Page 88 of Vengeful Rotten Casualties

It’s time to bring this overdramatic fucking play to the ending it deserves. The one he deserves.

36

LUC

Headlights swingover the back of a familiar black BMW.MyBMW. The vehicle I’m driving screeches to a halt alongside it. Both front doors of the BMW hang open and glass litters the ground around the passenger side. I double check the inside, but there are no bloodstains. That’s a good thing—it has to be.

My heart pounds in my chest as I rip up the floor mat and find the secret compartment I had installed not long after I bought the car. In my life, I’ve learned to always be prepared and all of my vehicles are outfitted the same. Unlocking the compartment, I pull out a fresh gun and a round of ammo.

Quickly checking the weapon, I slide the clip into place, tuck it into the back of my pants, and head for the front doors. No doubt, Dean’s got men on the way, but I need to get to Micki before they get here. She’s got to be emotional right now. I can’t let her do something to fuck up all her plans, but more importantly—I can’t let my father do something to her either.

The bottom floor is empty—as expected at this time of night. No lights are on, but the elevator’s buttons are illuminated. I look up and scan the dull numbers until I come to the last floor. My father’s office. I slap my hand against the button to bring it back to me.

Time moves slowly—the seconds practically dragging by as I wait, contemplating how long it might take me to run up two dozen flights of stairs. Too long, I decide just as the elevator arrives. The doors open and I step inside, hitting the floor number with more force than necessary. My muscles are sore. My lungs squeeze air in and out.

I’ve never felt as if the whole world has slowed down, as if each movement I make takes far too long to come to completion. I’m trembling. Full of insecurities, concern, and what ifs. What if I’m too late? What if I step out of this elevator and all of my worst nightmares come true? What if Micki isn’t the one in charge? What if he kills her?

I shake my head free of those thoughts. No, that doesn’t make any sense. My father isn’t the satirical sort. He wouldn’t bring her here. She would, though. She wants him to face his demise right in the same place he started it all. That’s what her revenge means to her.

The elevator stops with a ding on the final floor and the doors slide open. I move slowly, forcing myself to remain steady rather than diving in. Empty offices line the halls. The walls are all made of glass and steel which makes finding them that much easier. It’s the only room with lights flashing.

Voices reach me before the sight of them does.

“You can’t do anything to me!” I hear my father scream. “I’m a god, you worthless whore!”

My fingers clench against the gun in my grasp. He’ll pay for that comment if I have anything to say about it.

I hear Micki’s responding laugh to my father’s words. As I draw nearer, moving silently through the office until I spot her, standing several feet away from my old man with a gun pointed directly at him.

“I won’t do it!” he shouts.

“You can either upload the information on that computer,” Micki says, sounding as if this isn’t the first time she’s spoken these words, “or the public can find your body, in here, naked, with all of your exploits splashed across the news the following day.”

“That’s not going to work.” Both of them jerk at the sound of my voice, but Micki’s gun never wavers from my father’s face.

“Luc.” If my father is threatened by my presence here, when no doubt he expected me to be back in the garage outside of town with his hired thugs, he doesn’t show it. The damn man could’ve had a shining career as an award-winning actor for all his expression reveals as my name slips from his lips.

I move further into the room, tracking around the glass and steel—cold. Just like the man it belongs to. “I should have known you’d be here,” my father states. “You were always too wrapped up in pussy for your own good.”

I offer him a false grin. “What can I say?” I shrug. “My girl’s got the magic touch.”

His eyes gleam in the dim lighting. Rain slaps the outside of the glass behind him. “Oh she does,” he agrees. “She knows just how to take a man to heaven.” My hands clench into fists. The tidal wave of anger throbs beneath my skin. My father, though, doesn’t stop there. Oh no. That would be too kind. He tips his head down and grins at me. “Tell me something,” he urges, sneering my way. “How did my leftovers taste?”

“Don’t—” Micki growls the word out, trying to stop him from saying any more, but it’s too late.

“MiKayla has a pussy tight enough to make a man addicted—no matter how many dicks she takes. Better than her mother ever was—” Rage pounds through me. Fuck me, but I should’ve known better. The anger boils out of control, and a split second later, wrath fills my veins beyond capacity. Too much. Too hot. It consumes me.

His words drive into me, propelling me forward.

“Luc! Don’t!” Micki screams. I’m already moving—practically sprinting to him like an angry bull at a red flag.

I slam into my father, my flesh hitting his just as I realize my mistake. As big as I am, he’s not small by any means. He may not be a professional fighter, but like me, he’s grown up with threats at every turn. When you’re part of the elite—everyone wants their hunk of flesh. You learn early to fight back. His arms lock around my body, lifting me up and slamming me back down. The two of us hit the floor, and roll.

Heavy handed as always, when his balled fist slams into my side, it sends a rush of air out of my chest. Something in me cracks. My ribs scream in agony. If they’re not broken, then they’re at the very least fractured. The makeshift stitching I’d managed to do on myself to sew up the stab wound left by the fuckers in the garage gives way, ripping free.

My breath wheezes out as fresh blood drips down my side, staining the shirt I’m wearing.Motherfucker!The pain inflates the second bolt of anger, and combined with a slight hint of fear, it runs up my spine as his hands grasp my waist and pause. He feels it—the gun against the small of my back. I don’t have to see his face to know that he feels like he’s gotten lucky. I won’t let him get the chance to take it, though. I rear up and throw him as hard as I can. With every ounce of my strength, I circle, yanking him with me before releasing my grip on his body and watching as he goes flying.

My father slams into the glass behind his desk. My eyes widen as—despite the high-grade glass—it cracks under the weight and force of my throw. A gun goes off and the glass shatters.

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