Sicko(61)

Kicking out my leg, I watch as Wicked grabs one of the kitchen chairs and swings it around to sit on it backward. “Whoever he is, she’s protecting him for a reason.” I’m still not sure how I feel about Wicked and his play with Jade. I know that I trust him and his intentions, but knowing that he has fucked her doesn’t sit right with me.

In fact, it makes my fingers fucking itch to be around his throat. And hers.

“I don’t doubt that,” I say, flicking my lighter around my fingers. “She knows I’ll fucking kill him.”

“What’d you do when she was in high school with all her boyfriends then? Damn,” Gypsy mutters. “Fuck, Sick, you’re psycho over her.”

Silence. “It’s cute that you think I allowed that.”

“Poor bitch,” Gypsy jokes, shuffling in his seat.

Lion stands from the sofa. “Have you had any new videos sent to you?”

I grit my teeth, my blood dousing the flames that blaze in my chest. “Yes. There have been two.”

Lion pulls his keys out of his pocket. “Keep an eye on the videos while trying to control your woman. You going to be good going on your run tomorrow or should I send someone else?”

I flip Lion off. “Fuck you. I’ll be fine.”

Lion chuckles as he makes his way to the front door. He casts me one last glance before stepping through the threshold with Gypsy, Wicked, and Slim behind him.

Lion pauses at the threshold. “I never asked you about how she came about being your sister.”

“Hmmm,” I answer. “Because I don’t really tell anyone about it.” I lean forward until my elbows are pressed into my thighs. “She was dropped on our doorstep.”

Lion tilts his head, crossing his arms in front of himself. “You didn’t go through an adoption process?”

“No. Well, after she was left there, Mom and Dad did what they needed to do to find her family, but there was no record for her. Because of Dad, he pulled some strings and managed to legally adopt her after a child abandonment issue was released.”

“Does she know this?”

I lean back. “No, she thinks she was left at the orphanage and we went through the process that way.”

“Something ain’t right with that,” Lion says through a frown. “Sit out the run. Try to get to the bottom of whatever is going on with her.”

“Lion,” I growl. He knows damn well how much this club means to me and how I have never allowed anything to come near my club or brothers. Except you almost wanted to kill Wicked over Jade.

He shakes his head, throwing up his hands. I know there’s no getting through to the stubborn old bastard. “Sicko, take care of the girl. She’s your family, which means she’s our family. Shit is tight in the club right now. We haven’t had a war on our hands in the past year. Do whatever it is that you need to do.”

Flicking a toothpick around in my mouth, I grin at him. “I still want that run.”

“Fucking hell. Why?” Lion says, exasperated.

I take the toothpick out of my mouth and toss it onto the coffee table. “Because I have a lot of anger inside and it’s gotta come out one way or the other.”

“You wanna start a war?” Lion asks, one brow quirked.

“Nah, not this time.” I wink at him as he flips me off, slamming the door behind himself and then it’s just me.

And her.

In a house where we don’t have to be brother and sister.

Growling, I squeeze my eyes closed and try to cut out the memories of what she felt like wrapped around my cock that night. I should have picked up on it. Why the fuck didn’t I know it was her?





Three a.m. The red numbers that flash on the bedside table peer back at me.

Swinging my legs over the bed, I run my fingers through my hair, pushing it out of the way. I freeze when I remember where I am.

Royce.

Black silk sheets, inky covers, and white pillows. There’s a single art piece hanging on the wall, an empty canvas. White. Nothing painted on it. A large TV that takes up most of the wall hangs on the opposite side, with a chest of drawers below it.

Inhaling and exhaling, I try to pull myself together. Reaching for my phone on the bedside table, I flick through the home screen.

Nothing.

No missed calls, no text messages from James. The fact that he hasn’t reached out to me sends fear rustling through me. Pushing off the bed, I make my way to the door, swinging it open and browse down the long hallway. There’s a light that’s on at the end, so I make my way toward it, the cold floor pressing against the soles of my feet. My heart crackles in my chest, my stomach rolling with unease. I don’t know what Royce is going to be like when I see him.

I take the two steps that lead down into the lounge and kitchen area, pausing when I find him lying back against the sofa, an arm thrown over his face and his head resting on the back of it. He’s shirtless, with nothing but his jeans unbuttoned and hanging low on his hips, displaying his Calvin Klein briefs. It’s the first time I feel like I can see all of his tattoos. They’re mainly skulls and demonic faces of sorts, but with the numbers 2000 tattooed over his chest. My heart short circuits when I see the numbers—my numbers—the year I was born, painted into his skin with the same graffiti font he used to splash over Orson’s rock when we were kids.