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

I’ve been on edge ever since Dahlia disappeared from my side.

A lingering discomfort has been wrapped around my throat like a noose, tightening further the more she doesn’t answer my calls.

Or texts.

I drive to the lab, breaking all the speed limits.

The place feels abandoned by the time I get there. The icy wind blows away the naked branches from the closest tree.

My steps are careful as I study my surroundings as if expecting a sneak attack.

It’s been a long time since I’ve had this feeling—the unsettling reality closing in on me. The invisible eyes lurking, watching, planning to set me on fucking fire.

I stand in the middle of the empty parking lot, but I can see the shadows spilling, stalking, and multiplying.

Over the past few years, I’ve stopped having this sense of dread. Of the unknown. Of the next mission. Of whether or not we’ll find Preston dead in a ditch somewhere.

Because I took control of my life. I had a plan to topple Grant, take over, and mold Vencor according to my preferences. My way.

I was close. So fucking close.

One more year.

No, just months at this point, not even an entire year.

The notion of a countdown made me lose all sense of fear. It didn’t matter what Grant did, because I had my backup plans. He could torture me all he wanted, but I’d become numb to his methods. No matter what he did, I knew it’d end with his downfall.

I knew I had the upper hand in the form of a bulletproof plan.

The future was mine.

Until it wasn’t.

My uncle was right. I’m back to being a cog in the machine.

I’ve reduced my role from a chess master to a mere pawn on Grant’s board.

Yes, I can and will rise again, but it’ll take more time and effort. Now that Grant knows what I’m capable of, he’ll be waiting for me at every turn.

Over the past week, I’ve been thinking about what I could’ve done differently to avoid this unceremonious downfall.

But I keep coming to the same conclusion. Short of not meeting Dahlia, nothing could’ve been changed.

And if that reckless part of me that my uncle called a fool could go back in time, he’d still insist on meeting her.

I walk into the lab, my steps heavy, but it’s not because of what I’ve lost or what I could become at the end of the season.

Not really.

It’s that uneasiness that’s been lurking behind my rib cage ever since she announced the sudden project she needed to finish.

After I claimed her for the world to see following tonight’s game, I felt her eagerness to take what we have a step further.

Go deeper.

Bury the past.

Forget the past.

Crush the past to fucking pieces so she never sees its blood-soaked fragments again.

But right now, something’s off.

The bright white lights flicker as I stride into the work area. The sharp smell of antiseptic and chemicals lingers in the cold, sterile air.

Fluorescent lights buzz faintly above, casting a harsh glow on everything. I’ve often arrived early to pick up Dahlia from here and remained in the shadows for some time, just enjoying the view of seeing her in her element.

She said she only chose to study medicine for her sister, but Dahlia’s a fucking genius at what she does. A hard worker and somewhat of a nerd. She gets excited about the most niche, unknown, and completely unheard-of scientific research and can talk about how important it is for hours.

Right now, however, there’s no trace of her moving around while humming some obscure band’s song.

I’m about to call her for the thousandth time, but my fingers pause on the phone.

Dahlia’s curled in on herself in the corner, small and fragile in contrast to the harsh, large surfaces surrounding her.

Her arms are wrapped tightly around her knees, her face buried, hiding from the world.

A slight tremor runs through her, barely noticeable. It cuts through the stillness of the room, the sound of her shaky breaths louder than the quiet hum of the machines.

Her hair spills forward, a tangled mess hiding her face, but I recognize this state.

It’s how she protects herself when distressed or experiencing a nightmare.

I carefully move toward her, the sharp echo of my footsteps bouncing off the sterile walls.

I hate how the tension in her body tightens at the sound, but she doesn’t look up, as if she’s waiting for the darkness to swallow her whole.

“Dahlia…?”

No response.

I crouch before her and grab her wrist, then slowly release it. She doesn’t resist, as if the fight in her is gone.

My fingers tense when I lift her face.

Her eyes are filled with moisture, and all the mischief is gone. They’re a muted brown, colorless.

No. Lifeless.

Tears streak down her red cheeks, clinging to her chin, then slipping to her jersey beneath the lab coat, wetting the blue to a darker color.

While her tears during sex turn me on, these make me murderous.

I don’t like it when she cries. Mainly because she rarely does.

“What happened?” I stroke her cheek, wiping away the moisture. “Who did this?”

Her lips tremble and fresh tears gush out, soaking my fingers.

I grab her face with both of my hands. “Tell me who the fuck did this so I can end them.”

“Kane…” Her voice is low, weak, barely audible.

This is not like her. Who the fuck managed to mess with her?

I wipe her tears again. “I’m here. Talk to me.”

“I…” Her voice breaks with a sniffle.

“What is it?”

She smiles through the tears and shakes her head. Dahlia always said I have high walls, but hers are equally high. She only recently started to act without putting her guard up around me.

But right now, I sense those walls building, growing thicker, and pushing me out.

She stands up and forces me to lower my hands.

Dahlia wipes her face with her sleeves. “It’s stupid, really. I just thought of Vi.”

I get up as well and watch her closely, but her face stays impassive, keeping her thoughts locked away.

She walks out to where she keeps her stuff, her shoulders hunched and her back crowded with tension.

I follow, my temper barely tucked away. “Out of the blue?”

“It’s not really out of the blue.” She opens her locker and starts throwing things into a tote bag. “I’ve known it for a long time, but I refused to face it. It’s been over three months since the attack. Every day she spends in a coma lowers her chances of ever waking up again. Her mental activity is diminishing, and the doctor basically told me to give up hope and stop getting excited whenever her fingers twitch. It’s involuntary. It’s reflexive. It means nothing. I should lower my expectations. Just now, I had the very scary but realistic thought that I might never…have a conversation with my sister again.”

I lean against the wall, my index finger twitching as tears gather in her eyes and she wipes them with the back of her hand.

This is the only time in my life I regret not having the ability to console others.

I doubt my and Jude’s method of kicking and hitting Preston while offering him food and meds is considered consolation for normal people.

“Sorry for being all gloomy on your victory night.” She smiles as she faces me. “I’ll make it up to you by being a cheerleader online.”

“That’s not important. Do you want to go see your sister?”

She shakes her head.

“How about food? I can cook you something. Maybe your favorite pasta?”

Another shake.

Fuck. Food is the only soft thing I know how to do correctly.

“Then what do you want, Dahlia? Unless you tell me, I don’t know.”

She grabs my sides beneath my jacket, her nails sinking into my T-shirt. When she looks up at me, her features soften and a shine flashes through. “I want to have fish.”

“Fish?”

“Uh-huh.”

“I don’t think we’ll find any at this hour.”

“Not here. In Maine.”

“Maine?”

“Yup.”

“Maine is more than a six-hour drive.”

She sulks. “Is that a no?”

“It’s a why Maine all of a sudden?”

“I want to see my hometown again. Can you come with me?”

There’s only one answer to that question.

Especially when she’s looking at me with a softness I’ve never seen before. Maybe there’s also a smidge of fear, but I understand that.

She probably thought she’d never step foot in Maine again.

I’ve seen the footage of her parents’ deaths. While she was watching it, I heard her murmur that she never wanted it to happen.

I know deep down that she blames herself for their deaths, which is probably why she never went back to Maine.

But right now, she wants to heal, and I’ll be part of that trip.

My and Dahlia’s understanding of road trips is entirely different.

For me, it’s simply driving and reaching the destination.

For Dahlia, however?

It’s a bizarre experience, to say the least.

She stuffed the car full of snacks, has blasted obnoxiously loud music, and has been singing her heart out—out of tune.

Oh, and apparently, we both need to power off our phones so that it’s distraction-free. She proceeded to do that and lock the phones in the glove compartment so we don’t have to ‘worry about anything we left behind.’

“That was amazing! Phew.” She grins as the song comes to an end. “Maybe the radio will repeat it.”

“I hope not. It was painful to hear the first time around.”

“Rude!” She hits my shoulder. “What’s your favorite song? Let’s see how you sound, Mr. Captain.”

“I don’t have one.” I focus on the road, the early-morning light painting the sky a deep magenta.

“No way.” She lowers the volume as the DJ speaks in the background. “I know you said you don’t listen to music much, but you must listen to something. Instrumental, maybe? Classical or jazz or, like, cool theme music?”

“Not really. It’s distracting.”

She sits sideways facing me as she stuffs her mouth full of gummies. “You’re like an alien. Hold on. How about a favorite movie?”

“Maybe The Game?”

“I don’t even know what that is. Mine is Scream.”

I laugh. “What a cliché.”

“At least you know what movie that is, unlike your pretentious choice.”

“Pretentious?”

“Yup.” She shoves a few gummies in my mouth. “You don’t even eat candy. What a pretentious, posh boy.”

I chew on the disgusting things, their extensive sweetness flooding my taste buds. “I’m an athlete. We should watch our diet, Ms. Medicine Major.”

“It’s okay once in a while. I bet you haven’t had anything sweet since you were a kid.”

“I’m not a fan of the taste.”

“Then what are you a fan of?”

“Fucking, chasing, choking, pounding, biting. Rough sex in general.”

A red blush covers Dahlia’s face and she chokes on the piece of candy in her mouth.

I suppress a smile. “You all right there?”

“You did that on purpose, asshole.”

“I was only answering your question ever so innocently.”

“There’s nothing innocent about you.” She nudges me with her foot, then rests it on my lap. “Have you always loved rough sex?”

“I suppose.”

“So…how many victims did you have before me.”

“Victims?”

“Women you chased.”

“I didn’t chase any woman before you.”

“You…didn’t?”

“Finding someone compatible with such a rough kink is harder than you think. Besides, I didn’t feel the real urge until you bulldozed through my life.”

“Wow. So it’s my fault?”

“Yeah.” I wrap my hand around her leg in my lap. “You’ll take responsibility for the monster you provoked.”

“Some would argue the monster has always been there. By some, I mean me.”

“Maybe, but you’re the one who broke the spell.”

“I mean, you broke the spell for me, too, so I guess we’re even.”

“Me?”

“Yeah.” She strokes my cheek. “I didn’t know I loved that type of sex until you. It kind of made me suspect my morals and consider therapy, but I accept myself now.”noveldrama

I tighten my grip on her leg. “As you should.”

“Oh my God, I love this song!” She hikes up the volume and starts singing again, shamelessly loud, and tries to feed me the sugary things from the bag she’s holding.

Her cheerful mood, however, slowly withers when we arrive in Maine. It turns into terrible silence when I stop in front of her previous address in a small town by the coast.

The house sits quietly by the water, its silhouette framed against the early-morning light. It’s small, nothing like the sprawling estates I’m used to, but it’s well-kept. The white fence that borders the front yard is freshly painted, straight, and sturdy, though a bit weathered by the salt air and covered with a few layers of snow.

The ocean hums in the background, the faint sound of waves lapping at the shore just behind it. The air is cool, carrying the scent of saltwater and morning dew.

A couple steps out of the house, their soft laughter rising in the quiet as their kid bounces ahead of them, kicking the snow with his feet. The boy’s giggles cut through the air as the parents half laugh and half scold him.

The scene feels out of place, like something from a different world. A world where everything is simple.

Dahlia’s world.

That must’ve been her life before everything ended.

I watch her as she watches them, her eyes watery, her hands shaking around a bag of chips.

This time, I don’t hesitate as I take her hand in mind. She shudders, and I think I feel her stiffen before she goes still.

“Does it make you sad?” I ask.

“On the contrary. I’m relieved that the house is well-loved and kept. Mom and Dad would be so happy if they saw this.” She grins. “Hey, Kane?”

“Hmm?”

“Let’s go by the ocean.”

“When it’s this freezing?”

“It’s the best! I know people say coastal towns are depressing in the winter, but it’s like a fairy tale. Believe me.”

“I have my doubts.”

She just laughs and drags me out of the car. We trek by a rocky path that she said she remembers, but it turns out, her memories failed her.

It’s ridiculously icy weather to get lost in, but Dahlia just laughs and says it’s perfect for exploration.

We end up hiking to the peak of a large snow-covered rock that overlooks the deep blue ocean. The colors here are cold—white, navy blue, and unforgiving gray.

Dahlia stares at the violent waves below, throws her hands wide apart, and screams at the top of her lungs, “Mom! Dad! I’m home!”

The echo of her voice is swallowed by the wind as her long brown hair flies behind her. She looks like a goddess.

“I’m sorry I didn’t come back before! I’m doing amazing things. You’d be so proud of me! I have a sister now. Her name is Violet and she’s the sweetest person ever. You would’ve loved her so much.”

Her voice breaks, but she turns around and takes my hand, then pulls me to her side. “I brought someone. You would’ve loved him, too. Probably!”

“Probably?”

“Shh, it’s a fifty-fifty chance,” she whispers, then yells at the ocean again, “He’s filthy rich, buys me ridiculously expensive clothes, and even cooks for me. He’s not that bad sometimes.”

“Sometimes?”

“Just stay silent. This isn’t about you.” She glares and then smiles at the ocean again. “You don’t have to worry about me anymore. Your little girl is a grown-up now. Thank you for everything!”

Her hand shakes in mine, and I squeeze it tight.

“You think they heard me?”

I wrap my arms around her waist. “Hopefully not the part where you said I’m not bad sometimes.”

She chuckles. “You’re so petty.”

“Only sometimes.”

She laughs, the sound so light and endearing. “Thank you.”

“What for?”

“Accompanying me on this bizarre trip.”

I pull her against my chest, lift her chin with my index finger, and kiss her frozen lips. Warmth seeps between us and she hugs me while kissing me back.

Her body becomes one with mine, her nails digging into my jacket, and it feels like she desperately doesn’t want to let go.

My lips leave hers and she smiles. “Want a poor people’s town tour? I’ll give you a discount.”

“By all means.”

Dahlia obviously forgot most of the town, and many places have changed. But she still gets excited whenever she sees a familiar shop or house.

We do have the fish she came all the way for.

We also buy a lot of fishermen’s catch, and Dahlia donates them to the local restaurants. I suppose that’s her way of honoring people who have her dad’s profession.

She doesn’t stay still for the whole day, going from one place to another like a busy bee. It’s almost as if she doesn’t want to stop and breathe.

By sunset, we’re walking back to the car, her hand in mine, when she hesitantly stops by a small bridge.

“What? Is there somewhere else you want to visit?”

Her lips pull in a small smile. “I think I saw my dad’s friend. I’ll go and say hi.”

“Fine, let’s go.”

“You just go bring the car. It won’t take long. I’ll be here.”

“All right.”

I’m about to leave, but she doesn’t release my hand, her fingers digging into the back of it.

“Kane?”

“Yeah?”

“You know how I always say I hate you?”

“What about it?”

“I don’t. Actually. I really like you.” She grins. “Like a lot.”

A drop of heat expands behind my rib cage, melting away all the years my father spent attempting to turn me into ice.

A few words from Dahlia and I’m touched by warmth.

A few words and it’s like I’m transformed into a new person.

“I really like you, too. When I don’t want to strangle you.”

“What a romantic.” She smiles, but it’s sad. “I’ll be waiting. Go ahead.”

She hesitantly releases me, and it takes me about five minutes to reach the car.

After I get in, I open the glove compartment. I know I promised Dahlia no phones, but it’s been a whole day without checking in on Preston’s deteriorating state.

I pause when I don’t see Dahlia’s phone.

When did she take it?

With a frown, I power on my phone and pause at the bombardment of missed calls by Jude.

Fuck.

What happened to Preston now?

I’m about to call Jude, but then I see the texts.

Jude

Where the fuck are you, man? This is an emergency.

Violet has been kidnapped from the hospital under the guise of a medical transfer.

My brother and your father are behind this. I don’t know what the fuck they want, but my brother’s driver mentioned a trip to the lab. I’m guessing they’re using Violet against Dahlia. I’ll see what I can do from my end.

Update: I still can’t locate her.

My fist tightens against the steering wheel, and I hit the Start button. My body flattens against the leather as I speed to where I left Dahlia on the bridge.

The trip.

The strange behavior.

The way she was holding on to me the whole day.

Now, I see why it all felt so weird.

The moment I reach the bridge and find it empty, the realization hits me across the face.

This entire day, Dahlia has been saying goodbye.