Wrath

by Nicholas Knight

  WRATH

  A Kaiju Wars Offline Prequel Novella

  By N. Knight

  Copyright © 2019 D20Kaiju LLC

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter One

  My life changed forever the night Irwin Collier slipped something into my drink.

  I don’t know what it was. That doesn’t really matter. There’s a part of me that’s pissed to hell for attributing any changes to myself to any man, let alone a dysfunctional worm like Irwin. To be fair, which I try not to be, because I’m not a sucker, “pissed off” is my default state of existence. Not that you’d know it from looking at me.

  Irwin wasn’t looking at me. At least, not at me. His eyes were on my cleavage while the pill he’d dropped in my champagne flute fizzled, almost invisible among the bubbles. Almost. If I’d been less experienced with this sort of shit, I would have missed it. I never even saw him drop the pill itself, which told me that this wasn’t his first time either. I wondered if the other girls ever figured out what had happened to them. It had to be more than one. You don’t get that kind of smoothness without a lot of practice.

  “All I’m asking,” Irwin said, smoothly pulling his gaze up from my boobs to meet my eyes, “is are you wearing that dress or is it wearing you? Just think about it. Without that designer’s name attached to it, it’s just a collection of overpriced cloth.”

  “Sure.” I smiled sweetly up into his smug face, resisting the urge to headbutt him in the nose. The blood would never come out of the sexy little white dress he was disparaging. “But judging from your attention, the designer knows what he’s about.”

  He did, too. I looked good. More than good. Both Mom and Daddy wanted me to be a model. I’m the right height and have that slight build designers, like because it doesn’t interfere with the lines of their creations. Also, I have the face of a fucking angel. Nobody seems to have caught on yet that I’m the fallen kind.

  Not Mom, who asked me to come home to Vegas to spend a weekend with her, then bailed on me to go off to a wine tasting with her sister in Napa. Certainly not Daddy. I’m not even a person to him. To him, I’m no different than this dress. Meant to make him look good and catch the eye. It’s no wonder Mom ran off with Aunt Glenda.

  That didn’t make me any less mad at her. Or less hurt. Which is stupid, because I knew better than to get my hopes up. Mom’s spent my whole life quietly resentful of my birth for ruining her fun, debutante lifestyle. She likes to pretend she’s still my age. For my last birthday, she tried to gift me a boob job. Parent of the year.

  Aunt Glenda’s not bad though. Unlike Mom, she married for love and actually wants kids. I don’t know the specifics of why she and her loyal little boring paper pusher husband don’t have any yet. He’s got one from his previous marriage, an asshat idiot called Aaron whose parents love and want him. Last I heard, he’d gotten himself arrested. Again.

  I couldn’t say why my thoughts turned to him. Maybe out of envy. If nothing else, he wouldn’t have hesitated to break Irwin’s nose if he’d been in my place. I wanted that freedom now. The ability to lash out. To shatter this whole messed up world that seemed to think I was nothing more than Senator Church’s prized princess, ready to distract his opponents with a dazzling smile at a moment’s notice.

  Knowing Daddy, he probably already had my wedding planned. It would be some sort of backroom deal with a slimy politician to cement an alliance that would help his eventual bid for the presidency. Mom would freaking help him.

  My life is a fucked-up episode of Game of Thrones set in the modern day.

  Irwin’s smile was free of both guile and shame. Dickhead. “Glad you appreciate my attention.”

  I didn’t, in point of fact. Kneeing him the balls until there was nothing left but pulp between his legs probably wouldn’t ruin my dress, but it would take too much time. I’d never manage it before security pulled me off.

  Oh yeah, there was security. Lots of security. Daddy had the crème de la crème of Vegas present at his fundraiser. I forgot the cause. He’d also scraped so low in the barrel that he was in danger of getting splinters under his fingernails. Those people were the real reason for the security. Daddy had decided that marrying a wealthy and well-connected airhead wasn’t enough for his ambitions. Nor was his military career history. He’d climbed in bed with organized crime, and it had paid off. He was wheeling and dealing, and security made sure that peace was held between the two groups he’d brought together under the pretense of making the world a better place.

  It was all so damned hypocritical. Like Irwin’s criticism of my dress. His own suit, the latest fashion and tailored to his lean frame, probably cost more than his education. His teeth were too perfect in that smile, gleaming like his eyes. Pale and predatory. He was used to being the smartest person in the room and successful hunting forays. Too bad for him I wasn’t the helpless little bunny Daddy wanted me to be. Who’s afraid of the big bad wolf? Not me, fucker.

  Something must have slipped through my mask, because for a moment his grin faltered, and confusion flashed through his eyes.

  “Honey, I see you’ve met Irwin,” said a strong voice, no less commanding for the good cheer that suffused it. Speak of the devil and he shall appear. The devil fixed his gaze on Irwin, “You taking good care of my little treasure here, son?”

  Daddy is ex-navy and obsessed with all things nautical. Case-in-point, my name. He used to tell me that he found me in a sunken ship at the bottom of the sea and that I was the greatest treasure he’d ever discovered. He hasn’t called me his little treasure in years, and as far as I know, he’d never shared the nickname with anyone else before now. It twisted a little knife in my heart hearing him share it so blatantly with Irwin.

  “Yes sir,” Irwin replied smoothly, glancing at me. I froze halfway through an eyeroll I’d let slip.

  “Hi, Daddy,” I said, adjusting my tone and gaze to be just a touch more vapid. Daddy didn’t like to be reminded that women have brains. “I totally did.”

  “Glad to see you’re both getting along,” Daddy said, looking between us. “You’re pre-med, aren’t you Irwin? Attending college in Illinois?” He met Irwin’s eyes and they exchanged grips.

  I’ll give this to Daddy, he’s got a memory like a beartrap. He’s also got a blind spot for things he doesn’t want to see, which is the only way I’ve managed to keep what little sanity I still have left. When it comes to things that might impact his career, however, he soaks it all up like a sponge. For him to know Irwin and his college career meant that Irwin, or more likely someone Irwin was connected to, had political value for Daddy dearest. I hate my life so much.

  “That’s right, sir,” Irwin said, straightening up before shaking Daddy’s offered hand. He’d caught on that Daddy liked that ‘sir’ shit quick.

  Daddy grinned and looked back and forth between us. “Have you met Doug yet?”

  Irwin cocked his head. “Doug, sir?”

  “Doug Hughes,” Daddy said, grin widening. He looked like the world’s happiest barracuda.

  I had no idea who Doug Hughes was, but Irwin must have because his whole face lit up. We were whisked over to a group of men in suits and Irwin was introduced. I was subtly positioned next to him. Arm candy and a symbol of Daddy’s approval. The men welcomed him into the fold.

  Irwin began shaking hands, expertly balancing his own champagne flute throughout the exchanges so that h
e didn’t spill a drop.

  “Congratulations on bagging Church’s little ice princess,” said one of the men I hadn’t noticed before, and I suppressed the urge to swear. His name was Randal Welch and he’d been friends with Daddy for years. Long enough to know me from before I learned to manage my mask and hide my emotions. You’d think that a man in his fifties grabbing a fourteen-year-old girl’s ass would be more cause for concern than her slapping him for it. You’d guess wrong.

  I don’t have a name for the emotion I felt when Daddy forced me to apologize to him. I know there was shame and anger both. Also, helplessness. I’d been sunbathing out by the pool when he’d been visiting, and I was still wearing my bikini when he’d grabbed me. My hand had throbbed from the force of the slap, and his cheek had turned red from the impact. His eyes had drunk me in, scanning my barely clothed form. I’d wanted to scream. I’d wanted to cover up. I’d wanted to gouge the bastard’s eyes out with a spoon, castrate him, and shove his amputated testicles into his still bleeding eye sockets.

  I’d apologized, and something in me had broken.

  Something inside me broke again seeing him standing there, full of smug approval for the young man who intended to date-rape me.

  Irwin chuckled and shook Randal’s hand. “Just got to know how to thaw them.”

  I positively beamed at the pedophilic bastard, pressed my drink into Irwin’s free hand as soon as he had it back, and threw my arms around Randal in a full body embrace. “Mr. Welch! It’s so good to see you again. It’s been so long, I missed you. You don’t mind if I call you Randal, now, do you? Mr. Welch makes you sound old.”

  This last I almost whispered into his ear. It would be so easy to bite it off. It would taste like salt and blood. I’d choked down vomit often enough from too much partying that it probably wouldn’t be that hard to swallow it down so they couldn’t sew it back on.

  Even expecting it, I almost gave in to the cannibalistic urge to mutilate him when his hand found my ass again.

  “Of course, sweetheart,” he said. “Anything for my favorite girl.”

  I pulled away, pressed in close to Irwin so that I could peck him on the cheek, and grabbed his champagne flute from his hand. “Here’s to a wonderful evening,” I said, raising the glass in a toast.

  Randal, Hugh, and the others followed suit with chuckles and Irwin followed their lead. Irwin never realized I’d swapped our glasses.

  It didn’t take long for him to make an ass of himself. I played my dumb blonde party girl role well and soon had him grinning like an idiot as I mindlessly agreed with everything he said.

  Finally, I pressed myself in close to him and whispered for him to take me home. Laughing so hard drool leaked from his lips, earning disapproving looks from the men he’d been hoping to impress, I let him guide me from the party. Somehow, he managed to snag a bottle of champagne and two glasses on our way out.

  That probably helped convince the valet to give the car keys to me instead of Irwin. I don’t know a thing about cars, but even I recognized the Ferrari. The vehicle was all sleek curves, soft leather, and glowing interior. It even had that new car smell. Irwin was proud of it. He told me so ten times before he passed out on the way to his parent’s house.

  When most people think of Vegas they think of the Strip and all of the casinos. They don’t realize just how much of the city belongs to suburbia, which was where Irwin’s parent’s lived. Spacious was the word I’d choose to describe it. Wide, empty lawn full of rock gardens with no immediate neighbors. Broad front with lots of glass that revealed the open-floor concept inside. In short, it was big, expensive, and empty, which said so damn much about Irwin.

  Hauling him inside was an effort. Dropping him in the entryway was a pleasure. He flopped like a corpse to the hard wood flooring and curled in on himself like a little rapist koala.

  My grin as I skipped back to his car was the first real smile I’d worn in days.

  The Ferrari roared to life like an angry jungle cat. The engine’s rumble sent a thrill through me. Strapping in, I braced myself, and gunned it. The sportscar shot forward, up over the curve, across the rock gardens, and through the mostly glass wall of the Collier’s house.

  Glass, sheetrock, and wood shattered.

  I shot straight into the living room, grinning like a mad woman. Got to love an open floor concept!

  I yanked the steering wheel to the right and tore up the floor, the sound of screeching rubber warring with the engine and flying furniture. Here’s hoping the sofa and rug were expensive. The floor had to be. All of it was destroyed in an instant before the Ferrari spun out of my control and smashed into the kitchen, demolishing the marble-topped island there and who knew how many appliances.

  I staggered out, giggling. My whole body hurt, and I didn’t give a damn. That had felt better than anything I’d ever done before.

  Irwin rolled over and snored.

  I giggled harder. The bastard had wanted to do that to me.

  My balance didn’t come back right away, and I slipped, falling sideways back into the car, where I spotted the champagne bottle and glasses Irwin had stolen from the party. One of the glasses was shattered, but the other and the bottle had both miraculously survived. I grabbed them, popped the champagne cork, and let it explode out all over the car’s interior before pouring myself a glass.

  I was too jubilant as I staggered away from the house with a glass of champagne in hand to care about the full-body ache that was slowly spreading through me. Weirdly though, I was hyper-aware that my heels were killing my feet, so I took them off and walked barefoot through the streets, fighting down the urge to sing at the top of my lungs. This high was so much better than weed or alcohol. I wanted to do it again.

  I figured once I was far enough away, I’d call for an Uber.

  I didn’t make it far enough.

  Blue and red lights flashed to life after I don’t know how long, making me jump so hard I spilled half my champagne.

  The officer rolled up to me and stepped out of his vehicle. He was an older man with a no-nonsense mustache and flat eyes. “You been drinking, miss?”

  Those flat eyes dropped to my champagne glass.

  “I’m just holding this for a friend,” I said with an inane shrug.

  “I’m going to need to see some ID.”

  Somehow, I’d found the one cop in Vegas who didn’t care that my last name was Church or who Daddy was. All Officer Mc-Mustache cared about was the age on my license, which was not twenty-one.

  The desire to sing died as the handcuffs clicked shut on my wrists.

  Chapter Two

  I probably should have gone to prison like my dumbass step-cousin. Privileges of being white, pretty, and the daughter of a senator—even if he is an asshole—I suppose.

  Daddy took away the car while threatening to pull me from school. He didn’t. There was too much chance of it causing a stir and undermining all the effort he’d put into sweeping my little Minor in Possession charge under the rug. If I hadn’t earned my academic scholarships, I’d have been more worried. I took no small amount of pride in my ability to defy him.

  As for Irwin and the Collier’s, I read about that online. Big news splash. Drunk Pre-Med Student Crashes Ferrari into Family Home. Reading that made me giggle. I loved imagining the expression on his face when he woke up in the morning and saw what had been done while he was unconscious. It wasn’t a perfect role reversal, but I’d take it.

  The judge gave me a deal. Some people have to serve community service. I had to undergo therapy when I got back to Ole Miss.

  The joke was on them. I’d already started seeing a therapist. The counseling was a free service provided by the campus. Another benefit of college life. Free service meant Daddy couldn’t track down what I’d been doing through my bank account like he does just about everything else. Daddy’s always watching. Always monitoring. I left Las Vegas for Oxford as much to get away from him and his
influence as the schooling. You don’t get much more removed from Las Vegas, Nevada than Oxford, Mississippi.

  All of which is a roundabout way of saying I was feeling pretty damn good about things as I walked into Dr. Thompson’s office for the first time after returning to school. My good mood didn’t last.

  The fat bastard sitting in Dr. Thompson’s chair wasn’t Dr. Thompson. Tubbo was round and soft. Even his beard looked soft and his tweed coat didn’t have a hard edge on it. His eyes didn’t match the softness. They made me think of my own.

  I’d had enough practice wearing masks to recognize when someone else was wearing one.

  Seeing the stranger brought me up short.

  I’m proud of myself for getting therapy. Prouder still that I was strong enough to open myself up and be honest with Dr. Thompson. That didn’t come easy to me, but I wanted to be better. Better than who I was and better than everyone else in the world. That’s not an easy road to take.

  Only years of practice in high society helped me to keep my sweet little mask of moronic innocence and upper-class culture in place. My knee-jerk reaction was to ask who the fuck he thought he was and threaten to break his kneecaps. That would’ve been unduly rude and hostile. Men don’t like either in women, I’d learned, and as much as I didn’t want to give a monkey’s flying shit, the world Daddy had me trapped in meant that I had to. Besides, if I went in guns blazing, Fatso would go on guard.

  “Good morning,” I said, tilting my head slightly to the side as I smiled, making my hair shift about my face. That disarms most men. “I’m here to see Dr. Thompson.”

  “You must be Lusitania Church,” Fatty said, rising slowly form his seat. He moved like a man in front of a spooked animal, like he was afraid I’d run off. It showed how little he knew about me. When it comes to fight or flight, I don’t pick flight. Case in point, I momentarily found myself tempted to learn how hard it would be to rip out a fistful of his stupid fluffy beard. “My name is Dr. Warden.”