Sicko
Royce pales, all blood draining from his cheeks. “What?”
Don’t repeat yourself. You’re going to regret it. He doesn’t care about you anymore; he has made that much clear. “Why did you leave me there?”
After a beat of silence, he snorts. “You being there was better for you than you being with me. Trust me.” He stands, pulling me up with him. Before I can protest, he’s directing us back toward the party, signaling to whoever it was that followed him on his bike.
“But that’s just it,” I murmur, while refusing to pull out of his grip. It feels too good. Like the empty part of my soul has recognized the piece it has been missing for four years. “I don’t trust you anymore.”
“Listen,” Royce says just as we reach the edge of the driveway. He turns around, his hand on my throat, and backs me up against a brick wall. Pressing a leg between mine to pin me there, he tilts his head and studies me. “One, I don’t give a flying fuck about your trust. All I want is to have you stay the fuck out of trouble and keep your head down. Two? Stop making this about something other than what it is. You are my sister, one I didn’t fucking ask for, but I protect anyway. I don’t give a fuck who you fuck in your free time, where you stay, or…” He pauses, licks his bottom lip and then catches it with his teeth. His grip around my throat tightens. “Or how fucking good my hand looks around your throat. Now swing those fucking legs over my bike.”
He pushes me back and my hand comes to where his was, massaging it softly. I can feel the pieces of myself slowly fading away. James took all that I had and replaced it with hurt and pain, and the one person I leaned on for most of my life hates me now.
“I can find my own ride.” I shove past him and make my way down the driveway. The bikes are rumbling in the background while the men on them all watch us with careful but eager eyes. As if they’re fascinated by what they see. The party is mostly inside and out the back, but there are a few people on the patio, including Nellie, Ollie, and Sloane. No Jensen in sight. Thank god.
“Duchess!” Royce snaps, and it roots my feet to the ground. “On my bike. Right the fuck now.” The air shifts around me and anger slowly boils to the surface. I don’t want to make a scene. I never like making one, but he’s pissed me off more times than I can count tonight and yeah, my emotions may have been bruised a few minutes ago, enough to not answer him back, but now I’m angry.
I spin around and take the four steps to where he towers over me. I swing my arm back, fist my hand tightly, and punch him right in the jaw. He barely moves, but whatever.
“Fuck you, Royce!” I scream into his face on my tippy toes—and I still don’t reach his neck— “Fuck you for leaving me and then coming back and thinking you can tell me what to do like I’m some little puppy that you keep on a leash. You!” I point my finger into his face, which is the exact moment I realize I fucked up.
He snatches my finger in the palm of his hand while his other flies to my throat again and I’m falling backward, my head smacking against the grass. I see double for a few seconds while Royce has a firm grip on me everywhere. “Still a fucking brat, huh?” He leans down until the tip of his nose touches my earlobe and only I can hear what he says. “I’m going to say this one time, Dutch. You’re legal now. I’d watch that fucking tone.” Pushing off me, he stands to his feet, glaring down at me. “The only thing you’re riding tonight that isn’t me, is my bike. Now get the fuck on, and maybe, just maybe, I’ll take you back to your dorm tomorrow.” It’s as though he whacked the alcohol out of me. Defeat latches its ugly grip around my bones, as my eyes stay locked on the sky.
“I’m not staying at your clubhouse, Roy.”
“Bike, Jade. Now.”
Pushing up from the grass while grumpily pulling twigs from my hair, I scowl at him, ignoring the chuckles around me. “I hate you.”
“More than I can say about you. I’ll be back in a second.” He looks over my shoulder. “She moves, tie her to my bike.” My arms latch around my body as I dutifully make my way to the matte black Harley Davidson that’s parked to the side. Turning to look over my shoulder, my eyes land on the same guy again, Wicked. Unintentionally, I seek him out anytime he’s near. My stomach drops out my ass when I find him already studying me carefully. Nellie said that he doesn’t speak, I wonder what that means and why. I can’t help but want to know more about him.