Sicko(12)

An idea pops in my head, forged there by my raging anger that someone wanted—no, tried—to kill my fucking brother last night.

I slip off the bed with new determination, grabbing Sloane’s hand and forgetting all about the way Dad was staring at me. “You’re right. We should go.” Everyone stops their chatting, and I know what they’re doing, they’re all waiting for my mental snapping point.

“Duchess,” Orson warns. “You okay?” Only Royce, Orson, and Storm call me Duchess. No one else. One time when I was ten years old, Trevor Maxwell tried to call me Duchess during PE. I punched him in the nose. That was the first and only time I ended up in the principal’s office, but not the first time that I broke someone’s nose. My brothers always protected me. It’s time for me to do the same.

“I’m fine. I need a shower. I’ll be back.” Sloane and I begin making our way to the door, but just as I reach for it, I turn my head over my shoulder one last time, my eyes resting on Royce. He’s fast asleep, his lips parted. He looks so peaceful. Someone tried to hurt him. Bad. And now, as stupid as it might sound, I want vengeance, and I know where to go first.





The first thing that I realistically should have mentioned was that my lack of popularity and friends isn’t because I don’t attract them or that no one wants to be friends with me, because history would show that that’s not the case. It’s that my brother usually scares everyone off, which admittedly, is why I have the balls to do what I’m about to do.

After taking a shower and changing into clean clothes, Sloane and I make our way down to the kitchen. I open up one of the cabinets, keys upon keys staring straight at me. I don’t have my permit yet, but I know how to drive.

I should choose one of the low-key cars. The ones that won’t stick out. So I won’t choose Dad’s Porsche, or Mom’s Tesla. There’s no point taking the Range Rover or Royce’s Ford. My fingers flex over the keys to Royce’s black 1969 Camaro.

I smirk, swiping them off the hook.

“Um, are you sure that’s a good idea?” Sloane’s blue eyes swing between me and my metal carrying fingers.

I flick them into the palm of my hand and nod. “Yes, and stop freaking out.” We make our way into the garage and I slide into the driver’s seat of Royce’s immaculate old-school ride. The leather upholstery is new, the dash polished with sweet-scented oil. It smells of freshly stitched leather, a hint of Royce’s cologne, and a breath of cigarette smoke.

My chest contracts with his smell as I close my eyes and dig the keys into the ignition, twisting it over until the deep rumble of the V8 vibrates beneath my butt.

“Listen,” Sloane murmurs, reaching for her belt and clicking it in. “I’m all for this”—she gestures up and down my body— “but I can’t lie. I’m also very scared, considering you’re fucking with Royce Kane, and I get it. You’re his little brat who can do no wrong, but I gotta say…” She whistles lowly, but before another word can come out of her mouth, I slam it into first gear and press my foot down, flooring it out of the garage with a roar of smoke and a scream of tires.

“Oh my god!” Sloane yelps, grasping at the door handle. Her laughter is infectious as we fly onto the main road, my hair whipping me across my face with the windows down. “I have to video this.”

“Fine.” I laugh. “But nothing goes online. I don’t want to stress him out even more.”

“Promise.” Sloane chuckles, fingers flying over her phone with her wild blonde hair whipping her across the face. She doesn’t look up when she asks me her next question. “So where are we going?”

“To Matty’s house.”

Sloane stills, her hand pausing over her phone. “Why?”

I tuck my hair behind my ear and make my way toward Matty McAlister’s house. “Because I know that he was there last night, and I also know that he’s going to tell me everything that went on.”

Sloane nods. “Seems legit.”

We continue the short drive to Matty’s house, it’s almost dark when we finally pull up to his gated community. The security passes us through as I roll Royce’s Chevy up to the circular driveway.

I slam the car door closed and make my way up the steps leading to his house. Just as I come to the door, it swings open and Matty stands on the other side, his innocent hair ruffled, and his pearly blue eyes dipped in sadness.

“What happened?” I ask Matty. Matty and I are a long story. We’ve shared stolen kisses since we were young, but it was all innocent. Sloane has been saying that he’s in love with me for years, but I don’t buy it.

Matty runs his pale hands through his hair, flexing his muscles. “Listen, I think you should ask Royce.”

“I’m asking you…” I try for the gentler approach, seeing as he’s quite clearly upset.

Matty takes a seat on the step, his mouth covered by his hands while his eyes come to mine.

“Chambers said something about you, Royce flew off like Royce does, and this time, instead of Chambers retracting his bullshit comments, he tried to fight Roy. Shirts came off, Royce was on fire, ready to pound on some flesh and enjoy it—which he did. He beat Chambers pretty bad, but he went to walk away, and that’s when Chambers said—” Matty pauses, and anger flashes over his eyes, his teeth clenched.