Page 85 of Wicked Scorn
I don’t even know what to say to his admission. I never realized what a sick, demented man he was, and he’s right. All I cared about back then was Jeremiah. I must have missed so many signs, and now all I can do is hope that Rem makes it to me in time.
Chapter 32
Jeremiah
My heart’s pounding like it wants to burst out of my chest as the engines of our bikes growl beneath us, announcing our arrival to the shitty town that houses St. James University. The rapist’s house looms ahead, its windows flickering with the light of late-night. The fact he doesn’t live at the frat house is serendipitous. Off-campus housing means it makes it so much easier for us to get in and out. Penn’s laughter cuts through the noise, dark and jagged as a broken bottle.
“Ready to dance, baby bros?” he hollers over the rumble, his voice dripping with that twisted anticipation of his. He thrives in the chaos that comes with hunting, maiming, murdering. I’m not naïve, my brother is likely considered a serial killer. If we kept a log of whoever he’s ever killed, it would be long, but that’s what happens when Robert Blackwood picks you to do his most heinous bidding.
“Of course I am,” I shoot back, pushing my bike harder. The night air is thick with the smell of wet asphalt of the late-night crew fixing potholes throughout the city.
As we skid to a halt down the alley of this guy’s fucking house, gravel crunches underfoot as we almost in sync get off our bikes. I could have done this myself, but they wouldn’t have let me. Like the three musketeers, well five because of Linc and my cousin Ramsey. All for one and one for all. They would be here if I asked or told them, but Linc is dealing with the Nicole and Iris shit and Ramsey is still young. Not as damaged by the Blackwood name yet, since his dad isn’t nearly as demonic as mine. I envy him a bit for that, except for times like now where I’ll need every ounce of ruthlessness I’ve gained.
“Well, well, I do feel an urge coming on. You ready to get your hands dirty?”
I shoot him a look, my jaw clenched. Graham trails behind, silent but steady. Ready to jump in at any moment if needed. This motherfucker is going to pay for what he did to my girl.
We pull masks over each of our heads before entering through the kitchen back door; the porch creaking under our boots.
The house reeks of sweat and spilled beer as we shove into the front room. A crew of drunken idiots’ gawk at us like we’re aliens, but I don’t have time for their bullshit. Their eyes are so blown they are definitely high on something and there’s only three of them. I scan the dim room, my eyes narrowing when I spot him. Henry Butkis, the piece of shit who dared to lay his hands on Oakley.
He’s surrounded by his equally moronic buddies, oblivious to the danger crashing through the door. Stalking toward him, every muscle tensed, fingers curling into fists. Penn falls into step beside me, no doubt with that twisted grin found on his face when he’s about to fuck some shit up.
“You know, I was almost jealous,” he drawls. “But you have friends, so I get to have fun also.”
The guy looks up, his eyes widening as I loom over him. Fear bleeds into his expression, but it’s too little, too late.
Penn and Graham zero in on the three degenerates who can’t even process what’s happening. I watch as Penn pulls something out of his pocket, giving it to each of them, and these idiots take it and swallow it before shuffling down to the basement.
“You made a big mistake touching what’s mine,” I growl, grabbing a fistful of Henry’s shirt.
One of his friends turns and goes to open his mouth, but Penn’s there in a flash, grabbing the guy by the throat.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” he purrs, his gaze glittering. The guy nods sluggishly before turning back around and descending the stairs.
“P-please, man. I don’t know what you—” Henry stutters out before his words choke off as my fist slams into his gut, doubling him over. I grab a fistful of his hair, yanking his head back to stare into his pathetic, watering eyes. I lift my mask so he can see my face now that no one else is around.
“You don’t get to spew lies,” I snarl. “You don’t get to act like some golden fucking boy. You picked the wrong fucking girl to assault, you disgusting piece of shit.” The words spill out of me.
The frat boy’s lip curls, and I can see the flicker of fear in his eyes. Good. He should be fucking terrified. “Talk,” I command, each syllable dripping with the promise of pain.
“Shit, man, I didn’t know she was your—” he starts, but I cut him off.
“You didn’t know? Bullshit. Everyone knows Oakley ismine.” My hands are shaking, not with fear, but with the sheer force of my rage.
“Oakley? You mean the quiet library nerd? Did not think that’s who you were talking about. Bro, she wanted me. She was giving me those ‘fuck me eyes’ every time I saw her in the library. Practically begged for it with those little dresses she wore.” I lean in, a predator closing in on his prey. He did not just call my girl a quiet library nerd or say she was asking for it.
“Just how many fucking women have you assaulted, butterball?”
My fist connects with the fuck boy’s jaw, a satisfying crunch that rattles around in my head. For Oakley, I’d burn the world to ash.
His head goes flying to the side as he falls back into the cheap, nasty couch he was sitting on.
Penn crouches down, arms dangling across his thighs as he plays with the rings on his fingers, murmuring too quietly for even me to hear.
His hands lash out quickly until his grip tightens around the guy’s throat, his knuckles white and sinews taut. The guy gasps, eyes bulging, as Penn leans in closer, a sinister smile curling his lips.
“Look at you,” Penn hisses. “This is what happens when you cross the Blackwoods. I can smell you pissing your pants right now. Do I scare you? I should, we all should. Daddy dearest taught me to be the scariest thing that goes bump in the night.”
