Sicko(3)

Especially when you compare me to my best friend, Sloane.

Jogging up the marble staircase and up to the second floor, I pause outside my bedroom door. There’s my room, and then Royce’s room right beside it. Two polar opposites, but neither could truly live without the other. His door is slightly ajar, and my anger has somewhat fizzled. Fighting with Royce does that to me—a lot.

Squeezing the handle, I push on it slightly until it swings open. Royce’s room is dark, moody, and trashy. The walls are the color of freshly spilled blood with silk white trimmings and his furniture is all tarnished aged wood. His bed looks straight out of an old Victorian porno, and speaking of porno, he has a good amount on his walls.

My cheeks heat as my palms itch. “Can I please have my phone back?”

He’s leaning against the headboard of his bed, shirtless, with one foot hanging over the bed and the other pulled up to his chest, his elbow resting on it. His eyes are on mine, hooded and glazed. This is who Royce is. Cocky, brash, and oh-so-fucking aware of every single thing he brings to the table, all to just eat you. He knew exactly what he did to the opposite sex, which is exactly why he did it. I just don’t know who he thinks he is trying it with me.

“Roy?” I mumble, pleading with myself to not allow my attention to fall down his chest. It’s no big deal, I’ve seen him naked a few times—for a few reasons. One being he hardly ever wears clothes, and two, we share a bathroom. “Blueberry Yum Yum” is playing low in the background from a boom box in the corner of his room, which is typical. He has a deep love for Luda’s old music.

He tilts his head. “Do you want to sneak out with him?” His tone is menacing but laced with fascination. He moves his hand over his hard muscles, right down to the button of his jeans. He flicks open the button before standing, tossing my phone down onto his bed.

I push off the doorframe an inch, ready to pounce.

“Well go on then, Duchess.” His eyes come to mine, the soft swell of his lips curving over his freakishly straight teeth. He nudges his head, one hand sneaking into his pants. “Come get it.”

My brain short circuits. I try to reason with myself why that shouldn’t sound so dirty. Brother.

Taking two steps, I dive onto his bed until I land on my tummy, phone in hand and a smug smile of triumph on my mouth. That smile falters when suddenly his fist is in my hair as he tugs my head backward. I gulp, swallowing past the sudden tightness in my throat. He guides my head back by my hair, and I really, really hope no one walks in right now, because it would look like fifty shades of incest.

I’m peering up at Royce as he looks down at me from behind, his head still cocked. “Hmmm, now, see, I don’t want to be thinking that some little fuck has this exact view right here.” His eyes crawl down my back, landing on my ass. He stills. “That’d make me pretty mad.” He comes back to my face, his tongue slipping out to swipe over his bottom lip. “And you know how I get when I’m mad, Duchess.” His brows wriggle.

I slap his arm away and his head falls backward, a loud barking laugh spilling through the room. He clutches his tummy. “Sorry, Dutch. Won’t do that again.”

I roll off his bed. “You’re a prick, and to answer your question.” I glare at him once I’m back in the safe zone, i.e., near the door. “I wouldn’t mind him looking at me like that.” His laughter stops and the temperature in the room falls to levels that could match an igloo.

He takes one step. “Take that back.”

Now it’s my turn to wriggle my brows. “Never!”

He launches at me, but I’m too fast, spinning on my heels and screaming as I take the two steps to my bedroom door. I slip into my room, but when I try to slam the door closed, his arm snakes in, stopping it.

I yelp again. “Royce!” My heart is jumping around in my chest, heat flushing through my body. “I’m sorry!”

He flies forward, his arm hooking around my back and his heavy body falling onto mine. I land on my bed with a thud, the puffy yellow comforter serving as a landing zone.

“Royce!” I shove at his chest, a laugh vibrating through me.

He brings his hands to my wrists and pins my arms above my head. “Tell me you won’t fuck him.”

Finally, my laughing subsides, and my eyes collide with his. He’s so close that I can feel the heat radiating off the tip of his nose.

“What?” I ask, searching his eyes. “Why would you even say that?”

The muscle in his jaw tenses. “Just promise me, Duchess.” His tone is soft, but his voice is cloaked in pain. Why does this matter to him so much?

“Royce,” I snort, searching his face. From his soft tanned skin to his sharp-edged jawline. His skin is free from tattoos, but he always talks about getting ink. When he doesn’t smile, or smirk, or even look away from me, I shake my head. “I promise, but Roy, you don’t have to worry about that.” I widen my eyes at my invasive brother.

“Oh really.” His blue eyes work their way down my neck to my breasts. He comes back to meet mine. “I beg to fucking differ.”

“Royce…” I warn.

“Jade,” he whispers, parroting my tone.

“You don’t have to worry about that. Like at all.” I widen my eyes again, hoping he would catch what I’m meaning.