Pretty Little Savage (Sick Boys #1) - Lucy Smoke Page 0,5

me want to walk into Patricia’s trailer and take one of the knives from the kitchen block and slit Roger’s throat when he snorts a line of cocaine off of the dirty glass of the coffee table. That’s not exactly the image a fourteen-year-old girl is supposed to carry with her. It’s not something that should make her smile—but smile I do.

Around these parts, Roger's a baller. He has the drugs. He has the money. He has the authority.

I have absolutely none.

But even in death, he and I are the same. Rich. Poor. Man. Woman. Doesn’t matter.

Clenching my hand into a fist, my nails dig into the flesh of my palm. I wait for the moment that my nails break skin and blood coats my hand. I feel the pain. I suck it in and I let it blend into the other sensations creeping through my body. The pounding of my heart slows. The tingling prickle of numbing anger recedes into the darkest depths of my mind.

I lied. I do hate her. I hate her. I hate her. I. HATE. HER.

And I hate the fact that I do even more. Because kids aren’t supposed to hate their parents, and parents aren’t supposed to threaten to whore out their kids. There’s so much hatred inside of me that it’s burning me from the inside out. That’s when I realize that I’m already so close to being just like Patricia. I’m standing on an edge of no return. One slip and I’ll fall down the dark hole that she probably did years ago before she even had me, and ten years from now, I’ll either be dead or still here—in this fucking town, sleeping in that fucking trailer. Except then, I’ll have a kid of my own from a man who I won’t even remember.

Bile coats my throat as I stop at the edge of the street, the bright yellow school bus passing across the road and turning down until it curves around to my stop. The image of myself is so real in my mind. And even though I look nothing like Patricia, I can see only her in everything I might do. My heart begins to race.

I can’t let myself. Hot tears burn in the backs of my eyes, and I suck them back, refusing to let them fall. Refusing to be weak like her. I’m never going to let a man like Roger Murphy touch me again without my permission. If he tries, then I’ll kill him. It’s as simple as that.

3

Avalon

4 years later…

Rage pounds through my bloodstream as I slam through the front doors of the school building. Fueled by a healthy dose of oh fucking hell no and what the fuck was this bitch thinking, I stomp through the students collecting against the lockers of Plexton High School’s main hall.

“Hey, Ava, mind if I stop by your corner tonight for some one-on-one action?” someone calls as I pass by.

I flip him my happy middle finger and keep walking. “Sorry, you must be this tall to ride the Avalon Express,” I reply, dropping the finger and holding my hand up well over the idiot’s height. “Oh, and a dick—gotta have one of those too.”

“Fuck you!”

“Go fuck yourself,” I snip back. “‘Cause I sure as hell won’t do it, pencil dick.”

The guy fucking snarls at me, but I ignore him and continue on, ready for destruction.

Stopping just inside the cafeteria, my eyes scan the room, halting when I spot my target. I crack my neck. This is about to get uglier than one of my mother’s binge days.

"Looks like the whore's made her entrance." The comment comes from a short-haired blonde sitting at the end of the table that my eyes are locked on. My target. I march towards her and dumb bitch that she is, she smiles when I stop in front of her. I don’t even give her a chance to react or see my fist coming. One second she’s sitting there, her smug ass attitude making her cakey makeup crack as she tilts her head up at me and the next, my fist is flying towards her face.

"You bitch!" Her shriek of shock and horror is like music to my ears as she falls out of her chair and scrambles back on her hands and ass. A ripple goes through the room and all conversation stops as eyes turn to me. I’m used to being the center of unwanted attention. Patricia has fucked enough of these