My Wicked Heart (Wicked Poison 2)

I turn to look at Beckham. His jaw is stiff as he grinds his teeth.

“It wasn’t his fault. You know this,” Glenn says.

I look between the two and grimace at the uncertain tone.

“Beckham,” I say his name, but he doesn’t look at me.

He keeps his focus on Glenn. “It is his fault. It’s all his fault,” Beckham says through clenched teeth.

Glenn shakes his head then steps closer to Beckham. “No, it’s not. It’s not his fault at all.” Glenn’s hand touches Beckham’s shoulder, and I am afraid I’m missing the point here.

“Glenn?” I ask, stepping around the car.

“You should go, Rylee. Beckham won’t be going with you.” I look at Beckham. Confusion is written all over my face, so much so I am sure my eyebrows are touching.

“Beckham,” I say, and he scrunches up his nose.

“It’s his fault, Rylee,” he repeats.

“Whose?” I ask, still not understanding.

Glenn goes to speak, but Beckham cuts him off before he can. “It’s all August’s fault. All. Of. It.”

Oh. Oh … shit.

“I…” What do I even say? “It’s Josh’s fault, not August’s, Beckham,” I manage to reply.

“You can’t see it because you are blinded in your relationship.” Beckham leans in, and his voice high when he screams, “You can’t see it.”

I take a step back.

That hurt, a lot.

My baby brother is so angry. His pain and hurt radiate from him with such force, I’m afraid he’s going to loathe me for loving August.

I can’t lose Beckham.

“She’s right. It’s not his fault, Beckham. Come with me. Come on.” Glenn turns Beckham, and they start walking away to his car. I watch as Beckham leaves, not looking my way at all. Glenn only gives me a curt nod as they drive off, and I am left standing next to my car, wondering what I should do.

A part of me is screaming to get in the car and go.

To see what he’s doing.

See how he’s doing.

The other is telling me to turn around, walk back inside, curl myself in bed, and not move.

I shake my head. No, I’ve done that. Now I have to get in and see him because, clearly, he won’t come find me.

Somehow, I manage to start the car. With steady hands, I drive to where I believe August is located. When I come to a stop out the front, the door is open. Stepping out of the car, no sounds are coming from inside. I close the car door, hugging my arms around my body for comfort as I stand at the entrance.

It’s cold.

Why is it so cold?

“August,” I yell for him in hope he’s here and I don’t have to step inside. But when no one answers, I walk through the doorway and instantly have to cover my nose.

Oh, holy hell, what is that stink?

It smells bad.

“August,” I say again, walking farther in. I hear a muffled noise and step over many bottles strewn over the floor as I make my way to what I am guessing is the living room.

“Leave,” a voice booms.

I search for the source but cannot find it. I know it’s August, though. I’d know that voice anywhere just like the back of my hand.

It whispers to me in my dreams.

I love that voice.

Muffled sounds are heard again, and I step over more shit on the floor until I come face-to-face with August. His hair is a mess. His face is stricken with anger, and his hands are bunched to his sides, one of them gripping a knife. When I listen, muffled noises are heard again, so I glance past August to the two men who are lying on the floor, both of them gagged and tied. Blood is seeping from multiple wounds, and it’s pooling on the carpet beneath them.

“August,” I say again and step closer.

“I said fucking leave, Rylee. What part of that don’t you understand?” he screams.

“Beckham blames you,” I blurt out. I don’t know why I said it, but for some reason, it’s the only thing that leaves my mouth.

“Good,” he says, his hand clenching the knife so hard he is white-knuckling it.

“What do you plan to do with that?” I ask, my eyes flicking to the blade glinting in the dim light.

He smirks, and it’s not your average smirk. It’s more sinister. Actually, it’s more like a sneer.

“You should leave before you find out,” August says, not taking his forest green eyes off me.

“Your sister,” I say solemnly.

“Is dead … I know.” He says it with calm certainty, and I wonder who this person is standing in front of me. He seems to be void of all emotion. I haven’t seen this side of him before, and I’m not sure what’s caused him to be this way.

“You should come back with me,” I say.

“Not gonna happen, rich girl. You and me, we were a fantasy that has now burst. So, leave before you get in trouble.”