by Smoke , Lucy
I shake my head. "No. You know that's not what I'm here for."
She takes the drink and downs it all in one go, slamming the glass on the countertop with a grimace. "Ugh," she says. "Yeah, I know. She's here." She hesitates for a moment, her fingers twitching as if she wants to pour herself another drink. Nervous? I wonder. Then she sighs again. "But you should know Luc might be joining her."
"What?" I frown. "That wasn't—"
"I didn't invite him," she says quickly, turning and cutting me off. "But word got out that the Sick Boys were coming and..." Corina trails off, lifting her shoulders in a helpless shrug. "I couldn't exactly tell him he couldn't come, especially since I invited his fiancée. Plus, he's my cousin. It would've seemed weird."
"Is he coming for her?" I ask, eyeing her with suspicion.
She shakes her head and then flips back to the bar, re-corking the bottle she'd taken down and putting it back in its place. "I'm not exactly sure." Her perfect white teeth flash as she bites down on her lower lip and looks up at me through her dark mascara encrusted lashes. "But I think it's got something to do with Dean," she admits.
I roll my eyes. Of course, it is. It's always about Dean. Whatever feud the Carter and Kincaid families have, it's definitely been passed down to their most recent heirs. Shit. This isn't good. I reach up and remove the knife from my bra, flicking it open as I try to think of a solution.
Corina's eyes widen when she sees the flash of the blade. "Oh my god, what are you doing with that?" she squeals.
I snap it closed and shove it into my back pocket. "Calm down," I tell her. "It's Dean's."
"That doesn't answer my question," she says. Her eyes go to my pocket. "You know, you never told me what you were planning to do with Kate..."
I tilt my head to the side and arch my brows. "You're right." I deadpan. "I didn't." And I have no plans to. It's not like I'm planning on committing a fucking murder right here in her house. God, why does everyone act like that's exactly what I'm planning?
Probably because that's definitely something you would do, an internal voice mimics back. Well, damn. It's not wrong. Unfortunately, murder is not on the menu tonight. Just a little bit of fuck-a-bitch-up.
"Alright," I say, making Corina jump. "Where is she? Where is Kate?"
Corina's brows draw down low, and she takes a few steps towards me before stopping. "She's hanging out with a few of her old Eastpoint friends in the media room last I heard," she says. Her tongue comes out and swipes across her lower lip. "And you... " She gulps. "After this, we're good, right?" Corina asks. "We're friends again."
We were never friends, I think, but it would be cruel to say so now. Especially after she's done exactly what I've asked of her. I let my gaze trail down her frame. It still doesn't make sense to me. A rich girl wanting to be besties with someone like me.
"After this," I say, taking care with my words, "we're good. I don't know about friendship, but I forgive you for your part in what happened at the beach house."
She releases a breath I hadn't realized she was holding, and her whole body relaxes. "Good," she says, smiling my way. "That's good. Okay. I'm going to head back to my party. After you do what you need to, I really do hope you have fun. I meant what I said about the pool. It's to die for."
With that, Corina steps out of the room and leaves me alone to claim my revenge on Kate Coleman.
26
Avalon
I find Kate exactly where Corina said she'd be. With her hair pulled up into a tight ponytail at the back of her head, and dressed in a form-fitting, skin-tight outfit that looks like it belongs on the dance floor of some New York City nightclub. She fits right in with the prep girls of Eastpoint University. I pause just out of sight and settle in to wait. I debate on going straight up to Kate and demanding to speak with her, but no, she doesn't deserve that. When I show her exactly who she's messing with, I'm going to do it where no one else can see. That way, everyone will merely see my handiwork and not the method. It's always so much better when they don't know for sure. Minds can be a powerful thing—they'll come up with all manner of sadistic torture on their own. I'm merely planning on making a statement, not truly hurting her. If I wanted to do that, I'd need somewhere far less populated.
My nerves practically sizzle at that thought. The evil creature inside of me peeking her red eyes open at the hint of violence. Oh, yes, I like it. If I didn't know any better, I'd say it was the rape that made me so fucked in the head, but in actuality, I'd known I was like this all along. I'd merely squished it down and tried to pretend that I was passably normal. The desire to hurt and maim and fucking make everyone who had ever wounded me pay, though, had always been there.
Now, it's time to let my little monster off her leash and see what havoc she can wreak.
I watch Kate carefully, considering what I know about her. The fact is, there's no way she's smart enough to truly be the mastermind behind what happened to me in Plexton. Someone was. There was no possible way that the series of events that had occurred at the Eastpoint beach estate had taken place naturally. Kate had been the one that had taken the picture that had led to my argument with Dean, which had led to everything else. I'm sure this is what Dean's hiding from me. I'd told him I'd give him a week to figure it out, but I need answers sooner than that. Whether Kate Coleman realizes it or not, she's playing someone's pawn, and unfortunately for her, she's on the losing side.
It takes several minutes for me to see my opening. Kate laughs at something one of her friends says and then replies before setting down her empty cup. I'm just close enough that I hear her say she needs to go to the bathroom. Shockingly, no one around her offers to go with her. It's like the girl staple, and yet not a single one of the group even moves to follow her. She waits, too, as if expecting it. I see the flash of irritation in her eyes before she flips her hair back and turns to go.
Trouble in paradise? Then again, of course, there is. The students of Eastpoint are known for one thing above all others and that's their loyalty to the Sick Boys. These girls may put up with her for now, but the reality is, Kate's not one of them anymore. A sadistic smile twists my lips. That'll make this so much easier.
The sound of moans and sex coming from some of the guest bedrooms drift through the closed doors as I follow her down the hall, shoving the door to the single bathroom open behind her before she can close and lock it.
"Hi, Kate," I say brightly.
She turns, her eyes widening before a scowl overtakes her mouth. "What the fuck are you doing here, you bitch?" she demands.
Slowly, very slowly—so she sees what's coming before it happens, I reach back and flip the lock on the bathroom door. Her eyes jump to where my hand is as it clicks. "Let's have a chat," I say, keeping my smile firmly in place.
"I have nothing to say to you, now if you could fucking leave, I need to pee in peace," she snaps. Kate tries to be brave, really she does, but the whites of her eyes and the way her nostrils flare as I take a step away from the door betray her.
"You don't need to say anything," I tell her. Not that I'd listen even if she did. "I'll be the one talking."
Quick as a flash, my hand snaps out and grabs her neck, and I back her into the opposite wall, past the toilet and sink and shower on the opposite side, right into the ledge of the elegant stained glass window.
"In fact, maybe it would be better if you didn't talk at all and just listened for a change," I state. When she tries to open her mouth anyway, I squeeze the sides of her neck until her eyes bulge, and she reaches up, latching onto my wrist with her claw-like nails. They sink into my arm, sharp and painful. That's fine, I don't mind a little blood. I don't even blink when her nails cut past my skin. "Only answer when I ask a question, got it?" I clarify.
She struggles in my grip, scratching my arms even harder as she tries to get away. A sigh slips past my lips, and I reach down with my free hand and pull out the pocket knife I borrowed from Dean. A squeak makes it past her throat when I flip i
t open and flash the metal in front of her face. I let my smile fall away and lean closer as I touch the sharp edge to the flesh of her cheek.
"Don't fucking move," I order. "Do you understand?" I ease up on her neck to let her breathe and answer.
"Yes," she rasps, eyes wider than before.
"Good." I keep the blade there, not pressing down, but not pulling it away either. It's like walking a very fine edge for me. I want to cut her, show her—even in some small fashion—what that night in Plexton was like for me. A part of me blames her for it. It's not fair, but shit—neither is life. I knew that better than most people.
"Now," I say, "I'm sure you're wondering why I'm here and why you're in this predicament." She nods gingerly, very aware of the sharp cutting edge I have so close to her precious face—her only real attribute, honestly. "The photo," I state. "Who told you to send it to Dean?"
"W-what?" she blinks up at me, her brows lowering in confusion. I squeeze roughly around her neck, causing her nails to cut into my wrist even more. "What are you talking about?"
Maybe she needs a refresher. "Your little plan," I say. "Back at the beach. Let me see if I can get it right"—I stop, pulling the knife away from her face and wave it in a circular motion—"Luc lures me into the hallway and puts us in a somewhat compromising position—very interesting that you don't mind your fiancé doing that—you take a picture of us and send it to Dean in a very pathetic attempt to get rid of me. What was it? Did someone promise that you’d get Dean back if you could get me out of the way?"
She scowls and turns her head in my grip as she tries to look away. "I don't know what you're talking about." I'd read somewhere that one of the most common tells of a liar is when they look away as they're telling the lie.
I sigh and press the blade back to her face, digging the tip into the bit of flesh just above her jawline until she gasps and shivers as blood wells to the surface of the very small cut. I'm close enough that I can see the tears filling her eyes.
"I really don't know what you're talking about," she tries again. Only, I'm not fucking buying it.
"Oh, Kate," I say, tsking at her. "You should know, I don't like liars."
She bares her teeth, but when I take the knife away again, she sags and shivers. Her legs rub against one another. "Damn it," she hisses. "I have to go to the bathroom. I didn't come back here to get into a fight with you. I didn't even know you were going to be here!"
I arch a brow. "Didn't you?" I ask. "You knew Dean was coming."
Her lips part at my insinuation, and I watch the play of emotions cross her face. Mild surprise to horror and then blessed, sweet anger. Her anger is a mixture of hate and desire. She wants Dean Carter, and she hates the knowledge that I came here with him.
"Who told you to send that photo?" I demand again.
"No one," she snaps. "I came up with the plan to try and show Dean what a disgusting whore you are. Not that it worked, apparently."
"No, it worked," I assure her, leaning forward. "He was pissed."
A light enters her eyes and she smiles. "Then what are you doing here with him? Just another gold digger, huh? You want his money?"
I laugh. "His money is the least attractive thing about him," I tell her honestly. "No, what I like about Dean is something else." I like the way he fucks me like he hates me, like he wants to hurt me and love me at the same time. I like the way he seeks me out whenever I'm near. Sometimes, I'll just watch him get lost in doing something else, and then when he realizes I'm not beside him, his head will pop up and his eyes will scan around—searching for me. I like the way it feels with his arms wrapped around me as I fall asleep. And fuck, I love the way his demons fit mine perfectly. Shit. My eyes widen as I realize something. And oh, it's bad.
No, no, no, I think. This can't be happening. I think I'm in love with Dean Carter.
"I swear I don't know what you're trying to get at," Kate says, her words trembling as her legs rub harder together. "But seriously, I do have to go."
Her words pull me back from the horrifying thought that just pounced on my brain. I shove it down. It'll have to wait for another time when I'm not tormenting the chick that helped lead me to my rape. When I look back at her, I see the flush of her cheeks, so bright that it dulls the shock of blood on the side of her face.
"So go." I deadpan. "I'm not done with you yet."
"I can't!" she shrieks and starts struggling even harder against me. Her claws dig into my arm and scratch as she fights my grip. I sigh, squeezing roughly and crushing her windpipe until the flush of her cheeks becomes even more pronounced. She gasps for breath, fighting me, but Kate's not like me. She didn't have to grow up struggling for every scrap of food. She didn't wait up late into the night, worried that her mom would bring some addict home to fuck her sleeping daughter for cash. She's so much weaker than me, it's pathetic.
I squeeze my hand around her throat until not a single whisper of air slips past. Her face goes from pink to red to damn near purple, and then the smell of ammonia reaches my nostrils, and I look down. A laugh bubbles up my throat when I realize she actually did piss herself.
As big fat tears begin to slip out of her eyes and roll down her cheeks, I shake my head and ease up on her throat. Kate gasps for air, crying as she sniffs hard. "You could've avoided all this," I tell her. "If you had just told me what I want to know."
"I already told you," she cries. "It w-was my i-idea. I took the photo to get Dean away from you. I still love him."
My eyes roll towards the back of my head. I'd call bullshit, but she probably honestly believes that. "Someone gave you the idea," I say, shaking her slightly. "Someone else who probably hates me just as much as you do, am I right?"
"N-no," she blubbers, but this time, she doesn't sound sure. "I mean … Luc hates Dean, so he doesn't really like you, but he's not—I mean, he didn't even know you were going to be there that night. I did. It was my idea!"
She's not going to admit it, I realize. Even if someone else had given her the idea, Kate's so absorbed in herself, she doesn't see it.
Then something else she said hits me. She'd known I was going to be there. That isn't possible. It'd been a last-minute thing. I hadn't even known I was going to be there until less than an hour before. My eyes widen. I need to talk to Corina again. Shit, how could I have been so blind? But it doesn't make sense. Why would Corina set me up? She didn't have any reason to hate me. Unless it was for Luc, her cousin. Would she really go to that length for him? It wasn't like they were close. They weren't related by blood, and she even went to his rival's school.
My head is swirling with my thoughts, but I'd gotten what I'd come for. I release Kate, and she slides to a heap on the ground, sitting in a pool of her own piss. My upper lip curls back in disgust.
"Don't come back to Eastpoint," I tell her.
She tips her head back and glares up at me through her smudged eyeliner and mascara. "You can't tell me to stay away," she huffs as she tries to stop her tears. "All of my friends are here."
I don't care. I shake my head again. "Not anymore," I say.
Kate huffs and cries, not even seeming aware of what she's sitting in. Her dress is a ruined mess. Her face too. There's blood and tears and piss all over the place, and for some reason, I feel right at home in it. I want to do something more, but despite what Kate's done, I have to be careful to straddle a line. Luc Kincaid is likely just as powerful as Dean. He's got money, and I don't know if he truly cares for her. I doubt it, but that doesn't mean there isn't something there.
As I stare down at the top of Kate's head, a horrible thought comes to mind. Something had been taken from me. My will. My freedom. And in that moment when Roger Murphy had pushed my head into the disgusting vinyl floor of my mother's trailer and fucked me, my dignity. Kate deserves a little bit of that humiliation too.
Maybe a better person would fight to keep any woman from feeling what I had, but I am not a better person. I am bad. So fucking bad that the wicked, horrible
ness of my darkest demons have a stranglehold on my actions. Worse, I kind of like it.
My hand snaps out, my fingers wrapping around her ponytail, and I lift her up by it. She shrieks and claws at my hand as I put the edge of Dean's knife against the strands on the other side of the band keeping her hair in place.
"No! Oh my god!" she screams. "What are you doing!"
I start to saw. She punches my legs, scratches my arms, but I just bat away her little hits like they're nothing. They are nothing for someone like me—I’m used to fists that actually leave bruises.
"Someone help me!" she shrieks. It's kind of funny—hilarious even—that she's waited until now to call for help.
I keep sawing, half of the hair in my grip now is loose, having been cut away by my knife. The cutting is uneven, some of it closely shorn to her head, other bits longer and jagged. She's sobbing as she continues to fight me, but I imagine that it would be much worse if I'd merely held her down and let some dude rape her. This isn't even a fraction of what I had felt. This is nothing compared to what I'd gone through. A part of me wishes I could do that to her too, but I won't. Maybe I'm not as bad as I thought, I wonder absently as someone apparently hears her cries and starts to bang on the bathroom door. I can't even stand the thought of someone else suffering what I did.
This ... this is enough.
"Please," Kate begs. "Please stop! Oh my god, noooooo." She wails as large clumps of her hair come free from her ponytail and begin to fall around her face.
I finish chopping off her hair and pull her ponytail away from her head, holding it up as her fingers finally stop trying to hit me and go to the scalp short strands of her head, pulling at them in horror.
"Let this be a lesson to you, Kate," I say, waving the hair I have in my grip before her face.
Her eyes widen, and she reaches for it as if she can take it and put it back, as if she can reverse the effects of what I've done. There's no reversing this, though. Not for her or me. I pull back and keep the hair.
