My Wicked Heart (Wicked Poison 2)

The house's back leads into the woods, and I don’t plan to go around the front where other people can see me.

My phone rings in my pocket, and I have to close my eyes to the sound of it.

It’s the ringtone Paige set for Rylee.

Some shit about love.

I tried to be a better man.

I really did. For them. For her.

But I think once you know who you really are, there is no escaping it. I am not a good man. I am anything but. I am my mother’s son, and these hands have seen death and taken life multiple times. I doubt this will be the last.

I light a match and throw it, stepping out of the house I once called home. A place that fed me, gave me money, and helped me survive. But also, one that trapped me in its clutches.

Burn, you fucking whore. Burn.

Chapter 4

Rylee

“You’ve heard the news?” Rhianna asks while sitting next to me. Today is Paige’s funeral and marks three days since I last saw August.

“The house?” I ask.

She simply nods in answer.

Two days ago, that was all I heard about. How two bodies were discovered—one of them I watched die—and the house ablaze.

“I figured you would know about that. Know that he may be coming. Are you okay with that?”

“It was his sister, Rhi. Would you be okay if I didn’t come to your funeral?” I bite back at her.

“No, but you know that’s not what I meant. I meant will you be okay.”

I shrug, standing in my black heels and a black dress. It’s tight-fitting, but it’s the only thing I could find in my closet that was remotely appropriate.

“Has Noah spoken to him?” I ask.

“Yes. August was questioned about the house, but he had an alibi. Two, actually.” My head whips around to her. “Sully and another man. I think he’s the security somewhere.”

Wow, okay. I guess I should have expected that.

“Anyway, he’s fine. Noah said he’s laying low.”

I doubt that, but I hope so.

A knock comes on the door, and we both turn to Noah standing there.

“It’s time to go, ladies.” We nod and follow him out. Beckham is meeting us there, as he is going with Mom and Dad. He’s been distant from me lately, and I hate that fact. I hate that he doesn’t think he can come and talk to me.

The drive isn’t long, and when we arrive, most everyone is here. I look for August as if just the sight of him may ease my discomfort.

I’m afraid it won’t, but what if it does?

I shake my head and get out of the car. My parents and Beckham are standing a little way from the car, so I head straight over and place my hands on Beckham’s shoulders, pulling him in for a hug. He doesn’t cuddle me back, but he does let me hold him. “I love you,” I whisper before I pull away.

Rhianna slides her hand in mine as Beckham stands there dressed in his suit, his head down. He takes a deep breath, then walks to where we will be sitting, the rest of us following. We sit at the front next to Glenn. There is a seat saved next to Glenn, so I can only guess it’s for August.

A woman steps over and looks at Glenn, who is too lost in his own personal pain to even notice her before she goes to sit at the back. I recognize her, though she looks a little different. It’s August’s mother, and who I’m guessing is Paige’s as well.

“Rylee.” When she says my name, I glance up. Her eyes are focused past the graves where a man is walking toward us, dressed in a black suit and dark glasses covering his eyes.

He is devastatingly beautiful.

Glenn stands and pulls him in for a brief one-arm hug, offering him the seat next to him. I hear a few people whispering, and I watch, hoping he will look my way, but he never does.

The service is beautiful. My mother did a great job. I lean my head on Beckham’s shoulder as I listen to him softly cry. Though he tenses a bit, he doesn’t push me off. When people start to stand, we stay seated. When others move away, we stay where we are.

“The pain,” he says, and I turn to him to see him gripping his chest.

I don’t know how to fix it because it’s not something anyone can fix.

So instead, I wrap my arms around him, and we stay that way until we’re the last people here and raindrops start falling on us, but we still don’t move.

We sit.

Because that’s what he needs.

And what Beckham needs, I am willing to give him.

I don’t know how long we wait, how long we sit in the rain, but the sky isn’t bright anymore, and the clouds hover, dripping sweet rain all over us.