Rage of Vendetta (The Vendetta Series #2)

BONUS STORY - Poison Ivy

Poison Ivy — Time Frame: Before the events of In Vendetta House

A smattering of blood sprayed onto the white wall, flung like artwork against a blank canvas.

Courtney Fitzherald stumbled back in shock, unable to believe she had really just done that. She brought her hand to her face, staring and staring at the shorn skin on her knuckles, already reddening and swelling.

"How do you feel about your new placement, Courtney?" she was asked, the words hitting her face coupled with a puff of smoke. 

"It's fantastic," she lied, seething the words right through the gaps in her teeth.

Her eyes flicked away, watching her foster father for his reaction. His hand was cupped at his cheek, where she had hit him and scraped herself on the piercings in his face. A vein bulged on his neck. His knees were shaking slightly in his stillness. 

"You should just run for it," the girl with the coal-lined eyes had told her in the social services waiting room. "No one would care about what happens to people like us anyway."

"I have nowhere to go," Courtney replied.

The girl darted her gaze to Courtney, eons of age behind them though she could only be a few years older. "There's always somewhere."

Courtney had started this; she had dreamed of starting this for weeks, and now she needed to finish it. 

The petite fourteen-year orphan did not think twice about grabbing the nearby kitchen knife and dropping it on the man's foot before he could move.

He bellowed out expletives as the blade of metal pinned him to the floorboards, screaming at octaves Courtney didn't think was possible.

"You little—" 

Up, left, and down.

As her foster father attempted to move, slow from his protruding belly and older age, Courtney caught her chance. He cocked his head to the side as he struggled, and she rammed the hard bone of her palm into the soft of his neck. A puff of air escaped. Not sparing a moment of pause, Courtney bit back a cry, and boxed his left ear with all the force she had. 

He crumbled to the floor, shrieking, buckling, writhing at the awkward angle while his foot was still pinned to the floor, creating a pool of blood dripping into the wood.

Finish it. Down.

Courtney made a fist. And thumped down.

Silence. Then a breath. Another. He was only unconscious. Courtney knew that. That was what Courtney was going for. 

At least that's what she told herself.

The house was eerie now; the walls were the inner lining of living, breathing lungs.

Courtney charged upstairs for her belongings. Two hiccups away from losing it. Three scratch marks away from tearing herself apart. 

A glance at the clock told her the email had probably been read and processed half an hour ago. The sudden screaming of sirens outside confirmed it. She hauled the giant duffel bag onto her shoulder, and slipped out the back door. 

The grass in their yard hadn't been tended to in years. The green tips almost furled around her waist as she waded through for the fence. Courtney could have sworn the grass was almost comforting her, brushing and curling against her skin, but she knew it was just her imagination.