by Smoke , Lucy
"She hates me," I cackle. "She really fucking hates me. And you are so fucked. You have no fucking idea how fucked you are."
Oh, I'm going to let Dean do whatever he wants to this fucker. I'm going to watch Braxton peel his face back and dig needles into his muscles. And after that’s all said and fucking done, I’m going to shoot him right in the head like I did Roger Murphy and let Abel piss on his corpse before setting it on fire. More laughter rattles my chest. The devil isn't a little red man, I realize. The devil is in me. He's a vicious, wicked creature. Cruel and oh, I like him. So fucking much.
"You're going to regret this," I tell him with a smile. You're going to regret—" The towel is thrown back over my face before I can finish my sentence and more water pours into my mouth, but I don't mind it now. It's only a matter of time before he's dead. Hours. Minutes. Seconds. It doesn't fucking matter. His clock's run out, he just doesn't realize it yet.
All of their clocks have run out.
47
Avalon
“Cash,” Ace says as he yanks the towel back off my face.
"What?" I cough, spewing water and blinking through a blurry gaze.
"Your mother paid us in cold, hard cash," he explains. "Not pussy. Though I don't believe the others would have turned her away had she offered. I was under the impression that she was more of a stripper."
"Stripper. Whore. Junkie." My head sinks back on my shoulders as I take deep breaths. "What's the fucking difference? She's just as filthy if not more so."
He drops the towel in his hand, and it lands with a soft plop on the cold, hard floor. Ace steps back and strides across the room, bending over and turning the valve until the water shuts off. I shiver as chills start to dance up and down my spine. I'm cold, wet, in pain, and tired, but something tells me this isn't over. Not by a long shot.
When Ace approaches me again, it's with that same peculiar expression on his face. The curiosity in his eyes is disturbing. He slowly lowers himself down on his haunches and looks at me like he's staring at an insect under a microscope. His eyes drag over my wet face down to my bloodied chest and back again.
"She wouldn't say, you know," he comments lightly.
"Say what?" I reply.
"Why she wanted you to suffer," he says. "It wasn't enough to want you dead. She wanted you to go out in pain."
I chuckle. "I've been in pain since the moment I was born, Ace." I turn my head from side to side, trying to flick the water still streaking down my forehead out of my eyes. "If she thought this would hurt me, she has no clue." No, of course, she wouldn't. Patricia wouldn't understand my kind of pain. It hurt more when I was a kid, an innocent. When I hadn't yet realized that she was fucked up. When I still thought—like all of the moms on television—that she was special. Moms were supposed to have some sort of connection to their offspring. Mine had been broken from the very start.
"Perhaps," Ace agrees readily.
"So, what now, then?" I ask. "Are you going to kill me now?"
"I'm waiting," he tells me.
"On what?" I demand.
Footsteps sound behind the door across from us, and I lift my head as Ace slowly rises back to his feet. "For my boss," he answers.
His boss? I thought he was the boss.
No sooner than that thought crosses my mind, and the door opens with a loud metallic creak. "Did you finish your duty?" a familiar voice inquires.
"I did," Ace says. "I think Ms. Manning will be pleased to know that her daughter suffered before she died.”
Corina steps out from behind him. My expression goes slack with shock. She's cleaned her face, removed all evidence of her earlier crocodile tears—if what my memory is telling me is true. She's redressed in a black pencil skirt and heels that flash red on the bottoms as she makes her way towards me. Her makeup is perfectly applied once more—black eyeliner and red lipstick to match the rest of her. Her hair has been pulled back into a high ponytail, and I suddenly have the urge to do to her what I did to Kate. No. I have the urge to do far worse than simply make her piss herself as I chop off her hair. I’d rather take a blade to her motherfucking throat and let her drown in her own blood.
She stops in front of me and glares down at me. "You look like shit," she says, sounding far different than she ever has before. Gone is the preppy rich girl from Eastpoint. In her place is a conniving bitch. A manipulator. Oh, she's fucking good. She's very fucking good. She’d played the airheaded college girl with surprising talent. The sweet girl, desperate for friends and to please the people around her. The woman before me isn’t kind or sweet at all; she’s taken that mask off and thrown it away.
My lips part, and the first words out of them are, "What the actual fuck?"
Corina grins and then does a little spin. "Surprised, aren't you?" she asks. "I thought my performance was Oscar-worthy, really. I should get a bonus for keeping it up for so long."
"Why?" I demand. Why do this? What did she have to gain? I narrow my gaze on her. "Who are you working for?"
"Well, as for the why—let's just say it was nothing personal. You were a means to an end, and your death will hurt someone I really fucking loathe." She lifts one delicate shoulder in a shrug. "I've always admired you, but I think it's time our friendship came to an end."
There's only one connection I could think of. "Luc—"
Her pleasant expression darkens the second his name escapes my lips, and without any hesitation, she brings her hand up and slaps me across the face. My head snaps to the side. "Don't say his name," she snarls at me, getting close enough that spittle flies from her mouth and lands on my cheek.
Slowly, I turn back to face her. I let cold rage fill me. It drowns out all of the other little aches and pains until I hardly feel the hole in my shoulder or the burning in my lungs and nose from all the water I’d swallowed and choked on. It rises like a volcano in my core. "Luc Kincaid," I say his name right before I bring my head back and then jerk it forward, crashing my forehead into her nose.
Corina stumbles back with a muffled shout as blood begins to pour. "You bitch!" she shrieks. With one hand over her nose and the other pointing at me, she starts to curse. "You think you're fucking good enough to say his name, you little fucking gold digger? You're no better than Kate, but I got rid of that bitch too. I got rid of them all." Her hand slowly lowers, and even as two lines of blood run down over her lips and chin, she smiles, her eyes taking on a dreamy cast. "When he realizes what I've done for him, he'll finally see the truth."
"Yeah?" I say, wincing at the new ache in my head. "What's that?"
Her distant look fades, and she looks back to me with a scowl. "He'll fucking love me, that's what," she snaps.
I stare at her. "You befriended me, had me kidnapped and tortured to prove that you love him?"
She scoffs. "I did it to hurt your precious boyfriend, Avalon. Dumb bitch." Ace steps up and hands her a tissue before moving back and crossing his arms over his chest, watching us with dull fascination. I hope he’s enjoying the fucking show because it won’t last forever. She takes it and begins to clean up the mess I've left on her face. Even if it'd only been a momentary satisfaction, it'd been worth it. "When they told me you'd be coming, I didn't think anything of it. I thought you'd be a problem for the Sick Boys for one, maybe two days, and then cave like all the other weaklings," she continues as she fixes her ugly face. "But you surprised me—surprised them too—"
"Who is them?" I demand, rocking forward in my chair. I don't care about her stupid love for Luc Kincaid—something I doubt he even realizes she feels. No, if she was good enough to hide her true intentions from me, then I don’t think even he could have seen this coming. Now that I know of her involvement, it doesn't take a genius to figure it out. Hurt me to hurt Dean. Hurting Dean helps Kincaid. They’re enemies. Only … she doesn't realize that Luc has tried to help us. That he gave us as much information as he was able to. Dean may bark at the guy, but I have a feeling it's all trained in him. And Luc. They don'
t truly hate each other, not as much as they claim. They just feel territorial, like two dogs pissing over a fire hydrant.
Corina lowers her hand and squeezes the bloodied tissue in her fist. "You'd like to know, wouldn't you?" she asks. Her heels click against the concrete as she circles me. My shoulders stiffen when she reaches my back and runs a manicured nail across my shoulder blades. She leans down, close to my ear—her breath warm against my neck. "What would you give me to tell you?" she asks.
"I'll make your death a short one," I offer coolly.
She laughs, and her head moves away. Her hand leaves my back, and I relax, but only slightly as she returns to stand in front of me. "No deal," she says with a shake of her head.
"Then tell me this," I say instead. "Why’d you keep up the act after we were captured? What was the point of playing the scared college girl for so long?”
Corina sighs. “Unfortunately, I’m not the one running the show,” she says. “Not yet, anyway.” She lifts her hand and sticks up one finger. “One, there were security cameras in that lot, I had to make it look like I was innocent in the kidnapping—I know all about his little hacker girl. Pretty sure she was onto me, but I also counted on the fact that she wouldn’t say anything without evidence.” Well, that explained why I got the feeling Rylie didn’t like her. She had good instincts. Corina grins and lifts a second finger. “And like I said, I’m not calling the shots. I couldn’t drop my little act until I was allowed, and now, I’m free.”
A sick, heavy weight settles in my chest. “Oh yeah?” I ask. “Why now?”
Her eyes cut to me. “Because I’ve been told that your usefulness has come to an end.” Shit. I knew what that meant. There’s only one way she’d be so fucking confident in revealing herself now. She’s absolutely sure I’m going to die here, and soon.
I keep my face even at this new information. I’m concerned about the rough shape of my body—I’m a good fighter, but even I know my limitations. I’m hurt—the feeling of sharp pangs ricocheting in my chest and through my shoulder—and there’s no telling how many men they have throughout the building. I have very little information and even less in terms of weapons. That doesn’t mean I’m going to show my fear to her—or Ace. My eyes slide to him once, noting the bored look on his face before I turn my attention back to Corina.
“Another question then,” I say. “What the hell are you doing working with my mom?"
Corina rolls her eyes. "I can assure you no one is working with your mother, Avalon," she says snidely.
“Then how—”
“I was the one who made the phone call to her drug dealer,” she cuts me off, delivering another gut punch to my pride. This bitch. Oh, she was so fucking dead; she just didn’t know it yet. She continues as if she didn’t just sign her death warrant for the hundredth time, pacing back and forth. “It was part of the arrangement, but drug dealers are so fucking pompous, he was annoying to deal with. I much preferred dealing with your mother. She at least shuts up if you give her a needle to shove in her arm.”
“Do you have any fucking clue what that motherfucker did?” I demand and then grin. “And where he is now?”
She stops pacing and stands before me. “No,” she replies haughtily. “And I don’t really give a shit.” She shrugs. “I was given a phone and a number and told to call and inform whoever was on the other end when I was sure you were off on your own.”
“So, you planned everything,” I say. “With Kate? How did you know I would go back to Plexton?”
Corina’s eyes rolled. “Where else were you supposed to go?” she asked sarcastically. “And no, I was planning on doing something completely different when I overheard Kate’s plans when we got to the house. Dean may think he’s unpredictable, but he’s a vicious bastard when he feels wronged.”
“Ma’am.” Ace’s tone is bored as he stands several steps behind her. “You have to meet your sponsors. I’ll take care of her and then follow.”
“You’re right.” Corina flips a lock from her ponytail over her shoulder, and I can feel my rage inside boil. My hands twist inside the ties, tugging as they seem to grow tighter with each jerk. She levels me with a smug look, one corner of her mouth lifting upward as she stares down her nose at me. “I just wanted to see how she’d handle your torture,” she says. “I always thought her too tough for anyone and anything attitude was just an act. What do you think, Ace?” She turns to him. “Will she break under your careful attention?”
He straightens his spine and uncrosses his arms, letting them fall to his sides. “It’s not my job to break her, ma’am,” he replies tonelessly. “I’ve fulfilled the terms of my contract.”
“Right,” Corina says with a nod. “I’ll be sure to tell Patricia that she got her wish.” Corina pauses as she strides towards the doors once more, and I start fighting my bonds even harder. I can’t let her leave. Not like this. I want her flesh between my teeth. I want to break every fucking bone in her body. I want to record her screams and play them back for her over and over and over again until she loses her fucking mind. As I fight, though, the feeling in my limbs comes back, and the agony of the stab wound in my shoulder flares to life, so I have to clench my teeth to keep from screaming.
Corina shakes her head as she stares back at me. “What a pathetic thing you are,” she says almost absently. “Your own mother hates you enough to want you dead, and so here you’ll die. Without even a clue as to who else orchestrated all of this or who you really are.”
“Who the fuck are you—” She doesn’t wait for me to finish my question. Instead, she turns and walks out, the door shutting behind her with a soundless click locking it into place.
My limbs sag, and I breathe shallowly as I stare at my feet. Quietly, Ace makes his way across the room until he reaches his table of torture devices. I hear a phone beep—his—but he doesn’t answer it. I remain very still. Letting him think I’ve been beaten, but the reality is that with all of my struggling, I’ve finally managed to loosen the ties around my wrists. As carefully as I can, I wiggle my sore and aching fingers free and grip the ties to keep my hands behind my back and out of sight.
“I take no pleasure in this,” Ace says. “I hope you understand. Like your friend”—I look up in time to see him nod towards the door—“you really were nothing but a means to an end.”
I laugh wordlessly and then smile at him. It’s a calm smile. Not shaky. Not scary. Just a smile as if I were lifting my face and feeling the warmth of the sun on my skin. He frowns, stepping closer before lifting the barrel of his gun and cocking it. The tip presses against my forehead, and my smile widens. A new wave of adrenaline begins to pump through my system. His phone beeps again, but he ignores it, focusing solely on me.
“It’s nothing personal,” I say.
“No,” he agrees. “It’s not.”
I jerk up from the chair, slamming my feet into the ground and using it to push my momentum forward as I slam into him, wrapping my arms around his body. The gun goes off over my head as his arm goes flying upward. Without thinking, the second we land, I roll to the side, pinning the arm with the gun in his grip to the floor. I bring my elbow down on his wrist, and I hear something crack. He grunts underneath me, but his fingers loosen on the weapon, and I snatch it from his grip, popping back to my feet.
The floor sways underneath me as thousands of invisible needles attack my sleeping limbs. Ace isn’t one to let himself be killed so easily, though, he kicks out, sending my shaking legs out from beneath me. I go down hard and suddenly find myself pinned to the concrete by a massive body. There’s yelling in the distance, but both of us are too focused on the fight right here and now.
“God fucking damn it,” he curses—the first truly emotional outburst I’ve heard from him. I sink my head down to the floor and let my body go lax. His body tightens over mine, and then I snap forward and slam my forehead into his nose just as I’d done to Corina. Ace’s head sways back as he grunts from the pain. I can feel that a
che from before pounding throughout my skull. My arms are shaking. My legs a fucking trembling mess. I am not at my strongest. I’m too hurt and tired for that. My anger, though, makes up for a hell of a lot. I bring my knee up and push it into his dick with meaning as I put the end of his own gun between my chest and his, the barrel pointed right at his heart.
“Get the fuck up,” I grit out.
With blood pouring down his face, he slowly edges back and then gets to his feet. I follow, moving much slower because of all of the aches and pains. My hand, though, remains steady as I point the gun.
“What are you going to do now?” he asks. His eyes are crystalline, like looking into an endless pool of water. Empty of flecks. His pupils are the only darkness I see. It’s unnerving.
“I’m getting the hell out of here,” I snap. “And you’re going to help me.”
Fuck, waiting for Dean. I’m done waiting.
The second that thought occurs to me, however, there’s more gunfire in the hall. This time, we notice because moments following it, an explosion rocks the building, shaking the room. Dust falls from the one brick wall and the ceiling overhead shifts, caving in right between where Ace and I stand.
A large chunk of it comes crashing down, sending the two of us diving in different directions, and when the dust clears, and I manage to get back to my feet once more, the door’s hanging off its hinges, and Ace is nowhere to be seen. Anger flares through me, and I clench my teeth to keep from hitting something. There’s no point now.
Ace will be on the run now—he and Corina both. They may have gotten the drop on me once, but that won’t happen again. Knowing the Sick Boys as well as I do, I’ll bet anything that this little break in is their doing. Dean doesn’t do anything half-assed.
So go ahead, I think to myself as I struggle forward, wheezing as my chest aches with pain. Run little bitches, run. I’m coming for you.