Page 36 of Vengeful Rotten Casualties

A low voice speaks. “Dash is one of us,” Dean says, capturing my attention. His words are a warning. A careful statement that can only be taken as fact.

I nod to him. “I’m aware.”

“I knew he had other … victims,” Dash says, drawing everyone’s attention back to him. “I tried to find them. I thought I’d found all of them, but…”

“After this,” I say, “you shouldn’t even give him another thought. Whatever he’s done, it’s over. Whoever he is, he’s living on borrowed time and when I’m done with him, you’ll have your revenge and so will they.”

Dash finally raises his head again. Red rims his eyes but there are no streaks of tears. He nods. “Fine,” he says. “Just tell me what I need to do.”

My chest clenches. Another piece falls into place. I steeple my fingers together and rest my elbows on either arm of the chair I’m sitting in as I stare across the space. Half a dozen times I’ve plotted something like this and every time it’s the same. Thrilling. Exhilarating. Enticing.

I can’t help the smile that comes to my lips. Thomas Kincaid had no clue that the girl he entrapped five years ago would be the same woman I am now. More than a killer. More than an assassin. But a fucking vengeful rotten casualty to the ways of man.

16

LUC

I’m in trouble.In so fucking deep and I’m not sure if I evenwantto get out. Something’s bothering me. It’s like an itch at the back of my mind—somewhere in my skull that I can’t even reach. No matter how I try to reach around and alleviate the irritation, it remains. Micki is like a different person when she’s got a clear mission. The days following the brief meeting with Dash Bennington are some of the best and worst of my life.

Best because every night I fall asleep with the love of my life in my arms. Worst because every morning, I wake up and she’s already gone. She disappears for hours at a time. Sometimes, she takes one of my vehicles in the garage—her favorite is a quiet little BMW. When she takes it, at least I can track her movements. Sometimes, however, I just wake up to nothing.

No cars are gone. No note is left. And all I can do is get ready for the day, go to class, go to practice, and pretend like the anxiety isn’t eating me the fuck alive.

“Hey, Kincaid!” someone shouts as a football comes flying towards my face. It’s more out of instinct that I catch it than actual attention. “Get your head out of your ass!”

I scowl at the fucker who threw the football at me. I don’t know his name but he isn’t the first to fuck with me this week. He’s just the unfortunate one to pull me out of my head and piss me off. I turn the football around and take a step back, throwing it with all my might, and watch as his eyes widen when it comes hurtling towards him. The damn thing finally lands right into his solar plexus, earning me a grunt of pain, and I feel a bit of relief.

“Davis, why don’t you practice your own throw before you start heckling someone else, eh?” a familiar voice calls right before an arm is slung over my shoulder.

I stiffen as Braxton’s face drops down next to mine and he directs his full attention to me. “Having a pissy day?” he asks.

I shake him off. “Fuck off,” I snap as I stomp off towards the sidelines. Pausing by the bleachers, I snatch up my bottle of water and pop the cap before chugging half of it. Either I’m getting soft in my insults or Braxton is too stupid to read body language because I’m not even half done when he casually walks up and takes a seat in front of me.

“Ain’t seen much of Micki around lately,” he says. “Heard she’s been hanging with Ava off and on, but haven’t seen her for a few days.”

“She’s prepping for the game.” I say the words, but honestly, I don’t know what the hell she’s doing. I can only assume that’s where she’s been. A week of falling asleep with her, though, can’t erase five years of her absence. Every time I wake up and she’s gone, I have to rein in the darker urges I never expected to have.

If she knew the thoughts in the back of my mind, she’d run so fucking hard and fast. She’d never come back. So, I keep them buried deep inside. I tamp them down when what I’d really like to do is lock her up. Tie her up, break her legs, make it so that she can’t leave ever again. Make her completely dependent upon me for anything and everything.

I don’t want that. I don’t want a doll to fuck. I just want … her. And I’m scared that if I try to hold onto her too tightly, she’ll disappear all over again. I know I won’t be able to handle that. If she goes away again, the best thing anyone could do for me is put a bullet right between my eyes before I do it myself.

Braxton reclines on the bleachers, his hands going back to prop him up on the upper seats as he watches me with a tilt to his chin. “That a fact?”

I scowl and dip my head down, turning my bottle upside down and dumping the remainder of the contents over my head as the sun beats down on my neck and shoulders. Water drains down the sides of my face and over my temples as it soaks into the strands of my hair. I shake my head and let the droplets fly in every direction.

Braxton must feel some of it—he’s close enough—but he doesn’t comment. I lift back up and then drop the bottle into my bag before yanking my now damp hair back, tying it at the base of my skull with a hair band, and zipping the duffle shut.

“Is there a reason you’re over here?” I finally ask. “Or do you just like irritating me?”

“Irritation is the sincerest form of flattery,” he replies.

“That’s imitation, dumbass,” I snap.

“Oh, is it?” He shrugs. “Well, then, yeah, I’m here to irritate you—among other things.”

Scrubbing a hand down my damp face, I turn to him. “What else?” I demand. “Did Dean put you up to talking to me?”

“Just checking on how you’re doing,” Brax replies. “Your girl’s been spending a lot of time with Avalon—on and off campus. Dean’s a little concerned that Ava’s been keeping secrets from him again.”

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