Natural Born Killers (Sick Boys Book 3)

by Lucy Smoke

  upper arms and I can see the way his brows are pinched together. "That's not

  what this is about. It's fine. We're fucking fine. What are you freaking out

  about?"

  "I'm not," I snap, shoving away from him. I turn and stomp towards the

  house. "I just can't look at you when all you do is stand there and fucking lie

  to me."

  "Avalon! Don't walk away from me!" he calls out, but I ignore him,

  continuing on into the house.

  I need to get my shit and go, I think. I'm not gonna stay anywhere that I'm

  unwanted. I'm too used to being that way. Unneeded. Unwanted. It makes me

  think of another 'u' phrase. Un-fucking-hinged.

  "Avalon!" Dean's shout echoes off the ceiling of this grandiose mansion.

  A place that I'd just thought of as home. Well, fuck him and his home. I don't

  need it. I never did. If he wants to lie and keep secrets then fine. Two can

  play that game. I don't need him—I can find Corina on my own. Luc will tell

  me—I was the one who convinced him after all.

  I'm already halfway up the stairs to the second floor when Dean catches

  up to me. He grabs my arm and before I even realize what I'm doing, I’m

  swinging at him. My first punch grazes his already bruised jaw. My second

  meets his solar plexus and he doubles over, grunting in pain. For a brief

  second, I hesitate. But that motherfucker uses it to his advantage.

  His arms band around me, lifting me up and swinging me back over his

  shoulder like he's done a million times before. "You fucking try to swing

  off," he growls, "and you'll send both of us plummeting to our deaths."

  This feels familiar, I think distantly. It was something that happened right

  before we fucked for the first time. My thighs tighten at the reminder.

  "Fuck you!" I scream, hating the way my body responds.

  He chuckles, and it's a dark, sinister sound. Something wicked and

  deviant and it makes a shiver chase down my spine. A moment later, I feel

  the hot burn of a slap against my ass cheek that has me stiffening. "I don't

  know what the fuck is going on with you, baby," he says in response, "but I

  can assure you, after I get it figured all out—that's exactly how you'll be

  making up your little temper tantrum to me."

  Temper tantrum? Oh, I'll show him a fucking temper tantrum. I stew in

  my fury as he carries me the rest of the way to our room. Violence burns

  inside of me. The second he sets me down, I become a massive ball of it. I

  swing at him again, but this time he's ready for me. His hands grab mine,

  turning me until my back is pressed against his front. I bring my head back

  and try to slam it into his face, but he's too tall and he just veers out of the

  way even as he kicks the door shut behind us and shuffles me towards the

  bed.

  Oh no, I think. I'm not that fucking stupid. The second I let him get me on

  that mattress, this fight is as good as done.

  I kick and scratch and twist my arms until his skin burns against mine. I

  know I'll have bruises, but I don't give a fuck. I try to head butt him again to

  no avail. I even attempt to rear back and kick him in the balls, but he's too

  fast—and too sober. Unlike me, Dean had nursed a singular beer for the

  entirety of the night. I can feel the slowness in my movements. Rage makes

  them powerful, but the alcohol in my system makes them predictable.

  My front hits the bed and my hands are released for a split second,

  allowing me just enough time to flip over and bring my knee up towards

  Dean's groin as he comes down over the top of me. He chuckles and grabs

  my knee, lifting both of my legs up as he quickly unbuttons the front of my

  shorts and yanks them down and off, tossing them away.

  "I'm not going to fuck you!" I snarl at him.

  "Calm the fuck down," he growls right back.

  “Tell me the fucking truth!” I counter.

  “About what?” His hands lock into my wrists and slam them both above

  my head. Dean’s body comes down on mine, pinning it to the mattress as he

  glares down at me, his eyes clashing with my own. “What are you thinking?”

  he demands. “What are you so angry about?”

  “What is happening tomorrow?” I challenge him. “What is it that you

  don’t want to tell me? Are you fucking done with me? Is that what this is

  about? Or are you hiding even more secrets? I’m not doing that anymore,

  Dean. If all you’re going to do is lie to my face and keep things from me then

  tell me right now because I’m tired—I’m fucking exhausted. ” I’m so close to

  the edge, I’m walking a tightrope just to remain sane. One more betrayal will

  send me toppling into an abyss I don’t know if I can ever come back from.

  Dean groans and sinks down on me, his head moving into my neck even

  as I continue to fight against him in my t-shirt and underwear, not that it does

  any fucking good. In a far part of my consciousness, I realize that perhaps I

  should be freaking out because of other reasons. The last time a man had me

  pinned like this. Helpless. Unable to control the things that were happening

  around me. I’d been raped. But even as furious with him as I am, this is

  Dean. My mind may hate him, but my body feels nothing but warmth and

  safety coming from his.

  “Avalon…” His voice is dark. It vibrates against his chest and mine.

  “What are you thinking, baby?” He pulls away, his hands coming up to cup

  my face. Dean bores his gaze into mine. “What is going on in that gorgeous

  head of yours that has you so fucking crazy right now?”

  My wrists are free from his hold, but my hands remain where they were

  originally pinned above my head. “You’re hiding something,” I tell him.

  “You said we were in this together.”

  “I did,” he agrees with a nod. “Did you not believe me?”

  It wasn’t that. At the time, I had certainly believed him. But now … that’s

  when I realize, this isn’t really about him. This is about me. Unwilling to

  stare into his eyes any longer, I close mine and turn my head away. Or at

  least I try to. His fingers dig into my cheeks and turn my face back towards

  him, but unless he’s willing to pry my eyelids open, he can’t doing anything

  about me keeping my eyes shut against him. It feels like the last barrier I

  have.

  “Avalon, look at me.”

  “No,” I rasp.

  “Baby…” I grit my teeth and then gasp when I feel his lips against mine.

  He takes advantage and pushes his tongue into my mouth. It weaves and

  tangles with my own. Sliding along the rough ridges of my palate, slipping

  out and tracing my lower lip before his teeth nip me, causing me to jump.

  “Avalon, please.” He whispers that last word against my lips. A man who

  doesn’t ask for anything, a man who doesn’t beg. It’s the one thing I can’t

  hold out against.

  Inexplicably slowly, I lift my eyelids and stare back at him. “What are

  you so afraid of?” he persists.

  I know the answer. It pops up the second his question leaves his lips. I

  don’t just want Dean Carter, I’ve started to … need him and that fact freaks

  me the fuck out. Needing someone makes me weak. Children need their

  paren
ts, but mine had been a piece of shit. The second I’d started needing

  Micki, she’d up and vanished on me. What’s to say Dean won’t do the same

  damn thing? The desire to escape this fucked up romance of ours wars with

  the desire to stay and cling to him. I want to stay, but I need to get out. Those

  two sides of me are playing some screwed-up version of tug-of-war with my

  emotions. I suppose there’s no more denying it to him, though. He asked for

  an answer so I’ll give him one.

  “You,” I finally say. The truth is I’m fucking terrified of Dean Carter.

  When he meant nothing to me, I could brazen my way through no fucking

  problem. When he was just an asshole who liked to get in my way or torment

  me, I was fine. Now, things are different. Now, he’s more. More of

  everything. I’ve never needed anyone—not my mother, not Micki, not even

  myself—the way I need him.

  His eyes soften. “You have no reason to fear me, baby,” he whispers.

  “Fight with me. Fuck with me. Hate me or love me. I’m not leaving this and

  I’m not leaving you.”

  He’s saying all of the right words and with each and every one of them,

  my heart beats a little bit slower. I suddenly feel frustrated—not with him,

  but myself. I freaked out. I had a panic attack or something like it. I’ve never

  had that before. If anything proves that this relationship isn’t good for me

  then what just happened does.

  I am, however, nothing if not a dumb bitch. Because regardless of

  whether or not this relationship is good for me, I’m in it and I can’t seem to

  want to find the exit any time soon.

  “I’m … sorry,” I mutter.

  Dean’s lips twitch and he releases my face. “Was that so fucking hard?”

  he asks.

  My fist meets his stomach once more and he grunts as I turn sideways,

  pressing my cheek into the comforter. “Shut up,” I snap.

  He chuckles. “Well, now that we’ve made up…” His hand starts to slide

  up my back, pushing my t-shirt with it, and I’m reminded of the fact that he

  stripped my shorts away from me. "What do you say we have a little fun?"

  A sigh leaves my lips. "Has anyone ever told you that you have a one-

  track mind?" I say, rolling my eyes towards the ceiling even as his head dips

  and his lips brush against my throat. He nips lightly, making me jump.

  "You do, too," he accuses lightly.

  "Yeah, but my track is on the bloodier side, not the 'get in Avalon's pants

  the fastest way possible' side."

  He chuckles as his hands slide out from beneath my shirt and to the tops

  of my panties. "Good for me you're not wearing any pants." Dean arches up

  over me and takes my mouth before I can form a response and just like that, a

  bolt of electricity hits me.

  Why are we like this? I wonder absently as he devours my thoughts with

  his tongue. The piercing in the center skates across the back of my teeth when

  he pulls back. Every time we hit this point, the chemistry explodes and I stop

  being me. I stop being the logical Avalon I know. Suddenly, I become

  something—a creature—I didn't even know existed. I become his, solely and

  completely. Every touch. Every movement. Every caress jacks me up higher

  and higher until I'm trailing the fucking ceiling. A better rush than falling. A

  safer bet, though? Never.

  Dean strips away my underwear and then rips off his shirt before

  grabbing mine and rending it straight down the middle. "Caveman," I mutter

  as he reaches back into his pocket and withdraws his pocket knife. A grin

  stretches my lips as he flicks it open. "Planning on doing something fun with

  that?" I ask.

  He grins. "You know it.”

  The fabric of my bra is no match for the keen edge of his knife. I know he

  keeps it perfectly sharpened because when I'd used it to hack through Kate's

  hair, it'd been much easier than I'd expected. My bra melts away like butter

  until I'm bare before him, but he doesn't stop there.

  The flat side of his knife touches the skin between my breasts as he leans

  forward. "Do you trust me?" he asks. Had he asked me months ago, I

  would've said no. Hell, had he asked me weeks ago, I still would've said no.

  But that was then and this is now.

  "Yes," I say, earning a wicked smile from his lips. He jerks forward and

  presses a fast kiss to my mouth as if to reward me for my quick answer, but it

  doesn't last.

  "Good," he says, scooting back so that my legs are free. "Turn over."

  I eye him suspiciously, but I'd already given my answer and Avalon

  Manning doesn't go back on her word, so I flip my ass over until my front is

  pressed against the mattress again. Dean peels away the scraps of my bra and

  t-shirt and tosses them to the floor, out of sight.

  "Don't move, baby." The second he says that, it's all I want to do. I want

  to squirm and move and wiggle—away and towards him in the same breath. I

  force myself to concede to his command, though. There's no telling what he

  has planned with that dangerous knife of his.

  I jump slightly when the cold metal of his blade presses against my upper

  back. The sharp sensation of it against my warm skin is a pinpoint of focus. I

  close my eyes and lower my head until my face is pressed into a pillow. Dean

  slips the knife from one side of my back to the other, back and forth, slowly,

  until the sensation becomes something I grow accustomed to. Only then does

  he change.

  The metal leaves my skin and then comes back, the sharp tip of it digging

  delicately against the upper part of my spine. "I want to mark you here," he

  tells me, drawing a circle just behind my neck with the tip of his knife. A

  shiver skates down my spine. Cold fear washes through me. Adrenaline

  pulses in my veins. And sick bitch that I am, my pussy grows wetter and

  wetter.

  "You're so pale." Dean's words become a whisper in the night. "I want to

  paint you red."

  The image of it pops up in my mind. The two of us, covered in gore and

  blood, smiling and laughing. Two fucked up people doing fucked up things.

  It's everything I never even knew I wanted. I turn my cheek to the side and

  take in my first fresh breath in minutes.

  "So, why don't you?" I challenge. Sure, the knife is there, the threat is

  there, but I feel no wetness on the back of my neck. He hasn't drawn blood. I

  want to see if he will.

  "Do you want me to?" he asks.

  Do I? I ask myself. The truth is, I don't really care. If he wants to carve

  me up inside and out, it will change nothing about me.

  "Do it," I say.

  He doesn't ask again and this time the sharp edge of the knife presses

  deeper into my skin as he draws it down and then curves from the top of it to

  the bottom. Those shivers turn into barely repressed trembles. My pussy

  fucking throbs as he draws on my skin with his blade. A moan echoes up

  from my throat, and unable to hold back, I let it out.

  I can feel his cock against the backs of my thighs, hard and long. The tip

  of his piercing rubbing insistently against my skin. I want him to fuck me

  while he hurts me. I shift my hips.

  "Don't move," he
says again. "I'm not done."

  "I want your cock," I demand.

  "Soon," he promises.

  My hands clench into fists as the sharp pain of his blade cuts back into

  my skin. Four more lines, one down, three across. Then three more, two

  down, slanted, and one across. Finally, the last three. One down. One

  diagonal. One up.

  "You're done," he says.

  I turn over underneath him and hold my hand out. The skin against my

  back tightens and burns where he cut me. There's blood on the blade as he

  passes the knife over to me. "Turn around," I say.

  He shakes his head. "Do it here," he offers instead, pointing to his chest.

  I arch a brow but don't question him. I lean up, feeling wetness drip both

  down my back and between my thighs. I'm going to make this quick. I can't

  stand it anymore. I carve out the letters I want, moving them swiftly across

  his chest. Maybe someday these will be a tattoo embedded into his skin.

  Maybe I'll ride his fucking cock while someone etches the markings of my

  name into him forever.

  The second the last letter is done, Dean snatches the knife from my hand

  and stabs it into the pillow behind me before toppling me down onto the

  mattress. He spreads my legs and I gasp as he shoots forward, filling me

  straight to the hilt. His cock presses into my pussy until it fucking hurts.

  I reach up and scratch my nails down his back as he palms the back of my

  head and brings my mouth to his. We clash. We duel. We fuck like maniacs.

  Like the world is exploding into existence and ending at the same moment. I

  moan as he reaches down and slips the pads of his fingers through the folds

  of my pussy, just above where his cock penetrates me. He takes hold of my

  clit and squeezes, sending shocks of both pain and pleasure rocketing through

  me.

  My hands slap against his chest, slipping over the blood. He turns, rolling

  onto his back as his fists yank down to grip my hips. "Ride me, baby," he

  commands, and I do.

  I place my hands against the headboard, grinning at the splotches of blood

  that cover the white blankets beneath us as I lift up and then fall back down,

  taking his cock in all the way once more. His groan rumbles up through his

  chest as his teeth clench. The ecstasy on his face is better than any porno.

  My fingers are covered in blood—his blood. I relish in it as I start to