Sicko(52)

“Do you have to be a pisshead while your old man is away on a run?” Gypsy grabs her by the wrist and swings her over his shoulder, carrying her limp body into the house.

“And that, my friends, is why I didn’t get up on that table.” Nellie chuckles up at Karli, who’s left dancing alone.

I turn in Royce’s grip, his chest to mine. “I’m fine. I just need my drink.” I lean back to reach for it but Royce whacks the cup off the table, the contents splashing out across the ground. His jaw clenches as his hands dive into his pocket. He tosses his keys at Wicked, who’s watching us both carefully. “Drive us home.”

“I just got here!” I say, confused. I love the clubhouse.

“And now you’re leaving.” Royce’s hand falls into mine. Our fingers intertwine as he directs me to the garage where the bikes are lined up. There’s another shed behind the parking lot and beside the bigger shed where the bar and party time usually is, with a large metal sheet door closed.

Wicked comes up beside me as Royce opens the garage door, sliding it open. “You really didn’t think that was going to happen?” Wicked asks under his breath.

“He said he doesn’t give a shit about me anymore, so no, I didn’t think that would happen.”

“For someone apparently so smart, you’re sure dumb as fuck,” Wicked growls, following Royce into the garage.

“Royce!” a girly voice calls out from behind. I’m sick of all the vaginas that want him. “Can I come?”

I turn, studying her up and down. “I can answer that, and it’s a no.”

Royce steps up behind me, his fingers sprawling out over my belly, before pushing me behind him.

“Get in the car.” He turns to Bea. “No, you can’t.”

“But I haven’t been to your house!” Bea drops her bottom lip.

I turn around to say something else when Wicked’s hand covers my mouth and he starts dragging me to the shed, opening the door and tossing me into the back seat like I weigh nothing.

“Wicked!” I yell at him, just as he slides into the driver’s seat and starts up the car.

I freeze. Familiar earthy rumbling of an angry V8 tremors beneath my butt, so I start taking in the details of the car. Tight leather seats, aged steering wheel. “This is his Charger.”

“Yep,” Wicked says, leaning his head on the misty window.

“Huh,” I scoff, shaking my head. “Of course he kept his car, just couldn’t keep me.” My eyes find him and Bea, who are still talking in front of us. Wicked hasn’t turned the headlights on yet, probably because it will flash through the entire compound.

“What is she to him anyway?”

Wicked chuckles. “She’s just one of the many girls Royce keeps around to fuck him until he can’t see straight. That’s all.” He leans forward and flicks on the radio, pushing the touchscreen and connecting to Bluetooth.

I pause as Bea leans up on her tippy toes, her fingers around Royce’s neck. She kisses him hard and I look away, not wanting to watch anymore.

“Oh, bitch just kissed him.” Wicked shakes his head. “Royce doesn’t kiss anyone.”

I ignore everyone now, pulling out my phone and flicking through my text messages.

“Why’d you text me?” I say, my eyes connect to his in the review mirror.

“You wanna do this now?” His brow arches in question.

The back door opens on the other side of me, Royce’s cologne spilling into my bubble. I move as far away from him as possible, anger searing through my veins about him and Bea, and then I find myself angry that I’m angry at him.

Wicked revs the car loud enough to shake the tin shed and drives us out of the garage. “Rehab” from Machine Gun Kelly starts playing as I continue to flick through the photos on my phone. Anything to not look at Royce. His hand comes to my chin, turning my head to face him. My jaw is set, my eyes faded. Wicked cranks up the song and I wish he didn’t. The lyrics hit me on levels they shouldn’t be able to reach.

He’s fixed on me, searching my face as we drive by streetlights. With every passing, the light only illuminates his features. I wait for him to say something, anything. He doesn’t. His eyes fall to my lips before going down to my breasts, to my exposed belly, before coming back up to meet mine.

“You mad?” he mouths with a smirk. The music is too loud to hear him.

I’m done.

I rip off my belt and move across the seat. He doesn’t even seem fazed or shocked as I wrap my thighs around his waist and settle on top of his hard body. He inches back by spreading his legs wide, resting his head against the top of the seat. His eyes remain on mine and my heart beats furiously in my chest. “Yes, I’m mad,” I say loudly, sliding my thumb between his lips. He bites on it roughly, his hands cupping my ass. Thud. Thud.

His other hand comes up behind my neck, pulling my face closer to his. “Fucking stop pulling away from me then.”

My lips drop to his and he opens slightly, sucking my bottom lip into his mouth. I deepen the kiss, bringing him closer, his hips meeting the inside of my thighs. The pain that was there is dissolving with every thrust. Having Royce under my grip is enough for me to forget, even if just for now. Just when I think he’s going to pull away from me, he flips me onto my back until I’m lying spread eagle over the seats, and sinks between my legs, his mouth never leaving mine. His tongue explores my mouth, flicking, rubbing, and massaging over mine. Wicked must crank the music up even more to cut us out as he picks up the speed.