Chapter 9

CHAPTER NINE

GRAVE

Watching that preppy, frat asshole put his hands all over my girl has my blood boiling and me seeing red. Pushing through the people dancing around them—not caring if Kayce sees me—I am seconds from wrapping my arms around his throat and breaking his fucking neck. The only thing that stops me from ending him in the middle of the party is watching Kayce storm off with a smug smile spread across her face before I get to him.

Making her way through the crowd, she walks with an air of confidence that I have never seen in her. She holds her head high and travels with purpose, causing her lightly curled auburn locks to bounce across her back with every sass-filled step. The snug, short black dress resting high on her thighs accentuates the mouthwatering sway of her hips. While she is always gorgeous, at this moment, she is fucking breathtaking.

How this piece of shit ever managed to make her doubt herself will continue to befuddle me. Throwing my arm over Jackson's shoulder, pretending to commiserate with him, I exclaim, "What a bitch !"

"She always was a mouthy fucking whore," he snarks— unknowingly further digging his own grave— as he takes the beer I offer him. He chugs the full plastic cup. Letting out an obnoxious burp, he crumples it in his hand and throws it to the ground, slurring, "There's plenty of drunk girls at this party to fuck."

"There sure fucking is." I playfully tug at his shoulder, pretending to eye the surrounding girls. Some of them are pretty, but nothing like Kayce.

"Put a little something extra in their drink"—He smirks and taps the front pocket of his jeans—"and these girls will let you do anything. Am I right?"

A selfish fuck. A cheater. And a date rapist.

I'm suddenly feeling like I'm doing the world a favor, instead of just Kayce.

With my arm still around his shoulder, I lead him toward the edge of the crowd. He attempts to shove himself from me when he realizes we're walking away from the party and into the cemetery, only to find his movements are weak and sluggish. Gripping him a little tighter to ensure he stays upright, I lead him deeper into the gravestones. "What the fuck is happening?" he mumbles.

"You mean to tell me you don't know what it feels like to be roofied?" I quip and enjoy watching how fast his eyes grow wide. He tries futilely to push me away again, causing me to stumble and nearly pull us both to the ground. "Relax, Jackson. I'm not dragging you out here to fuck you."

"Thank God, bruh," he slurs, exhaling his sour, boozy breath.

His body grows heavier with each step we take. I glance over our shoulders to ensure we have traveled far enough and see that the party is now a tiny sparkle of light in the distance.

Gripping the front of his shirt with both hands, I use it to keep his wavering body upright. As I fist the fabric, I pull him toward me. "I'm not going to fuck you. I'm going to fucking kill you," I confess, shaking my head.

Using my full weight, I drive his unsteady body backward and tackle him to the ground. His head slams into the grave placard and the crunch of his skull shattering echoes around the tombs surrounding us. Standing over him, crimson blood slowly pools beneath him, filling the name engraved in the smooth marble that will soon extinguish his life. The moonlight illuminates the name Sexton.

"How fitting," I chuckle to myself.

Jackson gurgles, gasping for air, as I turn to head back to the party. He'll be dead soon enough. With how impaired he is, he'll bleed out before he's capable of getting himself off the ground. Normally, I would stay and watch, but I have much better things to do this evening.

My cinnamon is waiting .

Returning to the party, I find her dancing alone in the crowd, and I cannot pull my eyes off her. She's so fucking perfect. Oblivious to my presence, she dances without any holding back, and I envy her hands roaming over her curves. She glances in my direction and when our eyes meet, she all but looks frozen in place.