Sicko(54)

I try to conceal the hurt in my chest at how easily these boys moved on. I know that’s what you’re supposed to do, but they were all I knew all of my life, and then within six months they were gone. All three of them.

“Hmmm,” I murmur, ignoring the intensity of Royce’s gaze by turning back to the beach.

“Jade,” he growls from behind me. “Turn around.”

“Mmmm, nope. I’m good.” I can’t look at him right now. I’m afraid he’ll see the secrets I’m hiding beneath, regardless of how bad I want to. I want to kiss him again, too, and I want him to wrap me in his arms and remind me where my happy place always is.

He clears his throat after a long beat of silence. “Remember when you were four-years-old and you’d cry every night. You weren’t sure why, but you did. So I’d sneak into your room and let you sleep on my chest.” My heart cracks in my chest, but instead of it being from pain, it cracks open to allow Royce back in. Piercing ringing blares through my ears. He laughs. “It was the only way you could get to sleep for two fucking years. Tired the shit out of me, but it was my most favorite part of being your brother.”

“What’s your point, Roy?” I finally face him, tears pooling at the corner of my eyes.

He catches one with his thumb and brings it to his mouth, sucking the drop off. I ignore the way his plush lips cushion around his thumb for the sake of my ovaries. “My point is how do I go from that to wanting to bend you over this couch and fuck you until you fucking scream. Hmmm?”

“I don’t know,” I say, blinking. “Maybe the same way you left me in that house alone.”

“Oh fuck, Dutch.” He shakes his head, grabbing at his hair, frustrated. “When are you going to drop that fucking shit? I did what I had to do, and that’s the answer that you’re just going to have to live with.” He turns his back to me, walking away. It only infuriates me even more.

“It’s not fucking good enough, Royce!” I snap. He ignores me again and before I can stop myself, I raise my hand up and throw my empty glass across the room until it smacks him on the back of his head. Sweat glistens over his bare chest when he turns. I was so caught up in my outburst that I missed the tattoos that cover his whole back. Before I can tilt my head to study them, he’s storming back to me, grabbing me by my throat and cutting off my airway while throwing me onto the leather lounge.

“I dare you.” His eyes are on mine, furious, as his lips curl around his teeth. “To fucking hit me and see what the fuck I do.”

I wriggle from under his grip and his hands fly around the place, snatching my wrists to push them above my head.

“No shit, I’m going to fucking kill you.”

“Good!” I snap, overcome with emotion. “At least that will make it go away.”

His jaw tenses. “Make what go away? See, you keep saying shit like that and it makes me angsty.” He tightens his grip around my wrists. “And I’m almost certain you don’t want me feeling that way.”

“Royce?”

“What?” he says, his eyes falling to my lips.

“Get off me.”

The corner of his mouth kicks up in a smirk as he jackknifes off my body. As soon as his weight is gone, I sigh, stretching my legs out. “Can you take me back to the dorm? I have to catch up on my homework.”





I flick the knife between my index finger and my ring finger, rolling it between each one as the old clock ticks in the background, filling the silence with its loud, rusted hands.

Tick.

Tock.

Tick.

“Do you know why you’re here?” There was a TV in the middle of the room with a video playing. We couldn’t see his face, but he was dressed in all black. “I’ll tell you.” We’re in a room. Cold. Dark. Basement? My wrists were bound to the back of the chair, my mouth tied closed. I found Orson and Storm beside me, dazed and confused. It was a big fucking night last night. Way bigger than we had anticipated. In fact, O wasn’t supposed to be drinking at all because of his game today.

I pulled on my ties. We’d been fucking kidnapped. Anger seeped into my pores, my muscles flexing with tension. Motherfucker.

The video began to fuzz, like the old box TVs then it came clear. A single black seat, dark leather cushions, a black hoodie with black slacks, and glossy loafers. I was raised in money, spoke fluent ‘rich motherfucker’, and although this motherfucker used the hoodie as a blanket for his identity, I knew for a fact he knew money too. “Each of you are leaving. Tonight. Your life has been pushed into fast-forward.”

Growling, I tried to bite the rag out of my mouth to no avail. Orson was jumping around in his chair, attempting to pull from his ties while Storm remained quiet, watching the TV as if studying every single detail. We were fucking eighteen years old. What the fuck could he want with us? Obviously not money, so it must be a favor from one, or all of our parents. You have three of the richest fucks in America sitting in one room, bound and tied, and you know that it has something to do with the parents.

His voice comes back, the robotic tone a dead giveaway that this asshole didn’t want us to know who he was. “Before you even try to refuse, I will tell you right now that there’s one very good reason why each of you are going to listen to every single word that comes out of my mouth and not just obey me, but fear me.”