Sicko

by Amo Jones

  Everyone but me.

  So I see it. I see everything he hides. I stand back to my feet. Compose yourself. “Well, you’ve gotten theatrical with your tactics, I’ll give you that.”

  There’s a knock on the door. “Sicko!” a young voice bellows through the old wood. “Yo, we got a problem.”

  Royce studies my facial features, his eyes falling to my lips. “Don’t fucking do anything to piss me off. I’m not a kid anymore. I will fuck you up.” He reaches for the door handle and his face falls passive. As I make my way back down the wooden stairs, reacquainting myself with the stench of whiskey and cigarettes, I can’t stop thinking about how much he has changed. I would have rather been left with the memory I had of him, than be tormented with this stranger. He used to smile cheekily, now he scowls and guards. His walls don’t seem to shift around me anymore, and there’s something in his eyes that is screaming at me to stay away. Something undeniably savage. Strolling past him and another biker I haven’t met yet, I make my way back to find Sloane.

  “Playa” by Tech N9ne is thumping through the speakers and before my eyes fly around the room in search of Sloane, her arm hooks in mine. “Okay, one, I can’t believe I’m going to say this…” She gestures me toward the leather sofa that’s hidden in the corner. The same one Royce pushed me into. This MC club isn’t at all what I expected, and I’m not too sure what I did expect. Don’t get me wrong, they’re all scary in their own right, but they’re also not unattractive. Even the old man I met, Lion, is good looking for his age.

  “What are you going to say, Sloane?” I whisper, reaching for a bottle that’s sitting on the coffee table in front of me. Vodka. Perfect.

  “Royce is way hotter than he was four years ago—okay!” she exhales, tipping her head back to swallow whatever is in her glass. At what point should I cut her off? “I can’t even deny it and I’m sorry.”

  I ignore her, leaning back against the sofa while blowing out an exhausted breath of air.

  “He said he’s not keeping us here. It was all some stupid test to see how gullible I am.” It was the exact moment Nellie came up, hiding her face behind a bottle of pre-mixer.

  I narrow my eyes. “Why?”

  Nellie shrugs, dropping down onto the sofa beside Sloane. “What Sicko wants, Sicko gets. That’s how it works around here.” Her focus floats over my shoulder, a smile creeping onto her mouth. “How do you know him anyway?” Nellie asks, her eyes cutting back to me. I’m trying to figure out her move. She’s probably sleeping with him. He has always had trouble keeping his dick dry, and Nellie is pretty. The fact that he’s still playing his usual games, only a different level shouldn’t bother me as much as it does.

  I glare at her. “He’s my brother, you dense bitch.” My face remains frozen, bored.

  “Reow.” Nellie chuckles. “You guys don’t look similar. Like, at all.”

  Sloane scoffs, shaking her head. She turns to face Nellie. “Question, do you and Royce have a little something going on?”

  Nellie shakes her head. “No, but he does have a little whatever going on with someone else.” She leans back on the sofa, sipping on her drink. “Pretty sure she thinks she’s going to marry him or some shit.”

  My muscles seize. Just as Sloane whips her head to where I’m sitting. “Really?” She raises her eyebrows. “I can assure you, that is most likely about to change.” I can feel recklessness seep into my bones, my head pounding as quickly as my heart.

  He still sleeps around. He may still be like that, but he has another thing coming if he thinks I’m the same girl who will tolerate the same shit. I’ll lay another man flat on his back on the very same ground I used to worship Royce on.

  I stand to my feet. “Nellie?”

  “Yes, little one?”

  I want to hit her. I have to force myself from not reaching across the room and punching her straight in the jaw.

  I ignore her. “Take me to the bar.”

  Sloane smirks from behind the rim of her glass. “Atta girl.”

  I can feel almost every set of eyes on us while we head right for the bar. I don’t know where Royce has gone, but there’s one thing that I do know, and that’s that no matter what he says, I don’t think he would let anyone hurt me. He may be a cruel god, but he’d never let his disciples hurt me. At the very least, I’m willing to test that theory.

  Nellie hands me a shot of vodka, for liquid courage, and points around the room.

  “That’s Lion,” she says, rolling a new glass between her fingers. “He’s the president and best friend of Sicko. They’re so tight it turns me on.” She pauses, pointing to another. “That’s Gypsy. He’s a total fucking idiot who manages to sleep with Victoria’s Secret models on the weekends—and that’s no lie—before dealing with club business right after. Pretty boy.” Nellie’s eyes fly to the man beside Gypsy. “And that is Wicked.” As soon as the name leaves her lips, I find myself watching his mouth move.

  Wicked.

  Oh.

  “Hmmm,” I murmur, tilting my head. “Interesting. Tell me about Wicked…” Something that doesn’t involve how I know him. As I take in Wicked’s hard features and stone-cold eyes, my stomach flips. As if sensing my gawking, he turns his head, his dark ink hair glossing against the lighting. He wears a white shirt beneath his leather vest and loose black jeans with cuts on the knees. His combat boots are tied loosely at his feet, the dried mud over the rubber edges displaying how dirty he obviously gets.

  Hmmm.

  “Wicked doesn’t really talk. He addresses people by his movements, unless you’re one of the holy ones that he speaks to, which is usually only the brothers. The disrespect is real with that one, so I wouldn’t even try.”

  Even more interesting. “Spend Some Time” by Eminem is beating against the walls, matching my pulse.

  “You don’t say.”

  Wicked’s eyes are on mine and my stomach hits the floor as he directs his bleak orbs down my body, right to the tips of my toes. I feel the tingles fizzle through my veins as he slowly brings his ice blues back up, thick lashes fanning over his high cheekbones. Wicked is probably by far one of the most beautiful looking male specimens I have ever seen. Royce is a nightmare wrapped in a dream, but Wicked is the Devil’s pet.

  Tipping back my head to swallow my tequila, or rum, or whatever, I bring my eyes to Nellie and away from Wicked. “Interesting.”

  “Wicked? No. Nope. He’s pretty to look at, but Sicko is more my speed.”

  I can’t help it, and with all the alcohol pulsing through my veins, I can’t stop it. Laughter rolls out of my mouth.

  “Something funny?” Nellie asks, as if insulted. She should be. I’m straight-up laughing at her.

  “No.” I look to Sloane, ignoring Nellie. “Ready to go?”

  She watches me with careful eyes, aware of my sudden shift in attitude. “Okay.”

  After sneaking out of the clubhouse and catching an Uber, I’m once again back in the safety of my covers in my dorm. I feel as though I’m finally able to catch up with everything that happened tonight. From thinking Royce had kidnapped me, to seeing Wicked. My phone vibrates on top of my dresser, and I grab at it to see I have missed a couple of text messages. Seeing an unknown number, I open that one first.

  We’re not done.

  I chew on my bottom lip, the light from my phone killing my vision. I move away from his to one from James.

  Be ready by six tomorrow. Expect a parcel.

  I exhale, my fingers hovering over Royce’s text. Before I can stop myself, my fingers are flying over my screen furiously.

  We were done the day you left me.

  I think about waiting for his reply, with a belly full of anxiety, but before I can drop my phone back onto my bedside table and get some much-needed sleep, he texts back.

  Yeah?

  I ignore his vague text, shoving my phone under my pillow and finally resting my eyes.

  My legs were stretched wide, spread by a metal bar that seeme
d to extend wider the more I moved. His fingers flexed over the inside of my thigh while his other hand held a tumbler glass of probably the finest Irish whiskey. When my eyes drifted down to his hand, he brought it up to my chin and yanked my face back to his. Gagged and tied to a bed at a lavish hotel that would charge for one night what most people would for an entire year. He didn’t hold back.

  Squeezing roughly, his dark eyes danced with greed. This was the third time that this had happened, that he had had his hands on me without my approval. Every time he does, he takes a part of my soul and leaves an emotional scar with his departure.

  “You’re going to be my perfect little bunny, Jade. Did you know that?” My eyes watered as his hand went back down to my inner thigh, my damp lashes fanning out over my cheeks. I didn’t know that. Not at all, but I was beginning to realize it.

  He placed his drink down onto the floor before standing back to his full height. James was every bit as intimidating as I could ever think he could be. My mind wasn’t equipped with what he was capable of. Not yet.

  His long fingers flexed over the buckle of his belt, as he pulled it off. He moved to the buttons of his suit shirt and his six-pack abs were displayed from behind the material.

  “You want this, Jade.” He tossed his shirt onto the floor before flicking open the button to his pants. “I can see it in the way your eyes move over my body. You want this as badly as I do, and I’m going to give it to you.” He leans down, fist down onto the mattress and slowly crawls up my body until he’s resting in the apex of my thighs. He runs the tip of his nose over my neck. “Mmmm, you smell so sweet, little Bunny. How I’m going to teach you every little thing there is to know about me and what I do, and do you know what you’re going to do?”

  I didn’t answer. One, because I’m gagged, but two, because I didn’t want to. I removed myself from these situations. He may have my body at his mercy, but he will never have my mind.

  The thick tip of his penis pressed against the entrance of my hole. “You’re going to help me.” He sunk himself inside of me and I cried out loudly even though it was muffled by the gag.

  I lost my virginity to this prick, and now he uses me as his toy. I’ve thought about going to the police multiple times, but I remember the one time I did and saw James talking with all of the officers outside the precinct. As if he knew that I was going to at the very least try to talk with someone about it.

  There was no coming out of his shadows, so the best I could do now was blend in.

  He kissed me passionately, making love to me. I remained passive, blocking out what was happening. Once he was done, he peeled his sticky body off mine and reached for his cigar holder in his side pocket. Taking one out, his eyes remaining on mine, he lit the end, and then lights the bottom of the metal holder, and before I can comprehend what he is doing, he pressed the scorching hot metal to the inside of my lower ankle and I once again cried out in agony, lost within the cloud of my pain.

  “You’re always going to be mine now. When people see that? They’re going to know they can’t fucking touch you.”

  I move through my new classes fluidly, but I find myself unsettled. Like there’s so much to unravel before I can focus solely on why I’m here. I expected for James and me to be done once I left Stone View. I should have known better.

  My hand skims over the parcel that was left for me at the front desk, the gold and red ribbons slipping over the palm of my hand. Why. Why does he do this to me? And why am I not so bothered by it anymore? The biggest secret I’ve ever held was the one of James and I. Silenced, but not sure why.

  I flip off the lid and shake my head. “Green. Of course.” I touch the silk gown and take it out of the box. The PRADA label that is embedded into the underbed of the box isn’t surprising at all. James goes all out. Always. I lick my bottom lip and take my dress to the bathroom, turning on the faucet to my private shower. I am grateful for my own amenities, but I’m also not sold on the fact that he didn’t have something to do with it, so no one questions my whereabouts.

  Quickly scrubbing up in the shower, I dry my body off and rub potent scented lotion into my skin. I’ve only got an hour to get ready. I continue to do my makeup and hair. Brushing on thick foundation and a strong smoky eye, I line my lips in army green before sliding a matte style lipstick over them. I gather my makeup into a pile and take myself in in the mirror. Tightened beneath my breasts to spill them over the edge, while the waist is clenched in tightly, accentuating my already hourglass shape. The backs have little black feather wings where straps should be. It’s nice. I’ll give him that. When there’s a knock on the door, my muscles tighten, snapping my shoulders straight. Showtime.

  The night is placid, but the midnight sky does nothing to blanket the nerves that are wracking through my body, sizzling me from the tips of my fingers to the ends of my toes.

  “Where we are going tonight,” James murmurs, pulling his Maserati onto the freeway. Soft classical music is filling the car. I hate classical music now. “I will need you on your best behavior.”

  Running my tongue over the inside of my lip, I ask, “Where are we going?”

  “This place,” James says, looking out over his arm to the oncoming traffic. “It’s called L’artisaniant. Selected people are invited to join, and I just so happened to be asked. I need you on your best behavior.” I watch out of the corner of my eye as his fist tenses around his steering wheel. Cracking his neck, he turns to face me.

  “And who do they think I am?” I ask, struggling to hold in my sass.

  “They think you’re my toy, which is exactly what you are.” My jaw tightens as he continues to drive. I can feel my phone vibrating in my black Louis Vuitton trunk clutch and I have to fight the will to answer it. After four years of being handled by James, he has somehow conditioned me to bend at his will. Ruling over me with an iron fist, I learned rather quickly that the harder I fought, the harder the punishment which means the softer the sex. If I’m his toy, then I’m a caged lioness with no will to be saved or to run.

  “And may I ask who is who?” I say, testing his patience.

  James shakes his head, pulling down a dark, private road and stopping outside a large wired gate. Dark spikes stretch up to the heavens in pointed gothic spikes, but the thick shrubs and trees hide any view from seeing farther in. Before he drew his window down to speak into a small white voice box, he pins me with dominant eyes. “No. It’s all private. You have to understand this, Jade. To be invited to L’artisaniant is a high honor. Only the most influential people in the world are selected to join.”

  I ponder over his words, chewing on my bottom lip. “So this is your first time?”

  James’ lips curve and I watch as the wrinkles around his mouth crinkle beneath the pressure. I’ve thought about the reason as to why he did what he did to me and why he’s doing this to me—multiple times—and all I can think is it comes down to what he introduced to me after scarring my ankle all those years ago. The scar is small and naked to the human eye unless you’re looking for it, but the invisible scarring it has left on my heart is enough to make up for it. What I walked into. I’m thankful that I haven’t been back in a couple months, but he has made it clear that another gathering is happening and it’s happening sooner than I thought, which can only mean one thing.

  New meat.

  “Yes. You’ll be wearing a mask in here.” He takes two leather cases out from his side door and hands one to me. “Put it on now and keep it on at all times. Do you understand?” He opens his box and slides his over his face. It wraps around his face like a second skin, stopping above his lips.

  When I take mine out of the box, I’m not at all surprised to see that it’s leather. Not what he usually has me wear, but still leather.

  “I can’t imagine what they might want with you,” I whisper, and before I can choke back the words and swallow them back down my throat, they’re already out there in the open, being inhaled by my enemy. I busy myself with fixin
g my mask onto my face as he turns, hitting the button to wind his window down. He either didn’t hear me or I will pay for it later. There’s never an in between with him.

  “Every time your thighs clench for another man, you will know it was me who put that hunger there. I tore your innocence open.” James was a vicious bastard, but he was a bastard that not even I could win against. Not ever. There’s no point saving the doomed, because the doomed don’t know how to exist without the curse that they’ve been under once they’ve been there for too long.

  The gates split open with a squeak and he presses his foot on the pedal to drive us forward. Dimming the headlights, we continue down the long cobblestone driveway at a slow speed. My stomach is twisting in knots and my heart is beating too fast.

  I swipe my sweaty palms down my thighs as we roll to a stop. The driveway curves in a full circle, with dark wood steps leading to the main door. The house is modern and executive with glass panes at the front and a single wooden door. It’s probably the most interesting house I have ever seen. Not a single speck of color, or nail of wood. It’s all glass. A solitary man stands at the front of the door, dressed in full military attire, with an AK strapped to his side.

  Straightening my shoulders, I tilt my head. “Is this usual?”

  When I climb out of the car and James comes to the other side of me, his arm hooks in mine. “Yes. What happens behind these doors make it necessary.”

  “And what is it that happens behind these doors?” I ask, intrigue eating away at my thoughts. “Just to prepare myself.”

  James doesn’t answer, he merely directs us to the front of the house. He does this a lot. He will either answer me or ignore me, both sides of that tend to grate on my nerves.

  The man at the door is older, with a shaved head and angry, unsettled eyes. He reminds me of who Royce is right now, filled with uncertainty that swims beneath the surface of pretty blue eyes.

  “Go ahead.” He steps aside after James takes back his hand. Just as I’m about to follow James through the wood doors, a heavy hand is planted against my chest, pausing my movements.