OTHER BOOKS BY ANGELINE KACE
Vampire Born Trilogy
Descended by Blood
Enemy Within
Table of Contents
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Next Book
Other Books by Angeline Kace
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Other Books You Might Enjoy
About the Book Designer
For Mom, the strongest and most giving woman I’ve ever known.
“There are wounds that never show on the body that are deeper and more hurtful than anything that bleeds.”
—Laurell K. Hamilton, Mistral’s Kiss
JAKE and I sneak in through the back door. Mom said to stay outside, but we’re thirsty from playing basketball in the sun. I reach for the cupboard with the glasses when I hear Mom yelling at Dad in the living room around the corner. I freeze, arm stretched over my head, my weight on my toes. She’s already in a bad mood. She’ll whoop me if she sees me inside.
I ease down onto my heels and hang my head. I’m scared and embarrassed. Dad says what happens in the family is our business and no one ought to witness what goes on in our home. Although I don’t want to meet Jake’s eyes, I look over at him because he’s witnessing.
I point to the back door and mouth, “Let’s go.”
He nods and turns around, and I follow behind, both of us stepping softly.
Mom’s still yelling at Dad, but I don’t hear his replies. We can’t travel the ten feet of stone tile fast enough. We’re halfway there when I hear Mom say, “You will not see him or her again. You can send a monthly check for the boy and that. Is. It.”
I halt and hold my breath. Even the pulse pounding in my ears seems too loud. I try to focus on what they’re talking about, but the thump-thud-ump is distracting.
Who are they talking about?
“I can’t do that. He’s my son. I have to see him.” Dad’s mad enough now that I can hear what he’s saying.
“He is not your son. Dallas is your son. We are your family.” Mom’s furious.
Jake’s stopped and looking back at me. I wave for him to keep going. I gotta hear this. He continues forward and eases the screen door open as quietly as we did on our way in.
“Laura, he’s my blood—”
“I don’t care, Richard. I don’t want anything to do with that boy. I don’t want Dallas to have anything to do with that boy, either. You do this, or we are done. You’re lucky I’m even considering staying with you.”
I’m paralyzed. Are they splitting up? Why? Who are they arguing about?
“I can’t do that. Asking me to give up Denton is the same as asking me to give up Dallas. I won’t do it.”
Denton?
“Well,” Mom says, her voice cold and bitter, “I’m done asking. You’ve made your bed with that whore—now you can lie in it. I mean it. I won’t have anything to do with that bastard and neither will Dallas. You’ll see Dallas when a court orders me to allow it. Now get out!” she screams.
My ears are ringing, but I can still make out her heavy breathing.
I’m terrified to be caught in her wrath, but I can’t move. I have to know if Dad is leaving. I don’t want him to leave. I don’t have to see whoever Mom doesn’t want me to see. I won’t have anything to do with Denton. I just don’t want Dad to leave and never come back.
He’s not answering whether he’s staying or leaving and I don’t hear anyone moving in there.
The urge to tell him to stay wins out over the fear and before I can think better of it, I’m walking toward the living room.
“Let me get some of my things and then I’ll go.”
“No!” I rush into the living room. He can’t leave. “I don’t want you to go, Dad.”
“Dallas! I told you to stay outside.” Mom’s looking at me with that look she gets when she gives me a whooping, but it’ll be worth it if I can talk Dad into staying.
“I know, but I was thirsty and then you guys were yelling.” I look back to Dad. My hands are balled at my sides and my shoulders heave with the exertion it takes to not cry.
“Dallas—”
“Richard, go. You’ll have to come back later and get your things. Don’t make this any harder on him than it needs to be.”
I shake my head at him. She’s not really going to make him leave, will she?
Dad looks at me regretfully. “I’ll be back, son.”
“Now, Richard. Before I call the cops,” Mom says, her voice soft but unwavering.
He stares at me while I blink away the sting of tears. “I will be back,” he promises and then heads for the door.
I turn to Mom, willing her to say something, anything that will make it okay for him to stay.
But she doesn’t, and Dad walks out the door, closing it behind him.
I’m transfixed, waiting for the door to reopen and for Dad to walk back in.
He doesn’t.
His car starts up and then fades away as he drives farther and farther from me.
“Go to your room,” Mom says and flings a piece of paper onto the side table.
I glare at her and don’t move.
She meets me glare for glare. “You want to know why he had to leave?”
I nod. I’m asking for it now, but I don’t care.
“Because he was doing with another woman the things he should only be doing with me. And those things created a child. He had a family on the side, Dallas. And when I asked him to give it up, he wouldn’t.” She’s no longer just angry, but sad. Really sad. Her eyes are watering and the bottom of her chin is shaking. She drops onto the couch and covers her face with her hands as a sob breaks loose from her throat.
“Mom?” I ask, uncertain. It hurts my chest to see her cry. I’ve never seen her cry before. I don’t like it.
I walk over and put my arm around her like she used to do to me when I was sad.
She seems so frail, like if I release any of my tension from around her she’ll fall apart.
I hold on tight and repeat one line to myself over and over again.
I hate Denton.
I hate Denton.
I hate Denton.
I hate Denton.
“By failing to prepare, you are preparing to fail.”
–Benjamin Franklin
CLASSES start in two days. I still have two chapters to read in my international accounting class, and a stupid get-to-know-you paper to write for strategic management. I have the first week’s chapters read and assignments completed for my other three classes.
Ava, my best friend, arrives tomorrow and she’ll give me shit if she sees me doing homework before classes start. Not that she won’t give me shit the whole semester anyway, but t
here’s a welcome-back mixer for Beta Alpha Psi, tomorrow, and Ava is adamant about us attending. Especially since she’s the president.
My phone vibrates across my desk. Only three pages in, but it’s Becker. I smile. “Hey, baby,” I say in a sweet voice.
“Carm doll, I miss you.” I love when he calls me that. He started it after our first year together, and going into our third, I still melt. I’m so marrying this man after graduation.
“I miss you too.”
“Whatcha doing?”
He’s not going to like this. “Homework,” I say, hesitant. The same answer I gave him when he called me this morning.
“Aren’t you done with that yet?”
“Almost. Just a few more things.”
“Good. Do it tomorrow. I want to see you. Come over, please.” He drags out “please” in the way he knows I have a hard time resisting.
“Aw, baby. I can’t. I have to work tomorrow and we have that Beta Alpha Psi thing tomorrow night.” I work at the bridal boutique downtown. It doesn’t pay much other than commissions, but I try to help out where I can because Dad works hard to subsidize my income. Plus, I enjoy surrounding myself with the excitement of women planning their weddings, even the bridezillas. I’ve already completely planned out my wedding with three different themes. Becker and I will decide which one we’ll use when we set a date. And all the money I’ve been saving from my commissions will help ensure we can afford the grand wedding I’ve dreamed about.
“We’ll skip the mixer. I’d rather see you tonight.” He’s horny. He only begs when he wants to get laid.
Ava thinks it’s pathetic, but I think it’s cute. Better than him going somewhere else for it. He’d never do that to me, though. I’ve taken good care of him to ensure it doesn’t happen.
“You know Ava won’t let us.” She’s been my friend longer than Becker and I have been together, and when she wants something, she gets it. Which is exactly why the club voted her in as our president.
“You let me handle her.”
Ha! “You and what army?”
“You’re really not going to come over tonight?” he says more as a disappointed statement than a question.
“I’ll make it up to you tomorrow,” I singsong. I will too. I’ll make it up real good.
“I guess I’ll have to use my hand.”
I laugh. I love this boy. “Don’t sound so unhappy. Your hand feels so,” I drop my voice and add a moan, “good.”
“Not cool.” His bed creaks as I assume he’s adjusting himself. “Now you’re being mean.”
I grin. I’m a little aroused affecting him like this. “Tomorrow. It’ll be like make-up sex. But without the fight.” Even I’m beginning to look forward to it.
I flip through the pages in my book as I wait for him to answer.
He doesn’t. He’s pouting.
“Awww, come on. You know it turns me on when you use your hand and think of me.”
“Yeah.” He’s still pouting.
“I love you.”
“Love you too.” He hangs up.
I speed-read through the sections about the US accounting oversight board and agencies. Most of this is review. Then I write the paper all about my summer and my favorite things and dreams, and put a few final touches on it.
When I’m done, I check my phone and see it’s not as late as I thought it’d be. I go to my call list and hover over Becker’s name.
No, I’ll surprise him.
He’s probably already taken care of matters, but I’m sure he’ll be happy and ready to go again once he sees me.
I hop out of my chair and tuck it in under my desk, straightening it when one of the legs sticks out farther than the other. I wouldn’t call it OCD, although Ava does. It’s more just that having things a specific way makes me feel better.
I go over to my dresser—of course I’m already unpacked—and open the panty drawer. I take out the white lace underwear and bra. Becker likes this set. I put it on and check myself in the wall-length mirror.
Yep, Becker’s going to like this. My ass looks great.
I finish dressing and lock up behind me. I wave to Lisa, our floor maiden, on the way out of the dorms and suffocate when I open the outside door. Texas is hell in August. Even when the sun goes down, it’s like it has baked the earth so much throughout the day that the surface can’t cool down.
I head off campus toward Becker’s apartment a block away, which is nice because we have more privacy, but it’s still close to the campus library for my weekend study groups when I stay overnight.
I walk up the three flights of stairs and creep over to his door. I’ve come this far I’d like to keep it a surprise. I check the door to his place. It’s unlocked. I open and close it softly behind me. Light from his bedroom bleeds into the hallway. I follow it and hear moans coming from his room.
Oh my God! He’s watching a porno.
The closer I get the louder the sex sounds get.
“Oh fuck yeah,” followed by a loud slap.
I stop. That sounds an awful lot like Becker and the slap is too crisp to be from the TV or laptop.
My heart beats in my throat and my stomach at the same time. The sensation is sickening. I inhale deep to keep my heart in my chest, and I smell it. Sex. Dirty, raunchy, we’ve-been-sweating-for-a-long-time sex.
My feet move. I can’t stop them. It’s almost like they’re detached from the rest of my body but still manage to carry me forward.
And my arm and hand, it’s the same. My fingers tremble as they press against the wood of Becker’s bedroom door, opening it all the way.
Becker has a naked blond bent over his bed, taking her from behind. He’s pounding into her with his teeth exposed in a growl. He didn’t even hear me come in or open his door.
“Becker.” His name squeaks on its way out.
He pulls out of the blond wearing a green condom. The same color as the ones I bought him for when I miss my birth control pills. The pack came with yellow, red, green, and blue. We called it the rainbow box of pleasure.
Both of them look at me in alarm. “Carmyn! What the hell are you doing here?” He dashes over to a towel sitting on a chair and wraps it around his waist.
What am I doing here?
My shock turns to anger. “I came over to fix your issue, but it looks like you took it into your own hands. But not literally because your hands would’ve been okay. This? This is bullshit!” I point to the bleached blond now strutting over to the bottom of the bed to grab her clothes.
I stomp over to the end table, but Becker cuts me off.
I push him to the side as hard as I can. He moves enough that I take the final steps to the table.
He grabs my arm, but I yank it away and reach the top drawer. I open it and find the bottom littered with condoms. He—or she—was in a rush and messed up the neat arrangement they were in the last time I saw them. The pulse in my stomach intensifies.
Becker grabs my arm again, this time tight enough that I can’t pull away, and spins me around. “We need to talk.”
I jerk my arm again, but his grip doesn’t lessen. “Oh, now we need to talk?”
The blond—I think her name is Amber—walks toward the door. “Call me later,” she says as she steps into the hall.
So this has happened before. I slap Becker with my free hand. “You bastard!”
He lets go and steps back, touching his reddening cheek. “What did you expect?”
I’m furious. “What did I expect?” My voice is rising. “I expected you to be faithful to me. You knew. You fucking knew how bad this would hurt me!” I told him everything, everything about how my mom cheated on my dad. How that ruined my life, how I lost my mom to drugs after that. How I lost a lot of things, and how terrified I am of being cheated on. And he still does this to me.
I reach back down to the drawer and sweep up every last condom and the box, and then turn to leave.
Becker puts his hand out to stop me.
He pulls back. A yelling Carmyn he can handle. This quiet, about-to-boil-over Carmyn is a different story.
I leave as quickly as I can, stuffing the condoms into my pockets, and then into the box once my pockets are full. I drop one on my way out the door and turn back to pick it up.
Becker is standing in his hallway, running his hands through his chestnut hair, the same hair I’ve spent three years running my fingers through. “Carmyn.”
I glare at him before stuffing the stray condom in the box and throwing the door closed.
I run down all three flights of stairs.
“Carmyn,” Becker calls from his floor’s landing.
I don’t turn back. I run out of his complex, around the block, and across the street toward campus.
A car slams on its brakes and stops, barely missing me.
I drop to my knees in the road, the car’s headlights shining in my eyes, and I vomit.
I don’t cry; I puke. And I puke my guts out in the center of Crimson Way, blinded by the car’s low beams as my heart shatters.
Along with my future.
“I don’t owe anyone anything, and no one owes me shit.”
—Dallas Brown
THE shot glass clanks against the one behind it as I finish unpacking them into the cupboard. That’s the last box. I paid a moving company to help me get all my shit here from storage. I have plenty of friends who would’ve helped if I’d asked them. That’s not something I’d do, though, because then I’d owe them. I prefer to live my life debt-free.
I stayed with Mom during the summer because this apartment complex is zoned as student housing, so if I’m not registered for the current semester, I need to be out.
But also because I have no reason to stick around. Dad might try something stupid—like come over. When he’s not occupied with teaching classes at the university, he thinks the summer is a good time to try to convince me that he and I can be a family.
Fuck that.
I only go to his university because I get a discount on my tuition. Dropping the paperwork off at the admissions office to prove I’m a professor’s son is the most I’ll go to claiming him as mine. Same goes with Denton, but I don’t claim him at all. And that was the condition I gave to Dad when I agreed to come here. No one knows I’m his son, and if he wants me to graduate here, he’ll keep it that way.
Wicked Thing Page 1
