Page 49 of Rot

Jordan pulled off the side of the road, onto a dirt path. He parked about fifteen feet off the road, turning the car off before looking at me, questions in his brown eyes.

I stared into them for a few moments, wondering why those eyes didn’t do anything for me. No, there was only one set of dark eyes that drew me in, and they belonged to Elias.

My heart pounded when I thought about him, so much so that I struggled to say, “Let’s go for a walk.” I didn’t wait for Jordan; I got out of the car, abandoning my bag in the front seat as I started to walk through the woods, away from the car and the road.

Jordan called out for me to wait, but I didn’t. I kept going, keeping a brisk pace, needing to put more distance between me and the car. As I walked, I kept my hands firmly at my sides, though my eyes did constantly survey the ground. I knew what I was looking for, even before I spotted something that would work.

Jordan was by my side, oblivious. “Where are we going? Sloane, I think we’re pretty much alone out here.” He seemed almost guilty at that, as if he was nervous about being alone with me.

My feet stopped when I found the perfect place. Tall trees surrounded us, broken branches littering the forest floor, dead leaves crunching below our feet. A branch that was large enough sat a few feet away, and the other thing I’d need sat on the ground to my left, hidden amongst the leaves, save for a tiny fleck of bared stone.

I’d kill two birds with one stone here. I’d show Elias that I didn’t want Jordan, and I’d prove to Dana that I didn’t play children’s games.

“I know,” I spoke, slow to turn to face Jordan. He stood three feet away, growing more confused by the second. I held my hands behind my back, closing the distance between us as I puffed out my chest and gave him my best sultry look. “I’m kind of pissed at what you did, but I can’t stop thinking about you. I hate that I can’t stop.”

His expression changed, as if he suddenly knew all of my darkest, most secret thoughts. “Oh.” He swallowed hard. “If it’s any consolation, I won’t be agreeing to any other schemes my sister tries to involve me in. I shouldn’t have said yes that time. It was only supposed to be a prank. I didn’t think you’d walk out like that.” He rubbed the back of his neck, parts of his face still quite bruised from Elias’s fists.

I lifted a hand, gently stroking his cheek, pretending to care about his injuries as I whispered, “I’m so sorry Elias did this to you. I tried to get him to not go back to the party, to just leave, but he wouldn’t. I couldn’t stop him.” Pretty, honeyed-flavored words that Jordan ate up eagerly.

He shrugged. “It’s fine. I’ve had worse.” Trying to act tough now, I guess.

I chuckled quietly. “Have you?” My hand had dropped from his face, now resting on his chest. We stood less than six inches apart.

“Well, not in a fight, but I did break my leg in a game freshman year,” he said sheepishly. “Having the whole school see your bone poking out of your leg… not fun.”

Hmm. I supposed it’d been too dark at the party for me to have seen his scar. That, and I wasn’t really paying much attention to his body.

I leaned into him, pressing my body against his. His hands were measured in finding my hips and holding them, and he took on this half-lidded look as I angled my face up to his. “I’d love to see the scar,” I breathed out, the words enticing in ways only a teenage boy would know.

“Oh, well… I could show you—”

“Here,” I said. “I want to see it now.” I licked my lips, biting my bottom lip in what I hoped was a hungry display. Like I wanted to see more than the scar, like I wanted to sink to my knees for him and worship that thing dangling between his legs.

What was a teenage boy to do? Say no? I didn’t think so. Jordan let go of my hips, taking a step back as I let my eyes drop to his crotch. As if to further entice him, I added, “I’ll show you a scar of mine.” I started to reach for the bottom hem of my shirt, but then I stopped. “Could you turn around?”

He’d just unzipped his pants, his jeans hanging open, the cock nestled there growing harder. Jordan stared at me strangely. “Shy now?”

A teeny, tiny smile graced my lips. “Maybe. Let’s show each other at the same time. I’ll count to three when I’m ready, and on three we both turn around.”

Jordan let out a chuckle as he turned around and gave me his back. “Okay, sure. Whatever you want.” He was more than eager to do whatever I wanted because he thought his cock would get wet—either in my mouth or in my pussy. He would be more than happy to take either one after showing me his scar.

Really, the information about a scar had only helped to fuel me and my plan. It made my defense a whole lot easier.

I acted like I was wriggling out of my shirt, but in reality, I moved as silently as I could to the rock hidden beneath the leaves. Only then did I get out of my shirt… if only to use it. Using my shirt as a barrier, I picked it up, feeling its heavy weight. I could barely hold onto it, but I managed. Its coldness seeped through my shirt and into my hand, a dark omen.

I stopped when I stood directly behind Jordan, breathing slowly, evenly. “One,” I whispered, staring at the back of his head. My fingers curled against my shirt harder. “Two.” I lifted the rock. “Three.”

Before Jordan could turn around, I smacked the rock against the backside of his head as hard as I could, sending him tumbling forward. The sound of his skull cracking at the impact was like music to my ears.

Chapter Sixteen

“My mom said you don’t belong here,” Stacey proclaimed loudly, proudly, as if she didn’t stand here, at my house, at my birthday party, a welcomed and invited guest. She puffed herself up, acting all tough even though she wasn’t really. “My mom said you’ll never be one of us.”

The others had funneled inside the house with my grandparents for the cake. Stacey herself was perfectly dry, even though she wore a multi-colored bathing suit. She stood with her back to the pool, her hip cocked, attitude radiating from her even though she was only eight years old, like me.

I glared at her, hating the ugly words spewing from her stupid mouth. I might’ve only been eight, but I’d understood for a long time that I wasn’t one of them. I wasn’t like my grandparents. I wasn’t a true Karnagy. No one here ever let me forget it.

“Your dad was a bad, bad man,” Stacey repeated the words her mother had undoubtedly told her, acting all proud to recite them. Her hands were on her hips, and the expression on her face was one of pure triumph, as if she pledged right then and there to never let me forget the fact that I was different from the rest.

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