Natural Born Killers (Sick Boys Book 3)

by Lucy Smoke

  of a second only to disappear. It’s impossible to believe she’s actually

  reading anything, but still, it feels like she’s at least doing something. All

  while I stand here, feeling useless.

  "Anything yet?" Abel asks as he watches from his position on her bed. He

  knows she hates it when he splays out all over her shit like that, but he just

  doesn't give a shit. I've been watching the two of them for a while, noting the

  subtle differences in their attitudes. Something happened. I don't know when

  and I don't know what, but it's clear that they're keeping it to themselves, and

  right now, my mind is more focused on finding out what Rylie knows about

  my mother's movements.

  "I know you wanted to go after Corina first," Dean mutters, lowering his

  voice as he stands at my side.

  "It is what it is," I reply. "If we need to take care of Patricia first, fine." I

  glance up. "Luc still hasn't called?"

  Dean's expression darkens. "No."

  "He will," I assure him. There's no doubt in my mind. Luc will pull

  through.

  "He better," Abel mutters from the bed.

  "Can you stop talking?" Rylie barks at him. "It's hard to concentrate with

  you there. You want me to get shit done, don't you?"

  "It's never bothered you before," Braxton comments from where he stands

  against the door, his arms crossed over his chest and his spine resting against

  the wood.

  "Yeah, well, he's close enough that he's practically in my lap," Rylie

  complains. Despite the clear irritation in her tone, her hands never stop

  moving, her fingers never stop typing.

  "If you want me to get in your lap, Ry-Ry," Abel says with a grin, "all

  you have to do is ask."

  For a moment, I think she's finally going to lose it on him. Her hands

  pause, her knuckles clenching white, and I can just picture what's going

  through her mind. There are any number of objects within her reach that she

  can fling at him. I almost expect her to do it, but after another second, she

  releases a breath and goes back to what she was doing. She doesn't respond,

  but even more surprising—Abel doesn't keep picking at her. It's very unlike

  him.

  Dean shuffles over to Braxton and the two of them start talking in low

  whispers. I know it's not to keep me from hearing—it's for Rylie's sake.

  Despite the fact that Rylie doesn't really care for the Sick Boys and her fear

  of them has waned, she is still an outsider. We get information from her, but

  she was right before when she said she didn't need to know what we do with

  it. In fact, it's probably better this way.

  I need to remember that she's not really my friend. Or if she is, it's surface

  level only. Getting closer can't be good for either of us. Most especially not

  her. It seems anyone who gets close to me only ends up in danger.

  My thoughts are whirling around in my head, but the bubble pops when

  the door opens and I turn just in time to see Braxton slip through out into the

  hallway. Dean closes it behind him and flips the lock.

  "Where's he going?" I ask.

  Dean glances back at me. "He's getting the car packed," he says. "We've

  got to make a trip to Spearwood after we get what we came for."

  I nod, pushing away from the wall as I move up to Rylie's back. "Okay," I

  say. "What do you have for us?"

  Rylie sighs. "Her accounts are a fucking mess," she begins. "There's so

  much going in and out at once and then nothing for long stints of time, but

  that, too, at least tells us something."

  "It could be because of her drug use," I reply. "She could be spending

  wildly and then be too drugged up to do anything. My question is, how the

  hell does she have the kind of money to go on the run?"

  "Oh homegirl's got bank," Rylie says, leaning back in her chair as she

  looks up at me. "Your mom's got years’ worth of income. When she left the

  rehab center and kept moving until she ran out, then it’s obvious it was just

  what she had on hand, but she has access to more. Thousands of dollars just

  in this account, but I'm almost a hundred percent sure that she's got even

  more stashed away somewhere—or if she doesn't then someone has just been

  very carefully funneling her the money. Actually, there's no doubt in my

  mind. Someone has been giving her money."

  I scowl even as confusion overtakes me. "Who?"

  "That's the thing," she snaps, a growl in her voice as she returns her

  attention to the screen in front of her. "I can't fucking track it down. Whoever

  they are, they're fucking good or they've hired someone who is. The money

  traces back to an unknown company that you can't even Google. It's

  obviously a front, so I tried connecting the dots to where that company came

  from. Seeing if it sold anything, but as far as I know—it's a company, an

  LLC, in name only. There's no proprietor. The only thing this company does

  is pay Patricia Manning."

  "Can you cut it off?" Dean asks, approaching from behind. Before he

  even touches me, I can sense his heat at my back.

  "Yes..." Rylie answers hesitantly. "But you don't really want me to do

  that."

  "Why not?" I ask. "If we cut off her money supply then she can't run

  anymore."

  "That's true," Rylie agrees. "But it doesn’t seem like she’s really using the

  money to stay on the run. With the money she’s got, she can disappear at

  least for a little while.”

  “Not with her drug habit,” I state. “A woman like her needs the

  backwoods drug stops. Even if she can afford the good stuff, she can’t quite

  pull off wealthy enough to afford it. They’d just turn her ass around and boot

  her out.”

  “Yeah, okay, that makes sense.” Rylie bobs her head. “But then what is

  she using it for? She just seems to be saving it. That’s odd to me.”

  “We can figure that out in a minute,” Dean says. “Go back to the

  accounts. Why can’t you just keep her from accessing it?”

  “Just because I can't figure out who's behind the money trail yet doesn't

  mean I won't figure it out,” Rylie says. “Give me a bit longer, I think I can

  track this fucker down. It'll take time. I've gotta write a program that'll—"

  "I don't care what you have to do to make it happen," Dean interrupts her.

  "Do it. We'll up your pay."

  Rylie's face goes cold, but she nods and turns back to her computer. I

  have the distinct impression that he just did more harm than good. I cut him a

  dark look. "Why don't you and Abel take a walk," I say.

  "I'm good here," Abel pipes up from the bed.

  Without hesitation, I leave Rylie, moving over to him. I lean over,

  grabbing a chunk of the blond hair at the top of his head and yank. "It wasn't

  really a suggestion," I state, pulling him up by his hair.

  "Ow! Ow! Ava! Come on, man, what the fuck? Dude, are you just going

  to let your girl manhandle me like this?" Dean looks at me and frowns, but I

  just shove Abel his way and point to the door.

  "Out," I order.

  Abel whines, but Dean merely sighs and pushes him towards the door.

  "Don't leave this fucking room," he says. "We'll help Brax get ready."

  "Yeah,
" I say. "You go do that."

  As soon as they're out of the room, I blow out a breath and slump onto the

  empty bed across from Rylie's. She cuts a look towards me out of the corner

  of her eye. "Got something to say?" I prompt her.

  "Nothing," she smarts, turning back to her computer.

  "Rylie."

  She doesn't look at me. "What?"

  "Don't bullshit me now, what the fuck were you going to say?"

  The screen on her computer comes to a standstill on a page full of

  numbers that I can hardly read from where I sit. She doesn't turn towards me

  or make any more movement. "You seem … comfortable," she starts.

  I wait for her to continue, but when she doesn't, I decide she needs more

  prompting. "Yeah? How so?"

  Her shoulders move up and then down. "I don't know, you just seem a

  little different. I was worried … after you were taken. I mean, I knew Dean

  Carter was obsessed with you, but the rest of them were pretty freaked too."

  "How can you tell that?" I ask. "Did you see them?"

  Her chair moves back at my questions and her head pivots. "Yeah," she

  admits. "I did." I stiffen. They hadn't told me they'd met up with her. "Before

  you start thinking anything bad"—it was too late, but I let her keep talking

  —"it was for you. I was trying to figure out who took you. They went to the

  police station—"

  "Yeah," I cut her off. "I know about that." Everything that happened

  leading up to Dean coming for me, he told me, but he didn't tell me he'd met

  with her. "Is that when you and Abel had some sort of thing?"

  Her face goes slack with shock right before a cold mask falls over her

  features. She turns back to her desk. "No," is all she says.

  I snort. "Are you upset because I asked or because I know?" I ask.

  "I'm surprised he would mention it," she replies through gritted teeth.

  "He didn't," I tell her honestly. "You did."

  She swivels back, the mask gone and the confused shock back in place.

  "What?"

  "Just now, I took a guess and you reacted. You told me. Not him. He

  hasn't said a damn thing to me about what's going on between the two of

  you."

  "There's nothing going on between the two of us," she says quickly.

  "I don't believe that for a second." I lean back on my hands, circling my

  neck as I try to stretch out the kinks beneath my skin, burrowed deep in my

  muscles. It's impossible, but at least the rotation makes it feel better.

  "It's the truth," she hisses.

  "Doubtful," I say with a chuckle. "I don't think girls like you and me can

  speak the truth too easily, but that's okay. Whatever happened between the

  two of you is your business, not mine. I've got nothing to do with it. As long

  as you can still do your fucking job, it doesn't matter."

  "My job?"

  I keep my eyes shut. Something tells me if I look at her right now,

  whatever expression she has on her face will do nothing but serve to piss me

  the fuck off and I really don't need to go off on her right now. I need the

  information she can provide, and the fact is, I'm not mad at her. I'm mad at

  Dean for not telling me that they met up with her when he had the

  opportunity to.

  As if she can hear my thoughts, she starts talking, changing the subject

  back to what we were originally talking about. "It was at the hospital that I

  met up with them," she confesses. "I came to visit you, but Dean said you

  were about to get out. He didn't want me to go back and it's not like I could

  tell him no. You're pretty much the only one who gets to do that."

  I open my eyes and sit up straight. She's not looking at me, but at the

  dingy floor at our feet. "Why'd you come to the hospital?" I ask.

  Her head tips up and she frowns at me. "Do you really have to ask?"

  "I just did, didn't I?" I point out.

  Her brows furrow. "Avalon … I came because I thought you might need a

  fucking friend."

  That's when it hits me—what she thinks we are and what I think we are,

  they're two completely separate things. "Is that what we are?" I ask her.

  She blinks, her lips parting, but no words come out. "I guess not," she

  finally says, turning back around. "Give me a few minutes. I'll finish up here

  and give you a printout to look over on your way out."

  Shit. I stand up. "Rylie, I'm not asking to be a dick," I say. "I honestly

  need to know. You need to spell it out for me. Do you think we're friends?"

  Rylie doesn't look back at me. "No, it's fine. We're not friends. I got that.

  Loud and clear."

  Motherfucker. I reach for her, grabbing the back of her chair and shoving

  it to the side as I reach down, fisting a handful of her shirt. She stops typing

  but remains relaxed. She doesn't fight back. She doesn't even look at me. It

  pisses me off.

  "Fuck, Rylie," I mutter, "this is twisted, you know. You lied to me. Spied

  on me. Gave them information about—"

  "And?" she cuts me off, turning her glare my way. "You're with them

  now, so why is that a problem anymore?"

  "Friends don't sell other friends out," I hiss.

  "We weren't friends in the beginning," she says. "We were roommates—

  strangers. I tried to warn you, not that it did any good, but I fucking tried."

  "Yeah?" Anger bubbles up from within me. "And what about your

  suspicions about Corina?" I accuse. "You didn't like her from the start, but

  you didn't say shit to me."

  "So, you blame me for that, too, then?" she shoots back. "I didn't know

  what she would do. I didn't know she'd fucking fall down the rabbit hole with

  you. I just didn't like her. I thought she was a fake bitch and I was right."

  "Well, a friend would've told me!" I yell, my fingers tightening in her

  shirt. I can practically feel her chest, concave beneath the fabric. Her ribs.

  She's so goddamn small, it wouldn't take much to break her. I could probably

  break her neck with one hand.

  "We're not friends. Not even close. I was wrong. My bad. I won't make

  the mistake again," she says.

  Her words are like tiny pinpricks against my chest. Each one striking

  deep, the pain fusing to my already overwhelmed irritation and making it

  swell. When I don't release her, Rylie shifts. "I don't know what more you

  fucking want from me," she says.

  "How about the fucking truth for once!" I snap. "Just fucking come right

  out and say what you mean. Stop mincing your words in front of the others.

  Stop acting like a scared little mouse. You've been slipping, saying shit that

  you would've never said in front of them. Cursing. Being disrespectful.

  Showing how irritated you get. I see it, I see the you underneath and

  whenever you put on this fake mask—that girl I can't fucking stand. That's

  who I'm not friends with. You want to really be my friend, Rylie, then you

  can start by telling me everything. No more secrets. No more lies. No more

  betrayals. I swear to fuck, I will give you my trust, but if you break it." I lean

  forward, getting in her face. "If you try to break me, no one will ever find

  your fucking body. So, make your choice. Are you my friend, Rylie? Or are

  you an outsider?”

  16

  AVALON

&n
bsp; WE SIT THERE LIKE THAT FOR ANOTHER MOMENT BEFORE SHE SIGHS, REACHING

  up and pushing my hand away. I release her shirt without resistance. "Well?"

  I prompt. "What's your decision?"

  "You never ask for much, do you, Avalon?" she replies. "Just the fucking

  world. Fucking fine. Yeah, I'm your friend. For the record, though, I didn't

  sell them anything they couldn't have hired someone else to do. I didn't tell

  them everything about you."

  "Oh?" I arch a brow. "Want to tell me what you mean?"

  "I didn't tell them about your friend, does the name Mikayla ring any

  bells?"

  I frown at her. "Not really, no."

  Her lips purse. "She might've gone by a different name," she tells me.

  "Something shorter then, but similar?"

  Micki, I realize. She's talking about Micki. I leap forward, leeching onto

  her shoulders. "Micki?" I demand. "You found her?"

  Rylie's eyes widen and she raises her hands as if to ward me off. "No,

  Jesus, calm down, no," she says quickly. "I didn't find her, but I did find a

  connection to you. They asked about any friends you might've had at your old

  school. I did some digging. Heard about a girl that lived near you that you

  hung out with from some of your old classmates. Said you two were pretty

  close, I didn't think they would care if I kept it secret, so I didn't tell them."

  I consider the information she's told me. "Do you think you could find

  her?" I ask. "If I asked you to?"

  She raises a brow. "Possibly, why?"

  "She's..." I trail off. Do I really want to find Micki? She left for a reason.

  She disappeared and didn't even fucking tell me. There are so many more

  important things to worry about right now, but the desire to see her, to know

  what the hell fucking happened is strong within me. "Just … can you do it,

  Rylie?"

  Rylie eyes me for a moment before nodding slowly. "Yeah, I take it you

  want me to keep quiet about it, too?" she asks.

  I shrug. "I doubt they'll ask, so no, you don't need to keep quiet about it,

  but I wouldn't offer it up either."

  She sighs and leans back in her chair. "Alright, now that that's out of the

  way, can I tell you what I've found out about your mom?"

  My eyes shoot to the computer screen. "Are you done then?" I ask.

  She turns back in her seat. "Just about," she replies. "Like I was saying