Sicko Page 8

  “I’m going to teach you so many things, Jade. You’ll learn to love it eventually. Crave it. You’ll learn to submit to me whenever I come calling. Clean yourself up.”

  I flinched, but I knew better than to pull away from his touch. The second time he raped me, I tried to pull away from him. He made me pay for it, but not in a way that you’d expect him to. James had an art to which he abused his victims, and I was his everlasting paintbrush. He’d use me to paint his new victims and then hand me to the next to borrow. He’d say I was special, that my strokes were unlike any he had seen before. I wanted to burn the whole art studio down along with everyone else inside of it.

  “Spend the night with me and I’ll drop you off here early in the morning. I have a hotel—soundproof walls.” He grins and then pulls us out of the parking lot. I focus out the window and watch as young people laugh with their friends. They have no idea how lucky they are. Oblivious to the kind of evil that I exist among, which is why I could never have a crush on any boys. Regardless of how hot they are or how they make me feel.

  The hotel is nice, but of course it is. Penthouse, rich red colors and glass windows that overlook Hollywood Boulevard.

  James hands me a glass filled with amber-colored alcohol, loosening his tie. His blue eyes meet mine, so blue. So familiar. I shoot back the rest of the liquid, ignoring the burn that settles in the back of my throat.

  “Thank you,” I whisper once my voice is stable.

  “On your knees.”

  I obey, sinking to the floor.

  “Remove your clothes.” He tosses his tie across the room, removing his belt. He slaps the belt across the palms of his hands a few times and then his eyes come to mine as he places it onto the bed. “Your brother is back.”

  “He is,” I say softly, peering up at James from beneath my lashes. His hand comes to my cheek as his thumb grazes over my lips.

  “So beautiful, Bunny…” My stomach churns. He comes down to my level and slowly lifts me off the ground, placing me onto the bed, stepping back to take in my nakedness. His hand dips beneath his slacks as he pulls himself out and pumps, his eyes on my body. “All of it belongs to me, doesn’t it?”

  I swallow, nodding my head. “Yes.”

  “Spread your legs.”

  I do, widening them until he’s standing between with one hand running over my nipple. Every time his palm skims over my breasts softly, I bite down on the inside of my cheeks until my mouth pools with metallic blood. I need the pain to distract from the way his gentle touches violate my soul.

  He falls down on me until I’m flat on my back. His cock is at my entrance, his tender kisses falling all over my neck as he slides inside of me. Sexual abuse comes in all colors of the rainbow, it’s not just black and white. He continues his assault. The same dance that I’ve learned and move to effortlessly now. He flips me over, taking me from behind, to the side, me on top, him back on top, the positions change, but one thing always remains. The temperament of his lovemaking remains mellow, sensual. It’s the kind of sex you’d have with someone you love wholeheartedly, with your husband or your wife. It was after the fourth time that I realized why he did it like this.

  Because he didn’t just want my body.

  He was fighting for my soul, too.

  He would never have it. I’ve hidden it away in a place where no man would ever venture in to retrieve it. The only problem with that is, now no one would find it.

  The next morning, I’m standing under a hot shower as the water trickles over my aching body. He may take it slow, but he makes sure to do it for hours. And hours. And hours on end. I shiver climbing out, and as soon as I’m back in my room, I slam my door closed and squeeze my towel.

  Day one of freshman year at a new college.

  I make my way to my makeup bag and get started. This routine is natural for me. Conceal, fake a smile. Makeup is the curtain I hide behind, as if it confuses people who try to peek into the real me.

  If only I could confuse myself too.

  The first week of college went fast. I found that my classes were pretty easy to get to despite the fact that the campus was a lot bigger than I had initially assumed during orientation day. It’s Friday now and I’m dreading getting ready to go out to whatever it is Nellie has us planned on going to. I didn’t hear from James all week, though, so that in itself is something worth celebrating. We’re riding in Nellie’s car to the other side of LA when Sloane hands me a flask.

  I take big sips before handing it back. My drinking got worse when Royce left. I found the more I drank, the deeper I fell down a hole that swallowed all of me—my pain included. I’m one big gaping wound, and alcohol just so happens to be the Band-Aid. It could have been worse. I could have turned to snow.

  I rub my hands up and down my thighs. I kept it casual. Black skinny jeans with tears up the thighs and a white lace bodysuit that does more for my tits than any bra could have.

  “God, I can’t with your perfect fucking tits!” Sloane grumbles.

  “What the fuck are you talking about? Yours are huge!”

  “So!” Her hands come to my breasts and she squeezes. “Fake ones always look better.” I whack her hands away and roll my eyes. If only she knew why and how I came about getting fake tits.

  “So, are you going to tell us where we’re going?” I say, leaning forward to rest my elbows on the center console. Using the rearview mirror to rearrange my hair, I fluff it up at the front and run my pinky finger over my bright red lips.

  “It’s a surprise.” Nellie’s eyes come to mine in the rearview mirror. A few seconds pass between us before she focuses back on the road. Weird.

  “Hey, Jade, you know those varsity players we saw at the diner last week?” Sloane turns in her seat to look at me.

  “Yeah?”

  “Well, one of them has been asking about you.”

  I freeze. “What? How do you know?” My heart skips a few beats. I’m embarrassed by how attracted I am to him.

  Sloane flashes her phone in front of my face. “Because I’m fucking his best friend, also known as the linebacker.”

  I roll my eyes. “You didn’t take long.”

  “Would you expect anything less?” Sloane asks matter-of-factly.

  “Actually, no.” My thoughts begin drifting. I’m envious of Sloane. She has the life that people think I have.

  “Anyway,” she continues, handing me back the flask. “His name is Jensen Pracks. He’s the star quarterback. You should stalk him on Instagram. He’s already following you, and me, so let’s take a selfie and upload it.”

  I take a long sip of the—whatever this is—and let her take the selfies, handing her back the flask as Nellie takes a turn onto an industrial street. I reach into my pocket and pull out my phone, opening Instagram.

  4 new followers. Three messages.

  I ignore the messages and go to the followers. J_Pracks started following you. My thumb hovers over the follow back button.

  “Fuck it.” I hit the button and then quickly shove my phone into my back pocket.

  The car begins to slow outside trade buildings. Some mechanic garages, others I can’t make out at this time of night. Nellie pulls up to a high wired gate that takes up multiple spaces. It’s definitely the biggest area down this street. A young skinny guy and a bigger man stand guard at the front. I still can’t see that much, and I’m semi-distracted by Jensen. Jensen. Even his name is hot. Maybe I can play it out a bit. But broken girls like me don’t get perfection like Jensen. Boys like him are reserved for the girls like him.

  The car is moving inside the gates now, where music is spilling out. To the right, there’s a long covered parking area where bikes are lined. So many bikes. Behind those, there’s a six-car shed. To the left, there’s another covered area where there’s a fighting octagon, tables and chairs, a boxing bag, and more people. In the middle, there’s a massive bonfire burning and behind that is a two-story house. It’s large, with a porch and a swing. It looks l
ike something you would find in the suburbs, not down an industrial street. People spill out everywhere, with men in leather and women in—almost nothing.

  I don’t register right away, and when I notice they’re wearing vests, I freeze. “Nellie!” I tap her shoulder. “Where are we?”

  “You’ll see.” She winks at me.

  They both climb out like it’s nothing and I hesitantly slip out behind Sloane. Shit. My red bottom heels click over the concrete ground as the heavy metal music wreaks havoc on my eardrums. Slipknot “Unsainted” is playing loud enough to raise hell. I take another step. Everything starts connecting in my head as I begin to make out the patch on one of the guy’s vests. It’s not until we’re directly at the start of the side garage when I freeze, blood draining from my face. My hand shoots out to Sloane.

  “I can’t be here!”

  Sloane turns, rolling her eyes. She hooks her arm in mine, tucking it closer to her. That’s when I finally see what’s going on inside. Drunk bikers and naked women sucking off random body parts. There’s a large metal emblem hanging above the bar that reads:

  Wolf Pack MC.

  Fuck.

  Fuck.

  Fuck.

  My heart beats in my chest, my breathing matching every thud. I spin around to run out of the garage and find a different way home when I crash into a hard chest. An inferno of flames lick around my skin as the smell of rich cologne, subtle soap, burned cigarette, and worn leather infiltrate into me. I rub my cheek. “Sorry.” Then my eyes travel up, finding the patch, reading the same club words and Vice President underneath it, and then they go farther up, landing on—

  “Royce…”

  “Duchess.” His eyes go over my shoulder, and I turn to see who he’s looking at. He winks at Nellie, who raises her glass in the air. Then my eyes find Sloane, who is studying me with fearful eyes. Before I can bring my attention back to Royce, his lips find my ear and his voice coaxes me like an open box of memories. “So glad Nellie got you here safely…” I snap out of it, bringing my attention up to him. He leans down, so we’re eye level. “Heard you’ve been making new friends.”

  “What!” I whisper, searching his eyes. “I’ll leave. I didn’t mean to come here.”

  “Nah.” He chuckles. The slight enmity in his tone doesn’t go unnoticed. “You just got here.” His eyes find Sloane. “Sloane looks good too.”

  “I’m leaving.” I go to shove past him, but his arm flies out and before I can shove him away, he’s tossing me over his shoulder. I heave at his shoulder pressing against my belly.

  “No, you’re not, Duchess.” Then he drops me down onto one of the sofas that are tucked near the billiard table. “Billie!” he calls out, his eyes never straying from mine. “Make sure Sloane has a place to sleep.”

  No. No. I go to stand, but he rams me back down, his powerful arms rippling as they drop to either side of my body. “You will not fucking move, Duchess, and you will do as you’re told.”

  “Or what?” I snap, tears building behind my eyes. I won’t show him the pain that lies beneath my resentment. He’ll only use that as a weapon.

  His eyes search mine, a smirk flashing across his mouth. “Or I’ll hurt you.”

  “You wouldn’t,” I say, swallowing past my nerves.

  “Hmmm, there’s so much you don’t know about me now, Dutch.” He leans down closer, the curve on the corner of his lips deepening. “So. Fucking. Much.” He pushes up from the sofa. “You’ll be stayin’ with me tonight. Don’t fuckin’ fight me on this.” He disappears into the masses of people, making his way to the bar that’s at the back. My eyes find Sloane instantly.

  “I’m so sorry,” I mouth, shaking my head.

  She finally makes her way toward me, tearing herself out of the arms of whoever it is that has his hand around her arm. “We can run.” She drops down on the sofa, her leg pressing against mine.

  I shake my head, defeat seeping into my bones. “It won’t matter. He will chase us. We’ll just wait it out until morning.” The bar to the back is made of wood, their Wolf Pack MC regalia hanging proudly on the wall. There’s a vest in the middle, spread out open eagle. I want to study everyone, see what they look like, but the heavy atmosphere has me going back and forth, not wanting to remain focused on one area for too long.

  “Man,” Sloane murmurs, crossing her leg on top of the other while unscrewing her flask. “I thought he would still be all about his little pet, but I am wrong.”

  I ignore her, thinking of ways that I can hopefully get us both out of this mess.

  “Stay here.” I stand from the sofa and shove through the swarm of bodies. The age difference is diverse, ranging from my age to our parents’ age to older and younger. I head for the bar, because that’s where I saw Royce head to when I slam into a rock-hard back.

  “Sorry,” I whisper, rubbing my head.

  A man who looks to be in his late fifties is standing at the bar. He turns around to face me, and that’s when I get a full view of him. His jaw is a little too square and his eyes are partially slanted. I thought there was something familiar about him until I realized he looks like Chuck Bass, only older and instead of the suit, he’s wearing an MC cut.

  “You must be Jade.” His voice is soft, from years of being doused in smoke.

  “Yes,” I answer. “Sorry, I’m trying to find Royce.”

  He ignores me. “Name’s Lion.”

  “Lion?” I ask, though I shouldn’t. He’s scary and not likely open to answering questions.

  “Jade!” Royce snaps from behind me, taking my hand in his and pulling me away. “Stop fucking wandering off.” Before I can argue, he’s dragging me through the sea of bodies and taking me up toward a set of stairs that lead to a second level.

  I yank my hand out of his grip. “Who do you think you are, Royce? You can’t just force your way back into my life and hold me captive!” I reach inside my pocket, just as he slams the bedroom door closed behind us. “I’m calling Mom.”

  “Yeah?” His tone is menacing, the smug half-grin on his face too cocky to be the Royce I knew. The Royce that cared for me. I have to force everything inside of me to not shiver in fear. “Do it.” He holds me to my spot with his glare. “See if she believes you.”

  My shoulders sag in defeat. “What happened to you?” I ask, searching his face. The face I once looked at for reassurance and strength is now the one I feel I should fear. Some people only get one monster in their lifetime, apparently, I have two.

  “To me?” Royce kicks off the door and after a couple of steps, his biker boots are hitting the tip of my Louboutins. “You is what happened, Duchess.” I can’t fight it, and even if I wanted to, I couldn’t force my eyes away from his. The depth of his blue is deep enough to drown me. “Get on the bed.”

  “Why am I here, though?” I ask, falling back onto the mattress. His room is decked out in black, Harley posters and there’s even the shaft of a handlebar hanging above his bed. No porn posters—thank fuck he actually has taste—and no used condoms that I can see. Yet. Honestly, I wouldn’t be ruling it out.

  Royce takes out a pack of smokes from his back pocket and flips open the case to take one out. “You are the one who walked in here. So willing to make new friends. Nellie was a test to see how easily persuaded you could be, and I gotta say, Duchess, you fucking failed.”

  Leaning up, I snatch one out while scowling at him and put it into my mouth. He watches in fascination as I light the tip and inhale. “I’ve made a lot of friends since you’ve been gone, Roy.” I inhale the cigarette before allowing the smoke to exit between my scarlet red lips. “So many.”

  He blazes the tip and sucks in deeply while remaining passive on me. I watch as the smoke curls around his nose, up past his eyes and over his head. “Hmmm.”

  “Hmm?” I cock my eyebrow. “That’s it?” My fingers flex in the palms of my hands. “No, ‘who the fuck are you talking to Jade’…”

  Royce drags over the chair that’s tucked
beneath an office desk, taking a seat and resting his elbows on his knees. “Told you, don’t give a fuck about you or that bullshit anymore. Do what you want, but don’t make waves that will have those same waters spilling into my clubhouse. For years, people thought I was an orphan, with no family. Now you’re in my city? You abide by my rules.”

  “How tragic.” I drop the cigarette onto the carpet and squish it with the heel of my shoe. “You stole my life and I stole yours.”

  “Stop testing my patience, Jade.”

  I tilt my head. “Is there something that you know that I don’t? You come back into my life after four years.” I’m on my feet, walking around the room while touching pointless things. This isn’t his room. Well, it is, but he doesn’t live here. It’s too impersonal for it to be Royce’s full-time room.

  “Duchess…” he mumbles my nickname, and my fingers momentarily pause over a stack of motorcycle magazines. “Dutch,” he repeats, and this time I spin to face him.

  “Fucking what, Royce?”

  He stands to his full height—six foot something—and takes the two steps he needed to reach me. His fingers flex around the tip of my chin, tilting my head up so that my eyes collide with his. “I’m not the same boy you knew before.” His touch is soft, yet his words harsh. “For one.” I hold my breath as his eyes search mine. So, so, blue. His tongue sneaks out and glides over his teeth. “I’m meaner.” He releases me, pushing me so hard that I fall back onto the bed. Before I can say anything else, he’s on top of me with his hand covering my mouth. Leather, cigarette, cologne. I can’t help it when the first tear sneaks out from the side of my eye, because he’s right. I don’t know who this man is staring down at me. The same vessel, different soul. The man standing in front of me right now haunts me with his resemblance of the boy I knew.

  His eyes narrow on mine before he pushes off from my body and stands back to his feet. His jaw flexes. “You can fucking leave if you want. Think my point is made.” I’ve always been able to see when Royce is lying. His lies hang between the cracks that he keeps hidden from everyone.