Natural Born Killers (Sick Boys Book 3)

by Lucy Smoke

  pulling out a couple of plates before putting the sandwiches on them. Micki

  turns around and slides one across the table towards me before picking up her

  own and taking a huge bite out of it. She chews thoughtfully and then

  swallows before setting it down and pressing her hands to the surface of the

  table.

  "Needing shit is what lets people get a hold of you," she says. “Anything

  you need, they’ll take as a sign of weakness and no matter who the person is,

  they’ll exploit that weakness.”

  My hands still, the sandwich halfway to my mouth.

  Her eyes meet mine and for the first time, they’re actually serious. She’s

  not joking or laughing or fucking around. She’s not teasing or calling me

  ‘kid.’ Her eyes are clear, unclouded, and a little disturbing if I’m being

  honest.

  “People are going to try and use you, Ava,” she says. “A pretty girl like

  you. No money. No protection. I’m not just teaching you to fight because of

  your mom’s fucked up ways—but because without a good right hook and

  something to scare off potential pimps, you’re gonna be eaten alive out there.

  We may live in the backwoods—but don’t think that there aren’t monsters

  lurking in the shadows, ready to sweep you up and take you straight into the

  pits of hell.”

  Her nails dig into the old wood of the table, scratching lines into the

  surface as she speaks. A shiver touches my spine and I drop the sandwich

  before leaning back in my chair. I can feel the hard beat of my pulse in my

  throat and the coat of sweat on my palms, almost as if my body is preparing

  for a fight. “The world for girls like us is simple,” Micki says as she looks

  down at the plate on the table; next to it is the butter knife and before I have a

  second to react, she’s got it in her hand.

  My chair scrapes against the tiled floor as her free hand locks on my shirt

  and drags me closer. My breath stops as the cold knife touches my jugular.

  Muddy brown eyes glare into my face. I can smell the remains of strawberry

  jelly on the cold metal. It’s not particularly sharp, but Micki is fast. She’s

  usually so easy going and lighthearted, though, that this whole conversation

  comes as a fucking shock. It’s almost as if she’s trying to sear the experience

  into my mind, to ensure I never forget the lesson. “Don’t ever let anyone

  think they can hurt you and get away with it,” she says. “Because if you do,

  they’ll only keep coming back.”

  2

  DEAN

  PRESENT DAY…

  Two fractured ribs. One large laceration to the shoulder. A mild

  concussion. Internal and external bruising. I stare at the medical report with

  growing rage. Rage because even with all of this, the doctor told us that she

  was lucky. Lucky? Lucky to be kidnapped? To be tortured and stabbed and

  beaten? He hadn’t known all of that, though. He’d been fed some bullshit

  story about an accident that she’d been taken from and then been handed a

  big fat envelope full of money that no one would miss.

  The money had done its job and so had he. He wouldn’t be asking

  questions. Still, the unleashed violence inside of me refuses to fizzle out. It

  sits in my veins— no. It fucking boils. The hand at my side clenches while at

  the same time the hand holding the report in my fist crumples it—ruining the

  once pristine paper.

  Once the marks of my anger have been made in this paper, they won’t be

  removed. They can be smoothed out. They can try to make it as it was before,

  but it won’t ever be the same again. Neither will Avalon. And neither will I.

  Unable to deny the raging inferno of my fury any longer, I turn and throw

  the fucking report against the wall.

  “Dean.” Braxton’s voice draws me out of my head and I turn to meet his

  cool gaze. He stands in the doorway, two cups of coffee in cheap Styrofoam

  cups. "She's fine. She’s strong. She’ll recover.”

  "She shouldn't have been put in this situation to begin with." I reach for

  the coffee he hands me. "Has he arrived yet?"

  Braxton examines me as if searching for something—a weakness, a hint

  that I'm about to go off the rails. I will, but not right now, not until after I see

  Avalon again. "He's with Abel," he finally says. "In the staff’s break room."

  I snort. Of course. He can't even be bothered with an average person's

  waiting room, but then again, neither can I. "Go check on her. See if she's

  awake yet," I order. "I'll meet you in a bit."

  Braxton grabs my arm before I can stride off and his grip is tight enough

  that I know he's got something to say. “I know you’re pissed at him,” he says,

  his voice low in warning. “But it would be best if you stay calm right now.

  We still need to find out what he knows.”

  He’s right, but that doesn’t make me want to punch my father’s face in

  any less. “Call your dad,” I said. “And have Abel call his. We’ll get what info

  we can from mine, but there’s no telling what he’s going to say.”

  “Isn’t there?” The two of us jerk apart at the sound of a familiar deep

  voice.

  In the doorway, Nicholas Carter stands, watching the two of us, and just

  beyond him, Abel glares at his back with his arms crossed. Abel glances up

  and meets my gaze through the crack between my father's shoulder and the

  door. He grimaces as if to say he's sorry, but I understand. There's no keeping

  Nicholas somewhere he doesn't want to be.

  "If you want to ask me something, Son," my father states, recapturing my

  attention, "then you should just come right out and say it."

  Well, since he's put it like that. I hand my now cooled coffee back to

  Braxton before I can break the cheap cup or throw it as well, and turn so that

  I can fully face the man I've learned from and loathed since I was a child.

  "Fine,” I state. “You want to stop playing fucking games, I do too. What the

  fuck happened tonight?”

  Eyes the same color as my own stare back at me. Two men. Two

  impenetrable gazes. Because even though he still calls me his son, I've not

  been a child to him for a long time now. Not since I'd had my first taste of

  murder.

  “It’s a long story,” he says after a short silence.

  “You’ve got time to tell it,” I inform him, nodding to first Brax and then

  Abel, “because until you give me an explanation as to why my girlfriend is

  lying in a hospital bed after being kidnapped and tortured, you’re not leaving

  this fucking hospital.” As I speak, Brax tosses the coffees into the nearest

  trash can and, together, he and Abel move to block off my father’s exit. He’s

  got two choices, give me what I want or he’ll have to go through all three of

  us. If ever there was a time that I was grateful for my best friends, now is it.

  Nicholas eyes me, his expression giving nothing away. Of course not.

  He’s perfected the cold calculated look. It’s practically the motherfucker’s

  signature. “I’ll tell you all that I know,” he says slowly. “Including why you

  were asked to look after Avalon when she first arrived, why she was taken,

  and…” His entire stance seems to
swell as he drifts off. The silence in the

  room becomes overbearingly loud. Fuck him. I swear if he’s being dramatic

  for the sake of it, I don’t give a fuck that he’s my father—I’ll take him out.

  And if I find out he’s the reason for what happened to Avalon, I’ll make sure

  it fucking hurts. “I’ll tell you who I believe is responsible for everything

  that’s happened in the last few months.”

  Abel and Braxton exchange a look before they both focus on me.

  Waiting. For a response. A decision. An explosion of anger. I give the first

  two easily enough, but the third isn’t needed here. My anger is not an

  explosion right now. It’s a restrained thing. A buzz along my nerves. There,

  powerful—like an electrical current running through my system that will

  shock anyone who may touch me. But not volcanic. Not destructive … yet.

  My scowl deepens and I step forward, my chest mere inches from my

  father’s. “That,” I tell him, “is the least you’re going to tell us.”

  His lips twitch and a gleam enters his eyes. I have to work to keep my

  face from showcasing my surprise because for a brief moment it looks like

  respect on his face, and I know that can’t be true. My father respects nothing

  and no one, especially not me.

  3

  AVALON

  I HATE HOSPITALS. THEY'RE ALWAYS SO COLD AND BUSY. PEOPLE GO IN TO BE

  treated, but oftentimes, they never come out. It won't be like that for me, I

  know. I'm not that far gone, but I am sick of being strapped to this damn

  hospital bed in this prison. It’s a comfortable one, yes. In a high-class, private

  room complete with a cushy looking sofa and wide windows that look into

  the clouds—but a fucking gurney and a prison nonetheless.

  Nurses come in and out of the room, checking my chart, asking me an

  endless litany of questions. It's annoying, but not as much as the fact that I

  haven't seen hide nor hair of Dean and the guys since we got here.

  Almost as if my mounting irritation has somehow summoned them, the

  door to my room opens and Dean is the first one through the doorway. My

  heart jumps, squeezing in my chest—a violent little thing. When did I get so

  fucking excited to see him? Was it when I realized that no matter what I did,

  no matter what happened, he'd always come for me?

  As soon as Dean sees me, his shoulders—which had been as stiff as

  granite—soften and he releases a slow breath before he moves further into

  the room, heading straight for me. My heart, the stupid bitch, leaps at the

  sight of him. I can’t help but feel mildly relieved to see him here now.

  "How are you feeling?" he asks as he stops at my side.

  "Like shit," I say, wincing as I shuffle over to the side and lean forward to

  allow him room when he moves to sit on the bed next to me.

  "Should've let them give you some of the good stuff," Abel comments as

  he glides into the room as well.

  I shoot him a glare as Dean's hand settles against my back. The heat from

  his palm makes me sigh and move closer. I'd become so used to how cold the

  room is, that I didn’t realize until he touched me that I’m freezing. He's like a

  heater, drawing me into his warmth. I don't even try to resist it. Instead, I just

  relax against Dean's body and give into the relief it brings me. Maybe Abel's

  right. Maybe I should've just let them stick me with some drugs.

  A moment later, however, I know I've made the right choice not to

  because the next person who walks through the door is someone I need to be

  as clear-headed as possible around. Nicholas Carter. I gape at him as he

  moves into the room, dressed in a dark suit with a slightly lighter, knee-

  length gray coat that hangs open only in the front. He strides to the end of my

  bed as Abel eyes him from his position against the windows.

  Finally, Braxton enters, scanning the room. He settles his gaze on me

  once, analyzing before nodding and closing the door behind him. I know, in

  that moment, that something's up.

  "Hello, Avalon," Dean's father begins. "It's good to see you again, though

  I wish it were under better circumstances."

  I jerk my head in Dean's direction. "What the fuck is he doing here?"

  "He has information," Dean replies, but his eyes don't move to mine.

  They're centered squarely on his father, though the pressure of his hand on

  my back increases and he moves his other hand over the sheets to my thigh.

  "And he wouldn't tell us what he knows until you were in the room."

  Slowly, I turn back to face Nicholas Carter. "Well, then?" I prompt. "If

  you’re so intent on being here, what you have to say better be good. Do you

  know who kidnapped me? Or who they’re working for?"

  Nicholas' face is a careful mask; his emotions firmly behind a wall that I

  can't see through. He's much like how Dean was when I first met him. In fact,

  they're a lot alike in both looks and presence. Nicholas stands like any man

  worth hundreds of billions of dollars would—with the confidence of someone

  who believes they own the world and everyone in it. Just like his son…

  "It's a long story," Nicholas begins.

  I gesture to the room. "Well, you’ve got our attention," I deadpan, “but

  not our fucking patience. So, unless you want me to do to you what I did to

  the guy who fucking tortured me, then I suggest you start talking."

  Nicholas sighs. All eyes were on him. Mine. Dean's. Abel's. Braxton's.

  The four of us watch him with a mixture of curiosity, animosity, and caution.

  There's no telling if the words that come from his mouth will be lies or truth.

  Lies often hide fragments of reality, though, so we need to know regardless.

  "I'm sure you understand by now that the program students at Eastpoint

  University are carefully chosen to be a part of Eastpoint's future," Nicholas

  begins. "Normally, the students who enter the scholarship programs—

  including the dual enrollment program—are under observation for a few

  months to a year before we approve them. They're informed and, within a few

  months, we have them enrolled and moved here. You were a bit different."

  "It didn't take a few months to get me enrolled," I remind him. It'd been a

  little under two weeks, but more than that—I’d never been aware of anyone

  observing me. In a small town like Plexton, I was pretty damn sure I

  would’ve known if I was being watched.

  "Yes." He nods his head. "The truth is, we've been observing you for far

  longer than any other student."

  "Why?" That is the question, isn't it? I think. Why is this fucking

  happening to me? What does anyone gain by coming after me? Why the hell

  does someone seem to think that I'm so goddamn important—even if it's

  because of Dean?

  "Avalon." Nicholas takes a step towards my bed.

  Dean's body stiffens and a low growl comes from his throat."Don't take

  another step," he warns, causing his father to come up short.

  Nicholas' eyes widen slightly, but he acquiesces. "I can see this will be a

  bit more difficult than I expected," he murmurs.

  "How so?" Abel is the one to ask.

  Nicholas turns and glances over his shoulder and finally sees what I've

  known all along. He'
s not here because he wanted it—to see me. He's here

  because they allowed it. Braxton's back is pressed firmly against the only exit

  to the room, his arms crossed over his massive chest and though Abel seems

  like the smallest of the three—a wiry body packed into a loose Henley t-shirt

  and a pair of dark wash jeans—he's got the eyes of someone just as

  dangerous, and they're centered firmly on the only man in the room that isn't

  considered one of them.

  Oh, Nicholas Carter may be Dean's father, but he isn't one of the Sick

  Boys and they're making sure he knows it.

  "This is a very serious conversation, boys," Nicholas tries. "Perhaps I

  should speak with Avalon alone. Once I've told her all I need to, you'll be let

  back in, of course."

  Dean chuckles and the dark wicked sound of it goes straight down to my

  pussy. It rumbles in his chest, the quiet laugh of a man ready to be unhinged.

  I glance at him and watch as he slowly slides his hand away from my leg and

  then off of my back as he gets up from the bed. He takes one casual step

  towards the center of the room, towards Nicholas, and then stops.

  "You are in no position to make demands, old man," Dean says, his tone

  deepening. Dean's always been a man walking along the edge of darkness,

  but somewhere down the path we were on, he'd stepped over that line, and I

  hadn't even noticed. His muscles are bunched under his t-shirt as if he's

  preparing for a balls to the wall, knockdown, drag out, bloody fight to the

  death. And from the looks Nicholas is getting from both Braxton and Abel,

  he's not the only one.

  I suck in a breath. "Okay, that's enough." All eyes snap to me as I reach

  for the IV drip taped to the back of my hand. I don't even hesitate to rip the

  tape off and toss it to the floor.

  "Avalon!" I ignore Dean and slide the needle out from beneath my skin

  before reaching for the covers and flinging them off.

  "I want pants," I snap. "And I want out of this fucking hospital."

  "The doctor hasn't cleared you for release yet," Abel says from the far

  wall.

  I shoot him an unappreciative look. "Does it look like I have a fuck to

  give, Frontman?"

  His worried look fights with his amusement, his lips twitching even as he