Page 10 of Vengeful Rotten Casualties

I flip to the next document, eyes roving over the list of account numbers and the names attached. If nothing else, Jason Osman was good for one thing.

Access.

I pull out the flash drive and stare at it. There’s no telling what secrets it holds, but I have an idea in mind. I twist it through my fingers, rolling it between my digits as I return my gaze to the documents. Normal people only see the world through one lens. They see what’s in front of them. Whereas people like Thomas Kincaid—like Jason Osman—they see the world in facets to be controlled. More than money, they see wealth of income and knowledge. In labor. Control people’s ability to make money and you control their very lives.

Capturing me and keeping me locked into his contract of ownership had been child’s play for Thomas. I’m not so vain to think he killed my mother to get to me. No, had she lived, I might have never known this side of humanity. A part of me balks at the idea because the smaller piece of me—the tiniest bit of hope and childishness that still remains—wishes that she had. Maybe things would’ve been different for me. Maybe they would’ve been different forhim.

I close my eyes, cutting off the lines of information in front of me as I lean my temple against the window and stop fiddling with the flash drive. Instead, I clench my fingers around the small plastic and metal piece until the edges dig into my palm. My shades jar against the side of my face and without opening my eyes, I reach up and pull them off, dropping them onto the seat next to me.

Five years is a long time. Five years changes people.Will he be the same?I wonder.Or will he be like his father?

I pray he won’t be. If there is a God in this world, even if He has forsaken me … please don’t let Luc be like the monster who ruined me.

A wetness forms behind my closed eyes. It touches my lashes, making them stick together. I refuse to open my eyes again until I’m sure I’ve got my emotions back under control. With a sharp inhale, I sit up and refocus on the pages in my lap.

“Where should I tell the captain to set a course for?” the driver inquires as he steers us out into the busy streets of New York City.

With careful movements, I tuck the flash drive into my purse and then re-fold the papers, slipping them back into their places. I retwist the twine to hold them all together, and as I do, I ignore the way my fingers tremble.

“Eastpoint,” I finally say, keeping my voice as steady as I can manage. “Tell the captain that we’re heading to the private airfield outside of Eastpoint University.”

I turn my gaze towards the window and watch the people walking down the street as cars swarm around each other, yellow taxis cutting each other off in an effort to get ahead of their time and get to the next job. The fast pace of the city won’t be found in Eastpoint. Instead, something much more sinister is waiting for me. Something I would run from if I could.

Unfortunately, doing something as selfish as running is no longer in the cards for me. Perhaps if I were the only one in trouble, then … I shake my head, throwing away that idea. It’s not just about me anymore. This is so much bigger than me now. It’s time to start the final phase of my plan and that means it’s time to return.

It’s time to include Luc.

It’s time tousehim.

5

LUC

“Motherfucker.”The curse slips out as a body slams into my front. For a few seconds, I’m able to maintain my balance and dig my heels into the ground as the two-hundred plus pounds of muscle head damn near bowl me over. Those few seconds run out rather quickly, however, and I’m knocked directly on my ass. The back of my helmet slaps the ground. Even the cushion on the inside doesn’t much help the ringing in my ears that follows.

It’s not the first time today, and if this keeps going, it won’t be the last, but I am getting fed up with the treatment. On the sidelines, Dean and Coach stand side by side, watching the proceedings with stone faces. No doubt, if I don’t do something about this then Dean will find any and every reason to say I can’t hack it on their fucking team. Fat chance I’m going to let that happen.

I pop back to my feet, shaking my head, and wave to the row of teammates. “Again,” I snap.

Instead of immediately reforming their line of defense, the team—almost in sync—turns towards Dean and the coach. Coach nods to them and finally, they readjust. The line of men I’m in shuffles on their feet as they, too, readjust. I’m not an idiot. These fuckers aren’t on my side—despite the mock plays we’re exercising and the fact that theyshouldbe. Every time the whistle blows the opposing line runs for it, making a beeline straight for me, and not a damn one of them attempts to help. My body aches with the countless times I’ve been slammed into the ground already.

It’s not enough for me to be at Eastpoint. Ihaveto be on this fucking team. Dean might think he can threaten me out of my place, but I deserve to be here. Nothing is going to stop me from getting what I want. Not even the King of Eastpoint himself.

The second the whistle blows and the countdown begins, I ready myself. I curve one foot to the side and lean forward as the biggest fucker in the other line charges me. A split second before he hits, I snap to the side and let him slide right past. The ball flies overhead, heading for our runner, and I take off towards him.

Shouts ensue. I shove the next opposing member down, damn near leaping over his head to protect the man in front of me as he launches up from the ground, deftly catching the football in his grasp. More grunts and shouting sound behind me, but the runner ignores them and so the fuck do I. Together, we head down the line of the field, straight towards the field goal.

My legs pump under me, feet slapping the grass. My heart pounds in my ears. I count down in my head, watching the world racing by. I have to slow down to not overpower the teammate in front of me. I glance back every once in a while, and when a shadow crosses over my feet, catching me off guard, I slam to a stop and watch another guy go sprawling face first in the ground where I would’ve been had I not stopped.

Asshole. Still, I smirk and jump over him, pushing more energy into my already aching legs. Seconds later, my man makes it to the goal and slaps the ball down on the ground before collapsing to the ground, his chest rising and falling in rapid movements.

A whistle blows behind me and I finally give myself a moment to breathe. I suck breath after breath into my lungs, the feel of it scraping my throat raw as I reach up and unbuckle my helmet, turning and facing Coach and Dean as they approach at a much slower pace.

“Well?” Dean asks, looking at Coach as he pauses in front of me. “What do you think?”

“He’s got talent,” Coach replies with a nod. My helmet drops to the ground at my feet and I rub a hand over my sweat slicked hair as the strands stick to my temples and the back of my neck. “If the team can manage to not kill him on the field, then I think he’ll do us well.”

“Glad I’m not the only one who noticed,” I say, shooting a sharp glance at a few of the opposing team members as they jog past us to their friend on the ground. Abel, Marcus, and Braxton arrive and pull off their own helmets.

---