangible smell of sweat, fear, and a hopeless ending.

But it barely touches me or breaches the surface.

Ah.

I’m bored.

I find no pleasure whatsoever in this sort of chase.

No excitement.

No fucking emotions.

I’d rather be chasing my wildflower as she comes up with all her clever ways to hide. Just the thought of being hot on her trail makes me hard.

Hell, my cock twitches at the memory of the last time I hunted her down at my place and fucked her on the stairs like a caveman.

Stop thinking about her.

This whole thing is meant to help me disassociate from her.

Somewhere in the distance, an owl hoots, its sound echoing through the trees. Small creatures rustle in the shadows before they vanish into the undergrowth.

A larger shadow breezes past me. Jude.

He’s a blur, running at full speed between the tall, leaning trees.

I realize why.

On my other side, Preston is running, too, his lighter weight giving him leverage as he cuts the distance.

The prey skitters, its movements frantic.

I forge ahead without picking up my pace, observing the branches weaving together above like a cage. In a sense, this world has been our cage since birth. I used to wonder where the three of us would’ve ended up if we were born into normal families.

Jude wouldn’t need to be so violent.

Preston wouldn’t have lost his mind.

I wouldn’t have to be this. Whatever this is.

But I learned to just accept it. Make the most of it, I suppose.

My steps are steady on the uneven ground that’s slick with moss and damp leaves, making each move a potential hazard, but I know this forest like the back of my hand. The man we’re hunting doesn’t.

The moon flickers again, slipping behind a thick wall of clouds, plunging the forest into near-total darkness. A thud sounds in the distance and a muffled noise follows.

I stop.

The air shifts, colder now, brushing against my face as I advance deeper into the woods. My pulse is steady and calm, every muscle in my body coiled.

An outsider is here.

Aside from the target of the day, there are now four of us on the property.

Who the fuck dares to trespass on our private property? The Armstrongs own this forest, and we’re the only ones allowed in it. We had our first tests of courage here. We were abandoned in that ‘haunted’ cottage for two days when we were kids and were forced to separate, every man for himself.

Not even regular Vencor members have access to this forest.

I reach into my waistband and retrieve my gun.

The trees close in tighter, the branches scraping against each other, and the owl calls again, but this time it’s closer.

The wind picks up, carrying a faint familiar scent.

A scream echoes in the silence, followed by a thud, thud, thud.

The scream slowly fades until there’s only the loud sound of the thuds.

Jude’s stick.

He and Preston must’ve gotten the man and killed him.

But that doesn’t matter now. There’s an intruder who needs to be dealt with.

I push the low branches out of my way with the gun, my other hand holding the flashlight on top of my weapon.

A rustle comes from behind me and I spin around, my finger resting on the trigger.

A mouse scurries away, blinded by the light.

The sound of running reaches me, and I sprint ahead, then stop.

While I don’t find the outsider, I spot Jude standing by the bloodied corpse of his latest victim.

The man’s face is unrecognizable. Half of it has turned to mush as he slumps against a tree, his head lolled against his belly.

Jude’s stick is dripping with blood, and his raincoat is smeared with dark stains.

He tilts his head in my direction, his face splashed, his eyes blank. “Not enough. He died too soon. Give me another name, Kane.”

It’s a high.

An obsession.

The feeling of never having enough of something, no matter how much you consume it.

It’s why I steer clear of anything prone to muddying my logic.

I don’t do fixations or attachments.noveldrama

Obsessions or addictions. Until Dahlia fucking Thorne.

She’s the addiction I can’t shake off.

Even during the hunt I only joined to forget her.

My right hand still grasping my gun, I squeeze Jude’s shoulder with the other. “Don’t spiral.”

“Fuck that.” He shakes my hand off and steps back, pointing his bloody stick at me. “What do I have to do for you to give me the entire list?”

“Not possible.”

“What if I kidnap your new little toy?”

“That would be both foolish and unproductive. You lay your hands on her and I’ll burn that list to the ground.”

He snarls.

I stare back.

Fuck.

I can’t believe I’m threatening my friends and throwing away my bargaining chips for that fucking woman.

She’s nothing.

Correction. She should be nothing.

“Preston is right.” He slaps me across the face with the bloodied stick. “You’ve fucking lost it for pussy. That girl would betray you to get what she wants. She’d abandon you and not look back.”

“I’m abandoning her first, but that doesn’t mean any of you gets to touch her.” I push his stick, sending it flying to the ground. “Where’s Armstrong?”

“Fuck if I know. He stabbed the sorry fuck a few times, not enough to kill him, but then he disappeared altogether.”

“Right before you found the target?”

“Yeah.”

Preston would never—and I mean never—miss a ‘death ceremony,’ as he likes to call it. That’s his favorite part of the hunt, whether he gets to kill the prey himself or watch Jude do it.

He loathes my swift killing methods and rarely lingers around for that, but he knew Jude would get this one and still disappeared.

Jude grabs his stick. “You think the uninvited guest is behind his disappearance?”

“You felt it, too?”

“Yeah. We have an outsider.”

We share a look, Jude’s frown mirroring mine.

An outsider. And Preston vanished. This is not good.

I motion north. “I’ll cover you.”

He runs and I sprint behind him, going down the paths we learned through our childhood training. We know this forest inside out.

Preston does, too.

I’m usually concerned about that lunatic as is, but this is even worse.

Thwack.

Thwack.

Thwack.

The sound grows stronger as we get closer. Jude and I come to a halt at a small opening with intertwined branches.

A large figure is on top of Preston, punching him to smithereens.

And Preston is laughing like a fucking maniac.

Upon sensing our presence, the man shoves Preston against a tree trunk and scurries off. I catch a glimpse of a solid-white mask as he pulls his hoodie over his head and runs.

I aim my gun at him, but Preston, who was happy with being beat to a pulp not two seconds ago, jumps up and stands in my way.

“What the fuck are you doing?” I bypass him, but the intruder has already disappeared through the trees.

“I’ll chase.” Jude starts in the direction he disappeared in.

Preston places a hand on his chest and pushes him. “He’s my prey. Back off.”

His mouth is bruised, blood gushing from the corners of his lips and trickling to his neck. His shirt is ripped at the collar, and there’s a knife slash on his arm, blood soaking his shirt and gluing it to his skin.

I raise a brow. “I haven’t seen you this injured in a long time. You sure he’s the prey?”

“Of course he is,” he says maniacally and laughs loud, throwing his head back.

“He’s lost his mind again.” Jude sighs.

“Who is he, Preston?”

He smiles, all his teeth showing creepily. “He dared to hunt me in my own goddamn place. Love that!”

“You should’ve let us catch him, dumbass.” Jude hits him upside the head.

Preston doesn’t even retaliate, still laughing, still lost in a high. “No, I’m going to hunt him, too, before I chop him into tiny little pieces. Oh my, I’m getting hard thinking about it. I’m so fucking hard.”

“Focus, man,” Jude says.

“You fuck off, both of you. I’ll arrange the cleanup and watch some security footage.”

“Find out how he managed to trespass on this place, Pres,” I say.

“Not important.” He laughs as he walks away. “Not fucking important.”

“Get your dick sucked,” Jude shouts. “Don’t go fucking crazy.”

Preston only laughs again as he staggers between the trees, the sounds echoing like a symphony of chaos.

No one can handle him when he’s in this mode. He hardly ever goes crazy, but when he does, it’s a fucking drag.

“He’s going to do something stupid and probably get himself killed,” Jude says. “We should stop him.”

I run up behind Preston and then hit his nape with the gun.

He falls to his knees and the annoying sound of his laughter disappears.

“Well, that definitely stopped him,” Jude says. “He’ll fuck you up when he wakes up. You know he hates being knocked out.”

“Then he should’ve controlled his animal side better. I won’t clean up his messes.”

“You have a point.” Jude surveys the forest with a critical gaze. “Who do you think that was?”

“I don’t know, but we need to find and eliminate him.” I sheath my gun and grab Preston’s arm. “Help me carry him back.”

“What a nuisance,” Jude grumbles. “Always a damn fucking baby.”

Even as he says that, he rips his shirt and wraps it around Preston’s wound, then carefully slings the injured arm over his shoulder.

When we were children, Preston was slim and bony with baby features and often got bullied for looking like a girl. And while he made their lives hell afterward, mostly through some form of manipulation, he was physically weak and unable to defend himself. Somehow, Jude became his shield and proceeded to knock those boarding school kids’ teeth out.

Unfortunately, it didn’t stop at bullying.

Once, Preston was missing during a late-evening dorm activity, and Jude and I ditched the thing and went to search for him.

We found him in a cellar with a teacher, who was spreading Preston’s naked legs and on the verge of sexually assaulting him.

Jude got a candelabra and hit him on the head over and over again while I immobilized him.

Preston’s face was bruised, his bony body covered in semen, and he had a dead look in his eyes.

Until Jude gave him a knife and told him to finish him.

He only smiled when that sleazy teacher’s eyes rolled to the back of his head and he spit out his last disgusting breath.

That was our first murder. At ten years old.

Naturally, our parents covered up the incident as a freak accident. But they didn’t pull us out of the school.

In fact, Jude and I were punished for the mess. Preston was sent to a therapist, who, instead of helping him, diagnosed him with early signs of antisocial personality disorder.

Preston never talks about it, but Jude and I suspect that wasn’t the first time something like that happened to him.

Until he was a teenager, people said he looked so beautiful with girly features, especially when he had his hair long. That, plus the fact that he’s a provocateur who loves to insult everyone attracted the wrong crowd in a boys-only school full of sick freaks.

Which is why Jude and I have always been wary about any creepy fucks coming near him. It’s also why Jude pummels anyone who dares to slam into Preston during games.

Jude is a protective mama bear of sorts, even though Preston became fully capable of defending himself a long time ago.

However, the scene from now is concerning. He just lay down and took the beating, which he never does. I’m wondering if he was triggered in some way.

“You think it’s one of those motherfuckers?” Jude asks in a low voice as we balance Preston between us and walk through the dense forest.

“No. They wouldn’t dare touch him as he is now.”

“He went crazy, Kane.” There’s an edge to his words. “He rarely ever lets himself slip that far now that he’s had himself under control for so long. What if they’re targeting him again?”

“Simple. We’ll maim every last one of them and let him bathe in their blood.”

“Every last one of them.” Jude smirks. “We might need a list. Your favorite.”

I smile.

At least there’s something to keep me distracted from the chaos in my mind.

Even temporarily.

“You haven’t answered my texts.”

That’s the first thing I hear the next morning, coming from a tiny woman with an overflowing temper.

Dahlia blocks the arena’s entrance with a hand on her hip. Her brown hair is pulled into a messy ponytail, her eyes are bloodshot, and she has dark circles that could be spotted from a mile away.

So much for keeping a distance.

“That should’ve been your clue,” I say in a cold tone and start to bypass her.

She opens her arms wide, halting me in place. “All I wanted was a confirmation of whether or not you’re okay.”

“Since when is that any of your business? You’re nothing to me, Dahlia.”

“Liar.” She lifts her chin. “You care about me.”

I let out a mocking laugh that fills the space. “You fell for that? You’re much more naïve than I thought, but then again, you’ve always been a bit slow to catch up to things.”

Her lips tremble.

A gleam appears in her eyes.

I’ve never seen Dahlia cry outside of sex. And while I crave it when I’m fucking her, right now, I want to impale myself.

But I remain silent. She needs to fuck off out of my life.

I need the peace and quiet I used to experience before she came along, and not this constant state of being on the edge of something. What? I don’t even know.

“Are you pushing me away?” she finally says, her voice low, almost weak.

Dahlia doesn’t do weak. Not even when I fuck her like a damn inhumane monster.

My cold voice is completely detached from my thoughts. “See? You’re slow, but you always get there.”

“Why are you doing this? Because I care? Because I want to make sure you’re okay?”

“Because you’re starting to get emotionally involved. I told you that’s off the table. You shouldn’t have allowed me to crush you through those idealistic, gullible feelings.”

She balls her fists even as her chin trembles. “So that’s it?”

“That’s it. You’re officially banished from Vencor. I’m done with you now.”

“Done with me? Liar. You’re a fucking liar, Kane. You’re not done with me. You’re running away because you’re a damn coward who can’t handle your emotions for me. You can’t handle how you let go when you’re around me.” She stabs my chest with a finger. “You can’t fucking handle me!”

The spot she touches burns as if she’s injecting poison into my veins.

I let the mask remain in place and speak in a calm tone. “You can stay on the team if you stop bothering me.”

And then I bypass her.

“You’ll regret this!” she shouts at my back. “I’ll make sure you regret this, you fucking asshole.”

I’m regretting it already.

But it’s better I let her go of my own volition before she’s violently snatched from me.

Dahlia Thorne is a mistake that should’ve never happened.

I was greedy for the first time in my life, and if there’s something I know about greed, it’s that you always pay.

In blood.