Sicko

“Thanks, Royce, but it really wasn’t necessary…” I try to contain the bite in my tone, but I wasn’t kidding about the teeth thing… I don’t fucking need him anymore, and it’s too fucking late. Anger rushes through me, down to the tips of my fingers.

Royce places a cigarette between his smirking lips, his head tilting to the side as he watches people pile into the school. “Nah, Duchess, it really was…”

I sigh, because I truthfully can’t be fucked arguing with him right now. “Well, thanks…” My eyes flick to all the guys. “You can leave now.”

He removes his helmet, dropping his cigarette to the ground and putting it out. “I’m walking you up.”

“Royce,” Mom says. “A word?”

“Not right now, Ma. I told you that I’ll come see you next weekend. I’m just here to make sure Jade gets settled in.”

I lick my lips, rolling my eyes. “Fine.” I throw my backpack into his chest. “You can carry this.” There’re a few grunts and chuckles from his friends, but I ignore them all and make my way to the front doors. There’s another reason why he’s here. He doesn’t give a damn how settled I get. He’s not Royce Kane anymore. He’s the big bad biker with big bad friends and with a hole the size of Mars in his chest where his heart used to be.

After we grab my dorm details from the snobby girl in the main foyer, we make our way up the stairs and find my room. Royce’s friends obviously all wanted to stay downstairs. Bar one. His name is Gypsy and he has to be around the same age as me, or in between me and Royce. After his obvious perving at every girl, it was made clear exactly why he was here. To perv.

“Sicko, your sister is hot. She has this whole, exotic thing going on about her.”

I turn to face them both, my eyes cutting to Gypsy. Just when I’m about to cuss him out and tell him to go fuck himself, I look at him for the first time today. Young, light brown floppy hair, and a cheeky smile. He’s the boy next door in a leather motorcycle vest. I can imagine he would get more attention than he would give.

“You’re not my type.” I turn back to my door, pushing my key in. “And who’s Sicko?”

“We made sure that you have your own room…” Mom says, interrupting my question while pointing to the double bed.

“How?” I ask, surprised.

Mom shrugs. “We made sure.”

My heart sinks. “Oh.” Of course. Money equals power, and the Kane’s have all of it.

“Hey.” Royce’s hand comes to my chin, tilting my face up to his. “I’ll come check on you every weekend.”

“Royce?” I murmur, even though his grip is so tight it’s making my lips push out.

“What?” he asks, his eyes searching mine. This needs to stop. I hate him. He left me.

“Really not necessary. I have Sloane here too, and Matty. I don’t need you petting me here like you did at home.”

He laughs, stepping away. “You don’t know how I keep my pets now.”

I raise my brows in challenge, my arms crossing in front of my chest. “And how is that?”

He pins me with a simple stare. “I don’t.” Then his eyes go to Mom, his fake smile evident. “I’ll look after her.”

Mom nods, pulling me in for one last hug. “Okay. I better head to the airport. I planned to spend the day with you but all that traffic delayed us.”

“It’s okay, Mom. I love you,” I whisper, squeezing her tightly.

“Love you too.”

Before I started Stanford and when I told my parents that I’d be studying to get my medical degree, I half expected them to doubt me. A lot. But they didn’t. It was between this or political science. Politics was my plan B if I didn’t get into med. I knew I could also be great as a political consultant, but it wasn’t where my heart and passion burned. I’m thankful I got into med school, even if I know it’s going to be a long, tedious road, it’s still one I want to take.

Mom leaves and I’m in the room alone with Royce and Gypsy.

“Roy, I’m serious. You don’t need to be here.”

He flops down onto my bed, leaning back onto his elbows. He’s god awfully more beautiful than I remember. His features are pretty, but then someone came along and cut all the hard edges into them. The tattoos only accentuate his personality. It is as though he was always meant to have the tattoos. His blue eyes roam my face, as his feather-like eyelashes fan out over his tight cheekbones. It’s not fucking fair. Why does he have to look the way he does? And Jesus fuck, he clearly has been working out since he left. He was always tall and lean, but the way the veins in his neck and arms swell to the surface of his skin tells me he takes training more seriously these days.