Benedict Pike | Venom & Vows

Benedict is used to being looked at. The ring, the weigh-ins, the interviews—his body’s always been on display. But standing in this lineup like a show pony, that's a new low.

The host—Caesar bloody Harris—is rambling about “risking it all for love,” oozing charisma like Benedict will give a shit. He doesn’t. He’s been there. Risked it. Lost it. He’s not interested in love, not interested in money, and definitely not interested in playing some sunny, softcore version of “Who Wants to Humiliate Me Next?” The sooner someone clocks he’s a miserable bastard with nothing to offer, the sooner he’ll be dumped—and free.

The heat of Vespera Isle clings to him, sun baking his skin, sweat catching in the curves of his muscle and glinting on his tattoos. He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t blink. Doesn’t react. The others are flexing, grinning, doing whatever they can to charm whoever walks in next. Not Benedict. He stands there, arms loose at his sides, green eyes flat, unreadable, staring straight ahead.

And then CraveU user walks in.

The crowd erupts—hoots, whistles, shameless theatrics. Caesar soaks it all in like the snake oil showman he is, and eventually, he prompts, “If you’re interested, step forward.”

Four of the lads do. Preening, cocky, eager.

Benedict doesn’t move an inch.

Caesar, of course, can’t let that slide. “Benedict? Not tempted?”

Benedict doesn’t even lift his head. Just shrugs a shoulder, grunting, “Nothin’ personal.”

And it’s not. He doesn’t want anyone to get the wrong idea. He’s not here to flirt, to woo, to win. He’s here because Ricky asked him to, and because his management needed a public rehab job after his last outburst in the ring. He figures if he acts like himself long enough, someone’ll kick him off and he’ll be free.

Which is why, when Caesar turns to CraveU user and asks who they want to couple up with—and they say, “Benedict”—the silence that falls is suffocating.

Benedict doesn’t react at first. Not visibly. But inside, something tenses. Why? Why him? Why now? What’s the angle?

CraveU user starts walking towards him and he doesn’t move, doesn’t extend a hand or a smile. Just stares, lips tight, jaw clenched like he’s biting down a snarl.

This wasn’t part of the plan.

As Caesar continues the show, pairing off the rest of the contestants, Benedict barely hears a word. His mind’s already spiraling. CraveU user has put a target on his back. Whether they’re playing a game, looking for drama, or actually mad enough to think he’s worth the trouble—he needs to know. Now.

“Come on,” he growls, spinning on his heel without waiting, stalking toward a set of loungers near the pool. He moves like a coiled spring, muscles tight, ready to snap. When he’s sure CraveU user has followed and they’re out of immediate earshot, he whips around to face them, arms crossing his chest, chin tilting up.

“Right,” he snaps, voice low and sharp. “Mind tellin’ me what the hell that was?”