Natural Born Killers (Sick Boys Book 3)

by Lucy Smoke

  down and rummages around on the floor until he lifts the pants he'd been

  wearing earlier. I snag a cracker from the remaining food on the tray and stuff

  it in my mouth as I watch, curious. He digs his hand into one of the pockets

  and when it comes free, he's holding his pocket knife. It's the same exact one

  I'd used to hack off Kate's hair over a month ago. He holds it in his palm,

  sliding the handle through his fingers as he twirls it. He releases a slow breath

  and then tosses it onto the bed next to me.

  "I want you to keep that," he says as he slips back onto the mattress and

  reclines with his arms arching up behind his head.

  Reaching for the knife, I lift it and weigh it in my palm with a smirk. "Oh,

  yeah?" I spin it between my fingers the same way that he had. "Why's that?"

  He grunts, leaning to the side and cracking his neck without looking at

  me. "I've held onto it because of sentimentality," he admits. "But I think

  you'll feel safer with it if you know you've got a weapon on you at all times."

  "Safer?" I stop spinning the knife and just hold it. "What do you mean

  sentimentality?"

  Dean reaches down and grabs a piece of cheese and pops it into his

  mouth. "I got it for my tenth birthday," he admits. "From Abel's mom."

  My curiosity grows. I stare down at the small pocket knife in my hand.

  Now that he's told me how old he was when he got it, it makes sense. It's a

  small knife, and though I'd never really considered it, for a man his size,

  having something this small is a bit odd. But for a ten-year-old, or for me—

  with my smaller hands—it fits perfectly.

  "Who gives a ten-year-old a blade?" I ask, hitting the switch that makes

  the sharp edge jerk out of its hold.

  Dean chuckles. "Someone who knew quite well the hardships that ten-

  year-old would have to deal with," he tells me, turning onto his side. "Don’t

  worry, Abel got something from her, too."

  "Like what?" I ask.

  Dean hums in his throat. "Abel got the car," he says. "His Mustang.”

  I snort. "And what about Brax?”

  "Brax isn’t the type to take anything," Dean says. “He doesn’t even like

  getting gifts for his birthday.”

  My amusement fades. I’d never really gotten gifts for my birthday, but

  it’s kind of hard to imagine someone like Brax—growing up in the world that

  he did—just not accepting them. Then again, when you have anything and

  everything you could possibly ever want, what’s the point?

  I look back at the knife in my hand. "If this is so important, why are you

  giving it to me?" I repeat my question from earlier. "Why not give me a

  different knife?"

  "I want to give this one to you," he says. "Every time you dream of shit or

  you even think of shit you don't want to deal with, I want you to hold it. If

  anyone ever fucking touches you, if they get up in your face, if they do

  anything you don't like—hold that knife."

  My eyes meet his gaze and lock there for several long, tense seconds.

  "Think of that knife as a part of me," he tells me. "It's a weapon, but it's yours

  now. You can use it to hurt, you can use it to torture, you can fucking use it to

  kill. Every time you touch that blade, you'll know—you're not alone and you

  never will be again."

  Silence rings in my ears as his words fade into the darkness of the room.

  My breath echoes in my ears, and my heartbeat pounds like a drum.

  "You loved her," I say aloud.

  Dean's face softens. "We all did," he admits.

  "Will you tell me about her?"

  Dean's hand reaches for mine, he pulls the knife out of my hand holds it

  up, carefully pushing the blade back into place before he sets it in my lap and

  weaves our fingers together. "Maybe I'll tell you some other time," he says.

  "But not tonight."

  "Why not?" I ask.

  He doesn't answer, just shakes his head. A part of me wants to be angry.

  He knows all about me. He knows everything from my deepest darkest sins

  to my worst, most shameful moments. It's unfair of him to ask to keep this to

  himself, to keep her to himself.

  But is he really keeping her to himself if he's giving you the knife?

  Another voice asks in the back of my head.

  As if sensing my internal thoughts, Dean leans forward and touches my

  face. He kisses my forehead. “I will tell you about her someday,” he swears.

  “But it’s not just my story to tell—it’s Abel’s and Braxton’s too. She was

  more than just Abel’s mom, she was all of ours. She was the one fucking

  parent we actually gave a shit about, and that actually gave a shit about any

  of us. She didn’t like mine and Braxton’s mothers. She was more hardcore

  than any of them.”

  “Will you at least tell me what happened to her?” I hate the begging in

  my tone. I don’t beg for shit, but this, I want to know. If this woman was so

  important to them, I want to know why she’s not with them now.

  “What happens to everyone in our life,” Dean replies. “She was killed.”

  I frown at that and lean away from him. She was killed, he said. Not ‘she

  died.’ There is a difference. “What do you mean she was killed?”

  Dean reaches down and locks his hand on mine, keeping me from pulling

  away completely. “There’s something you need to understand, Ava. We’ve

  all lost something, but when Abel’s mom—when Josie—died, we all

  suffered. Remember how I told you before that we don’t normally get to

  choose our partners?”

  I nod.

  “That was true for our parents as well. Josie was an heiress hand-picked

  to marry into the Frazier family. She didn’t get a say and neither did Abel’s

  dad. The same is true for mine and Braxton’s moms. I truly thought my father

  was trying to kill you, Ava, because you weren’t picked. Knowing what we

  know now—about your father—about his connection to mine makes his

  acceptance of you more understandable, but there have always been

  consequences of marrying out of turn.”

  “But if she was selected to marry him and she did then how was she

  killed?” I point out.

  Dean’s face grows hard. “Josie loved Abel,” he says. “She loved me and

  Brax like we were her own, but she never loved Lionel and he knew that.”

  His hand tightens on mine until it hurts. “She cheated on him,” I guess.

  As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I wish I could take them back.

  Pain etches itself across Dean’s face. “Never trust anyone but us, Avalon.”

  His tone is rough and hoarse. Dean’s head dips and his forehead presses into

  my shoulder. “No one, but especially not our parents.”

  “You think Abel’s father killed her?” I ask.

  “I don’t know what to fucking think,” he admits. “Sometimes, I think he

  did. It was a car accident. She was meeting her lover, though we didn’t find

  that out until much later.”

  “Who—”

  “Viks told us,” Dean says, answering my question before it's even fully

  out of my mouth, “when he left the company.”

  “Was he the—”

  “No, he wasn’t her lover. We don’t know who it was. Afterwards, though,

  Lione
l was angry and he took it out on Abel. He wanted Abel to make up for

  the loss of her connections by working with him. We didn’t realize what that

  really meant to his dad until it was too late.”

  “What it really meant to his dad?” I repeat. “What do you mean? What

  did he do?”

  Dean inhales sharply and then pulls himself back, his hands coming up to

  cup my shoulders as he turns his face away. “That’s it,” he says. “I’m done.

  That’s Abel’s story to tell, Avalon. Certainly not mine.”

  I press my lips together, but I don’t argue. No matter how much I want to.

  To let him know that I’m okay with it, I reach up and tug on a strand of his

  hair before scratching my nails lightly down his beard stubble. When Dean

  turns to me in surprise, I lean forward and kiss him. His tongue tangles with

  mine and I move forward, letting the sheet drop as I wrap my arms around his

  shoulders and kiss him like he’s got the last fresh breath of air on Earth.

  When we part, we’re both panting heavily. I sigh and rest my cheek

  against his chest. “You know,” I begin, “I feel like we’re all one fucked up

  family.”

  A bark of surprised laughter escapes him, making his body shake against

  mine.

  “I’m serious,” I tell him.

  “Yeah?” he chuckles, reclining until we’re both laid out on the bed once

  more. “How’s that?”

  “We’ve all got fucked up family issues—none of our parents are any

  good and the parents that are decent always end up being unable to help.”

  They end up dead, but I don’t think this is the time to point that particular fact

  out. It is a commonality that I have with Abel though—his mom, my father.

  What great luck we both have.

  “You have a point,” Dean surmises.

  “Sometimes I think I got the shit end of the stick and sometimes I think I

  got lucky,” I confess. “All of my emotions are contradictory.”

  “Emotions about what?” he asks.

  “About my dad,” I say. “I’m angry.”

  Dean’s chest rumbles. “Angry?”

  “Yeah,” I say. “Not just angry, I’m fucking pissed. I think ‘why the fuck

  did he have to be the one to die? Why couldn’t it have been her?’” There’s no

  guessing in the ‘her’ I’m referring to. I turn my cheek and rub it against his

  warm skin. “Sometimes…” My voice fades, growing lighter, more of a

  whisper. “Sometimes I think that I’m exactly who she made me. I am the

  monster I am today because of all she did and I can’t help but wonder who I

  would’ve been had things been different.”

  Dean’s hand comes up and his fingers twist into my hair as they slide

  against the back of my skull. “Don’t think of that,” he growls. “Because the

  second you start to think like that, it’s hard to turn back.”

  “I’m not remorseful,” I say. “I’m not even sad about what I’ve done. That

  makes me fucked up, doesn’t it? I’m a bad person for killing her, but I don’t

  regret it.”

  “What about her?” Dean leans up, forcing me to pull away and look up

  into his eyes. Violent anger burns in their depths. “What about all she did to

  you?” he demands. “What about all she put you through? If she said she was

  sorry, would that automatically make her a better person?” He doesn’t even

  give me a second to answer. “No,” he snarls. “It wouldn’t.” His hand grows

  harder in my hair, clenching into a fist and holding my head up and my face

  near his. “If you want to think you’re evil, then fine, but you’ve never killed

  anyone who didn’t deserve it. That piece of shit that raped you and your

  fucking mother. Fuck both of them. I can guarantee you that if hell exists

  then that’s where the two of them are right fucking now.”

  “If it exists then that’s where we’re going,” I shoot back.

  Dean smiles into my face, and it’s not kind. “Oh, baby, the only place that

  would ever be hell to me is one where you’re not with me. Even if our souls

  are damned to burn for eternity, as long as you’re there, I don’t really give a

  shit. As long as you’re there, it’ll be heaven to me.”

  I open my mouth to reply, but before I even get the chance, a loud

  banging sounds out in the hallway, and Abel’s voice cuts through the

  penthouse. Dean releases my hair and gets off the bed. My eyes track him as

  he gathers up some clothes and starts to get dressed.

  Neither of us say a word as I do the same, but it’s clear that this

  conversation is far from over.

  32

  DEAN

  AM I WRONG? FOR TELLING AVALON ABOUT MAMA JOSIE? THAT'S NOT MY

  story to tell. Her life and death are not my sorrow to hold. She'd meant the

  fucking world to me—far more than my own alcoholic mother—but she was

  Abel's mom. Not mine. A kernel of guilt eats away at the shriveled-up husk

  of a conscience that lays dormant within me as I stride down the hallway

  heading towards where I can hear Abel and Braxton talking.

  They stop the second Avalon and I step out into the living room. "We

  have a problem," Abel says, his voice serious, his gaze hard.

  Of course we fucking do. Would it ever be too much to fucking ask that

  we have a night off? That we just have a chance to think and breathe?

  Apparently yes—it would be too much to ask the universe. Fuck me.

  "What's the issue?" I demand, running a hand up through my hair as

  Avalon separates from me and moves over to the kitchen. I watch her out of

  the corner of my eye as she searches through the cupboards and pulls out a

  glass. She puts it under the tap and runs water until it's half filled up. It's on

  the tip of my tongue to tell her to throw that shit out. We've got bottled water

  in the fridge, but I doubt she'd listen. She never does.

  "Luc's here."

  Abel's words have me swinging my focus back to him. "What?" My voice

  comes out on a growl that snatches Avalon's attention. Her glass clinks as it

  hits the marble countertops. I feel her gaze on the side of my face, but the

  entirety of my focus is on Abel and Braxton right now.

  "He's here," Abel continues. "In the Aurum." His father's hotel, of course

  if he'd be here, he'd be there, what I don't understand is why. "Brax and I were

  at one of the local clubs when we heard about a Kincaid party going on

  there."

  A hiss escapes my lips. "You're sure it's him?"

  "Who else would it be, man?" Abel replies.

  He's right. Unlike us, Kincaid has no joint heirs. It's him and him alone.

  The smaller branches of the Kincaid family don't even have legal rights. It

  has to be him. "That motherfucker," I curse, turning away.

  I reach into my pocket and pull out my phone, checking the screen on the

  off chance that he's responded to any of my numerous messages, but no. They

  all remain unread.

  "Dean—" Avalon starts.

  I shake my head, cutting her off. "He knows how important the job we

  gave him is," I tell her, looking up and meeting her gaze as she comes to a

  standstill between the pillars that lead into the kitchen. "You said you trusted

  him, but I don't. I can't. This"—I hold up my phone—"has gone o
n long

  enough."

  "We're going over there?" Abel asks.

  I don't see any other option. If Luc won't come to us, then we'll just have

  to go to him. Whether he likes it or not, he will answer me. Avalon presses

  her lips together and then sighs. "Fine," she mutters, "I'll get dressed."

  She's already dressed, but I know what she means. We're not going to a

  regular party. We're going to a Kincaid party and that means she'll have to

  look the part. As will the rest of us. Her hair shifts over her shoulder, the

  scent of her making me inhale sharply as she passes me on her way back into

  the hallway.

  "But I think you're wrong about him," she says, loud enough for everyone

  to hear. "I think he is trustworthy."

  My gaze tracks her as she disappears down the hallway and when she's

  gone, I finally release the breath I'd been holding. "She reacted better than

  expected," Brax says casually.

  Of the three of us, he seems to be the most at ease. It's a façade, I know.

  He doesn't get tense or showcase that darker side of him until we're in the

  moment, but his comment does make me rethink our plans tonight.

  We still have to go. I can't stand to have Kincaid running or hiding or

  keeping secrets. What he's been asked to do is far too important a task. Why

  does Avalon seem to trust him so fucking much, though? I don't fucking like

  it.

  "We need to talk about what's going to happen," I say, my eyes still on

  the hallway. A part of me half expects Avalon to come charging back out

  here, but she doesn't. She's changing, little by little, and I'm not sure if it's

  good or bad. I really don't know. The one person I'd normally go to for

  something like this is on my shit list. I can't deny, though, that I want to

  fucking call him right now. I still could. My fingers clench against my phone.

  Viks would pick up—he's just that type of guy. No matter what I've said

  before, he'd answer my fucking call. Unlike Kincaid.

  "What's the game plan?" Brax asks.

  "Information," I answer, turning away from the hallway and taking a step

  towards the back of the couch. I slip my phone back into my pocket and cross

  my arms over my chest. "I want to know why that fucker hasn't been

  answering my messages. If he's got any leads on Corina and anything else