Page 4 of Poisoning Ivy
Killian scowls at me, but it does little to change how I feel, which is because I don’tfeelanything about it. So what? The girl who we tortured for years left town after the best fucking summer of our lives and then disappeared. Who cares that she’s married to a fucking lawyer with more money than sense? And who cares if she dies in the hospital Killian took her to in an attempt to save her? She’s been dead to me for years anyway.
“You do.” Monty snorts. “Don’t fucking act like you don’t.”
“Nope. You act like you never saw this coming.” I laugh. “You think she really wanted to stick around here with us? We all know her parents dragged her back here every summer. That whore was dying to get away for good. She’s not like us.”
“She’s ‘not like us’?” Monty mocks me with a roll of his dark eyes. “Of course she’s not like us. She’s a spoiled little bitch, born with a silver spoon in her mouth, who wanted more than any of us could give her… More than all of us could.”
I know Monty better than he knows himself, and I know he’s still hurt. Beneath all of the rage and vitriol he’s spewing, beneath every insult, is pain. Because we all liked her, but I think Monty loved her from the minute they met.
Hatred flashes in the glare Killian pins me with. “Don’t act like you weren’t obsessed with her from the moment you saw her. You started this thing.”
Yeah, I started it. She doesn’t know it, but I saw her first, a sallow girl with hair the color of a flame, plucking petals off of those orange flowers planted in her backyard. She was enchanting from the first moment I saw her, unlike anything I’d seen before. I remember telling the others about her, leading them to the perch in the woods so that we could see her with her fingers pressed against the glass window of her room, drawing little designs in the fog from her breath. We watched her a lot, trying to figure out why she never came outside to play, trying to figure out why our parents told us to stay away from that family. We poked around the cabin enough during the rest of the year, but every summer when the family came to live in it, the reminders increased.“Stay away from those people.”
“And she ended it. Or was the last four years of no contact not enough of a ‘fuck you’ to make that sink in? Her family has owned that cabin for thirty years. We knew she’d show up again one day.”
“Yeah, and I planned every fucking word of what I’d say to her when she did.” Monty spits, like thinking of the words is enough to put a nasty taste in his mouth.
“I planned every fucking thing I woulddoto her.” Killian smirks. “But if she dies in that fucking hospital, I’ll never get the chance.”
“Or you’ll never get the chance,” I roll my eyes, “cause she has a husband.”
It’s so typical of Killian, really. He loves broken things, but only when he gets to be the one to do the breaking. I’d say he was a psychopath if I hadn’t seenreal, genuine emotion from him, not the least of which was the day she got into the back of her daddy’s Land Rover and fucking disappeared from our lives for what we all thought would be forever. Because, regardless of what I may have said out loud, I didn’t think my little Tiger Lily was dumb enough to ever show her face around here again.
“She fucked all of us in the same day.” Monty laughs, dragging a hand through his spiky hair and prompting it to stand on end again. “You think a fucking husband is going to stop our sweet little slut from begging for our dicks?”
“You think her fuckinghusbandis going to stop me from taking what I want?” Killian laughs, too. “No, she’s going to get what’s coming to her. And if I’m feeling nice, maybe I’ll even let her come, too. Good little pets deserve it, every once in a while.”
“Oh yeah?” I ask. My interest is piqued. I know it shouldn’t be. I know somewhere in the back of my head that it’s fucked to want to torture her just because she couldn’t love us. I mean, who the fuckcould,other than each other? “What’s the play?”
“Tie up the husband and make him watch.” Killian says, as if he’s been thinking about it from the very moment that he met the man who caused the pile-up. Shit, I think he planned to make this fucker pay regardless of who his wife was. But the fact that he’s saddled to Ivy D’Aquino is a sweet bonus.
“Can I fuck him while you fuck her?” Monty asks, a predatory gleam lighting up his dark eyes. “I can take his ass while you take hers; we can see who breaks first. I bet it won’t be her.”
“I’ll take that bet.” I smirk, digging into my pocket and finding the keys to the ‘69 Cutlass. I hear his gentle inhale, the thrill of a potential new toy. “I’ll fucking break her into a million pieces. And when she’s good and shattered, you can fuck her husband on the shards.”
Chapter four
Monty
I’m so fucking hard it makes my entire body ache as I watch her through the window, stripping off her clothes like she knows I’m here, putting on a show just for me. My sweet, sweet poison. I’d drink her up even though I always knew it could kill me; I’d let her turn my veins black and choke on my own tongue for her. She never fucking asked me to, though.
God, it takes everything in me not to slash the screen right now with my pocketknife and crawl through to take her. We left the windows unlatched specifically for this reason.
While Ivy spent the past day in the hospital recovering from the accident, we’ve spent the last day laying the groundwork. It was so easy for Killian to snag the keys to the cabin when her husband was busy flirting with the nurses. Honestly, the dumbass already did most of the work for us just by causing the accident. He managed to destroy all their possessions in a single instant—all we had to do was ensure the internet cables were severed, the windows were unlocked so Killian could creep in, and a few choice items were left at our disposal.
I could die happy watching her, so ripe for the taking, everything blunted by whatever cocktail of drugs Killian replaced her prescriptions with. She probably doesn’t even realize she’s high right now. It’s just enough to make her a little more… agreeable.
That bald pussy is absolutely begging to be dripping with cum as she drops her sweatpants to the floor, offering me a splendid view of her long legs. Except the purple splotches that break the perfect canvas of her skin give me a moment’s pause—just long enough to take her in more, to see the rest of her body, marred by bruises and scars. They’re in various shades of purple and blue, some ringed in yellow and others broken by a trail of smaller bruises—fingerprints.
I’m not surprised by those. Ivy likes it rough; she always did. It’s why I don’t feel too bad about what we’re about to do. She may cry, scream, beg, but she always did. And yet she can’t deny the way her body responds to the pain we can give her. I wonder if her husband is as good at it as we are. Something tells me he must be, given how her body is a canvas of pain.
There’s no way she looks like this after a single car accident, regardless of how fucked it was. The cut on her cheek was the source of almost all the blood splattered in the car—the car that I scrapped earlier this afternoon. None of their possessions were recoverable, and the fire ate a lot of the interior, but the parts that the explosion didn’t touch before Killian’s boys got the fire put out were covered in the russet color of dried blood.
All things considered, the accident could have been a lot worse, Killian assured us. Despite all the blood and the fact the hospital kept her ‘just in case’, she got off without sustaining a lot of injury. That broken wrist seems to be the worst of it.
It’s lucky, I guess, that we can be rough with her then.
I just hope her husband likes taking pain as much as she does because the knife in my pocket is begging to sink into unmarredflesh. And he’s got plenty of it. Maybe it’s because of his work that he wants to look polished at all times. He’s not a lawyer, like Killian first thought. I went through his glove box contents before I crushed their car like a tin of sardines. He’s a doctor.
