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

“Callahan!”

The coach’s voice grinds the scrimmage to a halt.

As usual, Jude has just flattened Price against the boards and skated away with the puck as if it’s perfectly normal.

Coach Slater is a veteran of the game, born and bred in the town and a proud product of Graystone University’s unmatched hockey program.

He’s tall, lean, balding, and has a beer belly. Although he’s strict, his understanding of team harmony and execution style is top-notch. He’s known for pushing players beyond the limits they think exist.

Not Jude, though.

That motherfucker has no limits.

Instead of helping Price up, Jude glares at him for daring to interrupt his flow.

Coach stares at him from the bench, his skin turning red. “I told you not to touch my fucking players, Callahan. Save the destructive energy for the other teams.”

Jude lifts his shoulder in pure disdain. “I thought this was a scrimmage and we were supposed to play as if it’s a real game.”

“Did you miss the part about minimizing the risk of injury?”

“Minimizing is not eliminating.”

“Off the ice. Number 71, five-minute major for boarding.”

“Come on, that was hardly a two-minute penalty,” Jude argues with a murderous face.

“Off my rink. Now.”

Jude makes a face as he skates to the penalty box.

Great. Now I have to make do with ten players. Sometimes, Jude is just the most unreliable human I’ve ever come across.

When his brain functions, he performs miracles. When he allows his impulses to take over, he’s no different than an untamable wild horse.

I stare at him as he sits down, resembling a trapped animal. He’s been strange lately. And by strange, I mean he’s a hassle to maintain.

Even my impeccable containment skills have been falling short.

Something that hasn’t happened in all the time I’ve known him.

Which is our entire lives.

“Ready to be buried beneath ice, Davenport?” Preston, the captain and center of Team B, asks before the face-off in their offensive zone. “Your team is useless without a right winger.”

I keep my eyes on the puck.

Preston might be the master of pushing buttons, but that’s only because he makes it his mission to exploit his opponents’ weaknesses. He’s an expert at studying human nature and singling out the exact words that will ruffle the other person’s feathers. He’s gotten checked and thrown around more times than I can count, but he often comes out of it grinning in that slightly provocative manner, while Jude goes ballistic and starts a fight.

It’s been our dynamic from the time we were shipped off to boarding school. Someone picked on Preston because he was scrawny and weak-looking, and Jude dismantled them. Sometimes, while bringing me along.

I preferred making their lives hell without lifting a finger, though.

As we grew up, Preston lost the childhood weakness, but not the antagonistic behavior.

It became ten times worse.

Too bad for him, though. I have no weaknesses he can exploit, so his methods have never worked on me. His words are merely white noise.

I steal the puck for my team and tie the score. The coach shouts instructions at Preston’s defense, sounding like he wants to strangle them.

Despite my best attempts to minimize the damage, Team B’s power play allows them an advantage I can’t shake off. By the time Jude comes back, we barely manage to hold on to the tie.

He body-checks like a motherfucker and nearly gets another penalty for the reckless play.

We end up winning, but the coach lectures us about being responsible on the ice before he lets us go shower.

“I have an idea for taking care of the Callahan problem,” Preston whispers to me after I step out of the shower, a towel wrapped around my middle, and head to the locker side.

Preston has already finished showering, changed into jeans, a white shirt, and a Vipers jacket, and is currently styling his golden hair back with a comb. Every strand is perfectly in place.

I open my locker and drop my towel, then pull on my boxer briefs and sweatpants. “We can’t break his legs.”

“Aw, but that will save us from his shenanigans.”

“It’s a no.” Still not looking at him, I rummage through my duffle bag for a hoodie, then pull it over my head.

Preston parks his back against the locker next to mine, his stare turning icy, and his light mood shifts so fast, it’s as if it were never there. He’s the textbook definition of ASPD. He’s been diagnosed with sociopathy, bipolar disorder, and a basketful of other mental issues. He’s rumored to have killed his mother. A fact no one but himself can confirm or deny.

Preston has the reputation of Prince Charming. A heartthrob with golden hair and bright-green eyes. He loves girls and fucks anything in a skirt who’s willing to choke on his cock.

But Preston, like all of us, is an expert at maintaining an image. He may even be the best at it. Because behind the heartthrob princeling personality hides a monster who loves to watch others suffer. While he rarely indulges in violence, he gets off on the sight of blood and the view of eyes going empty.

Whenever we’ve had missions to eliminate potential Vencor enemies, I’ve taken them out with a silencer. Jude usually beats them to death, which is messy and unnecessary. Preston, however, makes sure to stretch it out for as long as possible. With his knife.

He also really despises those who ruin his plans and aspirations and becomes a fucking lunatic when things don’t go his way. He’s not impulsive like Jude, but he’s deadly.

I can sense the subtle change in his tone even as he smiles. “I will not have that piece of fucking shit sabotage my game against the Stanton Wolves, so if you won’t do something about it, I will.”

“Our game.”

“What?”

“It’s not your game against the Wolves. It’s our game. And you can dream on about winning without Callahan. He’s known as the strongest right wing in the league for a reason.”

“You talking about me?” Jude strolls out of the showers with no towel, his scars and multiple striking tattoos on full display.

He’s never cared about what people think of him or the looks he gets from other team members. He just wears his bloody past like a badge.

That’s the difference between Jude and me. He displays everything that’s happened to him. I don’t.

“Armstrong suggested breaking your legs so you won’t ruin our upcoming games, especially the one against the Wolves.” I slam the locker shut. Time for my usual morning run before my first class starts.

“I’ll knock your teeth out.” Jude squares up to Preston.

The latter laughs and pats his shoulder. “Kidding. Just kidding, big guy.”

“Better be. Touch me and you’ll end up in a freak accident.”

“Oh yeah?” Preston grins wide. “Want to bet your next game on it?”

“No betting.” I stare at Jude. “Either you fix whatever is fucking with your head or I’ll make sure you’re benched for as many games as it takes.”noveldrama

He glares at me, his jaw ticking, but I walk out before he has the chance to reply.

I might have grown up with those two, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t skirmishes all the time.

Especially between Jude and Preston. One minute, they’re protecting each other. The next, they want to kill one another.

Since our families are the founders of the town, our clans have often been at each other’s throats to become dominant.

We’ve been taught not to trust each other and that the possibility of war is a matter of when, not if. We might be equals right now, but who knows what will transpire in the future?

Who knows whether we’ll be at each other’s throat in a struggle for the top?

Though it’s impossible for us to seriously hurt each other, not after the pact we made after we were thrown into that nightmarish boarding school.

It’s the three of us against the world, not the other way around.

But that’s not my concern now.

My priority is to win. Keep the team in one piece and control the fucking liability that is Jude and the ticking time bomb in the form of Preston.

I trust he’s smart enough to stay out of trouble, but for some reason, I feel like he’ll fuck up big at some point.

So I have to clean up after them. As usual.

I’ve always been rational, calm, dependable Kane. Nothing can rattle my cage or shake my foundation.

My father made sure of that.

Now, I’m just a weapon at his and the organization’s disposal. Or, at least, that’s what he believes.

For the time being.

Preston catches up to me, knocking his shoulder against mine from behind, then lowers his head to whisper, “How about we poison him?”

“No.”

“Only temporarily.”

“No.”

“Hear me out. You know that new drug his family is developing? He’d make the perfect testing subject.”

“No.”

“Fine. Then let’s kidnap him and ditch him on an island.”

“No.”

“Lock him up?”

“He’ll just smash the place and escape.”

“That’s true. Hmm. How about…” He abandons the thought and nudges me with an elbow.

I lift my head and pause, my left index finger twitching against my thigh.

Leaning against the wall by the entrance of the arena in tiny shorts and an oversized hoodie is the thorn in my fucking side.

The rock in my goddamn shoe.

“Well, hello again.” Preston slides to her side, his charming grin on display. “Dallas, was it?”

“Dahlia,” she answers, her attention remaining square on my face.

Dahlia Thorne is of average height with naturally tan skin and hazel eyes that look more brownish yellow than green in the dim light. Her brown hair is tied in a ponytail, highlighting her high cheekbones and round face.

The shorts stretch and cling to her skin, showcasing her curves.

Curves I haven’t been able to erase from my mind since the night I marked and claimed her three days ago.

Since then, she’s been showing up at my morning practices like a fucking parasite.

Always there.

Same time.

Same determined expression.

After the mental and physical torture, I thought she’d be broken a little, jaded a bit. Better yet, I believed she’d throw in the towel and run away. I would’ve even made an exception and allowed her to get away.

But no, she’s been wearing that expression like a badge.

And she’s been randomly texting me.

And now what?

Hello?

Don’t tell me you tested positive for an STD? I hate to say it, but I kinda told you so.

That was a joke. I didn’t give you anything.

Um, so you kinda need some lessons in communication.

OMG. Thanks for the box of chocolates after the brutal fucking. Oh wait, you didn’t send one. And they say romance is dead.

This whole thing is anticlimactic. What happens after getting in? Are there, like, any secret meetings I should be aware of?

All righty then. Guess I’ll continue marveling at your spectacular communication skills.

I ignored all her blabbering, but that didn’t stop her from appearing in person.

Like an incurable migraine.

“Dallas. Dahlia. Both have a D.” Preston grins. “Speaking of dick, Kane’s is not that impressive. Want a better experience? I have a full-enjoyment-guaranteed policy.”

“I’ll think about it,” she says with a fake-ass smile, her attention still on me.

“Think fast. Limited spots available.”

“Maybe one day.”

“You won’t regret it. Easily five out of five.”

“I won’t bet money on it.”

“Ouch. You hit me where I give a fuck.” He places a hand on his chest and feigns pain. “Now, I have to defend my dick’s untouchable honor. How about tonight?”

I calmly walk between the two and jog away from the arena in the direction of a hill.

“Wait!” Her voice reaches me before I feel her frantic footsteps following me.

I pick up speed until the trees start to blur in my peripheral vision.

“Kane!” she screams, sounding out of breath. “Slow down, damn it.”

I turn around and run backward. She’s struggling to keep up, her limbs shaking and her face redder than the fall leaves scattered on the ground.

“Why should I?”

She heaves but doesn’t stop. “Because I woke up this early to talk to you?”

“Not my problem.”

“I thought I was since I’m under your care and all that.”

“Supervision.”

“What?”

“Under my supervision, not care.”

She slows to a halt and bends, hands on her knees, but when she sees I’m still running backward on the hill, she groans and picks up speed.

“Okay, so what do I do under your supervision?”

“Nothing. Disappearing would be a good start.”

“What the hell do you mean by nothing? Aren’t you the one who’s supposed to teach me the workings of Vencor?”

I stop abruptly and she collides with me, her head bumping into my chest.

“Ow.” She releases a moan of pain, her ragged breathing filling the quiet forest.

Her soft curves mold to my hard muscles, and I get a flashback of her cunt stretching to accommodate me, tightening and milking my cock⁠—

No.

I don’t think with my dick. Ever. I don’t even use my dick to settle scores the way Preston does or to relieve aggression like Jude.

It’s only a weapon used to exert power. Nothing more.

And yet I say, “If you’re dying for another taste of my cock, all you have to do is drop to your knees.”

She jerks back, putting distance between us, but not before her spicy jasmine perfume fills my nostrils. Like a damn fucking poison.

I’ve been pricked by countless venomous snakes as part of my training, but none of them left a strong aftertaste like her scent.

She crosses her arms, the hoodie stretching against her breasts. “No, thanks. I’d rather not go through the ordeal of fucking you ever again.”

My index finger twitches, but I let my lips pull into a smile. “Do you often squirt when overcoming ordeals, Dahlia?”

Her lips push forward and a fire erupts in her eyes, darkening like a reckoning. It’s impressive that her feelings are written all over her face, but that’s normal. I suppose.

“I was faking it. You know, to pass the test.”

“You can fake an orgasm, yes, but you can’t fake a squirt or the way your cunt swallowed my cock, strangling and milking me. Admit it, you were disappointed I didn’t fill up your hole with my cum, weren’t you?”

The longer I speak, the redder her cheeks turn and the more I want to push her, see her reaction.

See how far I can edge her to the brink.

And this isn’t like me. At all.

I couldn’t give two fucks about people’s emotions. If anything, I use them through those illogical, untrained, and destructive feelings.

“You…you…” She points a finger at me.

“Yes?”

“You’re a freaking machine.”

“Is that supposed to be an insult?”

A delicate frown appears between her brows. “Are you really a robot? Should we do a captcha verification?”

“A captcha what?”

“Oh my God. You are!”

Her voice.

It’s feminine, but not soft, and she doesn’t speak in the cooing, fake-as-fuck tone some of the girls use so I’ll fuck them.

She’s in your face. Or mine, to be more accurate.

Everything just spills out of her as if it’s a goddamn fountain.

And I’m starting to despise how freely she can act—the first thing I noticed about her is becoming a vexation.

“Go back to school and stop following me. It’s giving desperate.”

I turn around, about to resume my run, but, of course, the fucking nuisance who’s been shredding my peace jumps in front of me.

“Wait!”

“Change your mind? I’ll let you suck my dick after the next game if I’m in the mood.”

“No, thanks.” She swallows, fighting against a blush or rage, I can’t tell. “I just want to know what’s expected of me. What’s the point of being a Vencor member if I’m kept in the dark?”

“You’ll be contacted if something is needed of you. Not the other way around.”

She pauses and I can see the wheels in her brain working in overdrive. I like how she thinks before she talks. The time between thinking and speaking could be elongated, but it’s a good trait.

It’s also how I knew she was plotting to infiltrate Vencor. I’m not entirely sure why, but that’s why I put on the whole fucking show to have her initiated.

Best way to watch a potential hazard?

Keep it under your thumb.

Squash it if it wiggles around.

Now, I didn’t need to fuck her, but it’s still a power bargaining chip and she didn’t use her safe word, so it’s game on.

Everything is a game.

She tucks a few flyaways behind her ear and I follow the motion. How her lean fingers outstretch. Her nails aren’t painted and are cut short, but they somehow look elegantly neat.

Then she speaks again, trying—and failing—to sound detached. “How about meetings and stuff?”

“Stuff?”

“You know. Whatever happens in said meetings.”

“Whatever happens in said meetings is not for Trial members. Unless you get invited by a Senior.”

“Invite me, then.”

I step close to her, erasing the distance between us.

My chest expands with her scent again, and I resist the urge to pluck the goddamn wildflower in her and crush it to pieces.

There was a time when I liked beautiful things. Now, I want them all ruined.

Trampled upon.

Reduced to dust.

Dahlia glances up, her plump lips parting, the bottom one slightly fuller than the upper one. As I look down at her, a choppy breath spills out of her slightly parted mouth and I notice a mole on the corner of her lip, tiny and barely there.

And now I’m staring at her lip.

I rip my gaze to her eyes, slightly wide. Expectant, even. “What will I get in return?”

“What do you want?” Her low whisper sends an electric shot down to my dick.

Jesus fucking Christ.

Despite my better judgement, I grab her chin with my thumb and forefinger, tilting her head back so that I’m invading those eyes. Preston has always said mine are unsettling, and I can tell she feels it as I stare her down for several long beats.

“If I say your body and soul, would you offer them?”

Her lips part again, the perfect opening if I want to thrust my cock down her throat, then decorate her face with my cum.

Again.

“Do I have a choice?” Her murmur is haunting, somewhat lifeless.

And I hate the gradual disappearance of her fire.

How she slowly withdraws into her shell.

“You always have a choice, Dahlia. The word is ‘red’. It offers you a way out of everything except for Vencor. That one, once you’re in, you only leave in a casket or if I deem you unworthy.”

“If…” She swallows thickly, her eyes searching mine despite the subtle fear lurking beneath the light yellow. “If I offer myself, will you protect me?”

“No.”

She flinches, her body turning stiff, and I should probably release her.

I don’t do that, though.

Even as her heat mingles with mine, sending the wrong signals to my cock.

“Why not?” she asks.

“I don’t get emotionally attached to the people I fuck.”

“I don’t either. So it’s a win-win.”

“Liar. You’ve been trying to play it down and pretend that what happened that day is normal, but here’s the thing. You’re acting tough. I know you’re uncomfortable. Your jaw is clenched, your body’s tight, and you’re usually dressed in a way that doesn’t draw attention to your body. You’re terrified that I’ll fuck you and use you again. The idea makes you tremble. And that trembling turns me on.” I rotate her pale face in my fingers. “Your fight and suffering turn me on. It makes me hard. So, Dahlia, disappear from my sight before I break you.”

I feel the exact moment that her survival instinct kicks in.

The moment I release her, she steps back, the leaves crunching beneath her sneakers. She stumbles, her wide eyes never leaving my face before she turns around and runs back the way she came.

Dahlia is smart enough to sense danger. At least, now she is.

She should’ve seen it before she decided to approach the organization.

Or me.

Because even though I just let her go, it’s only temporary so that I can keep myself under control.

It’s only a matter of time before I trap her again.