Natural Born Killers (Sick Boys Book 3)

by Lucy Smoke

  "Hurt her how?" His tone grows serious.

  I trust Troy. I trust the man with my life, with Abel’s and Brax's lives,

  and with my secrets. When it comes to Avalon, though … no amount of trust

  is good enough.

  "Just know that they'll get what's coming to them," I say in lieu of a true

  answer. "None of them are redeemable."

  "Understood," is his only answer and I know he gets it. And without any

  further talk about my girl or what the fuck is up with my head, he launches

  into his report. "The addict is in a trash motel outside of Spearwood. I tracked

  her there from the last known location you gave me."

  "The rehab facility," I state.

  "Yeah," he replies. "Looks like she left there, hitched a ride out of town,

  but only made it a few hours away before she ran out of money."

  "Do you know where she got the money?" I ask. Rylie had mentioned

  something that had seemed odd to me. Despite where and how Avalon had

  grown up, Patricia Manning had money. Someone had been slowly funneling

  money to her for years now. I turn and flip open the laptop there, clicking

  away at the keys until I find the files she sent me.

  The money trail ends about a month before Avalon had been accepted

  into Eastpoint. Why?

  "No clue," Troy answers. "But I do know she's not paying for the motel

  she's in. Looks like your addict has graduated from druggie to prostitute.

  She's got a slew of men in and out—customers, I assume."

  "Assume nothing," I bark. "I want every single person she takes into that

  room photographed and sent to my analyst." Rylie would at least be able to

  get a work up on those people. Background checks were easy enough to

  procure as long as the money was flowing.

  "Consider it done," Troy replies.

  "Keep me updated,” I say.

  "Will do." With that, I hit the end button and set the cell phone on the

  desk before blowing out a breath. A creak in the doorway alerts me to

  company. I flip around, reaching back for the antique letter opener one of my

  father's business associates had given me at my high school graduation.

  Unlike Avalon, I'd never gotten the opportunity to say no to attending my

  graduation. Nicholas Carter had used it as an excuse to invite over anyone

  and everyone who had money, ties, and no fucking sense. After all, who gave

  a letter opener to an eighteen-year-old boy? Regardless, I'm almost thankful

  for it now. Though dull, with enough force behind it, the end of it will cause a

  considerable amount of damage.

  I freeze and relax when I see who's there. Avalon pushes the door open

  wider and steps into the room. "Sneaking around behind my back?" she asks

  as she shuts the door and leans against it. My fingers relax and I release the

  letter opener, letting it clatter back to the desktop. Her eyes flash to it before a

  smirk rises to her lips. "What were you planning to do with something like

  that? Kill me?"

  "Of course not..." I reply, but my words trail off as she moves across the

  room and my eyes drop to what she’s wearing.

  Avalon isn’t a normal seductress. She doesn’t plan. She doesn’t scheme.

  She just is. She’s simple. So, I know that how she appears before me now

  isn’t done in an effort to get something from me, but there’s something so

  goddamn enticing about seeing her in one of my t-shirts.

  “What were you doing?” she asks, moving closer.

  “I got a phone call.” I talk but I can hardly hear my own words. The

  whole of my world has narrowed down to the way my white t-shirt hangs off

  one shoulder and bares her collarbone to my view. “Didn’t want to wake

  you.”

  “Well, I’m awake now,” she says.

  I lift my hand and hold it out to her. “Come here.”

  Her body stills and I know it's because of the bite of demand in my tone.

  Avalon doesn't take well to commands. I keep my hand out, palm up, waiting

  nonetheless, and finally, with excruciating slowness, as if to tell me she'll

  come to me when she damn well pleases and not a moment sooner, she

  moves towards me. It would be amusing if I didn’t need her so damn badly.

  Her hand slips into mine and I close my fingers around it. I use my hold

  on her to tug her forward and straight into my body. Spinning, I pin her back

  against the desk and dip my head.

  "You smell so fucking good, baby," I tell her, nuzzling into her throat.

  "How are you feeling?" I can't go too fast. She's still hurt. She needs to heal,

  but it's been over a week and my cock is pounding. I want her. There's

  nothing else in this world that I could ever desire the way I desire her.

  "I'm fine," she stresses. My hands clamp down on her hips and I know my

  fingers dig in much harder than necessary. I hope she's right. I hope she's

  healed enough because I don't know if I can stop myself from taking her now.

  My fingers slip under the hem of the shirt and skate across naked flesh. A

  groan works its way up my throat. She's not wearing any underwear. She's

  open and ripe for the taking. My teeth itch to dig into her the same way my

  hands are. I part my lips and set them on the tender side of her neck and bite

  down.

  Her head tips back and a soft cry of surprise echoes out of her throat. Her

  lower half undulates against my hips. "Dean..." My name is a breathy sound

  on her tongue and nothing any other woman has ever uttered to me has

  sounded so goddamn hot.

  I grip the t-shirt and drag it upwards and over her head until she stands

  naked before me. Her lips quirk as she pushes the basketball shorts I’d pulled

  on earlier down. As I step out of the fabric, kicking it to the side, she shoves

  the laptop back and jumps up on the desk, spreading her legs.

  My baby. My sweet, vile little demon. She's hell and heaven. I go to my

  knees before her because I know as well as any man there's only one way to

  worship a queen. The second my mouth descends on her pussy, I push my

  tongue inside and relish in her taste. She cries out again, spreading her thighs

  even wider as she lifts her legs and sets first one foot on the edge of the desk

  and then the next.

  "Dean—fuck!" I lean up and suck her clit between my lips, laving it with

  attention. Her body shudders. I want her to come all over my face. I want to

  taste her juices in the back of my throat for days to come. I want to fall asleep

  buried inside of her and wake up with my arms wrapped around her.

  I just want … her. In a thousand years—in a million—all I’ll ever want

  for the rest of my life is this psycho woman in my arms. Some people are

  born whole. I didn't realize that I wasn't one of them until I met her. Avalon is

  the other side of my fucked-up coin. The darker side to my already pitch-

  black moon.

  I can’t hold back anymore. Though I want to taste her on my tongue for

  the rest of my life, I can’t not be inside of her. I rip my mouth away from her

  pussy and rise up, lifting her legs off the edge of the desk and hooking them

  at the knees over my arms as I push forward into her. Her hands come up and

  lock onto my shoulders, nails digging in, scoring my skin—scarring me the

  way only s
he can.

  Every thrust. Every withdrawal. It’s a drug—this intimacy between us—

  and I’m hooked. Hooked on the pain she gives me when she cries out and I

  feel a fresh wetness on my upper back as her sharp little dagger-like nails

  drag down the flesh there.

  I tip my head towards her as I pump into her with short, rapid thrusts. Our

  foreheads touch and I can feel her breath against my lips. “Harder,” she

  pleads. “Dean, fuck me harder.”

  “Hurt me,” I tell her. I want her to mark me. I want the pain to last.

  Because I’m afraid … for the first time in my life, I’m scared. I’m afraid that

  the second I stop feeling her so deeply, she’ll disappear. Perhaps it’s

  egotistical of me, self-centered for sure. Her existence doesn’t revolve around

  mine, but mine does revolve around hers. And I’m afraid that the moment she

  disappears, I will too.

  Her eyes lift and mine fall, they clash—the two of us reading each other

  with nothing but panting breaths and slow, inexorably delicious thrusts

  between us. An understanding lights her expression and she tilts her face up,

  her mouth slamming into mine. Our teeth clang together, sharp bites of

  discomfort ricocheting through my head, but it’s not enough. It’s not nearly

  enough. Her nails cut a path down my back, lighting up the nerve endings in

  my skin and I groan loud and long as I fuck into her. I drive myself in as deep

  as possible. Fucking her until our lips part and she throws her head back and

  screams her orgasm.

  I follow behind her only moments later.

  8

  AVALON

  I STARE DOWN AT THE GRAINY BLACK AND WHITE PHOTOGRAPH OF THE

  woman, a woman I've known all my life, but for some reason, I don't

  recognize her anymore. The last time I saw my mom, she was asleep. Or

  rather, she was in an induced coma because she'd overdosed on only God

  knew what.

  This, I realize, is what Dean was doing last night. He had someone track

  Patricia down and they'd called him. I look up from the photo and glare at

  him. "Why the fuck didn't you just tell me?"

  Abel's eyes widen at my tone and he very slowly goes back to sipping his

  coffee. Dean, on the other hand, just stares right back at me. "I'm telling you

  now."

  I grit my teeth. He's right. It's not like he kept it from me. He'd only

  waited a few hours to tell me, and half of that time had been taken up by

  fucking me on his desk, and next to it, and under it and against the wall and

  —okay, we fucked a lot last night. Maybe that was the reason he hadn't told

  me until we'd woken up again this morning and came down for breakfast.

  Braxton stands at the stove, shirtless. He flips a series of pancakes onto a

  plate and slides it onto the table. My eyes track him automatically. It's not

  purposeful, but a reflex. His back is a mass of ink—violent scenes and great

  big creatures all jumbled together—where the rest of his body is clean. Save

  for his knuckles anyway. On either hand, he has the words "Sick" and

  "Boys"—it's funny because I know they hate that name, but apparently Abel

  had gotten Braxton drunk on his eighteenth birthday and dared him to do it.

  It's hard, sometimes, to remember that under all of the damage and

  cruelty, they really are just guys. Guys who love to fuck around with each

  other. Guys who live together. Fight together. Breathe together. They may

  not be brothers by blood, but brothers by circumstance and certainly brothers

  by choice.

  I shake my head and return my attention to Dean as he asks, "What do

  you want to do about her?"

  What do I want to do? I crumple the image in my hand and then walk

  across the room to stand in front of the trashcan. I step on the pedal to pop the

  top open and dump it inside.

  "She's not our priority right now," I say. "She can wait until after we find

  Corina."

  "Food's done," Brax announces, turning off the stovetop and turning

  around with a plate in each hand—one laden down with scrambled eggs and

  the other with bacon.

  My stomach growls and before he can even set them down, I snag a

  couple of pieces of crispy fresh bacon and shove the salty fatty goodness in

  my mouth before taking a seat.

  "Speaking of," Abel says as Brax disappears out of the kitchen and Dean

  takes a seat next to me, "I figure we can probably invite Luc to your party."

  I scowl. As if I needed the reminder of their stupidity this early in the

  morning. "Why are you throwing a party when we have more important

  things to worry about?" I bite out, grabbing another few pieces of bacon.

  Dean eyes me before scooping a spoonful of eggs onto a plate along with

  a few pancakes and sliding it my way. He eyes me meaningfully. I snort, but

  pick up the fork anyway and dig in when my stomach growls again.

  Abel sets his coffee cup down and looks at me from across the wooden

  surface of the table. "There are a lot of reasons," he says. "One, you need to

  celebrate the big things in life." He holds up a finger.

  "Not big, but whatever floats your boat, Frontman," I reply, shoveling a

  forkful of pancake in my mouth. I hate the idea of a party, but honestly, I'm

  too tired to argue with them over something so insignificant.

  "It is," Abel argues before holding up a second finger. "Two, to keep up

  appearances. No one else knows what happened and we need to keep it that

  way. Whether you realize this or not, whoever is doing this is likely watching

  us. If you think about it, they have to be expecting something. From you and

  from all of us."

  I frown, chewing my food, as Braxton comes back in the kitchen with a

  shirt covering his massive chest. He takes a seat and loads his plate. I

  swallow and turn to Abel. "Okay, but that still doesn't explain the reason for a

  party. Just to keep up appearances?"

  Abel sighs. "How does the outside world view us, Ava?" he asks.

  That's easy. "A bunch of rude assholes with rich parents," I state.

  Braxton snorts but doesn't say anything.

  "Exactly," Abel says with a nod. "We're putting on an act, Ava. Everyone

  expects us to fuck bitches, get money, blow cash."

  I deadass stare at him. Did he really just ... Before I can say anything,

  Braxton reaches up and slaps the back of his head.

  "Hey! What the fuck was that for, asshole?" Abel rounds on him.

  "Don't be an idiot," Brax states plainly before shoving a bite of eggs into

  his mouth.

  Abel rubs the back of his head, and still cutting a dark look Brax's way,

  he starts talking again. "Okay, maybe that wasn't the best way to put it," he

  admits, "but it's the truth. Fact is, we're throwing a party and we can use it as

  cover. Invite Kincaid, bring him in, get him to help us."

  "He'll help us," Dean says.

  I look at him. There's no uncertainty in his tone. It's a statement of fact.

  Luc Kincaid will help us find Corina or he'll be a very sorry man indeed. I go

  back to eating my breakfast, but as I do, I start to wonder if maybe Dean isn't

  already recognizing something in Luc that he was blind to before.

  I AGREE TO THE PARTY—THOUGH IN ACTUALITY, IT WASN'T LIKE I
HAD MUCH

  choice—on the condition that Rylie come as well. I watch Abel in particular

  when I make this demand, but he doesn't appear fazed by it, which makes me

  think that the problem between them is on Rylie's part, and not his.

  Whatever the case, I get my way, and by the following weekend, we're in

  the Mustang, heading for the Frazier House.

  When we get there, the whole place is lit up like a Christmas tree. Lights

  are on in every window, a golden hue spilling out over the lawn as cars are

  lined up on the grass. Benzes and Ferraris and BMWs. I shake my head as we

  get out and head around the back, not even bothering to cut through the actual

  house.

  "Platform," Dean says.

  I don't know what the hell that means, but the others obviously do. Both

  Brax and Abel nod and then Abel links his arm with mine, dragging me after

  him as Brax follows a little further behind.

  "Where's he going?" I demand as Dean disappears into the back door.

  "Drinks," Abel replies. "Appearances. Remember. Don't drink anything

  one of us doesn't give you."

  I roll my eyes. "As if I would."

  When we reach the small, stage-like level to the side of the pool, I realize

  what Dean meant by 'platform;' he'd been telling them to bring me here. I

  shake off Abel's hold and climb the stairs myself before turning and taking a

  seat in the back—the perfect watch point.

  Just a few short months ago, I'd been forced to come to one of their

  parties. I'd been the outsider looking in, not really wanting to be here, but

  curious nonetheless. Now, here I sit, atop my throne.

  The backdoor opens once more and Dean comes out, carrying a bucket

  and a few water bottles under his arm. He makes his way to the platform and

  then drops the bucket in the center of the table before taking his position at

  my side.

  "Is Luc here yet?" I ask.

  He shakes his head. "I've got guys looking for him, but so far no word. He

  hasn't arrived yet."

  "He will," I tell him.

  A half hour goes by and the party really kicks up. Abel and Braxton

  disappear at odd intervals, sometimes pulled away by a smiling girl in a

  bikini and others just on their own. The entire time, however, Dean remains

  at my side. A thought pops into my head.

  "What happens when this is all over?" I ask after a while.