Natural Born Killers (Sick Boys Book 3)

by Lucy Smoke

  there, and the guys don't trust you enough to just keep your mouth shut after

  seeing what I did to Corina in the elevator, and knowing what I plan to do to

  her."

  "And afterwards?” he prompts. “What’s your plan after she’s gone?”

  "That's a dumb fucking question." I deadpan. “I’m going to find the

  people who’ve been pulling her puppet strings and I’m going to take them

  out, too. No one fucking messes with me, Luc. Not if they value their lives.

  You should know that by now.”

  “To be honest, Avalon, I don't know anything about you,” he says.

  “We’ve never had the pleasure of much time together, you and I.”

  Tilting my head to the side, I examine him. I pull my hands out of my

  pockets and cross my arms over my chest. “Oh?”

  He looks away. “I will tell you, though, that I think your dream of me

  becoming one of you is wasted. Dean has been my enemy since we were

  fucking born—it's not something either of us had a say in, but we've been

  pressured to compete for so long that I grew to resent him, and I know he

  resents me just as much. He's someone I can predict at this point. You,

  however..." Luc lifts his gaze once more, and those ocean blue eyes of his

  bore into me. "You're a fucking enigma.”

  “You want to know who I am?” I ask, taking a step closer. He straightens.

  The blood in my veins pounds beneath my skin. I lower my hands back to my

  sides and stride forward until we’re barely a hair’s breadth away. The scent of

  his cologne reaches my nose—likely applied to attract whatever girl he

  fucked at the party that feels light years away now. “I’ll tell you exactly who

  I am.”

  His eyes lock onto mine and they don’t leave. They can’t leave. When I

  speak, there’s a warning in my tone. I like Luc, and I think he’s worthy of my

  trust, but I’m also a cautious bitch. Anyone can turn. It doesn’t take much.

  Hell, I know that for a fact—my own mother had been working to get rid of

  me my entire life. No one is safe. I need to remind myself of that.

  “I’m vile,” I tell him. “I’m wicked. I’m evil. I have no goodness in me.

  I’m going to kill Corina just like I killed my mother, and I won’t regret it. I'm

  going to exact my revenge in a horribly gruesome way. I'm going to make her

  understand what sick, twisted shit that bastard—the one who raped me—did.

  Before tonight is over, she'll be choking on her own blood, and I’m going to

  enjoy each and every second.

  “She is just as guilty as the man who shoved his dick in me without my

  consent," I continue, feeling a charge in the air the longer he stares at me,

  unflinching. "She's worse, actually. Because she knew what she was doing.

  He was an animal, a puppet, and Corina was his master. She set things in

  motion that led to some of the darkest, most shameful moments of my life.

  She's going to pay for that, and for pretending to be my friend the entire time

  she was planning to have me violated and murdered.”

  Luc releases a slow breath, and when he speaks, his words surprise me a

  little. He carries a darkness in him—it’s easy to see, especially for someone

  who knows darkness as well as I do. But I had expected him to tell me to be

  done with it and then turn around and leave. He doesn’t, though. He

  continues to meet my gaze and when he speaks, it’s with a resolute

  understanding.

  “Nothing you’ve said has made me think any less of you, Avalon,” he

  replies. “You have a right to her bloodshed. I don’t care who she is to me or

  my family. For what it’s worth, I am sorry.”

  "Why are you sorry?" I demand.

  "Because she did it for me, because I didn't realize how obsessed she

  was.” His teeth clench at that and his jaw hardens. “Perhaps if I’d known

  sooner, I’d have saved you and others from suffering.”

  Others? I think, narrowing my eyes on him. So, whatever he found does

  have to do with someone he cares about. Or perhaps cared about is the better

  term. I can’t say if they’re dead or alive. Corina seems to have a similar

  disconnect as I do when it comes to human life. She doesn’t seem to care

  who lives or dies as long as they serve their purpose. The only person that

  doesn’t fit that frame of mind in her fucked up little head is the man standing

  right in front of me.

  "Luc." I carefully reach forward and put a hand on his arm. "I'll tell you

  what I told Dean when he blamed himself, too. You did not shove that man's

  dick into me. You didn't force Corina to do what she did. If you had, you

  would not be on this side of the torture that's about to take place." I don't

  make my words kinder. I tell it as it is—with all of the ugly and all of the

  brutal truth. "You're here, despite Dean's reservations—despite Abel’s and

  Braxton’s reservations—because I want you to be. If you don't want to stick

  around to see exactly what I'll do, then that's fine, but you have to know the

  truth because in the future, Luc, I expect you’ll be just as much of a Sick Boy

  as they are.”

  His jaw drops. His eyes widen. Luc takes a step back from me, and my

  hand falls away from him. For several long seconds, he stares at me. I can't

  tell if he's analyzing me or just stunned by my statement. I wait for a

  response, and when I get it, I'm surprised by the ease with which he simply

  throws back his head and laughs.

  "You know," he says through his laughter, "you remind me so fucking

  much of this girl I once knew."

  I arch a brow. "Oh yeah?"

  He curls one arm around his middle as he continues to chuckle, and his

  free hand scratches the side of his jaw. "She had tenacity and was just as

  fucking weird. So open and honest about shit that she shouldn't have been—

  or that society tells us not to be."

  He's right. Most people are taught to hide their darker natures. Want to

  kill someone? It's wrong. Hate something? Bury that feeling deep and never

  let anyone know. I'm not like that. I’ve never been like that. I can’t be.

  "I'm surprised I haven't met this chick yet," I confess as the sound of the

  front door opening reaches my ears. Moments later, Dean comes around the

  corner, stopping at the sight of us. He frowns but doesn’t say anything

  immediately as he moves towards us. Out of the corner of my eye, however, I

  see Braxton snap his knife closed and step up, grasping his shoulder, keeping

  him back, waiting.

  Luc sobers. Though I’m sure he’s aware of Dean’s presence, he doesn't

  look behind him. He drops his arms and then lifts his head. "You wouldn't

  have had the chance to meet her," he says. "She disappeared a few years

  ago."

  "Who was she?" I ask.

  He's quiet for a long moment and then, in a barely audible whisper, he

  answers me. "My best friend."

  I want to ask if this is the “other” person he mentioned earlier. Is this who

  he referred to when he said that Corina had done other things that justify his

  hatred towards her? Even I know, though, that sometimes pain is too volatile

  to share—and his pain is so fucking obvious to me, it nearly makes me flinch

/>   back.

  Luc's head turns to the side and just like that, his demeanor changes. He

  steps closer, cups my face, and leans down just as Dean tears away from

  Braxton's hold, a growl on his lips. "But I'll take your wishes into

  consideration," Luc whispers to me as I catch sight of Dean barreling across

  the room. "Being a Sick Boy might not be so bad, especially if it means I can

  spend more time around you.”

  “I’m taken,” I reply even as an amused smirk curls my lips.

  “Pity.”

  Before either of us can say anything else, Dean's hand grabs Luc by the

  shoulder and rips him back, shoving him away from me as he steps in front of

  me.

  "Keep your fucking hands off of her, Kincaid," Dean growls.

  An amused and teasing glint enters Luc's eyes as he holds up his hands,

  palms out, in mock surrender. "Sure thing, brother," he says. "Ava." He looks

  at me with a nod. "I think I'll actually take your advice and step out while you

  handle business." He lowers his arms and looks across the room, through the

  open doorway to where Corina still sits, whimpering, in her chair and

  watching him with longing and hopeful eyes. Luc's expression goes cold. "Do

  what you will. You've got my approval. I’ll handle the family matters.”

  He pauses at the threshold of the hallway that leads to the front door.

  “Dean, keep your phone on. There’s more info I found while I was tracking

  her down,” he says. “I suggest when you’re done here, you clean up your

  mess and watch your back—I’d tell you now, but...” Luc turns slightly, his

  gaze skimming over Corina before landing on Braxton, and there it stays for

  a long pause. Then he shakes his head. “It’s better to wait until I have proof.”

  With that, he turns and strides out of the room and out of the house.

  37

  AVALON

  A BEAT OF SILENCE LINGERS ON THE AIR AND THEN DEAN HISSES OUT A

  breath, shoving a hand into the dark swath of hair at the top of his head

  before he spins back to me. "Rylie's covered the cameras," he informs me.

  "The hotels will report a security blackout and all of the CCTVs within a mile

  radius of them will have the same issues."

  “And Abel?” I ask. "Is he coming?"

  Dean casts a look at me before turning his glare towards Corina, who

  begins to struggle now that Luc’s gone. I glance her way as well, noting the

  black cloth tied around her face. I smirk. From what I can see, the corners of

  her mouth are pulled wide with how tightly he's tied the damn thing. Tears

  spring to her eyes, rolling down her cheeks and soaking the makeshift gag. I

  could almost feel sorry for her if I didn't know that her looks have nothing to

  do with the wickedness that lurks beneath.

  Corina looks like any average young woman. Pretty. Warm. Kind. Until

  she curls her lips into a sneering smile. Until the glint of truth enters her eyes,

  she could be mistaken for any of the millions of good people that must exist

  in this world.

  But she's not good. She's a liar. She's a manipulator. The hazy memory of

  Roger Murphy's fat, bulbous chest and stomach pressing down on me from

  behind whips into my brain, making my hands curl into fists. Panic slides into

  my throat, choking me.

  There are moments in time that dictate how a person's life will go. Brief

  periods of action that lead to consequences, and even if those consequences

  don't come for days or weeks or even years, they always eventually catch up

  with the perpetrator. Right here. Right now. Corina's have caught up with her.

  “I talked to him too," Dean says. "He called to let me know that clean up

  at the hotel would take a bit longer. He's acting as Rylie's ground agent, so he

  might be detained with security to keep them quiet for a bit longer."

  I arch a brow. “Bribery?”

  Dean shoots me a look. “You know how this works.” That I do, I think,

  rolling my eyes. That I fucking do. Regardless, I should be grateful. Without

  the Sick Boys and their money and connections, I wouldn’t be getting my

  revenge. At least, not this soon.

  “Fine,” I say, striding past him and back into the main interior of the

  house. I stop several feet in front of Corina and cross my arms over my chest.

  "Then let's move on to you, shall we?"

  Her face is flushed a bright pink as if she's been having trouble breathing

  through the cloth that Braxton gagged her with. Several strands of her newly

  dyed hair stick to the sides of her face where her tears have dried on her skin.

  In my jeans’ pocket, the outline and weight of the knife that Dean had given

  me presses against my leg. It’s heavy, almost as if it’s there to remind me, to

  keep me grounded. I look back to Dean for a moment, gathering strength

  from his nod as he moves into the room as well and takes up a sentinel-like

  position against one of the pillars. Braxton moves to mimic his pose.

  The image of the two of them, watching over me as I’m about to exact

  my revenge, just hammers home how fucking special they are. I never knew

  myself capable of love. Micki had made me think I was—but then she’d been

  gone. But these boys—these sick, twisted boys—have given me that hope

  again.

  I turn back to Corina and reach forward, gripping the black gag tied

  around her face, yanking it towards me and then down so that it scrapes down

  her chin and hangs around her neck.

  "You fucking bitch!" she hisses as she gasps for air. "Where did you send

  him? Where's Luc going? I know he wouldn't leave me. What did you do?”

  "Wouldn't leave you?" I repeat, shaking my head. "He was never with

  you, Cor."

  Reaching down, I grip the black tie still dangling around her throat. I

  clench my fist and yank it so that it forces her head forward. She chokes as it

  tightens around her neck and cuts off her air supply.

  "You're in my fucking realm now, Corina," I tell her. "And you're not

  getting away this time."

  Even through the pain she must be feeling with her broken nose and

  suffocation, she manages to look smug. Corina's head tips back and she

  glares up at me, the corners of her lips curling upward. It pisses me off, and

  there's nothing stopping me from punching her in the face for the insult of her

  fucking expression. So, I do.

  I rear back and I punch her right in her broken nose. The whole thing kind

  of shifts as my knuckles slam into it and she cries out—a weak gasping sob

  of pain that wells up and echoes into the room. I close my eyes and inhale as

  the sound makes something inside of me relax. My fingers release the grasp

  on her gag and she slams her spine against the back of her chair as she sobs,

  fresh tears sliding down the sides of her face. This time, they're not crocodile

  tears.

  "Y-you have no clue what you're fucking doing," she manages to grit out

  moments later. Her eyes cut across the room landing once on Dean with a

  snarl flitting across her lips before her gaze lands on Braxton and settles

  there. "Well..." Her voice grows stronger. "Not yet."

  "I think I know how to hurt someone," I tell her as I glance down at one

  of her hands. Two of her
fingers are purple and swollen. Broken. An idea

  forms. "But I think we all deserve a chance, don't you?" I ask sarcastically.

  She eyes me. I lock my gaze with hers and reach down, lifting those two

  fingers slightly until she clenches her teeth. She tries—she really does—to

  keep from crying out, but it’s no use. Her lips part as tears fill her eyes and

  streak down her cheeks before she screams in agony when I shift around the

  fingers I’d broken in the elevator.

  While I got a chance to clean myself up when we got here and most of

  my blood has been washed away, hers remains. I've got some scratches on

  my arms and cheeks, and definitely some bruises—it's amazing what even

  she can do when backed into a corner. What she doesn't realize—what no one

  seems to fucking realize—is that I've been in that corner far too often. While

  she—and everyone else—gets their strength for that limited, immediate

  moment, I've honed it to a fucking skill. I live it. I breathe it.

  Without giving her a warning, I force her broken fingers backward and

  her scream reaches new heights. Her bones grind together under her skin, the

  digits in my grip jerking and seizing with the way I bend them until her voice

  grows hoarse. When I finally release them, she moans and pulls against her

  restraints as if she means to curl her broken digits to her chest.

  I gaze down at her for another moment and then grin as I regrip her

  broken fingers again and perform the action all over.

  "Fuck!" Saliva spews from her mouth and hits me in the face, slapping

  my cheek. I reach up with my free hand and wipe it away. "God! Fucking

  stop! It hurts!"

  Good, I think, but I give her a reprieve. I let go and her fingers flop back

  into place. Unlike Roger, I want to make this last. I was too hasty before; I

  won't be this time.

  I can feel Dean and Braxton's eyes on me as I lean down into Corina's

  face, tilting my head to the side as I take in her changing expressions. "Let's

  make a deal," I offer. Still gasping, wheezing, hissing through her pain,

  Corina jerks her chin up and eyes me warily. I take that to mean that she's

  willing to hear me out. “You’re going to die today.” I deadpan as my hand

  grazes her wounded fingers. She flinches. "But if you tell me where your

  friend, Ace, is … maybe I won’t make you suffer before you do.” It’s a