Page 66 of Vengeful Rotten Casualties

“I hired some men to help me with Andrew Bennington,” she reminds me, “I wanted to see if we could keep them on. Maybe have them work for you? Or Dean?”

I contemplate it. It would be better to have any contractors close rather than far away. They know her face and they know what she’s done—at least this time anyway. “I’ll talk to Dean,” I say. “If he can’t work something out, I’m sure they can go with Braxton. From what I understand, he’s building that organization of his from the ground up and could use some good men.”

Micki’s face relaxes, softening as her arms arch up and circle around my neck. Her head burrows against my chest. “I’m so glad I came back to you, Luc,” she says. “Thank you.”

I pull her closer, dipping down to kiss the top of her head. “You were always meant to come back to me, pretty girl,” I say. “So, no more running.”

She shakes her head. “No more running,” she agrees.

I pray she’s not lying to me because I don’t know if I can take it a second time without losing my sanity.

27

MICKI

It takesthree weeks for the world to realize that Andrew Bennington is missing. Three weeks for my revenge on one of Thomas Kincaid’s closest conspirators to finally reach its crescendo. The stocks of his lifelong business are plummeting. People are coming out of the woodwork and it’s not to cry about how good a person he was.

“He was a fucking pervert,” a slender woman in a tight black dress comments as a street newsman shoves a microphone in her face halfway up the steps of what looks like a massive courthouse. “He was always trying to look down my shirt when I worked for him, and he grabbed my ass more times than I can count. When I went to HR, I was fired. His whole fucking business is as shady as the man himself. If no one finds him, it’ll be too soon.”

I chuckle at that comment. It’s almost sad that the man himself isn’t around to see his shredded reputation flashed across the television screen for all to see. Even if he’s not, though, I know someone else is watching.

Thomas Kincaid.No doubt he’s starting to feel the heat.

The screen changes as the camera pans back to the two anchors sitting pretty in the newsroom, their hands clasped in front of a massive countertop as they recite another story being spoon fed to them behind the screen. As I watch, I wonder absently if they know that the news they tell people is always only part of the real story. How many secrets have they unwittingly hidden?

“Andrew Bennington’s eldest son, Dashiel Bennington, will be taking over as the interim president of Bennington Enterprises as the investigation on his father’s disappearance continues…” the newswoman continues, but I’m no longer listening.

"Now what?” Avalon asks from the couch as she reclines with a bowl of popcorn on her stomach. She grabs a handful and pops it into her mouth, chewing as she watches me over the rim.

“It’s a waiting game,” I tell her. “Once Thomas comes out of the woodwork, that’s when the real work begins.”

She hums in her throat. “How do you know he will?” she asks. “I mean, I don’t know the guy all that much, but he probably realizes that this is a trap.”

She’s right. Thomas isn’t stupid, but he is prideful. “He’s egotistical,” I say absently, watching the newswoman and her co-anchor discuss current events even as I press the mute button to cut off their words. “He absolutely knows it’s a trap, but he thinks he’s a genius. He’ll come for me first.”

“How do you know he knows where you are?”

I turn and arch a brow her way. “I’m not hiding,” I remind her. “I’m in Eastpoint and this is his headquarters.”

She nods. “He’s got spies all around and you’re making sure they all see you.”

“Yup.” I pop the last syllable of the word as I lean over and snatch a handful of her popcorn. She growls and yanks it back before flipping me off.

“You said you weren’t hungry,” she complains.

I shrug as I chew through my popcorn. “I wasn’t,” I agree. “But you looked like you were enjoying yourself.”

Avalon rolls her eyes. “Greedy bitch,” she mutters without any heat. She’s not wrong. Iamgreedy. I turn back to the screen. All of the patience that I’ve exerted over the last few months is withering away in the face of my oncoming revenge. It’s so fucking close, I can almost taste it.

“Dash looks good on camera,” Avalon says as the man, himself, flashes across the screen. He’s dressed to kill in a black-on-black tailored suit, his hair slicked back and the light stubble I’d come to recognize him for shaved completely clean. He looks young. Far too young to have the knowledge of the world that he does, but then again, aren’t we all?

“He does,” I agree absently as I reach over and grab more popcorn. This time, Avalon merely passes me the bowl.

“So,” she says, sitting up. I stiffen and pause, my hand halfway dug into the bowl.

“I’m not going to like what you’re about to ask me, am I?” I guess, glancing back at her.

Avalon’s gaze is penetrating. How easily she goes from indifferent to serious. A heartbeat is all it takes. “Probably not, but I’ve gotta ask—what happened between you and Luc?”

---