Sicko Page 4

  It wasn’t anyone’s fault. No one can stop Royce when he’s in a rage. Except when I think those words, I know that’s a lie. There is one person who could have stopped him.

  Calmed him.

  Me.

  He wanted to leave, and I left him down there all for what? My pride? Because I wanted to sulk instead of snatching him away from a girl I know he doesn’t give a fuck about?

  The strong stench of metal fills my nostrils and I bring my hands down to my face. Red streaks of blood crust over the palms of my hands, trapped between my fingers. My hands shake as I furiously take in every single droplet of blood.

  Royce’s blood.

  I fly to my feet and tear off my hoodie, and then look down at the t-shirt I had underneath, only seeing his stained blood smeared over that too. His life was right there. On me. Stained. What if this is all I have left of him? I tear off my shirt and throw it onto the ground with the hoodie.

  “Jade, sweetheart.” My mom comes closer to me, her hand on my arm. I flinch away from her, the tears in my eyes blurring my vision. I don’t even feel them drop down my cheeks anymore, because I’m so numb. So, so, so numb. “Your father will take you home to shower and change. There’s nothing you can do here…”

  I shake my head, my dry hair scratching against my shoulders.

  “Duchess…” Orson says, and a warm hoodie comes over my shoulders. “Put this on and I’ll get Mom to wash your clothes.” Before he can take my discarded clothes, I lean down and scoop them up, running to the bin and tossing the pile inside. Pain grips at my heart again, injecting me with its ugly poison and refusing to let go. I don’t want it to either, because the guilt is unbearable.

  “I should have gone. I should have listened to him and came back to the boat.” Just as the words leave my lips, Storm is beside me protectively. Officers amble into the room and I watch through blurred vision as Dad stands and addresses them, though we don’t ever have to worry. Kyle Kane has the entire fucking force in his back pocket. The day I realized this was the day I saw Royce’s bad side. I never wanted to see it again, because I was afraid. Afraid that something like this would happen again.

  “He’s going to be okay, Dutch. This is Royce. He doesn’t go down like that…”

  My eyes squeeze closed as I replay everything tonight. From the party, to my sleeping, to Orson coming to wake me. Goddamnit! Why did I not think that was weird? Usually it would have been Royce coming to get me. Why didn’t I see the urgency with Orson, or the worry lines with Storm?

  I fly off my chair again. “Why the fuck did no one tell me he was hurt on the boat?” The officers stop talking with Dad as Mom looks around nervously at the passing nurses. Always afraid of what people are thinking.

  I point to a guilty-looking Orson and Storm. “You both could have told me!”

  “What good would that have done, Duchess?” Orson stands, pushing his hands into his pocket. “He didn’t want you to know because he knew it would set you off. There was nothing we could do until we were back on land. He just—” Orson pauses, his eyes boring through me. “He just wanted you.”

  I cross my arms in front of myself defensively. Pain anchors my heart and refuses to let go. “He will always have me. Forever. Reg—” My voice breaks and my knees buckle. “Oh my god, what if I lose him?” The mere thought of ever losing Royce was enough to make me hurt physically. I couldn’t and wouldn’t survive the absence that he would leave.

  Royce and Storm both drop to the ground on either side of me, their arms around my neck. “Hey,” Orson whispers into my ear. “He is going to be alright. You know there’s no way that stubborn fucker will let you walk this earth without being able to protect you.”

  My lips quiver and my heart throbs from the new scar that’s inflicted on it, initials RK.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Kane?” A doctor dressed in scrubs enters and I once again fly to my feet.

  “Yes?” my mom says, but I push everyone out of my way and make it to the front.

  Mom nods. “His sister. Please, go on.”

  Dad is beside me, an arm around my shoulder with Mom on the other side. My other two brothers behind us.

  This is it.

  My pulse quickens, blood crashing through my ears. This could be the end of life as I know it.

  “He’s going to be okay. He’s actually awake now and is asking for… Duchess?” the doctor says, confused. The relief that floods through me is heavy enough to cement my feet to the ground. I clasp my hands together and give myself a few minutes of breath, before following the doctor down to his room while everyone else waits in the waiting room.

  Seeing his name Royce Kyle Kane inscribed into the little clipboardt in front of his room burns a new fire through my veins. I want to get him out of here.

  The doctor opens the door and gestures inside. “He may not make a lot of sense because he’s still coming to. Try not to take anything he may say to heart. It’s probably the cocktail of drugs that he’s on.”

  Curling my lips behind my teeth, my shoulders slump in defeat as I push through the doors to enter. The sharp beeping, the pungent smell of bleach, the beeping.

  “Roy?” I whisper, and he turns his head, his arm stretched out wide. He doesn’t look bad. His face is the same. He looks normal, if not for the wires connecting him to a machine.

  “Get in here. Now.” He’s still bossy.

  I can’t stop the tears that spill over my cheeks as I rush forward.

  “Stop crying, Duchess,” he growls, wriggling up the bed.

  I swipe my tears away angrily, scowling at him. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me that you were hurt!”

  He reaches for my hand, but I retreat away from him.

  “I’m so angry with you. I thought you died!”

  He snatches my hand in his and yanks me down, freakishly strong for someone who just came out of surgery. “And what would you have done, hmmm?” Finally, I lie down, kicking off my Vans and saddling up beside him. “You need a shower and give Orson his fucking hoodie back.”

  “Shut up,” I murmur against his body, tears drenching the sheets. “Don’t ever do that again.”

  “Mmmmhmmm.” I can hear the drowsy tone in his voice, he must be drifting off. “Duchess?” I don’t answer, squeezing the white sheets in the palm of my hand. “I love you, you know that, right?”

  “I love you too,” I say softly, and before I can form any other words, sleep takes hold of my muscles and my eyes turn heavy.

  “Are you kidding me? Look how cute they are!” I hear Sloane’s voice in the background as I come to, swiping the sleep from my eyes. Once everyone is in focus, I take in how many people are actually in Royce’s room.

  Mom, Dad, and Sloane, along with Orson, Storm, Annette—gag—Orson’s father and Storm’s mother—who is the district attorney for the Bay Area.

  “Why is everyone in here?” I say, faking a smile.

  “Girl, please let me take you home for a shower.” Sloane is reaching for me before I can protest, but I don’t move away from Royce. I can’t bear the thought of being away from him. Not right now—not ever. That probably makes me sound crazy, and maybe I’m somewhat—wholly—dependent on him, but is it a bad thing? Royce and I have always been a package deal. Before I can say no, I catch Dad observing Royce and I closely with a slight frown and tight lips. His narrowed eyes swing between Royce and I ominously. I’ve never had a relationship with Dad, mainly only my mom, but that was no comparison for what he shared with Royce. They have a solid relationship filled with banter and love. Something close to fear scratches its ugly nails down the spine of my back as he assesses me and the situation that I’m in. Has he always stared at me in this way? Or I’m only just noticing now because my senses are on high alert? Or is this new, since what happened last night? I still haven’t found out what actually happened and how Chambers came to stabbing Royce.

  An idea pops in my head, forged there by my raging anger that someone wanted—no, tried—to ki
ll my fucking brother last night.

  I slip off the bed with new determination, grabbing Sloane’s hand and forgetting all about the way Dad was staring at me. “You’re right. We should go.” Everyone stops their chatting, and I know what they’re doing, they’re all waiting for my mental snapping point.

  “Duchess,” Orson warns. “You okay?” Only Royce, Orson, and Storm call me Duchess. No one else. One time when I was ten years old, Trevor Maxwell tried to call me Duchess during PE. I punched him in the nose. That was the first and only time I ended up in the principal’s office, but not the first time that I broke someone’s nose. My brothers always protected me. It’s time for me to do the same.

  “I’m fine. I need a shower. I’ll be back.” Sloane and I begin making our way to the door, but just as I reach for it, I turn my head over my shoulder one last time, my eyes resting on Royce. He’s fast asleep, his lips parted. He looks so peaceful. Someone tried to hurt him. Bad. And now, as stupid as it might sound, I want vengeance, and I know where to go first.

  The first thing that I realistically should have mentioned was that my lack of popularity and friends isn’t because I don’t attract them or that no one wants to be friends with me, because history would show that that’s not the case. It’s that my brother usually scares everyone off, which admittedly, is why I have the balls to do what I’m about to do.

  After taking a shower and changing into clean clothes, Sloane and I make our way down to the kitchen. I open up one of the cabinets, keys upon keys staring straight at me. I don’t have my permit yet, but I know how to drive.

  I should choose one of the low-key cars. The ones that won’t stick out. So I won’t choose Dad’s Porsche, or Mom’s Tesla. There’s no point taking the Range Rover or Royce’s Ford. My fingers flex over the keys to Royce’s black 1969 Camaro.

  I smirk, swiping them off the hook.

  “Um, are you sure that’s a good idea?” Sloane’s blue eyes swing between me and my metal carrying fingers.

  I flick them into the palm of my hand and nod. “Yes, and stop freaking out.” We make our way into the garage and I slide into the driver’s seat of Royce’s immaculate old-school ride. The leather upholstery is new, the dash polished with sweet-scented oil. It smells of freshly stitched leather, a hint of Royce’s cologne, and a breath of cigarette smoke.

  My chest contracts with his smell as I close my eyes and dig the keys into the ignition, twisting it over until the deep rumble of the V8 vibrates beneath my butt.

  “Listen,” Sloane murmurs, reaching for her belt and clicking it in. “I’m all for this”—she gestures up and down my body— “but I can’t lie. I’m also very scared, considering you’re fucking with Royce Kane, and I get it. You’re his little brat who can do no wrong, but I gotta say…” She whistles lowly, but before another word can come out of her mouth, I slam it into first gear and press my foot down, flooring it out of the garage with a roar of smoke and a scream of tires.

  “Oh my god!” Sloane yelps, grasping at the door handle. Her laughter is infectious as we fly onto the main road, my hair whipping me across my face with the windows down. “I have to video this.”

  “Fine.” I laugh. “But nothing goes online. I don’t want to stress him out even more.”

  “Promise.” Sloane chuckles, fingers flying over her phone with her wild blonde hair whipping her across the face. She doesn’t look up when she asks me her next question. “So where are we going?”

  “To Matty’s house.”

  Sloane stills, her hand pausing over her phone. “Why?”

  I tuck my hair behind my ear and make my way toward Matty McAlister’s house. “Because I know that he was there last night, and I also know that he’s going to tell me everything that went on.”

  Sloane nods. “Seems legit.”

  We continue the short drive to Matty’s house, it’s almost dark when we finally pull up to his gated community. The security passes us through as I roll Royce’s Chevy up to the circular driveway.

  I slam the car door closed and make my way up the steps leading to his house. Just as I come to the door, it swings open and Matty stands on the other side, his innocent hair ruffled, and his pearly blue eyes dipped in sadness.

  “What happened?” I ask Matty. Matty and I are a long story. We’ve shared stolen kisses since we were young, but it was all innocent. Sloane has been saying that he’s in love with me for years, but I don’t buy it.

  Matty runs his pale hands through his hair, flexing his muscles. “Listen, I think you should ask Royce.”

  “I’m asking you…” I try for the gentler approach, seeing as he’s quite clearly upset.

  Matty takes a seat on the step, his mouth covered by his hands while his eyes come to mine.

  “Chambers said something about you, Royce flew off like Royce does, and this time, instead of Chambers retracting his bullshit comments, he tried to fight Roy. Shirts came off, Royce was on fire, ready to pound on some flesh and enjoy it—which he did. He beat Chambers pretty bad, but he went to walk away, and that’s when Chambers said—” Matty pauses, and anger flashes over his eyes, his teeth clenched.

  “Said what, Matty?” My patience is running thin. I can feel my frustration wavering and my muscles tighten.

  “He said that as soon as Royce is away that he’s going to put his dick so deep inside you that you will never want Royce again.”

  I still, my mouth agape. “And?”

  Matty’s baby blues slide between Sloane and me. “And what? And that’s what he said, so Royce lost it. His hand went to his throat, he was straight-up choking him out. He lifted Chambers off the ground with one hand, Jade. One fucking hand. Our linebacker. With one hand.”

  “Yeah, yeah, I heard you, one hand. Then what happened?” My foot is tapping furiously, because I’m not one bit convinced that what Chambers said warranted Royce almost losing his life. In fact, I’m even more angry than I was before I got here. There better be something else.

  “There’s nothing else. He choked him until Chambers went purple, and then Chambers pulled out a knife and stabbed him in the stomach. We all scattered after that.”

  I sink backward, dropping down onto the steps with my face buried in my hands.

  “Why is he like this?”

  “Why?” Matty gasps with wide eyes, seemingly stunned by my question. As if I should know why, or that the answer is obvious. “Aside from the fact that he’s your brother, are you blind?”

  I shake my head, swiping the tears off my cheeks. “What do you mean ‘am I blind’? He could have died. All for what?” I turn, facing Matty. My lips tremble as I swipe my runny nose. “To protect my virtue?”

  Sloane pats my hair. “I know you don’t want to hear this right now, but those boys—especially Royce, put you on a pedestal so high that no one and nothing can touch you.” A sharp ringing sound stings my eardrums as the realization of her words touch me. I should start pulling away from Royce, to save him from making this same mistake again. He’s not smart when it comes to me. He’s irrational, impetuous, and borderline psychotic, but even as I think those words, I know that I can’t give him what he needs. That may be selfish of me, but I just can’t. Not right now.

  Matty’s arm hooks around my neck, pulling me in closer. “I heard that Chambers is in the slammer, his old man is refusing to bail him out.”

  “He was always a good man,” I sob. Chamber’s father is the coach of our football team. He’s the good kind. Not sure what happened to Chambers.

  I stand from the steps and make my way back to Royce’s car. “Thanks, Matty,” I call out, opening the door. I had plans to go see Chambers, but with him in a jail cell, I think I’ll sleep easy tonight.

  “Anytime. Hey, Jade?” he calls out, leaning against the porch railing. “I know this is shit timing, but it’s my birthday in two Saturdays, not sure if you remember—”

  I offer him a small smile. “I do.”

  His eyes widen in shock momentarily. I instantly
want to smack myself for giving him any kind of hope. I have to be careful when it comes to boys. If I move forward with someone, it has to be worth being on the receiving end of Royce’s wrath. Matty just isn’t.

  “Anyway, I’m having a party, we’re all hitting the slopes. Think you’ll be keen? Of course, with your entourage.”

  I squeeze the door handle. Not a chance. “Sure, I’ll think about it and see how Royce is feeling.”

  “Of course.” He winks. “See ya, Sloane.” He waves us both off and we slip back inside the car.

  “God, he’s so nice. Why can’t all guys be like Matty?” Sloane relaxes into her seat.

  “Probably because we wouldn’t be interested.”

  We both burst out laughing as I drive us back to my house.

  “Royce…” I whine. “You can’t be out here. You have to be in the house.” My palm works furiously over my body, rubbing slick oil over my skin.

  “She’s right, you stubborn fuck.” Storm pushes down his glasses over his nose, pausing his typing for a few seconds to glare at Royce.

  “It’s been eleven days. Fuck off.” He and I still haven’t spoken much about what happened at the party. Not about what happened just before, when he wanted me to go back on the boat with him, and not about what happened after. It has been tough, because I for one have noticed the shift in Royce. He’s become a little more on edge. Not just with me, but with everyone.

  “You know Matty’s party is something you should take him up on, Jade!” Sloane says innocently, tilting her head up to the sun while baking her already tanned skin.

  “What?” Storm snaps before Royce can even get a word in.

  Sloane must have just realized what she had said because her fingers flex and her lips curl between her teeth. “Oh, um…” Or she did it on purpose.

  I roll my eyes, just as my phone dings beside my water bottle. I pick it up, opening the message from India.