Page 7 of Wicked Scorn
Arriving at the old, unmanned gas station right outside oftown, I spot Brock leaning against a rusty old pickup truck, watching the dial click as he fills his tank. That cocky smirk on his face sends my anger into overdrive. I park my bike hard, gravel crunching beneath the tires, and step off, fists clenched tightly at my sides. The place smells like stale cigarettes and cheap beer, a fitting backdrop for the showdown that’s about to go down.
“Jeremiah Blackwood,” Brock greets me, his tone oozing with fake friendliness. “What brings you here?”
“Looks like you know who the fuck I am now, Brock,” I snap, my words dripping venom. “You drugged Oakley.”
“Drugged? I don’t know what you’re talking about, man.” He raises his hands in mock innocence, but I can see the lie in his eyes.
“You fucked with the wrong damn one.” My rage is unrelenting. I close the distance between us in a few quick strides and grab him by the collar of his douchebag frat polo, lifting him slightly off the ground. “Just what the fuck were you planning to do and spare me the excuses. We both know this wasn’t your first time. You’re a piece of shit.”
“Hey, hey, calm down!” he sputters, trying to wriggle free from my grip. “I didn’t do anything!”
“Shut up!” My grip tightens with each passing second. The world around us seems to fade, leaving only the sound of our heavy breathing and the distant hum of the gas station lights.
“You’re gonna pay for this, Brock,” I hiss through gritted teeth, bringing my face closer to his, feeling my anger mingling with the cool night air. His eyes dart around, searching for an escape, but there isn’t one. Not now.
Out of the corner of my eye, I spot it—a baseball bat lying in the back of his pickup. Perfect. I can feel my eyes crinkle just a bit at the corners as I release my hold onBrock. He stumbles back, gasping for air, but I’m already moving.
“Think you can throw me around?” he sputters, trying to regain his cocky composure. “You don’t scare me, Blackwood.”
“Good,” I say, tone cold and even. “Because I’m not here to scare you.”
I grab the bat, feeling the rough wood under my fingers. My knuckles turn white as I tighten my grip. Brock’s eyes widen, finally realizing the gravity of the situation.
“Whoa, man, let’s talk about this,” he pleads, backing up against the truck. “We can work something out!”
“Talk time’s over,” I snarl. “Actions have consequences, Brock. And I’m the fucking consequence you never saw coming.”
I lift the bat over my shoulder. The world narrows down to the sound of my heartbeat and the adrenaline surging through my veins.
“Jeremiah, please—” His words break off as I bring the bat crashing down. The sickening sound of bone meeting wood echoes through the night, sending a shiver down my spine. Brock crumples to the ground, but I don’t stop. Swing after swing, the bat connects with flesh and bone, each impact urging me to go further.
“You disgust me. She could’ve died!” I roar, punctuating each word with a strike. Blood splatters across my clothes, the metallic scent mingling with the smell of gasoline and sweat. Brock’s pleas turn to gurgles, then silence.
I finally stop, chest heaving, staring down at what I’ve done. Brock lies motionless, blood pooling around him, staining the gravel dark red. For a moment, everything is still. The only sound is my ragged breathing and the distant hum of the lights.
“Fuck,” I whisper to myself, the reality of now needing to clean this shit up hitting me.
“I told you that you fucked with the wrong one, Brock,” I murmur, more to myself than to him. I drop the bat, letting it clatter to the ground, and wipe a smear of blood from my brow.
“Shit,” I whisper, pulling out my phone. My fingers fumble as I navigate to Penn’s contact. We always knew days like this would happen from a young age. My brothers and I have a code word prepared for just about everything. I type quickly, the prearranged word glaring up at me.
Hotwheel
“Come on, Penn,” I hiss, hitting send. The seconds stretch into agonizing minutes. I keep glancing at Brock’s lifeless form, half-expecting him to jerk awake like some horror movie villain.
The phone finally vibrates in my hand. Penn taking his sweet ass time to answer while I’m having a damn crisis.
Pennywise
I love it when you talk cars to me
Relief floods through me, but it’s short-lived. I need to get back to Oakley. She needs me, no matter what she says in her intoxicated state.
I take another look around, ensuring no prying eyes are watching. The hum of the cicadas buzzes in my ears, the night eerily silent otherwise.
Before I can even process it, headlights pierce the darkness. Penn’s jumping out of a truck that rumbles into view.
“Jere, my man,” Penn calls out as he hops down from thepassenger seat, his grin wide and almost too casual for the situation. “Looks like you had a bit of fun without me.”
