Natural Born Killers (Sick Boys Book 3)

by Lucy Smoke

  Dean turns and looks at me. "What do you mean?"

  I lean forward and cup the underside of my jaw as I set my elbow on the

  table, looking out across the backyard where dozens of college kids that I've

  seen in my classes for the last four months drink and play and make out in

  what I'm sure they think are private corners. It's all visible to me here.

  "I mean," I say, "where will we stand when we catch who set me up?" My

  head tilts until I'm staring Dean in the face, locking my eyes with his

  chocolate brown irises. “What’ll we do after it’s over?”

  "Nothing," he replies, tipping the neck of his beer bottle back until he

  swallows a mouthful.

  "Nothing?" I frown.

  "We go on as we always have," he says. "You're staying."

  "There won't be any need for you to protect me," I point out.

  He cuts a dark look my way and then sets his bottle down on the table

  before leaning closer. His hand cups over my bare knee and a part of me

  wishes I had chosen a pair of jeans tonight rather than the loose cut offs I'm

  wearing. The heat of his palm sends shivers down my spine.

  "If you think I'm keeping you close just to protect you, babe," he says, his

  breath brushing over my lips, "then you haven't been paying attention."

  My lips twitch, a smirk coming to life. "Oh yeah?" Two can play at this

  game, I think. I lean forward myself and his eyes dip to the t-shirt I'm

  wearing. It's older, frayed, and certainly not something anyone in this crowd

  would ever be caught dead in, but it's comfortable and, lucky for Dean right

  now, gapes slightly open. One slice of a pair of scissors had turned the once

  crew into a nice, deep v-neck.

  "You're playing with fire, baby," Dean warns me, a growl in his tone even

  as his gaze locks onto the flesh I'm revealing to him—only ever to him.

  "Then burn me," I dare him.

  He looks like he's about to say something when someone calls his name

  and both of our heads jerk up toward the sound. On the back patio, Braxton

  stands with his arms crossed. He tilts his head back towards the house. I

  know what that means.

  Our guest of honor has arrived.

  9

  AVALON

  THE FRAZIER HOUSE IS A WINDING MAZE OF PEOPLE TONIGHT. OUTSIDE,

  things are calm. Even with the Sick Boys watching on, everyone around the

  pool must already be too high or buzzed to really give a shit that they're there.

  Inside is a completely different story.

  I feel like I'm practically wading through the tension. Though people have

  drinks, though the noise level doesn't lower, the second we step inside,

  everyone is on edge. They watch us like vultures—a part of me thinks that

  they're waiting for something. A wrong move. A mistake. Anything they can

  use to unseat the kings from their thrones. Or maybe it's because they know

  who's here and they know the history between Eastpoint and the Kincaids.

  Whatever they're waiting for, though, they won't get it tonight.

  As we're passing by one of the rooms on the bottom floor, I catch a

  glimpse of lavender hair. So, she did come after all. I scan the room around

  her; she’s standing with Jake. A smirk comes to my lips when she lifts her

  head, as if sensing my stare, and blinks back at me. Her eyes rove around me

  as well until she sees the guys.

  She tilts her head, a question in her eyes, but I shake mine. If we need

  her, we'll call for her.

  Dean sets his hand on my lower back and urges me forward. "Here," he

  says. We turn into a dark side staircase I've never seen before and he leads

  me up it. We bypass the second floor's landing and hit the third. Up here,

  there don’t seem to be any party-goers. Instead, it's completely silent. That is,

  until we get to the third door on the right.

  "—pretty boy face up," I hear Luc say, his tone dark and threatening.

  Brax twists the knob and shoves the door inward, revealing Abel and Luc

  standing across from each other. Both look irritated, but the second Dean

  steps inside, Abel relaxes. Luc turns to us.

  "What do you want, Carter?" he demands.

  "Your cooperation for one," Dean replies.

  A vein pulses in Luc's forehead as he glares at Dean, but when his gaze

  drops down to me, his expression softens and he even offers me a smile.

  Before he can open his mouth, Dean steps in front of me, and Luc chuckles.

  I shake my head and step out from behind Dean. "We asked you here

  because we need your help."

  Luc crosses his arms and tilts his head to the side. "Oh yeah? I thought I

  already helped you."

  "We're hoping you'll help again," I tell him.

  Despite his initial softening when he saw me, tension still seeps from

  him. He takes a moment to survey the room, from me to Dean and from Dean

  to Brax and Abel. Luc sucks in a breath and exhales in a rush. "What the hell

  have you gotten yourselves into?" he demands.

  "That's not—" Abel starts.

  "I was raped."

  The room goes dead silent. Shock ripples across first Luc’s face and then

  Abel’s and Dean’s. Brax, of course, shows no emotion. Even though this isn’t

  news to them—they saw it with their own eyes—I've never actually said the

  words aloud and certainly not in front of an audience.

  Luc's arms drop back down to his side and his face drains of color. "W-

  what?"

  I take a step forward. Dean moves with me, but I hold out a hand, keeping

  him back. "It's true," I continue. "I was raped during Spring Break—when I

  was at the Eastpoint estate. It was after I left—"

  "Me?" He interrupts with his own question.

  I nod. "Yeah."

  "Jesus Christ, Avalon … I'm so—"

  "There's more," I cut him off. He looks like he's going to be sick, but he

  doesn't say anything. I have to hurry this along. "A few weeks ago, I was

  kidnapped and tortured and almost killed. We don't know who was behind it

  all, but we do know people who were helping them and we're trying to find

  them all. We need your help to find one of them."

  Luc brings a shaking hand up and scrubs it down his face. " Shit," he

  hisses. He grits his teeth and then looks at me, really looks at me. I hate the

  sympathy in his expression. I didn't tell him all of this to gain that reaction. I

  don't want anyone's pity or sympathy. I want their damn loyalty because I'm

  tired of working shit on my own. "Who?" he asks, but I have a feeling he

  already knows.

  "Corina."

  Luc Kincaid goes green, and though his eyes widen slightly, there's no

  real surprise in his expression. Corina had been good at hiding who she was

  around others, but if she was as obsessed with Luc as she claimed to be then

  it turns out I was right—he knew something was off about her.

  "I didn't know," he promises.

  "I believe you," I tell him.

  He frowns and gestures to the room. "Then why am I here?" he asks.

  "You're not here to kill me?"

  I scoff and cross my arms over my chest. "Absolutely not," I say. "You're

  here because we need to track her down."

  "What makes you think I can help you?" Luc demands.

  "Because, Luc," I take a step closer and drop my
arms as I stare up into

  his face, "she's in love with you."

  This time, Luc's face does go slack with shock. "Excuse me?" He

  blanches. "She's my fucking cousin."

  "By marriage," I point out.

  "That's still—that's not—"

  "I know," I interrupt him again. "But stay with me, Luc. We need to track

  her down. I've told you all of this—my rape, my kidnapping, and torture—so

  you can understand that this isn't for shits and giggles. You should know that

  when I find her, no one else will … ever again." I let the meaning of my

  words sink in.

  "Corina Harrison pretended to be my friend because she's in love with

  you and you hate Dean. She helped a man drug me and rape me." The words

  don't feel like they're coming from my own lips, though I know it's my voice

  filtering through the air and forming them. The words are a story—my story

  —unfolding in plain language. It almost hurts to hear it but at the same time,

  it makes me feel numb because it doesn't sound like I'm talking about myself.

  It sounds like I'm just recounting the experiences of someone else. Someone

  not nearly as damaged by it all as I am. "She planned my kidnapping. She

  hired the man who tortured me." I take another step forward. "She did it all

  because"—another step—"she's obsessed"—one final step until I'm standing

  right before him, within touching distance—" with you."

  Silence stretches around the room as we all wait for his response. Will he

  prove me right—and be another man like Dean—or will he prove me wrong?

  "That's..." he looks down, avoiding my gaze even as his shoulders tighten,

  "fucked up," he finally finishes.

  A laugh bubbles up out of my throat. Fucked up? I think. It's beyond

  fucked up. My life has become something utterly foreign. Something straight

  out of a soap opera. And truth be told, all I want to do is exactly what Dean

  promised. I want things to go back to normal, or as normal as they can be for

  someone like me.

  I want to go to class and fall asleep in his arms. I want to fuck on his

  desk. I want to just fucking be for a change. But I can't do any of that until

  this is taken care of, and Luc Kincaid is the key to starting. It's been weeks

  since I was released from the hospital, and as far as we've come the only

  person we have in our sights is my mother.

  Patricia Manning will get her just rewards. She'll find out just who the

  daughter she didn't even bother to raise has become. But first, I need to know

  what Corina knows. She's the one who has the information we need. She

  knows who orchestrated all of this—who hates my existence enough to want

  me dead.

  "Will you help us?" I ask, as my laughter dies down.

  The lines of Luc's face deepen as he takes a step back and lifts his chin.

  He locks eyes with someone over my head. Dean, I assume. And after a long

  moment full of ridiculous tension, he finally lowers his gaze back to mine

  and nods.

  "Yes," he says. "Tell me what you need and you'll have it."

  Heat touches my spine as Dean moves up behind me. "Do you have a way

  to contact her?" Dean asks.

  Luc grimaces. "Not exactly. Corina is known for going off on her own a

  lot. I've got a few cell numbers, but there's no guarantee she's taken any of

  them with her. Haven't you had a tracer put on her yet?"

  "She's off grid," I answer before Dean can.

  "That's not good then."

  "She'll respond if you message her," I tell him.

  "How can you be so sure?" he asks.

  He doesn't know. It's different hearing it than viewing it with your own

  eyes, but the fact is, I recognize how obsessed Corina is with him. I'd seen the

  light within her eyes when she'd talked about him while I was tied to a chair

  in Ace's torture chamber. Corina was good at playing the sweet, ditzy rich

  girl. She had fooled a lot of people. She seems gentle, maybe a little self-

  centered, but altogether normal.

  Reality was far different.

  Corina was a snake in sheep's clothing. She was a monster just waiting

  for her prey. And somewhere along the way, she'd locked her sights on Luc

  Kincaid and convinced herself that everything she did—every vile action

  she'd taken—was to help him.

  "Trust me," I say, "she'll answer."

  10

  AVALON

  "WILL YOU DO IT?" I DEMAND, LOCKING EYES WITH LUC.

  He straightens his posture and nods. "Yes," he agrees. "What happened to

  you was fucked up, Avalon. I'm not saying I can change it, but if there's

  anything I can do to help you—I will."

  I exhale long and slow. "Good, that's … good." Relief fills me. We

  could've forced the issue. We could have made him help us, but it's always

  better to have loyalty that’s given willingly than loyalty that is compelled.

  "We need you to be on standby," Dean says, his voice rumbling against

  my chest. I look up at him.

  "You need my contact information?" Luc asks.

  Dean arches a brow. "No. We've got what we need. All of the numbers

  you have for Corina, use them. Call her, leave a message. I don't care how

  you go about it. I think it goes unsaid that you need to keep our involvement

  a secret. She can't know that you're working with us." Dean palms the side of

  my waist and moves me slightly over until he's standing before Luc all on his

  own. "When you do get in contact with her, have her meet you somewhere.

  Remote. Just the two of you. Then give us the address."

  "You want to ambush her?" Luc sounds a bit wary of that.

  "It's not like she gave me a heads up on all the shit she pulled," I point

  out, turning back to him.

  He frowns but doesn't disagree. "Fine," he says. "What else?"

  "Just one more thing." Dean takes a step forward. "Since everyone

  already knows you came here and we can't have Corina thinking you're

  willingly working with us—" Dean doesn't give him a split second of warning

  before his fist is crashing towards Luc's face.

  I wince as Dean's knuckles hit the underside of Luc's jaw, sending him

  into the wardrobe on the other side of the room. Luc crashes into the giant

  wooden structure, the doors cracking under the immense force of his weight.

  Abel snorts in the background just as Luc growls and shoots out of the

  broken mass of wardrobe, his own fist sailing through the air.

  “Motherfucker!” Luc yells.

  A hard arm bands around my waist and yanks me out of the way just in

  time as Luc and Dean really start to go at it, the two of them trading blows

  and slamming each of their fists into the other. Abel rushes past me and heads

  out into the hall, leaving the door open so that must mean Brax is behind me,

  still holding onto me as I gape at the two of them in confused silence.

  “What the fuck?” I manage to mutter as Dean and Luc end up in the

  hallway after Abel. They disappear from my view, but I can still hear bodies

  slamming into the walls and grunts and curses which means they’re far from

  done. I look back into Braxton’s slightly amused expression. “What the fuck

  was that?” I demand.

  He chuckles, releasing me as he moves a hand up to my head, sliding his
>
  fingers through my hair and patting me like I’m a child. The urge to grab his

  hand and break a few fingers surfaces, but I hold myself back as I wait for an

  explanation. "It's all about appearances, savage girl," he says. "All about

  appearances."

  I roll my eyes. Fine, if they want to fight and lead everyone here to

  believe that two of them are still mortal enemies, then they can be my guest.

  It will, after all, help sell it to Corina who, I don't doubt, has her own spies

  watching us. Still…

  I grab Braxton's hand and rip it off my head, spinning and shoving

  upward until his thumb meets the middle of his back and he grunts. "Little

  savage?" Bastard sounds like he's more amused than annoyed. I roll my eyes

  and release him.

  "Don't patronize me," I warn him as I head for the door. Abel is out in the

  hallway, watching as Luc and Dean—both sporting new cuts and bruises—

  make their way down the hallway. Dean grabs Luc into a headlock and leads

  him down the first staircase, the two of them cursing and slinging threats the

  whole way.

  "Where are you going?" Abel asks.

  "Where does it look like?" I snap back heading for the same staircase.

  "It’s my damn party, I’m going to get a drink," I call over my shoulder.

  HOURS LATER AND LONG AFTER DEAN HAD VERY PUBLICLY KICKED LUC OUT

  of the Frazier House, I'm flying high and feeling good on the platform out by

  the pool. Instead of taking up at the table meant for the Kings of Eastpoint, I

  sit on the very edge of the platform, swinging my legs as I down another shot

  that Abel hands me.

  "How many does that make?" Dean growls out, glaring Abel's way.

  Abel rolls his eyes and then downs his own. "Not enough if you ask me,"

  I say. I glance back at my alcoholic partner in crime. "Where's my next one?"

  Abel sets his shot glass down and shakes his head. "Sorry, doll," he says,

  "but your boy caught me making these and confiscated the bottle, and unless

  it's made or retrieved by one of us, you're not drinking it. Guess you're done

  for the night unless you can convince him."

  I round my irritated gaze on Dean, but just as my head spins his way,

  hands lock under my armpits and lift me up, depositing me over a hefty

  shoulder. A hard smack lands on my ass. "Come on, baby, I think it's time we