Natural Born Killers (Sick Boys Book 3)

by Lucy Smoke

  that might be of use to us."

  "Ava's fucking lost it if she thinks that fucker is trustworthy," Abel huffs

  out.

  I don't know about that. I don't like Kincaid, never have, probably never

  fucking will, but Avalon sees things that we don't. She's perceptive and

  observant. What does she see in him? I grit my teeth. I hate to admit it, but

  working alongside him would be far simpler than fighting him.

  Braxton stretches back on the side of the couch, his arms moving up and

  crossing behind his head. "We also need to prepare for when we actually do

  catch up with the chick," he comments.

  By prepare, he means we need to have a secondary location to take her.

  Avalon is going to want to take her time. "I've got contacts on the line," I say.

  "They'll be ready as soon as we are."

  "No matter where we are?" he presses.

  "Of course." The Carter name is far reaching—combined with the

  Eastpoint status, there's no doubt in my mind that we'll have a place to take

  her when the time comes.

  My crazy baby will have her vengeance, I'll make sure of it. For now,

  we've got to deal with a rogue Kincaid.

  33

  AVALON

  I'D BEEN TO MY FAIR SHARE OF PARTIES BACK IN PLEXTON. FOREST PARTIES

  with large fires, lots of pickup trucks, and cheap beer. Those Plexton parties

  are not how the Sick Boys roll and it's also not how Luc Kincaid rolls.

  The hotel Dean had mentioned is right there, quite literally across the

  street from us—attached by a bridge overhead. As we approach, it looks

  more like something from a Pretty Woman or Breakfast at Tiffany's set than

  actual reality. Large glass walls encase the front bottom floor and inside,

  doormen stand on either side. I didn't think it possible that there was a place

  where a person's entire job was simply to hold open a door for people as they

  passed in and out of the lobby.

  I had no illusions that had I been on my own, the people manning the

  front reception desk would've escorted my ass straight back out into the

  street. With Dean, Braxton, and Abel at my side, however, they barely even

  blink—each man and woman offering polite, distant smiles as we stride

  through the main hub towards the row of elevators in the back.

  I skim my eyes along the floor. It’s so shiny that I can see the outline of

  my reflection in the white marble. Dean is silent as we make our way towards

  the back and stand until one of the elevators ding, and a set of gray metal

  doors opens, allowing us entry.

  "So, what's the plan?" Braxton asks.

  Dean crosses his arms. "Abel will stick with Avalon," he decides. "You

  and I are going to have a word with Luc."

  I release a sigh and lean into one of the walls, crossing my arms as well.

  My hands grip either elbow as I consider the actions we're about to take.

  Dean's obviously pissed. I'll be more shocked if we leave here without a fight

  than if we don't.

  "You think he's fucking around?" I ask.

  Dean's gaze cuts to me. "What do you think?" he demands.

  I shrug. "I trust him." As much as I can trust anyone other than you three,

  but I don't say as much.

  A scowl overtakes his face, but before he can go into a tirade, I raise an

  important question. "Do you hate him because he's done something to you?" I

  ask. "Or do you hate him because you've been raised to?"

  Abel snorts. "He can't be trusted" is all he says. Dean doesn't refute or

  agree.

  "Which means it's the latter," I say.

  Abel frowns at me, turning my way as he gestures wildly. "Luc Kincaid is

  a fucking ass," he snaps. "He's had it out for us for forever. Did you forget the

  whole situation with Kate?"

  "I remember that he was forced to propose to her because of his father," I

  comment lightly. "I also remember that there's no longer anything going on

  between them. Don't give that girl more power than she has. She was a tool

  that his father was using to fuck with you. Luc is just as much a victim of his

  heritage as you three are."

  Dean and Braxton exchange a look, but neither of them says anything to

  deny the fact that I'm right. Abel goes red-faced. Left with little recourse we

  grow nearer and nearer to the penthouse suite, however, he turns away and

  grits his teeth in a facsimile of control and refuses to say another word.

  He knows I'm not wrong, but I can understand why he doesn't want to

  admit it. Even Braxton and Dean don't. It's hard to disregard a lifetime of

  hatred in an instant. This will take a bit longer.

  The elevator dings and the doors slide open to reveal loud music, a horde

  of people, and the scent of something spicy in the air. Dean curses under his

  breath and moves forward. He circles my waist in one of his arms, and we

  pass into the crowd. Braxton is big enough that as soon as people see him,

  they begin to move, clearing a path.

  "There are more people than I expected," Brax says.

  "I want to find that bastard and get out of here," Dean replies. His eyes go

  down to me. For a moment, I wonder what he'll do. His arm tightens as if he

  doesn't want to let go, but in the next instant, it eases. As soon as we've

  cleared the initial crowd and find what looks like an open space in the living

  room next to a row of windows, he releases me altogether. "Stay with Abel,"

  he orders. I arch a brow. He grits his teeth and adds a reluctant, "Please."

  Snorting, I turn away. "Fine," I say. Let him and Luc get into it, see if I

  give a shit when he comes back just as damaged. Dean may think he's king

  when it comes to all things, but I know for a fact that Luc was raised the

  same way. They have the same bravado, the same stupid, masculine

  arrogance. They'll tear each other apart. What irritates me the most about it,

  though, is that it's all over her. Corina. My nails dig into my arms as her

  name appears in my mind. I'm starting to think that it'll be far harder to

  capture one fucking rich bitch than I ever thought possible.

  Dean moves closer, cupping my head even though I'm turned away from

  him. I feel the softness of his lips in my hair just once and then he's gone,

  sliding into the massive crowd that still surrounds us with Braxton at his

  back. I release a slow breath.

  "Should we get a drink while we're here?" Abel asks.

  I consider it. Getting drunk right now isn't a good plan, but Abel looks

  like he's not any happier about being relegated to Avalon duty than I am.

  Maybe it'll make him chillax. "Sure," I say.

  Abel reaches for my hand and I release my arms, letting him take it and

  wrap his warm fingers around mine as he leads me back through the crowd.

  As we move, I lift my head and scan the area. I don't recognize half of the

  faces here, but every once in a while, I'll spot someone I do know—a

  classmate here or a TA there. I smirk. Naughty little peasants playing in the

  other king's castle when they think the Eastpoint heirs won't know. It's

  laughable.

  When they catch a glimpse of me and Abel, their eyes blow open wide.

  More than once, I see someone dive behind another person or lift something

  in front of them to hide their
face. It's too late, though. I see all and so do the

  Eastpoint heirs. Right now, their focus is on something more important. They

  have no care for the subjects who are where they shouldn't be.

  Abel and I find alcohol in the giant kitchen. Even though I've been living

  in the Carter mansion for over a month now, it's still startling to see just how

  the other side lives. The guys may not truly see it because they've been raised

  in it, but I can't help but stare. The size of the kitchen in the penthouse is huge

  enough to comfortably fit well over ten people. Abel passes everyone as he

  heads for the fridge and retrieves two bottled beers. He checks their caps and

  then pops them open before handing me one.

  I hold it, but don't take a sip, instead, choosing to watch as he downs half

  of his without a flinch. "Nervous?" I ask, curious when he finally lowers it.

  He meets my eyes as he passes the back of his hand over his lips.

  "What?" Abel's lips twist into a frown. "No. Why?"

  I shrug. "You seem off," I say without elaboration. I scan the room.

  Several of its inhabitants are staring at us. Wherever we go, it seems, we're

  watched. "Come on." I snag his arm and drag him along as I cut through the

  room into a hallway and hang a right towards where I assume a door to the

  outside balcony area will be.

  When we were in the living room, I saw several people hanging out

  beyond the windows. If I'm guessing correctly, there's probably a pool out

  there and a lower likelihood that we'll have eyes watching us and ears

  listening.

  Minutes later, I'm proven correct when we pass through what looks like a

  large bedroom with a door outside. As we pass one of the closed doors inside

  of the room, the sound of running water and feminine moans reach my ears. I

  roll my eyes. Every fucking party.

  Warm summer air slaps my cheeks when we slide open the balcony doors

  and take a step outside. Set before us is a sea of lights. Buildings and roads as

  far as the eye can see. I take a step towards the ledge, my hand falling to the

  side with the still full bottle grasped between my fingers.

  "Be careful," Abel warns.

  "It'll be fine," I assure him, turning and leaning into the railing. "If I was

  meant to die from a fall, I doubt I would've gone through all the other shit life

  has thrown at me."

  He doesn't crack a smile. Instead, he lifts his beer and downs the second

  half before chucking it in a nearby trashcan a few feet to the side of the door,

  though it's perfectly hidden inside a big block of marble. Had he not thrown

  his beer into its opening at the top, I would've just assumed it was a weird

  decor piece. I hold out my beer for him.

  "Want this?" I ask.

  "You're not gonna drink it?" He settles next to me against the railing and

  crosses his arms over the top.

  "Nope."

  He sighs and takes it from me, but doesn't immediately drink from it. I

  wait, sensing something he wants to tell me or perhaps ask me. Silence

  stretches between us for several minutes. Then…

  "Ava?"

  "Hmmm?" I hum in the back of my throat as I stare up at the night sky.

  Stars scatter across it like a blanket hovering just out of reach.

  "Do you..." He begins, only to cut himself off.

  In my periphery, I see his hand clench against the neck of his bottle.

  "Yes?" I prompt him when several seconds go by without a second

  attempt to speak.

  "Do you really fucking trust him? Kincaid?"

  Ah, so that's what this is about. For a moment, I'd thought he was about to

  ask me about Rylie. I shake my head, closing my eyes once before reopening

  them and focusing on the image above me. In the distance, I can hear the

  squeals from the girl in the bathroom inside as someone, I assume, pounds

  her into oblivion, as well as the music from invisible speakers.

  How to answer?

  "Let me ask you something first," I say, turning and looking at him. "Can

  you definitively say why you hate him?"

  Abel frowns, but unlike what he's done previously, he doesn't

  immediately jump into an answer. His head tilts and he looks out over the

  city. "You wouldn't know this," he says after another long silence, "but I've

  known him for longer than the others. His dad and mine had business

  together. They don't like each other, and yeah, you're right about it being

  because of the whole tradition bullshit. I don't hate him because our parents

  hate each other."

  "Then why do you hate him?"

  "That's just the thing," Abel says. "I don't hate him. I just don't trust the

  asshole. The one I do hate is his father; Jason Kincaid is not a man I would

  ever want you to go near, Ava." His hand tightens so hard around the bottle in

  his grasp that I worry he'll break it.

  "What is it about his father that you don't like?" I inquire.

  Abel shakes his head. "I can't tell you that, Ava." He turns and when he

  looks at me, there's an apology in his gaze. "I want to," he admits, "but I

  can't. All I can tell you is that if you ever meet the man, I want you to turn

  around and run the other way. He's a conniving bastard. I can't trust Luc, no

  matter how much you might like him."

  "I don't." I start to protest, but Abel just reaches forward with his free

  hand and cups it over my lips, stopping me from continuing.

  A soft smile appears on his face. "It's alright, Ava," he says. "I know

  you're dedicated to Dean. Any fucker with eyes can see that, but you do like

  Luc; not the same way, I get that but don't try to deny it."

  I wait for him to pull his hand back before speaking. "Okay," I say.

  "You're right. I do like him, but have you ever wondered why?"

  Abel turns back towards the city before finally lifting his second bottle

  and taking a long swallow. "Fine," he says. "Let's hear it. Why do you like

  him?"

  "Because he reminds me of the three most important men in my life," I

  confess.

  Abel throws me a startled look. I can't help but chuckle even as I move

  closer and lean my head down until my temple rests on his shoulder.

  "Luc reminds me of you," I tell him. "And Dean and Brax. Except, I feel

  sorry for him because he doesn't have what the three of you do. He doesn't

  have your brotherhood, your willingness to kill and die for each other. Have

  you ever realized that he's grown up exactly the way you three have? If his

  father is as bad as you say, then can you imagine what he went through?" I

  can't see Abel's face from my position, but I feel the sharp inhale of his

  breath. "And yet, he's still willing to help us, to help me get revenge. He

  won't turn you—or us—in because his family is the same as yours. I can't

  help but think of how much stronger the three of you would be if he were on

  your side."

  For a long time after that, Abel doesn't respond. His arm lifts and lowers

  as he drinks from his beer. Then, after it's emptied and he's chucked it into

  the hidden trash can, Abel pivots back to face me.

  "There's another reason," he says quietly.

  I arch an eyebrow and just wait.

  His hands clench into fists at his side. "We've … allowed him to work
<
br />   with Rylie on occasion or rather, I know she has worked with him. We don't

  stop her from taking outside clients and she cleared it with Dean first."

  I hold back a laugh. This makes much more sense. "You're jealous," I

  accuse playfully, and if looks could kill, I'd be six feet under, pushing daisies

  from the one he throws at me in response.

  He crosses his arms over his chest and turns his cheek. His shirt moves

  slightly and a black splotch of ink appears at the top of his chest, a tattoo

  hidden under the fabric. "I don't like it," he admits. "But no, it's not because

  I'm jealous."

  What a fucking liar.

  "You ever going to tell me what's going on between the two of you?" I

  ask.

  His jaw hardens, but for a brief moment, there's something in his eyes—a

  spot of warmth. Abel shakes his head before lowering his arms and holding

  out one to me. "Come on, let's go back inside and see if we can find those

  fuckers and get out of here. No doubt Dean's already bashed the bastard's

  head in by now."

  I pull out my phone and check the time, and realize he's right. It's been

  nearly a half hour since we came out here. Dean and Brax are likely nearly

  done by now. Putting my phone back, I take his hand and step towards the

  sliding glass door on this side of the balcony. Before we enter, though, I pull

  him to a stop.

  "I don't offer this to many people," I tell him, recalling what Dean had

  said about Abel's parents, his dad, but most particularly his mom. "But if you

  ever want to talk about anything, you know you can with me, right?"

  Abel's expression softens and he leans down, making me jump slightly as

  he kisses the top of my head. "I got it, savage girl," he says, his voice low.

  "Thanks."

  We bypass the bedroom again, ignoring the fact that this time—the

  couple from the bathroom had moved into the room and were now sprawled

  out naked on the bed. Abel stops dead as we both realize that it hadn't been a

  girl and a guy after all. With an eye roll, I shove him out of the room. The

  two girls were so entrenched in each other—likely half drunk and half high

  from whatever party drugs were being passed around the penthouse —to even

  notice our presence. It doesn’t take him long to slip right back into his player

  roll as he leans back and winks at me.

  "What I wouldn't give to see you like that, Avalon," he says, eyeing me.