Page 14 of Vengeful Rotten Casualties

Micki’s big brown eyes widen as I lift my fingers to my lips and suck down the rest of her. A blush burns over her face and cheeks and I grin as soon as I’m done licking the last vestiges of her taste from my fingers. “Come on, pretty girl,” I say. “Let’s go back to the house, I’m hungry for more than you.”

Micki pulls away and turns, smacking my arm as she crawls onto her hands and knees and finally to her feet, still blushing. “Luc Kincaid, you’re a fucking danger to society,” she snaps.

I smile, feeling proud of myself. “Only to you, baby girl,” I promise as I, too, get to my feet. I take her hand, and together, the two of us head back down the hill towards the big house.

As we approach, however, a familiar and not wholly welcome figure appears at the front door. Ken Carpenter—my father’s personal secretary. His beak-like nose precedes the rest of him and his slicked back hair looks like it’s got gallons of grease in it.

“I do hate to interrupt, Master Luc,” he states, sounding unremorseful, “but I’ve been sent by Master Thomas with some unfortunate news.”

“News?” I repeat.

“Unfortunate?” Micki focuses on.

Ken turns to her, his eyes roving down her slender form without a hint at whatever he’s thinking. He’s like a snake. “I’m sorry to tell you this, Miss Michaels, but your mother has passed away from an illness.”

Micki’s hand tightens on mine and I look at her as horror dawns.Something’s wrong.Micki’s earlier words slam into my head with all of the subtlety of a freight train. She’s never fucking wrong.

“She’s dead?” Micki’s voice sounds hollow. I don’t hesitate—not caring that Ken is there, not caring that I’m sure he’ll report all of this back to my father—I grab onto her and yank her into my arms as she collapses. “No … I didn’t get to … I haven’t said…”

The tears come, soaking into my shirtfront, and Micki clings to me as she cries. “I’m sorry,” I whisper into her hair. “I’m so sorry, Micki.”

I don’t know if she hears me or not because she doesn’t respond. Instead, she cries harder. The only things holding her up are my arms and soon that isn’t enough for her legs. I reach down and hook one arm under her knees and lift her higher against my chest.

“I’ll talk with you later about arrangements for Micki’s mom,” I tell Ken as I brush past him, carrying her further into the house.

Ken bows his head slightly. “Master Thomas will be arriving home in the next day or so,” he replies. “He’s already taken the liberty of handling the funeral arrangements, but he will, of course, want to meet with Miss Michaels.”

I grit my teeth, but there’s nothing more to say. I’m not even eighteen yet. I have nothing of my own. No money. No house. Nothing is in my name. What can I do for her? What does this even mean?

A new thought intrudes. What happens to Micki now? Her mom was all she had. Her only family. Will the state take her? I can’t imagine my father being kind enough to keep letting her stay here under his roof when he’s no longer fucking her mother. It might be best if the state took her away, but…

My hands tighten around her as her sobs grow harder and louder. I can’t let that happen.

Some people wait a lifetime to meet their soulmates. I met mine at fourteen years old. MiKayla Michaels. Olive-skinned. Small waisted. With an oval face and a mouth that could put Aphrodite to shame; I’m not so vain as to not recognize my absolute luck in meeting MiKayla Michaels.

Right now, though, I feel anything but lucky. I feel like one small move will see this girl yanked out of my reach and out of my life forever.

And there’s nothing I can do to stop it.

7

MICKI

Present Day…

He’s taller. No, more than that, he’sbigger. In the time we’ve been apart, the slender teenage boy that I once knew has morphed into a man. He’s now got the true stance of a football player. Wide shoulders, muscles—all tapered down to a strong, triangular waist. He’s still on the lean side, like a surfer or swimmer, but he’s got the cut in his body and facial features that only time could have given him.

Time that I hadn’t been here to see pass. Time that had been stolen from me like a whole fuck of a lot more.

I shift in front of the vehicle, in front of him, watching him and waiting for him to say something more. Something other than my name. I’m not exactly sure what kind of reception I expected, but it wasn’t this … silence. This awkward tension. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to present myself this way, but the second I’d landed, I hadn’t really wanted to wait much longer than it took to change clothes, drop off my supplies, and head to Eastpoint. I’ve already lost too much time as it is, and I don’t want to lose anymore. I want every second to count.

His hand slips away from my hair. After a few more beats of silence, I swallow and look away from the intensity of his gaze, but the burn of his attention on the side of my face doesn’t go away. I cross my arms—a protective gesture, I know, but I can’t seem to stop myself.

“Are you going to say anything?” I ask.

“I’m trying to figure out if you’re real or a figment of my imagination,” he replies.

“I’m real,” I inform him quietly, looking back. “And I’m back.”

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