DECEIT (B723) by Hazel Grace (ebook reader for surface pro .TXT) 📕

glued to where I stand while I wait for him to throw the first punch.

It’s a thing of mine, waiting, giving me a reason to give up control on the other person.

When Mac has my back, he sucker-punches me in the neck to which I’m already ready for because I quickly pivot and slam my knuckles into his jaw.

My uppercut is next, sending him tumbling backward a step before he lunges for me. I dodge, letting him lose his balance, but he catches himself before face-planting into the ground.

My body shakes at the cool air against the sweat that’s beginning to form from the adrenaline.

I’m going to end this motherfucker tonight.

Not only did I watch him take Dad for no reason, but I recall struggling against one of their goons. His hard dick pressed into my back because watching someone die got him off.

I barely got away that night, was about to get passed around when I poked the dude holding me in the eye, and Kyson showed up. He helped me fight off another guy before we both sprinted towards the woods.

Two young kids who had to punch, kick, and bite just to survive.

Mac swings with his right as I evade him, responding back with a stiff jab to his ribcage.

Then Kyson shows up behind him, pinning his arms back and leaving him exposed just like Cam.

“Yo,” he snarls as blood drips from his face. “We said man against man.”

“We changed our minds,” Kyson replies, his tone emotionless and distant.

It actually kinda freaks me out as he stares at me, waiting for me to make a move—any move—that I want to.

“It really wasn’t man-on-man when you went after my dad, was it?” I hiss out. “I remember three of you kicking him while he was on fire after he jumped from the car. I think we should return the favor, but with a little twist, what do you say, Ky?”

“You’re speaking my language now, brother.” That triggers Mac to start thrashing around, attempting to pry himself free and hurling his heels into Kyson’s shins.

I flick my knife open and jab it into the soft flesh underneath Mac’s ribs, shanking him at least five times before Kyson lets him go. Mac immediately reaches for his side, crimson covering his palms as he turns a paler shade of white.

“I’m gonna kill you, Bishop,” he sneers through his crooked teeth.

I toss him my knife, to which he quickly and surprisingly catches. “Go ahead.”

The speed that Mac acquires with his new advantage is monumental as he rushes me.

He swings horizontally, his attempt clumsy to get me across the chest or in the gut, but I recoil just in time. With his right palm still on his wound, he gets more sloppy, lurching and veering the sharp weapon every which way.

The more he moves, the quicker he bleeds out.

I lift my hand and twirl my finger to tell Kyson we need to wrap this up. When Mac gets close enough to me, I knock the knife out of his grip while Kyson grabs a fist full of his hair, yanking back on his head.

My best friend’s blade comes up to his neck as he begins to peel the skin off his throat. Mac screams, thrusting his elbow into Kyson’s body.

Then I flick my Zippo and pull out the travel-sized aerosol can of hairspray that I keep with me in case of emergencies.

Mac is so preoccupied with the scraping of his flesh that he doesn’t notice me.

Kyson’s gold eyes meet mine, and he nods, quickly stepping away before I spray the can on Mac’s clothes, then swipe the flame underneath to create a homemade torch.

Fire roars in the air as Mac’s clothing sets into the reds and yellows of heat.

I circle him, making sure he’s cased in it. Kyson makes his way to the truck to check on Cam while I finish this shit.

I empty the can, all together getting Mac’s face in the process. I listen to his screams of agony and cries as his skin begins to melt like my father’s did while his only son watched and heard them for months afterward.

No one cared.

No one had the balls to come out of their trailer to stop the Three Terrors, as they called themselves.

Well, I just eliminated one.

I received a random call from the St. Anne’s hospital that my ex-girlfriend, Camilla, almost overdosed.

It wasn’t what totally pissed me off. I found out that Emmy split in the middle of the night, causing my morning to be filled with a mixture of both bitterness and repentance.

Two fucking things I don’t need right now, but they’re there, and I’m left with nothing but to face them.

I haven’t spoken to Camilla, but the brief moment she discovered me under Bubba’s engulfed in flames body.

I said her name, she gaped at me in utter shock and disbelief then ran away.

Literally sprinted.

Then there was the time I found her buying cocaine in the basement of the daycare two days ago.

With Emmy there.

We didn’t communicate the whole way I drove her home to Shitty Grove trailer park, where she claimed she was staying with a friend.

So why I’m one of her calls to pick her up—question of the century—but since she’s the only female that’ll speak to me right now, I start with her first. I’m allowing Emmy a day to herself to be pissed at me so we can go back to our semi-normalcy.

“You don’t have to do this,” Camilla mutters, staring down at my dark oak wood dining table. “I’m putting you out.”

She is, but I’m not going to verbalize it.

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Your brother was staying here for a little while, yeah?” My body grows frigid at the mention of Hardy.

I don’t want her in my life anymore.

I left her behind for a reason.

We’re not gonna become friends, so the mere mention of my brother, who she knows all too well I silently mourned for as a kid and teen, isn’t a conversation