Sicko Read online

  “What’s your point, Roy?” I finally face him, tears pooling at the corner of my eyes.

  He catches one with his thumb and brings it to his mouth, sucking the drop off. I ignore the way his plush lips cushion around his thumb for the sake of my ovaries. “My point is how do I go from that to wanting to bend you over this couch and fuck you until you fucking scream. Hmmm?”

  “I don’t know,” I say, blinking. “Maybe the same way you left me in that house alone.”

  “Oh fuck, Dutch.” He shakes his head, grabbing at his hair, frustrated. “When are you going to drop that fucking shit? I did what I had to do, and that’s the answer that you’re just going to have to live with.” He turns his back to me, walking away. It only infuriates me even more.

  “It’s not fucking good enough, Royce!” I snap. He ignores me again and before I can stop myself, I raise my hand up and throw my empty glass across the room until it smacks him on the back of his head. Sweat glistens over his bare chest when he turns. I was so caught up in my outburst that I missed the tattoos that cover his whole back. Before I can tilt my head to study them, he’s storming back to me, grabbing me by my throat and cutting off my airway while throwing me onto the leather lounge.

  “I dare you.” His eyes are on mine, furious, as his lips curl around his teeth. “To fucking hit me and see what the fuck I do.”

  I wriggle from under his grip and his hands fly around the place, snatching my wrists to push them above my head.

  “No shit, I’m going to fucking kill you.”

  “Good!” I snap, overcome with emotion. “At least that will make it go away.”

  His jaw tenses. “Make what go away? See, you keep saying shit like that and it makes me angsty.” He tightens his grip around my wrists. “And I’m almost certain you don’t want me feeling that way.”

  “Royce?”

  “What?” he says, his eyes falling to my lips.

  “Get off me.”

  The corner of his mouth kicks up in a smirk as he jackknifes off my body. As soon as his weight is gone, I sigh, stretching my legs out. “Can you take me back to the dorm? I have to catch up on my homework.”

  I flick the knife between my index finger and my ring finger, rolling it between each one as the old clock ticks in the background, filling the silence with its loud, rusted hands.

  Tick.

  Tock.

  Tick.

  “Do you know why you’re here?” There was a TV in the middle of the room with a video playing. We couldn’t see his face, but he was dressed in all black. “I’ll tell you.” We’re in a room. Cold. Dark. Basement? My wrists were bound to the back of the chair, my mouth tied closed. I found Orson and Storm beside me, dazed and confused. It was a big fucking night last night. Way bigger than we had anticipated. In fact, O wasn’t supposed to be drinking at all because of his game today.

  I pulled on my ties. We’d been fucking kidnapped. Anger seeped into my pores, my muscles flexing with tension. Motherfucker.

  The video began to fuzz, like the old box TVs then it came clear. A single black seat, dark leather cushions, a black hoodie with black slacks, and glossy loafers. I was raised in money, spoke fluent ‘rich motherfucker’, and although this motherfucker used the hoodie as a blanket for his identity, I knew for a fact he knew money too. “Each of you are leaving. Tonight. Your life has been pushed into fast-forward.”

  Growling, I tried to bite the rag out of my mouth to no avail. Orson was jumping around in his chair, attempting to pull from his ties while Storm remained quiet, watching the TV as if studying every single detail. We were fucking eighteen years old. What the fuck could he want with us? Obviously not money, so it must be a favor from one, or all of our parents. You have three of the richest fucks in America sitting in one room, bound and tied, and you know that it has something to do with the parents.

  His voice comes back, the robotic tone a dead giveaway that this asshole didn’t want us to know who he was. “Before you even try to refuse, I will tell you right now that there’s one very good reason why each of you are going to listen to every single word that comes out of my mouth and not just obey me, but fear me.”

  Not likely, you fucking cunt.

  “You will all be released from your room, with the equipment you need to make your way back to civilization. I’m sure you will admire my technique one day.” He leaned forward, and his necklace caught my eye. “All three of you will go home, and you will each find a folder on your bed. In that folder will be the reason why you’re going to listen to me. You were all set to go to college. You’re leaving earlier. You are to be out of your homes no later than midnight tonight. If you try to tell anyone. Your friend. Girlfriend. Parent. Aunt. I will gut them, turn their organs into clothing, and sell them on Etsy.” He paused, and we all waited.

  He was fucking crazy, but there was an air of fear that his words left in the room well after he spoke them. A threat that didn’t need weapons.

  “If you do not leave—” Here it was. The big I’ll kill you. “Your sister Jade Olivia Kane—” The blood drained from my veins and if I wasn’t physically a completely healthy man, I’d bleed out on the ground from the mere whisper of her name from his lips. “Will become mine. When I say mine, I mean you would wish that I had just killed her by the time I was done. I would haunt your every single step with her, hang her in front of you like my ragdoll, tearing her at the seams and never stitching her back up, and if you think I don’t have that kind of power, I urge you to go home, check out the folder, open up your little laptops or phones, and simply type in the words K Diamond.”

  My jaw tensed and everything inside of my body burned.

  He relaxed back into his chair. “I trust you will make the right choice, gentlemen, and when you’re settled into your life, I will be back, and if I’m not, that means that one of you fucked up along the way and my arrival, will not be one that you will like.” The ceiling opened up and knives fell onto our laps. “You are dismissed.”

  We paused, watching the TV after the video had long since cut out. It took us a while to wriggle around and cut ourselves loose, but once our hands were done, everything else fell away.

  “What the fuck was that?” I snapped, glaring at both Orson and Storm.

  Orson shook his head. “I don’t know, bro. I don’t like it.”

  Heading toward the door, I pulled it open and stepped out onto the deck, confused. “We’re on a yacht.”

  “What?” Storm stepped out from behind me with Orson on his tail. The door slammed closed behind him and when I reached back for it, it remained locked.

  “Fuck.” Quickly making our way through the power yacht, we jogged up the stairs that lead to the main cabin and I paused, seeing the ocean on one side and the shoreline hundreds of meters away on the other.

  “What the fuck is going on?” Orson’s confusion only annoyed me. None of us know.

  “We have to listen to him.” I knew he was rich, but this yacht was something that only people like our families could afford. This wasn’t a little fucking toy. This was a damn multi-million-dollar machine.

  “Why?” Orson said. “He could be bluffing.”

  I found three surfboards lined at the back, standing upright with our names written on pieces of paper and slapped on them with a thick load of sex wax. “Because I’m not willing to bet on Jade.”

  Orson silenced.

  Storm reached for his board. “I’m with Royce.”

  “I didn’t mean it like that—” Orson attempted to clarify. “You’re right. We’ll figure this shit out back on shore.”

  All three of us grabbed our boards, dove into the ice-cold water at the still of the night, and awaited the first wave to come up so we could catch it and ride all the way to the shoreline.

  When I got home, I wish I could say he was bluffing.

  “What’s happening?” Storm asks, closing my front door behind himself as he enters. “Man, can you light a fire or something? It’s cold in
here.”

  “Because Duchess has been here, that’s why.” I watch him move into my sitting room where he falls down onto the single lounge chair, his hair ruffled from his flight.

  “Are you going to explain why you called this meeting? I was in the middle of something important.” Storm had always been the level-headed one out of us all. The one who used his brain more than he used his mouth. It was helpful. Real fucking helpful. Especially when you have Orson and me in a group of three. But over the years, Storm has opened up a whole fucking lot. I shouldn’t blame that on his wife and him becoming a dad so young, but I know it does have something to do with that. He knocked up the first bitch he found straight after we left and although he’s one of the wealthiest computer software engineers in the United States of America and runs the most exclusive computer science business on the side, I can’t help but resent her a whole fucking lot.

  Mainly because she’s a gold-digging bitch.

  “I’ll wait until O gets here,” I say, pointing to the corner where all the liquor is housed. A few minutes later, Orson is walking through the door, dragging his suitcase behind him.

  “Yo, I had to catch the fucking red-eye last night just to make it on time. This better be important,” he grunts, shutting the door.

  I pour him a glass of scotch and hand it to him, removing my vest and placing it on the sofa. When I’m with the three of them, the cut comes off. My club will always come first, but not when it comes to this.

  “I need to ask you both a question and I need you to answer it truthfully.”

  Orson sighs, flopping onto the L-shaped couch that overlooks the ocean. “You couldn’t ask this question through FaceTime? Like damn, I missed you too, but it’s off season and me and the family are gearing up to go to Aspen.”

  I ignore him, leaning against the mantle of the fireplace.

  “Have either of you veered off track?”

  They all pause, their eyes coming to mine.

  Storm is the first to answer. “I haven’t needed to. He never asked me to do anything more than leave town.”

  “Same here.” Orson lifts his glass, swallowing the expensive whiskey in one swig.

  “You?” they both ask, brows raised.

  “I wasn’t asked to do anything either.” I squeeze my eyes closed. “Any of you been sent a video?”

  They both answer in unison. “No.”

  I pull out my phone and flick through my photos until I find it, tossing my phone onto the sofa beside Orson.

  He picks it up and I watch as his face contorts into confusion. His lips pinch, his eyes narrow, and his head tilts. “Who is she?”

  I shrug. “Don’t fucking know.”

  Storm refuses to look, his eyes remaining fixed on the wall in front of him. “Maybe he’s testing us by using bait this time instead of each other.”

  My mouth snaps closed. I don’t want to reopen that wound and double the healing time.

  I glare at him. “I’m pretty sure he made it clear the first time.” Shaking my head, I take a seat on the sofa in front of me, running my hands through my hair. “Nah, this is something else. We’re missing something.”

  Silence wraps around our memories as I’m sure all of us block them out. Memories are the stain that either good or evil leave on your soul well after departure.

  This one is evil. So very fucking evil.

  “What about Wicked?” Orson asks, his eyes on mine. “Asked him anything?”

  So fucking Wicked.

  Twisting my hair onto the side of my neck, I ignore the music playing in the background and the heavy stench of sex. Fingers stretch out over my belly, covering the black tight dress that I’m wearing. It’s long in the back while cutting short at the front. I paired it with black thigh-high boots and braided my hair into a messy French braid. I don’t know why we’re here again so early.

  L’artisaniant. James had said that they only do them once a month, so why now.

  Bringing the glass up to my mouth, I’m quick to find the room I was in the last time that I was here. Everyone around me fades to the background of my mind as I study it like it’s the most important test in history.

  Running the cushion of my thumb across my lips, goose bumps shiver down my spine as memories flash back to me. It felt different with them. Sex never felt like that with James, or any of the men he pawned me off to.

  James spins me around to him, his mask is the same. Simple black leather carving around his features. It covers most of what a mask normally would. “Why are you wearing a mask but not me?” I ask, watching his reaction carefully. Since the second hotel video, things between James and I have shifted drastically. I used to trust him to a certain extent, and that was probably from years and years of being handled by him. But now I just want to run.

  “Hmmmm.” He gestures to the elevators that are hidden behind the sea of people. I chew on my lip nervously before finally following him toward the rustic metal doors. The elevator is one of the old ones, where you slide the metal gate across manually. Once we’ve entered and the music cuts out from premier niveau, the elevator ascends as my fists tighten. I watch as the old hand stops at deux. Sweat seeps down the nape of my neck as the hand shifts again. Trois. We don’t stop. Not until quatre.

  We’re instantly in a room dipped with darkness. There are teal lights placed sporadically around the room, but not enough to offer much sight. The teal tint is more on the green spectrum and it’s an odd color choice, but it fits with the aesthetic that seems to shift around the room quietly. There’s a black leather couch right in the middle, no windows or curtains, no sign of light except for the LED lines that stick to the rim of the skirtings. I want to ask what we’re doing here.

  Why this place?

  A mask is placed over my eyes as James’ mouth lowers to the nape of my neck. “Now you need it.”

  I gulp past my nerves, wiping the sweat off the palms of my hands. “Okay.” The lighting dims even further and the music gains volume. In the other room, it felt intimate.

  This one feels more charged.

  Just. More.

  Korn “Twisted Transistor” is playing heavily in the background as James moves farther into the room. He pauses at the threshold where the lounge and another room join, his hands in his pockets.

  “Boys.”

  Oh fuck.

  I take the steps I need to reach where he stands, and when I bring my eyes up in front of me, I freeze.

  Four men.

  All wearing dark clothes, and dark leather masks that cover the top halves of their face. Level fucking four.

  They’re all scattered, seated in different seats. There’s a small makeshift stage in the middle of the room, and when James leaves me standing there on my own, I realize what I’m supposed to do.

  James strolls toward a small bar area where a tender stands behind in a white suit. He orders a drink and turns to face me.

  His voice comes through again, only distorted. He likes his toys to manipulate his words. As if he knows why he does what he does and who he’s hiding from.

  “Change” from Deftones starts playing loudly, and I find myself checking everyone who is here.

  Two are wearing dark hoodies, their mouths blanketed with white bandanas, one is wearing an expensive suit with a black leather mask, hiding the top half of his face, and the final guy is wearing a leather jacket with a hoodie underneath, with the same plain white bandana around his mouth.

  I run my tongue over my lips, placing my phone onto the floor and making my way to the makeshift stage. This isn’t new. James has had me dance for people in the past, but it was always for a purpose. To entertain rich, fat men who had too much money and not enough humanity. It would tease them. James would say that I was a direct image of the kind of girls he had for sale.

  I found that disturbing, but there’s nothing I could ever do about it.

  The song continues to play into the chorus and my fingers flex around the cold pole as I tousle my h
air out of the braid. Rolling my body off the pole, I allow my mind to drift to other places, only once I’m turned away from them, someone is at my back, his fingers spread out over my lower belly.

  I recognize his touch almost instantly, and before I can think too much into it, I realize the reason why I recognized it is because he was one of the two guys from the first night I attended.

  Sighing, I press my cheek against the cool metal of the pole as his finger dives into the waistband of my panties.

  When my eyes fly over my shoulder to find James, he’s gone.

  My shoulders relax as my fingers flex around the pole, grinding my ass into the crotch of his pants. His fingers move around my hips as he yanks me around to face him.

  His head tilts.

  “Lapdance” by N.E.R.D starts as his hand finds the curve of my throat, his other diving into the front of my panties. Frustration fights pleasure as I attempt to find his eyes. Who the fuck are you?

  His fingers come to my ass as he lifts me off the ground, and I wrap my legs around his waist, just as someone else comes up behind me, unzipping my dress. It falls around my shoulders and he tugs it off, over my head, my hair flopping down my lower back. The guy in front of me rolls and leans down and sinks his teeth into the skin at my collarbone.

  I moan, tilting my head for him as the one behind me dips beneath my panties.

  “Fuck!” someone roars behind us, so loud the music is drowned out momentarily. “Yo! Stop!” Hands come to the shoulder of the guy who is holding me.

  The voice sounds familiar.

  When the guy who is holding me sets me back to the ground, spinning around to face his friend angrily, I watch in slow motion as he snatches my phone off him. His shoulders tense as he slowly turns with my phone in his hands.

  My phone? Shit.