See No Evil

Prologue

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The sun beats down on my back, scorching its way through the rich, dark fabric of my clothes, the unyielding heat turning this day even more relentless. No one bothered telling the North Carolina sun that it’s still May, and this heatwave that is so intent on lashing out on us is uncalled for. Even though it’s technically still spring, there isn’t a hint of a breeze in the air to give us any comfort. Just the blazing sun overhead, making this despicable affair that much more insufferable.

The somber crowd curses the rising temperature, shifting from left to right in their restlessness and sweat. Some go as far as using umbrellas to provide some shade in the hopes it will cool them down, while others just suffer the sun’s punishment and stew in their discomfort in silence.

My nose twitches in disgust, but it has little to do with the stench of body odor in the air and more to do with the scene in front of me. My revulsion to this charade is potent, yet my sorrowful frown is stitched in place, mimicking everyone else’s expression to a fault.

Fucking fakes, the lot of them. With their false tears and wet, stained handkerchiefs.

However, it’s not the mourning crowd that has my blood boiling. It’s the men standing side-by-side in front of the polished caskets who deserve my utter contempt. I look at all four of them, appearing forlorn in their grief as if they weren’t the the reason why we had to bury two of Asheville’s most esteemed inhabitants today. Their fabricated act is impeccable, making everyone here join in their misery. It sickens me how well they play their part in this abhorring sham, pretending to be heartbroken rather than admitting it’s because of them that these two bodies are meeting their final resting place.

The preacher continues with his rant, while the mourners’ soft, lamenting wails give his words that extra pitch of melancholy. I feel my nose flair in loathing, and I have to bite my i

“For as much as it hath pleased Almighty God, it is of his great mercy to take unto himself the soul of our dear brother and sweet sister here departed. We, therefore, commit their bodies to the ground as our Lord intended. Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust.”

Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust.

Right.

Some of us aren’t made of the same substance. Some of us were born and molded in lies, betrayals, and hate. My eyes lock, yet again, on the subjects of my disdain, knowing they are proof that we are not all born equal, nor should we leave this earth in the same way we entered it. And if the Almighty is too busy to deal with their pesky souls, then a vengeful, earthbound hand should guarantee their fate.

I clench my fist beside me as I watch them.

They think they’ve gotten away with it.

That no one is aware of their scheming ways.

But I know.

I know it all.

Not just what occurred on that fatal night, but also how their lives are nothing but well-fabricated tales that portray an immaculate exterior and conceal the corruption within. They think they rule the world, but their time is over. One by one, I’ll tear them apart and make them pay for their arrogance.

I repress the sinister smile that begs to tug at my lips, knowing exactly who I’ll play with first. My choice might be obvious, but it still gives me a sick satisfaction by starting off with the weakest link in their twisted quartet. The one who thinks himself invincible, with no vulnerabilities for anyone to exploit—Fi

I discreetly observe him ru

He should be afraid.

Very afraid.

They all should be.

My examining eye leaves Fi

But I see you. Don’t I?

You can’t hide from me, Easton.

None of you can.

Right next to him, dressed to the nines, as if he’s just stepped out of his house for a Vogue photo shoot, stands the most vicious of the group—Colt Turner. I see, however, that instead of the relaxed swagger he’s known for, his spine is ramrod straight, and his shoulders are stiff as a board. His cocky grin—the one that always seems to make him look so regal as if he owned the fucking place—is wiped off his face, too.

Good.

That grin should have never crested his lips, to begin with. He might have had a silver spoon in his mouth since the day he was born, but at this moment he looks like he’s being force-fed something too bitter and rancid to swallow down. It’s making him twist and contort his face into something ugly, just like his damned soul.

Not looking so fucking royal now, are you, Colt?

What happened? Did your conscience finally get the best of you?

Do you even have one?

He’s standing there, trying so hard to hide his true self, but I know exactly what type of filth runs through his veins. Just like the rest of them, he’s a waste of space.

But you’re not even the worst of them, are you, Colt?

Nah. Not even by a long shot.

That place on the podium goes to his cousin, and Asheville’s golden boy—Lincoln Hamilton. He’s the real wolf in sheep’s clothing. He looks like a damned choir boy when, in reality, he’s just as hideous as we all are. Yet here he is, solemn and teary-eyed, as we all stand back and watch his parents being laid to rest. The fucker is the reason they are now worm food, yet he has the audacity to look torn.

But unlike the others, that isn’t a ploy, is it Lincoln?

He is torn up inside for what he’s done, for what he allowed to happen right inside his own home. Through whispers in the night and plans cu

And that makes you the most arrogant asshole of them all.

I know exactly what happened. He might think he can fool the whole world, but he’ll never fool me. He never has.

I know the real you, Lincoln. The dark and ugly part of you.

I know all his fears and aspirations. I know his secret desires and forbidden cravings. His Adonis looks and well-ma

You will be the one I will toy with the most. I’ll take pleasure in watching you squirm.