Page 64 of Vengeful Rotten Casualties

I cross my arms around her chest, locking my hand on her opposite shoulder. “You were lonely,” I guessed.

Micki’s head dips in acknowledgment. “Yeah, maybe.” She exhales slowly. “By the time I met her, I had more freedom and no ankle monitor. I tried to keep what was happening—what I was doing there—a secret from her. She got a place to run to when she wanted to escape her mom and I … got a friend. I hated leaving her without warning. It felt like leaving you all over again.” She shivers and goosebumps lift along her forearms.

The water’s gotten too cold. “Come on, let’s get out,” I say, pushing her forward slightly, enough to give myself room to climb out of the tub. She watches me with a distant look on her face as I towel myself off and then wrap it around my hips. I rip the plug free and then help her out as well.

It isn’t until we’re both back in the bedroom and cuddled up beneath the covers that she ends her story with her head against my chest and her hot breath puffing over my collarbone.

“Avalon filled a void inside of me, Luc,” she whispers. “She was there when I needed someone to keep me grounded and, even if she didn’t know anything, she saved me more times than I care to admit. I know that you and the Carters have been rivals forever, but I hope you don’t do anything to hurt her. It seems like you’ve assimilated into Eastpoint and I hope that means that any malicious intent is over between the two of you. That the rivalry is over. I can’t lose her again, she’s…”

“Shhhh.” I hush her quietly. “Nothing’s going to happen to Avalon. I wouldn’t do shit to her, and not just because Dean would try to kill me for even thinking it. I’m grateful for everything she’s done for you and at the end of the day, I think I can attribute you coming back to me to some of that.”

Micki is quiet for a moment but then she nods against my chest. “Yeah.” Her voice is quiet. “She kept me alive. I probably wouldn’t even be able to do what I’m doing now if she hadn’t kept me sane in that hell hole.”

“Then she’s safe,” I tell her. “And so are you. Go to sleep, Micki. We’ll figure the rest out in the morning.”

And for a change, Micki actually follows my commands. She moves closer, stealing my warmth for her own and I let her. With my arms wrapped around her and her scent in my nose, I fall asleep with the very reason for my existence clinging to me as if to loosen her hold would set her adrift into space. She doesn’t know it yet, but she’s already adrift and I’m the only tether she’ll ever need. I’ll keep her tied to me, tied to safety, until the day I die.

26

LUC

I read in a book somewhere,“Battle not with monsters, lest ye become a monster, and if you gaze into the abyss, the abyss gazes also into you.” It was written by some melodramatic woe-is-me philosopher. Normally, I’d chalk up the commentary from some long dead depressed dude to suicidal tendencies and undiagnosed mental illness, but his words struck something inside of me when I read them. Something particularly dark.

Dean and I have always been similar enough. Rivals, not by choice but by birth. Now, I think I understand him more than I ever have. When he met Avalon, he lost his shit. Went completely unhinged. In fact, I watched that group of his do the same. One by one, each of them fell like dominoes.

I always thought I was above that, but the truth of the matter is—I fell long before any of them. The fall was sweet and painful and crawling out is just as taxing.

When I wake with a flurry of dirty blonde hair in my face, my first instinct is to inhale its scent. I close my eyes and suck it all into my chest, filling my lungs with what’s uniquely hers, combined with my shampoo that I used on her the night before.

Soft, naked limbs slide against my own. I shift sideways, groaning slightly as my dick springs to life, awake and ready to dive back into the girl in our arms. No doubt she’s sore, though, from the night before. I can’t find the energy to feel regret, either.

It takes a lot to leave her, but knowing how last night was and our conversation, I expect we’ll have a more in depth discussion today and that’s going to take coffee. Lots and lots of fucking coffee. Carefully, so as not to wake her, I extract myself from the bed. Leaving Micki asleep and curled up on my side of the bed as she hugs my pillow to her chest, smashing her face into its surface, I quickly pull on a pair of pants and head down to the kitchen.

The coffee machine hisses and spits out dark liquid as I stand back and sip my first cup of the day. Sunlight pours in through the French backdoors and the windows that line the living room. Micki doesn’t want to kill my father. She wants to make him suffer. I contemplate that. Deep down, maybe there’s something broken in me, because the thought of killing my father or torturing him doesn't disturb me the way it probably should.

It’s no secret—not to him and not to me—that I hold no affection for the man. In fact, knowing all the shit he’s put Micki through, I want to do it all myself. I want to cut off his limbs, tie them off so he can’t bleed out, and spend hours, if not days, extracting the worst possible pain from him. In the end, it doesn’t matter if he understands what he did wrong. I don’t need to be right to get revenge. There needs to be an example made of him, though. One that warns everyone—elite and peon alike—not to fuck with what’s mine.

“Luc?” Micki’s sleep heavy voice echoes through the house and a moment later, her soft footsteps enter the kitchen. When I left her she was naked, but now she’s thrown on a long sleeve Henley from my closet and a pair of shorts that mold to her ass and long, tan legs. Fuck me, but I want to take her back to bed and strip her naked all over again. How can anyone make normal clothes look that fucking good?

I swallow roughly and turn away from the image she presents, grabbing a fresh mug and filling it for her. I drop a few cubes of sugar into the top and grab the milk I took out earlier while the coffee was brewing. I pour a hefty amount inside before I feel like I can face her again.

“Coffee?” My voice comes out gruffer than I intend, but she doesn’t seem to notice as she moves closer and takes the mug I offer. Our fingers brush and for a split second, I think I’m going to lose it. I can see it in my mind. Taking the mug back and setting both hers and mine on the counter right before I set her on the island and strip my shirt off of her.

I’m practically panting with the image in my head as she leans her head back and takes a long, slow sip of her coffee. “Hmmm.” She hums in the back of her throat. “It’s good. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Dangerous waters, I tread. I swallow more steaming hot coffee, choking myself with the shock of heat in my mouth to keep from doing something that will only delay the inevitable conversation we need to continue from last night.

“So,” I say, leaning back against the counter once more, “we need to discuss what to do moving forward.”

Micki brushes back a long tendril of hair and hooks it over her ear as she nods. “Yes, we do,” she agrees. “But first”—she sets her mug to the side—”I need to show you something.”

“Show me something?”

She nods. “Do you have a laptop I can borrow?” she asks.

I frown, but set my own mug down and leave the room. I head towards the downstairs office to grab my home laptop before returning. When I reach the kitchen, though, Micki’s gone. My chest tightens inside, squeezing until even my lungs are constricted and no air passes through. Is it going to be like this every time? I wonder. Every time she leaves my sight will I panic and fear that she’ll never come back?

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