Page 6 of Vengeful Rotten Casualties

“Thank you,” I whisper, “and, I’m sorry.” That’s all I can give it as I start to fill the hole the rest of the way up.

I don’t particularly believe anyone will come searching for Eric Truman out here in the middle of bum fuck nowhere, but on the off chance that a hiker or someone stumbles upon this place and something happens, his body should be far enough down and no other animal will dig it up. And should any authorities make their way out here, the deceased animal I put in above him should throw them off as well.

Once the hole is filled and the ground patted, I throw some grass seeds across the grave from the small dollar store packet I picked up when I stopped in town a few miles back. Sweat clings to my skin and I’m not sure I’ve ever wanted a bath as much as I do right in this moment. I pick up my previously discarded shoes and head back the same way I came—letting my toes sink into the mud as I go.

Despite the dirt and sweat soaking my skin, the desire to wash myself clean has more to do with being in that bastard’s presence than the actual grime clinging to my flesh. There’s no actual path up here; when I scouted it a week or so back, I noticed that only the most experienced of hikers and nature-loving people headed up here. I’m not one of them, but I couldn’t deny that it was perfect for my intentions.

Now, though, I let myself take in the cooling breeze and the sounds of the creatures skittering around in the underbrush. It’s nice. Serene, even.

It takes me a little over an hour to make it back to the small gravel parking lot I left the car in. I release a sigh of relief for my aching calves the second I spot the yellow clunker sitting alone in the lot. I know I’ll have to get rid of it soon enough. The old beat-up Camry has been in more wrecks than most cars and is by no means luxurious, but it does its job, and when I crank the engine, it only sputters a little bit before turning over, a blast of air conditioning hitting me in the face.

I turn down the air and lean back against the seat for a moment, catching my breath. I wait several seconds, letting myself deal with the rush of endorphins and anxious adrenaline that finally hits me. When I lift my hands, my fingers are shaking uncontrollably.

Every time, it’s like this. Every kill. But it has to be done. I can’t leave this world without knowing that they’re all gone. If it makes me a bad person—if it means that when I finally die, I find myself straight in hell—so be it. The law can only do so much and these are the kind of men who know how to manipulate it all for their gain.

They can’t be allowed to get away with it anymore, and if no one else will stop them, I guess I’ll have to.

Once the trembling and shaking finally subside and I can’t ignore the grumbling of my stomach any longer, I pull on my seatbelt and put the car in reverse. I don’t look back as I drive away. Not once.

I learned long ago that looking back only hurts you in the end. The only place that’s left for me is forward. No matter what it brings—salvation or torture.

3

LUC

I’ve beenaware of my position as the Kincaid heir for so long that I’ve grown accustomed to the idea that Eastpoint was out of my reach. I’ve stood on the outside, always looking in and always aware that I would never be invited in.

Until now.

Then again, I wasn’t actually invited to join Eastpoint. I’d forced my way into this school and down this path because I know the consequences of accepting what you’re given. From a Kincaid’s standpoint, I’ve never allowed myself to admit it to anyone other than myself and one girl from long ago, but being on the outside of Carter and his little sick boys club has been a lonely existence.

One I never understood.

One I never wanted.

So, what does a man who doesn’t know how to take ‘no’ for an answer do when he comes upon a concrete wall? He gets a fucking sledgehammer and he breaks it.

The rivalry between the Carters and Kincaids existed long before my birth, and up until now, I and everyone around me assumed it would exist long after my death as well. It brings a sense of pride to my chest to know, though, that I’ve broken that mold. I fucking did it. It’s over—or at the very least, it’s well on its way to its eternal demise.

The stares I receive as I make my way across Eastpoint’s campus, a duffle bag slung over one shoulder and my cell in hand, only make it that much more obvious how unexpected my presence actually is here. No one stops me, though, and when I lift my gaze to meet a passerby’s, they quickly duck their heads and scurry away like the sheep they are.

I know what I am—or at the very least, what I seem to be. Trouble. Danger. An interloper.

I can just imagine what they’re all thinking.What the hell is the heir to the Kincaid fortune doing at Eastpoint?

The answer is simple. I’m finally doing what the fuck I want. What I’ve always wanted. I’m breaking away from my father’s hold and living. And Dean Carter and his friends are going to be the ones to help me. After all I’ve done for them, they owe me that fucking much.

As I round the next building and make my way across the campus green, I spot my target. Or rather, my targets.Dean and his crew are stationed around a concrete table just outside the student union and despite the quickly dropping temperatures, they’re relishing in the last vestiges of summer as they sit around and chat.

For a moment, I slow my steps and just observe them. Sure, any number of students and faculty passing by are probably doing the same, but I doubt they see what I see. Rylie has her laptop perched on the edge of the table and Abel is firmly wrapped around her from behind, hands moving over her body like a sticky-fingered octopus. How she deals with the constant touching, I’ll never know.

Dean reclines next to Avalon with his arm slung over her shoulders as they chat with Marcus and Braxton. Between them on the opposite end of the table from Rylie and Abel, Clover dangles her feet from her seat on the edge of the table across the other side.

They’re the picture of college student ease. All-American kids just basking in the last remains of summer as fall makes its way into the campus. With their backpacks strewn beneath the table and Rylie’s laptop screen reflecting the sunlight as they laugh and talk amongst themselves, they could be posing for a fucking scholastic brochure. Students and teachers walking by watch them with caution—knowing despite their looks that these people are more than they appear. They’re dangerous.

They’re just what I need.

Regardless of what anyone else thinks or says, theyareordinary college students. They live. They laugh. They love. They hate. They just do it all with a little more access to money and aggression than most people. But me … I’ve been where they are. Iamwhere they are. The only difference is that, until now, I haven’t had the luxury of other people on my side.

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