Page 69 of Wicked Spite
“Do you have a spot you’re headed to or are we just winging it?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady. The adrenaline of killing Ashley is leaving my body and I’m starting to second guess things now. It’s too late. It’s already done, and I don’t regret it. I don’t feel bad. I just can’t afford to get caught with my dead stepsister’s body. Reese would be on her own, and that would be the real tragedy.
“I’ve got it, baby,” Penn replies cryptically. “You did the hard part. Let me take care of the rest.”
I follow closely behind him. This was definitely not how I expected my night to unfold.
“So, you’re enjoying this, huh?” I ask, noting his casual whistling like he’s about to play a round of golf or something.
“Can’t say I’m not,” he admits with a sly grin. “There’s something undeniably satisfying about putting someone like Ashley in her place.”
“Agreed,” I murmur, hoping he doesn’t notice the slight tremble in my voice.
“Hey,” Penn says softly, sensing my unease. “You okay?”
“Fine,” I lie, forcing a smile. “Just thinking.”
“About what?” he probes, his eyes searching mine.
“I’ve never lost it like that before. I don’t even feel bad. I bashed in her skull with a rock, and I don’t feel sorry or like I’ve even done something wrong.” I look away until I hear a rustling sound. When I look over, Penn has dropped Ashley on the ground like a sack of potatoes.
He’s cupping my face in his big hands, Ashley’s blood smearing on my face. “That bitch was asking to be tortured and killed. You’re my little hellfire, and I wouldn’t expect anything lessfrom you.”
“If we get caught—-” I start, but Penn cuts me off with a sharp laugh like I’ve said something absolutely absurd.
“Baby, no one is taking you away from me. I’m a fucking Blackwood. This is what I do. Nobody is going to catch us, and if they do…” he grins, leaning down to kiss me on the mouth roughly, his hand sliding up my waist and over my breast, pausing to squeeze before his fingers circle around my throat. “So fucking what? Who is going to miss this bitch, anyway?”
“My father…” I start again, swallowing hard because I love the way his grip feels around my neck.
“I’ll handle your father. I don’t want you worrying about anything. You hear me?” Penn whispers huskily, dipping his head to kiss me once again. He waits until I nod in agreement before he lets go. He doesn’t pick Ashley up again. Instead, he grabs one of her ankles and drags her behind him and reaches out to grab my hand, linking our fingers like we’re going for a stroll in the park.
I notice the twisted branches above as we reach a secluded spot deep within the cemetery. Penn lowers Ashley’s body into a ditch that looks like it’s been freshly dug, her designer clothes now stained with dirt and blood.
“Do you just have random graves dug around campus?” I ask him, kneeling down to help shovel the soil on top of her.
“It’s a good workout, and as you can see, they’re needed at the most inconvenient times,” he smirks, tossing a handful of leaves over her limp form. “See you in hell someday. Hope you’re less annoying than you were on earth.”
“Very dramatic,” I say, rolling my eyes as we work together to cover her up. “Does this mean I’m stuck with you?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.
“Hmm, something like that,” he promises, pulling me close. I expect him to ravage my mouth, cup my pussy or ass,anything to remind me that he’s crazy and I’m his. He surprises me by simply kissing my forehead before letting me go to finish burying the Sharpay of New Haven City.
Chapter 25
Penn
“Die, you son of a bitch!”
My voice cuts through the living room, mingling with the furious clicking of buttons. I’m leaning forward, elbows on my knees, eyes glued to the screen as my character delivers a brutal blow to Lincoln’s. He swears loudly, and I can’t help but chuckle.
“That’s another one for me,” I say, my tone dripping with smug satisfaction. “You guys really should try to keep up. I’ve gotta carry everything for the Blackwood name.”
“Fuck off, Penn,” Lincoln snaps back, his dark eyes burning with irritation. He’s always been impulsive, quick to anger when he’s losing. Makes it all the more fun to mess with him.
“I’m sorry. Let me stand corrected. You carry us for bangingsistersand you…” My eyes swing to Jere, “You carry us in bangingmy old best friend’s little sistercategory. My apologies for not acknowledging what you bring to the table.”
“Yeah, sometimes I hope you break your jaw, and it needs to be wired shut so we don’t have to listen to youfor a few months,” Jeremiah chimes in, his voice quiet but laced with sarcasm. “Maybe if you spent less time running your mouth and more time actually playing, you’d be half as good as you think you are.”
“Jealousy doesn’t suit you, Jerry,” I retort, flashing a sly grin. “But keep it coming. Just means I’m in your head.”
The sound of laughter drifts up from downstairs, a light, airy contrast to our game night. I can just make out Reagan’s voice, deeper and more resonant than the others. She’s teaching Iris and Oakley how to make drinks, probably something fancy and complicated. All I know is the girls have been asking for bartending stories and my wife is all too happy to spill the tea on all the weird shit she saw from that asbestos-filled dump she used to call her place of work.
