REVENGE (Kenshaw Legacy Book 2)

by Piper Frost

I laugh. I want to kiss her, but I think she’d punch me in the throat.

  “Yeah.” I nod and glance at her. She nixed my massage attempt and I don’t want to get creepy so I tuck my hands at the back of my head and stare at the TV. “You know this guy ate thirty-six people,” I nod toward the screen.

  “Nasty.” Her lips curve upwards slowly, her eyes getting wide. “Like, fresh meat or fried?”

  “He cooked them. He was feeding his mom their neighbors for a month. Stew, chili, burgers. Guy was...not right.” I chuckle and glance when her foot gets a little closer to me as she seems to relax.

  “Not sure you’re one to talk,” she whispers, her eyes still glued to the TV. “But really, like what the fuck does human taste like you think?” She looks at me. “You meet anyone in prison that ate people? I’m sure there were a ton of weirdos there.”

  I bite my bottom lip to keep from smiling at her stupid insult. “Not too sure about that. Something tells me you don’t go to juvie for eating people. I wasn’t in a mental hospital. Or prison.” I shake my head and laugh like she’s stupid.

  “Maybe you should have been.” She glances over at me, trying not to laugh at the jab. “I mean, technically you're a murderer, aren’t you?”

  That’s all I can take. I feel bad enough about killing their animals and I don’t want to deal with her making me relive it. I stand and walk to the kitchen. If she can drink their beer, I can too. I pull one out but then what Grant’s threats hit me. I have to take piss tests every couple of days and I don’t know how long alcohol lasts in the system. With a huff, I put it back.

  “Do you make food or anything? Can you do anything useful like your sister does?” I get in my pathetic jab as I walk back into the living room.

  “Why, who’s askin?” She looks up at me with those big blue eyes.

  I cock my eyebrow. “Sutton Sterling,” I say like she’s stupid.

  She glares at me for a moment, then the commercial ends and she holds her finger up, pausing our conversation so she can watch the last three minutes of this damn serial killer show. I use the time to stand here and stare at her, learning the parts of her body that aren’t covered by the blanket. I don’t know how I forgot about her, but after seeing her three days ago, I haven’t been able to forget again.

  “Alright, let’s go,” she snaps the moment the show ends. She hops up from the couch and marches to the kitchen.

  “Go where?” If she’s thinkin’ I’m taking her to dinner or something, she’s sadly mistaken. I’m broke, and she wouldn’t even put out so not happening.

  “Wash your damn hands,” she says, pointing to the sink. “I’m gonna teach you how to cook so I never have to hear you begging for someone else to cook for you again.” She bitches more about how annoying it is as she pulls out ingredients from the cupboards and slams them on the counter.

  I wash my hands without thinking and I don’t know what the hell I’m doing. If I wanted to cook, I would. Not that I really know how, but that was the point in me asking her if she cooked. I didn’t want to. But here I am, washing my hands.

  “Now what?” I look at her.

  “You know how to crack an egg?” She holds out the egg carton to me. “That a skill they teach imprisoned youths?” She’s staring at me and trying not to crack a smile but I can tell she thinks she’s hilarious.

  I bite my lip again. I don’t know why I want to laugh at her, she’s not funny, and I definitely don’t want her to think she is, ‘cause she’s not.

  I take the eggs and while she pours flour into the bowl, I make sure to crack it over her hand. “Like that? They didn’t have culinary class in juvie.”

  Her nostrils flare and she turns her hand, the glop of egg runs off as she grimaces. “Obviously not.” She looks at me with a curled lip, then slides her hand on my shirt.

  I grit my teeth and chuckle, contemplating dumping that bowl on her head, but I want food.

  “What else?” I grit out.

  She starts rattling off ingredients and seems to get joy out of barking commands at me. I can’t keep up with all this stupid shit she keeps telling me to do, and I’m pretty sure I forgot something, but her ass is distracting and her tank top strap keeps slipping down her arm. I want to yank the shirt off for her and fuck her in this mess I’m making. When we lock eyes and she’s got that fuck me look, I finally say fuck it, but before I can make a move, she rolls her eyes and huffs, muttering some shit about me being a degenerate.

  Fuck her. I grab my history book and sit at the kitchen table while she stands by the stove and when she glances back at me like I’m a loser for doing my homework, I almost put the book away, but I can’t fail. I’m not repeating another year of school. I’ll be fucking nineteen before I graduate and I need to start making money so I can take care of my kid.

  “Did you know Hitler, Stalin, and Mussolini were nominated for the Nobel Peace Prize? That’s fucking nuts,” I mutter, and keep reading.

  I see her shift in my peripheral and lean against the counter. I can’t tell if she’s laughing at me or just grinning, but when I look up she’s staring at the floor like she almost got caught. “I took that class last year. Mr. Williamsburg?”

  “Weird guy that tapes his glasses to the end of his nose?”

  “When it gets really hot in the classroom the tape starts to slip. I don’t think he knows everyone can see it.” She laughs and nods at the book. “I can help you study if you need it. I think I only went to half those classes and still somehow passed with a B.”

  I cock my eyebrow in doubt and look up at her. “It’s the third day of school and you skipped. How’d you pass anything? Are you on track? Are you graduating on time?”

  She scoffs. “Who cares.” With a spin, she’s back to working over the stove.

  I stare at her ass a minute then turn back to the book. “You ever fail a class? Like are you missing credits right now?” I just want to know how old she is. I think she was fifteen when I first met her, but I can’t remember. And fifteen year old me didn’t give a shit about her age, because we were both young and stupid and I was just excited a girl wanted to touch me. But now, I hope she’s eighteen. I wouldn’t want some asshole two years older than my daughter touching her.

  “You get off on hearing about other people’s failures now?” She spins, the stirring spoon in her hand still. “I failed two classes last year. Fucking Biology and English. Make you happy to see a Kenshaw fail?”

  I chuckle and rub my eyebrow, not sure why she’s getting defensive. “How old are you?” I ask what I really want to know.

  “Eighteen.” Her eyes lock on mine. “Same as you, remember. Your birthday’s two days after mine, asshole.” She rolls her eyes and turns back to the stove.

  I don’t remember that, but the fact she does makes me happier than it should. I stand and walk toward the stove. I stand slightly to her side but wrap my arm around her back, not touching her but leaning on the stove.

  “Not many Kenshaws fail at stuff?” I ask, keeping my eyes on the pan she’s cooking in.

  “No,” she snaps. “Just ask my dad, he’s more than willing to talk about my older siblings and how much they’re doing with their lives. How perfect they are. How much they’re helping his farm. How they each graduated top of their fucking class.” She stirs harder with each word until it splashes over the side and hits her arm. “Fuck!”

  I roll my eyes and grab her wrist, yanking her to the sink and force her arm under the cold stream. When she tries to pull away, I hold her wrist tighter and glare at her. “Leave it,” I tell her, letting her words sink in. She seems to be a misfit like me and I don’t know why I love the way that makes me feel. “Not trying to be an asshole, but your sister lives pretty much in their backyard in a house they paid for. And she lives here with my brother who works for your dad. So they got a bunch of handouts. Not sure how that makes them better.” I let her wrist go and noticing I made a red impression on her pale skin, I gently rub my finger over the marks
that start to fade.

  “Never said I believe they’re better than me,” she mutters, her eyes watching as my thumb glides over her skin. “Just saying my dad likes his kids a certain way and that’s not me. So fuck it.”

  I close my mouth ‘cause I can’t tell this girl her dad likes her how she is. I don’t know if that’s true. Maybe her dad’s an asshole like mine was. Something tells me he’s not. He knows I’m living on his property. I haven’t seen him yet, but he knows I’m here and he allowed it.

  “Parents suck.” I almost put my hand on her ass but something about connecting over shitty parents just doesn’t get me hard so I turn off the water. “I’ll get something for your arm.”

  “It’s fine,” she says, walking back over to the stovetop. “Probably gonna leave a kickass scar.” She looks back at me and turns off the stove. “Food’s ready. Let’s hope you didn’t poison us with your stellar cooking skills.”

  I probably did. I didn’t follow along with half of what she was trying to have me do. I almost wish we could just get a pizza or something but I don’t even think this town has a pizza joint. Ignoring her comment about her arm, I walk into the bathroom. When I come out with antibacterial cream and gauze, she's set the table.

  “Burns are susceptible to infection quicker than a cut. I’ve burned myself a time or two.” I hold out my arm, showing her all my welding scars.

  “Why’d you do that?” Her eyes fall to the scars and her fingers trace over them.

  “Accidents.” I move her arm and carefully put the cream over the burn, then start to wrap the bandage. Feeling ridges over her skin, I look into her eyes. “Hurt?”

  “Not the worst I’ve had.” She tries to pull her arm away but I don’t let go. “Time to eat, Sutton.”

  Not letting her arm go, I lift it a little higher and look at the lines I feel. She tried to cut her wrist, or she cuts herself. I look into her face again and wonder how shitty her life is if she’d try that shit. She finally yanks her arm away with her jaw clenched and sits at the table.

  "I moved your books so you didn’t get food on your homework.” She stares into her bowl and takes a deep breath. “Here goes nothin’.” Bringing a spoonful up to her mouth, she closes her lips around it and nods before looking up at me. “The fuck you staring at me like that for? Eat your food, it’s not terrible.”

  My eyes go from hers to her wrist then to my bowl. I’ll wait till she wants to actually talk about that shit. Technically we don’t even know each other. We had a couple months when we were kids, but we’re not kids anymore. We’re nothing like we were so talking to her about that shit right now probably won’t go over well.

  I sit down and take a hesitant bite because it doesn’t look good, but it actually is. “It’s fuckin’ good. What’re you talkin’ about not terrible? Shit, I’m a fucking chef!” She did most of it, I fucked up the rest, but whatever.

  “You're a loser,” she mumbles, eating slowly and staring into her bowl like it’s telling her a story. “So how was juvie really? You find a boyfriend there?” The look she gives me...that little fucking smirk...I think this girl just likes to try and get under my skin.

  “Maybe if I were gay, I would have. I had steady access to the girls’ center, didn’t need a boyfriend. Thanks for your concern over my penis though. It’s still as awesome as you remember it. Except bigger.” I smirk, keeping my eyes on my food.

  “I feel sorry for you if it’s as I remember it,” she says then laughs and finishes her bowl, walking it to the sink.

  “Hey, you told me you loved me. I just said it back ‘cause I wanted you to keep touching it. I’m pretty sure my penis played a role in that. That’s why you’d always ask me to sneak over when I'd visit my brother. You realize I probably saw you more than I saw my own brother the entire time he lived at my aunt’s? You’d beg for me to come over.” I laugh at her. But I was the sucker that would walk miles to sneak onto their ranch and see her.

  She spins, leaning against the counter, glaring at me. “I think you just like to remember things the way you want to remember them.” Her phone buzzes and she huffs, pulling it out of her back pocket and swiping the screen. “Fuck, party’s over.” She pushes off the counter and stomps towards the living room. “I gotta run, I’m supposed to be at a friend’s house and I think my sister’s on her way back.” She throws the blanket over the back of the couch and grabs her bag to leave.

  I can’t stop thinking about her wrist. And her ass. And she made me dinner. She says she doesn’t remember shit like I do, but she does. And she did used to tell me she loves me. That was some kid shit, but I know she liked me as much as I liked her back then.

  I’m standing behind her when she turns around and she jumps back because I'm so close.

  “Admit you liked me when we were kids,” I say, blocking her from going to the door.

  “Sutton, I have to get home.” She tries to push around me but I grab her other wrist that I didn’t wrap.

  “Admit it and you can leave,” I say, shifting my hand to lock our fingers.

  “I was young, Sutton. And you showed me attention.” She huffs. “That’s all it was.” Her jaw clenches and she won’t meet my gaze. She’s lying.

  Does she...still like me? Probably not, but she probably wants to. What if she actually did love me? I thought I loved her. I almost chuckle ‘cause of my thoughts and the anger on her face.

  “All you gotta do is admit you liked me, Leena.” I step closer and bring my other hand up to trace her jaw. “Just say you liked me.”

  Her eyes hit mine and she stares at me, no longer trying to pull from my grasp. We stare at each other for at least three minutes, but her defiant little ass won’t say it. So I’ll remind her. I move fast, like a snake attack ‘cause I don’t want her to pull back. But when my mouth hits hers, she doesn’t even flinch the slightest, she grabs the back of my neck and pulls me tighter to her. I dip my tongue into her mouth and release her hand to hold her head while I kiss her. She makes this little noise and I can’t stop myself from grabbing her hips and falling back onto the couch, bringing her with me to straddle my lap. She moves in for my mouth again and I finally grip her ass. I don’t remember it ever feeling like this back then, but we’re not kids anymore and what we’re doing now is more acceptable compared to what we did at fifteen. I chuckle thinking about how young we were and how I got her back right where I want her.

  She finally pulls away from me, looking at me with annoyance. “You’re really fucking annoying, you know that?” While the words rattle out of her mouth, her hands scramble to find the bottom of my shirt.

  “And you’re a bitch,” I say when she rips my shirt off and I grab her neck, yanking her back in for a kiss while my other hand slides to her ass and adjusts her to rub against me.

  She moans and pinches my nipple, making me hiss while she grins across my lips. She wants to play like that. Fine. I get a nice grip of her ass and flip her to her back, my hand flicking the button to her jeans. Period or not, I don’t give a fuck.

  “Oh Jesus,” my brother blurts and I jump back from her, not having heard them come in but him and Paige are standing at the front door.

  Leena jumps to her feet and pushes her hair back, catching her breath.

  “You're supposed to be at your friend’s house!” Paige blurts, looking like she just saw someone being murdered.

  “What, you’re not my friend?” Leena adjusts her clothes, grabs her bag, and walks past her sister.

  “But you two-” Paige starts but Leena interrupts.

  “Fucked when we were fifteen? Yeah, but don’t worry I won’t do it again.” She grins back at Paige and pinches her fingers together until there’s barely an inch left. “Micro peen.” She grimaces. “Poor guy.” With that, she stomps to the front door and swings it open, walking out and leaving it wide open behind her.

  With shock on her face Paige looks at me.

  “I don’t have a small dick,” I say and grab my shirt, throwing
it on. “And she will do it again,” I mutter as I jog out the front door after her. “What the fuck, Kenshaw,” I blurt, running to catch up to her as she stomps down the path that leads to her house. “Micro dick? Fucking really?”

  “I had to make my sister cringe again. It’s really fucking fun.” She laughs as she keeps stomping across the field. “Why the fuck are you out here?”

  “I...” I look around, not having any idea why. “You fucking said my dick was small,” I say like a whiny bitch, not sure what else to tell her ‘cause I don’t know why I’m following her. Fuck her, she can walk home alone, but for some reason I don’t want her to.

  “You were fifteen. It would have been weird if it were big.” She laughs and kicks up her pace. “I’m sure it’s just fine now. Don’t give yourself a complex.”

  “You know it’s fine! That’s why you were just grinding all over me.” I finally grab her arm and stop her march. “Would you wait a fuckin’ minute? Jesus! You in a hurry to get home or something?” I glance toward her house, not wanting to get too close and give Kenshaw a reason to shoot me.

  “Never.” She laughs. “And I thought I was grinding on your phone.” She smirks, holding back another laugh. “Go home, Sutton. My dad will shoot you if he sees you out here.”

  “Yeah.” I snatch her hand and drag her off the path and into the dark. “I know,” I grit out. “What the fuck? What’s your problem?” Meaning, why are you acting like a bitch? ‘Cause I want to do that again so let's not end on bad terms here. But I’m not going to say that shit.

  “I don’t have one.” She taps my nose and cocks an eyebrow at me. “But yeah, that was fun. We should do it again sometime.” She tries to spin and walk away but I pull her back to me, glad she can read my mind.

  “Yeah, we should. Like now.” I lean for her mouth but she puts her hand up and stops me. I huff and roll my eyes. “What’s the problem?”

  “Night, Sutton.” She pulls back and grins, walking backwards toward her house and keeping her eyes on me.

  I watch her the entire way, wanting to go after her but she’s too close to her house. I’ll blame her period this time.