Page 31 of Vengeful Rotten Casualties

“Luc…”

“Are you scared I’m going to take back my words?” he asks, releasing my skin from his teeth. “That’ll I’ll renege on my promise?”

I shake my head. “No.” I know the answer is a lie as soon as I speak it. It’s hard not to be afraid, though. I’ve been taught that no one is good. No one is trustworthy. And my target is, after all, his own flesh and blood.

Luc chuckles against me, but the sound is far from amused. When he pulls back and I meet his gaze, I’m caught in a steel trap. Burning with intensity and deep wells of rage and animosity, he looks ready to kill. “I meant every fucking word, Micki,” he says to me. “If you’re worried about him being my father, don’t.” Better said than done, but I don’t say as much. He doesn’t give me the opportunity to. “Thomas Kincaid has been on borrowed time since he took you from me.”

“Then why haven’t you killed him before now?” I ask, not to be cruel, not even to be accusatory, but out of true, genuine curiosity. I know he’s always hated his father, but this hatred is deeper than it was five years ago. It’s something I’m unused to from him. I’m not sure what I expected when I met him again, but in the back of my mind, I always wondered if he would be the same boy I’d known. Now, I know the truth. He’s not. He’s darker. He’s different. Yet, still, I love him. Even my body knows that much.

Luc presses the whole of his body even further into me. “And get rid of what could possibly be my last connection to you?” He closes his eyes and shakes his head. “No, I needed him, but now you’re here. His usefulness is gone. It’s time.”

“And what about the girl?”

The mention of our mutual sibling makes him stiffen and his lips twitch before curving down. His eyes open. “What do you want to do with her?” he asks cautiously.

That’s easy to answer. “I want to save her,” I reply. “I want to make sure he can never hurt her the way he did me and my mom.”

“What if she’s not alive anymore?” he asks. My chest caves inward. My stomach recoils and my mind rebels. My breath comes faster and the room spins. “Micki?” I can hear Luc’s voice from a faraway distance, which doesn’t make any sense because I know he’s right here. He’s right next to me. “Shhhh, it’s okay. Micki. It’s alright.”

Hands grip my face, cupping my cheeks as kisses fall along my brow. I blink, closing my eyes as Luc moves downward and presses a kiss over each eyelid before falling to my lips. He keeps murmuring to me, soothingly. I know he’s saying something, but I can’t hear it. I’m too focused on his earlier words. Dead. He’s right, she could be dead. She could be far worse off—something worse than dead. She could be like me, even as young as she is. I’d met with all sorts of clients and I know the darkness this world has and how cruel it can be to young girls with no protection. Air squeezes into my chest, forcing its way down my throat, scraping my esophagus in raw movements.

“It’s okay,” Luc says. “I didn’t say that to scare you, pretty girl. I promise. If she’s alive, we’ll save her. We’ll protect her. She’ll be okay.”

I shake my head and force myself to focus on the space around me. My hands lift and clench against the silken hot skin of his biceps. I dig my nails in, but he doesn’t utter any sound to dissuade me. I blink and stare ahead of me at the lines of indigo and sky blue in his eyes. They’re collected like webs circling the dark black dot of his pupil.Breathe, Micki,I urge myself.Fucking breathe.

“No,” I finally manage to get out. “No, you’re right. It’s a … valid question.” It’s just one I’ve been trying to avoid answering because the truth is … if she’s really dead then there’s nothing left for me to do. Then it’ll all be over and I don’t know if I’m ready.

“I’m willing to do anything to help her,” Luc confesses, “but I am worried about you getting your hopes up.” I nod absently and he pulls me against him. My face turns to the side and my cheek presses to his naked chest. The soft, repetitive beat of his heart lulls me into a sense of normalcy once more.

I don’t know how long we stand there, but it feels good—just resting against him, feeling the closeness of another human being without expectation. Without the damned invisible chains of obligation and practical slavery attached. It isn’t until my stomach rumbles with need that we finally break apart.

“Sorry,” I say quickly, looking away as I slip out of his arms and into the hallway. “I did say we’d talk while we eat.”

Behind me, I hear Luc chuckle again. “I’ll feed you, pretty girl. Don’t you worry about that.”

I stop at the top of the stairs and glance back, arching a brow. “Lucien Kincaid,” I state. “Was that a dirty joke?”

He eyes me with a grin. “I wasn’t joking.”

I roll my eyes. “I need food right now,” I tell him. “Not dick.”

“Who says you can’t have it all?” he shoots back with a grin. I shake my head. He’s always the one who has to have the last word. I head down to the bottom floor of his house. I didn’t really get a chance to look at it the night before. I’d been too wrapped up in him.

Now that I have the opportunity, I can’t help but notice how clean it is. Not just clean, but practically empty. I move from the bottom of the stairs and back into the open kitchen. The counters are pristine. The only thing I can see on them is the coffee machine, toaster, and a bowl of uneaten fruit in the center of the island. I glance around, distinctly remembering the shattered glass from the night before. On one of the bar chairs, I notice my bag from yesterday. He must have at least brought it in while I was showering.

“Did you clean up?” I ask as Luc enters the kitchen behind me and moves to the fridge. As he pops it open, I spot the inside and see nothing but water bottles and small glass containers filling the shelves.

“The housekeeper probably came in this morning and did it,” he replies. “She’s usually done and gone by the time I’m off to class.”

I hum in the back of my throat as he withdraws a water bottle and then a glass container filled with something I can’t see. He hands me the bottle and grabs an extra for himself. “Is re-heated quiche good for you?” he asks. “Or do you want to go out?”

I shrug. “This is probably a conversation we should have in private,” I say. “So whatever you have is fine—though I should say that your lack of food is disturbing. You need to eat better, Luc, especially if you’re an athlete.”

Luc moves to the oven and presses a few buttons before stripping the lid from the container and popping it inside. “Now that’s the pot calling the kettle black,” he replies as he finishes what he’s doing, closes the oven, and turns to face me.

My fingers clench on the water bottle in my hand and to give myself something to do, I uncap it and take a sip. The cold water slides down my throat and settles in my stomach as Luc meets my gaze.

“Merida leaves food for me,” he says. “Don’t worry about if I’m eating. I am. I’m more worried about you.”

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