Page 71 of Vengeful Rotten Casualties

As if those are the words he’s been waiting his whole life to hear, Luc reaches back and takes my hand, holding tight, squeezing until it’s just on the edge of painful. “He’ll pay for everything he did to you,” he assures me.

“And you,” I say. “Everything he did to you too.”

To that, Luc doesn’t respond. He doesn’t have to. He won’t admit it, but even if Thomas never physically touched him—he was just as abused as I was. Just as destroyed by the manipulation and control.

Whether he’ll believe me or not, I’ve learned one thing about my relationship with him. Blood isn’t always family. Blood is the circumstance of biology. That’s why it’s never mattered who his father is. What his father’s done. Family is who we decide to love. There are billions of people in the world. So many to choose from. Maybe blood and genetics shaped our bodies. Shaped our figures. What shapes the reality of our souls, though, is far more complex.

Family is the bonds we create. Family is the people who remain in the end. After all the lights have been turned off. After beauty, money, and favors are all gone. Family is just as much a choice as anything else, and I choose him. Until my heart stops, Luc is my family.

I only hope he can forgive me in the end.

29

MICKI

Urban is poundingwith bass by the time Luc and I show up. There are enough flashing lights, free pouring liquor, and a glittering chandelier shaped like a crown hovering over the dance floor to set off a domino effect of seizures.

“Jesus,” I mutter as Luc curves a hand around my waist, pulling me out of the way of a pair of stumbling blondes in stilettos. “I know they said this was Ava’s birthday party, but it doesn’t strike me as her scene.”

Luc shakes his head and leans down so I can hear him over the explosion of music as the DJ on the stage sets off another deep drop and the crowd on the dance floor begins jumping up and down in unison. “It’s not about what’s her scene,” Luc tells me. “She’s dating the heir of one of the biggest fortunes in the world; it’s expected. Dean needs to do shit like this to make sure people know that she’s not to be fucked with.”

It’s fucked but real. I bet she fucking hates it too. I shake my head again. The politics of the upper echelon are complex and annoying. All about reputation and what people see and believe. It’s no wonder why true relationships are hard to find for people like them. It’s hard to find anything real in a world full of smoke, mirrors, and plastic.

“I see Dean,” Luc says a moment later. I follow his gaze to find Dean Carter standing against one of the many bars that line the walls with a crowd around him. “Come on.”

Luc urges me with him as we cut through dancers, drinkers, and shot girls as they flit back and forth between tables delivering drinks and other things that probably shouldn’t be sold within the walls of a high-class club like this. I grimace as one girl drops her head down against a table and runs her nose over a line of white powder. No bathroom secrets for these folks. Even if they get caught, Mommy or Daddy will be there, checkbooks in hand, to bail them out.

When we finally reach Dean, I scan the area around him. “Hey!” Dean reacts when he spots us, pushing from the barrel-chested guys on either side of him to offer Luc a hand as we approach. “You guys are late.”

Luc opens his mouth, but I beat him to the punch. “Where’s Ava?” I demand, yelling over the crowd.

Dean chuckles and turns his gaze upward for a moment. I glance up as well, noting the balcony on the upper floor. “She escaped up to the lounge about thirty minutes ago,” he answers. “You should join her.”

That’s all the invitation I need. “I guess I’ll leave you guys to duke it out then,” I say, patting Luc on the chest as I extract myself from his hold.

Luc snatches my wrist before I can get too far and holds it up, pulling me back quickly. His mouth lands on mine and his tongue invades quickly, shocking me for the second it takes him to steal my thought and breath. When he pulls back, the corner of his mouth tips up. “Stay in the building,” he says.

“Wasn’t planning on leaving without you,” I say, nodding numbly as my lips tingle with the aftermath of his kiss.

His fingers leave my wrist, but the imprint of him remains as I stride across the room and head for the back staircase I’m familiar with. As I move up to the second floor, the music fades enough for my thoughts to return. The inner walls of the stairwell act to muffle the pounding bass as the music shifts once more.

When I step into the private lounge of the second floor, the smell of weed slaps me in the face. My lips twitch as I spot the lone figure, sprawled out on the couch next to an ashtray with a singular column of smoke drifting up from it.

“I don’t remember you being much of a drinker before.” Avalon lifts her head at my comment and smirks my way. There’s no physical invitation, but then again, I don’t need one to approach her. She reclines back on the sofa. The sound of the music pounding through the speakers downstairs filters in through the balcony, but not nearly as loud as it’d been on the first floor.

“It’s my birthday,” she finally slurs. “I can do what I want.” Dean said she’d come up here thirty minutes before, but one glance at the table tells me she’s definitely made that thirty minutes count.

“Is that why you’re up here, avoiding people, during your own party?”

She groans. “I didn’t want a damn party.” I move to stand over her, watching as her eyes open and stare up at the ceiling. “Dean said something about having to keep up appearances.” Her words confirm Luc’s earlier statement as she waves her hand towards the balcony. “So I did my queenly duties—I made my appearance. Put the little peons in their place, and now I’m up here.” She gestures to the room. “Actually enjoying myself.”

“By yourself?” I ask.

“For now.” She shrugs. “The others stopped by, but now they’re home getting my present ready—whatever that is.”

“Then, I guess I can keep you company while you wait for Dean to come get you.” I take a seat across from her and toss my legs up onto the table between us before reaching forward and snagging an empty shot glass and the decanter of amber liquid. I pour myself a hefty shot and shoot it back, wincing as the sharp spicy tang of whiskey hits my throat. Deep blue-gray eyes watch me curiously and Ava laughs as I make a face.

“Pussy,” she comments lightly, and almost as if I want to prove to her that she’s just as much of a little bitch as I am, I pour another two shots. Pushing one towards her, I lift the second one.

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