Sicko

by Amo Jones

  As soon as she’s out of sight and it’s just him and I, he gapes at me. “You what?”

  “What, what?” I blurt innocently, taking a wary step down, bringing me to where Karli was seated. I need a plan of escape. I may not know who this Royce is anymore, but the way he hunts is the same. I can see it in the way his eyes harden angrily, like carved stone.

  He counters my step. “You fucking had feelings for me like that and never thought to say anything?”

  “What do you mean, Roy! You know I did!” I’m almost certain he knew. “Or why else would you antagonize me every chance you damn well got!” Another step down.

  Another forward. “Duchess, I’ll give you a head start to run, in an attempt to have me calm my shit down, and after that, your ass is mine.”

  I spin around quickly, my legs jolting me forward as a rush of adrenaline pulses through me. Arms wrap around my waist, hauling me off the ground as I scream loudly, my hand covering my mouth. “Roy! Put me down!”

  He doesn’t. Not until he has taken a few more steps. When he finally does, I’m in direct view of everyone that’s outside the clubhouse at the front near the fire pit. It’s dark, with nothing but Royce’s large body caging me in. The ripples of his muscles flex in his arms as he cages me in.

  He cocks his head, his voice low enough to raise the dead. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Because,” I say, and I don’t know what lie I should bring up. He doesn’t touch me, but his presence is enough to caress every single inch of my untamed soul. His eyes alone eat up the space between our bodies like a starved wolf, overdue for his feast.

  “Because isn’t enough.”

  “Would it matter?” I sigh, glaring up at him while leaning against the metal wall. I’ve come to gather we’re inside of a small shed. It smells of motor oil and fresh grass clippings. There’s no door, so if someone really wanted to, they could probably see us in between the lawnmower and garden tools.

  “What do you mean?” he asks, and as soon as he begins running the tip of his finger down the front of my throat, I inhale a deep breath to contain the euphoria that crashes over me, ready to crush me into tiny little pieces.

  “I mean, you would have still left…”

  He snaps, pinning me to the wall by his hips, his hand coming back to the front of my throat. “Told you to shut the fuck up about that, Duchess.”

  “Well maybe!” I protest around the tightness of my throat. “I don’t fucking want to!” His lips are on mine in a flash and sweltering magma rolls through my bloodstream, my legs wobbling beneath my weight. He picks me up from the backs of my thighs and wraps them around his waist while never breaking the kiss. Slamming me against the wall again in a crash, his mouth laps up every bit of flesh he can find. My hands are in his hair, around the back of his thick neck, and down to the front of his cut. I glide my fingers over the patches on the front as he tears open my leather jacket and ducks beneath my crop, his head dipping lower until his mouth latches on to the nub of my breast. He tugs the sensitive bead beneath his teeth and a fierce sting aches through them.

  He pauses, standing back to his full height. “Who the fuck let you have fake tits?”

  Oh shit.

  “Ah, Mom did.”

  “What?” he snaps. “Why the fuck would she do that?”

  I shrug. “I complained that mine were too small.”

  “Why don’t I believe you?”

  Wrapping my fingers around the collar of his cut, I pull him in closer. “Just fuck me.”

  Just like that, with those simple words, he’s unbuttoning my jeans, his hand diving beneath. As soon as I feel his palm over my bare pussy, I moan, my head tipping back. His thumb presses against my clit in slow circles as he rests his head in the crook of my neck. “Do you know how much I want to fucking kill you right now? All these years I could have had my mouth on this pussy, and you deprived me of that.” He increases pressure, his circles slowing. “I’m going to fuck you hard and fast here, and then later, you’re going to wish I was still fucking you how I’m about to.”

  I nibble on my bottom lip as he slides his finger inside of my entrance. “I need you inside of me.”

  “Say it again…” he growls through a throaty groan.

  “I need you inside of me.”

  He withdraws his hand from my pants and drops me back to the ground, tugging my jeans down to my ankles and tearing them off. If I wasn’t high and nervous, I would make sure no one was watching us right now, but I don’t. I don’t care. All I care about is that I have him and he has me, and I need to be closer to him. I need to feel him inside of me, owning me, thrusting into me, riding and licking me all over my body. The cold brush of wind whisks over my clit as Royce unbuckles his belt and picks me back up with his fingers flexing around my thighs.

  His mouth is on mine again, his slick tongue sliding between my lips. I fight the urge to scream, my body responding to all of his physical cues, as if it knows how to counter his actions.

  Slamming me against the wall roughly, he thrusts inside of me, his mouth on mine again. My body fills with hot fire with every single thrust. Every time he rocks inside of me, my pussy clenches around his thick shaft, milking his every movement.

  Pulling out, he flips me over and slaps my ass hard, entering me from behind with a force of energy. My hair rolls over one shoulder as I catch where everyone is seated. In my sex and very fucking high haze, I’m somewhat pleased to see no one watching, until my focus falls on Wicked. He’s leaning back in his chair, a toothpick rolling around between his swollen lips. His eyes are dead, cold, and emotionless. Royce grabs my hair tight and yanks my head backward.

  “You better not be looking at who I think you’re looking at…”

  I gulp, no desire to answer him.

  He releases my hair before one hand clamps around my waist, tensing hard enough to leave bruises beneath my skin while his other comes to the back of my throat. “You’ll pay for that too.”

  He squeezes and thrashes me from behind, his cock thrusting against the walls of my pussy as his hand tenses enough to cut off any form of oxygen.

  I tap at his hand as he relentlessly thrusts into me. In and out, in and out, his hand clenching the same time, with every time he chokes me, it seems to get longer. Bright retro dots dance behind the backs of my eyes, everything turning dizzy. Just as my thighs clench together and a moan falls from my mouth, my orgasm drips out of me and slips down my thigh as everything goes black.

  Dirt and chalk crusts around my mouth as I come to, with Royce placing me back onto the ground in the back of the small garage, his shoulders shaking with laughter.

  “Roy!” I gasp. “What happened?”

  “You may have closed your eyes or somethin’…”

  “Yeah,” I growl. “Or something… or I fucking passed out.”

  He tosses my jeans and panties at me and I slip into them, careful not to stand too quickly. “Was it after I came at least?”

  “Yes.” He’s still laughing as he grabs a cigarette from his packet.

  “Stop laughing!” I scold him, though I have to fight my own smile.

  He snorts. “Never.” Lighting up the end, he places the tip into his mouth and tucks me under his arm. Just as he’s about to lead us out of the shed, his fingers hook in mine and he spins me around until I crash into his hard chest. “One more thing.”

  I peer up at him, hypnotized by the way his thick eyelashes fan out over his tanned skin. “What?”

  Smoke releases from between his puffy lips. “Whatever is going on with you and that fuckboy, I need to know about. This is serious, Jade. It goes deeper than me being a possessive control freak over you, you hear?”

  My smile falls, and when his fingers flex around my chin, tilting my face up to his, I know he caught it.

  “Duchess, what’s going on?”

  My mouth opens, and I know the words are near falling out. So close. But then shame slams its ugly hand over my mouth and I s
wallow the potential rejection like top-shelf alcohol. How am I going to tell him? How do I tell him? Where do I start? “It’s a really long story, but I will tell you.”

  His brows furrow in, worry lines etching into his smooth forehead. He sighs, relaxing his grip. “Later.”

  I nod, offering a small, fake smile. “Sure, later.” When he tucks me under his arm and directs me to where everyone is seated, I ignore the pang of loss that throbs in my chest.

  Even when he flips off a few of the brothers for whistling at us and I see a smidge of the old Royce, that same pain throbs.

  Even when I take a seat on his lap at the table and he hands me a plate filled with fatty meats and crispy fried potatoes, that pain intensifies. When I look down at him from above and see the way his eyes light up on me, his arm relaxed around my waist as it should have always been, that. Pain. Fucking. Throbs. As I hunt around the table and watch everyone in their movements with their loved ones, and how they all shuffle in their seat, talking and laughing among one another, the pain throbs. This isn’t just a motorcycle club, it’s a family. No wonder Royce never wanted to come home after he found them, I wouldn’t want to either. I’ve never felt so safe, or so right, than I do while I’m here, on this infuriatingly crazy man, sitting at this over-the-top long table and eating this deliciously cooked food. Sadness washes over me when I realize this is all a dream. Soon, I’ll have to wake and the nightmare that’s my reality will be waiting for me on the other side.

  “You good?” Royce asks, biting the side of my neck.

  I sink my teeth into the fatty meat, sucking the juices off my thumb and looking down at him. The way he takes me in is strong enough to cripple me. He cripples me. Every single emotion that I felt as a kid has returned tenfold. “So good.”

  Slowly, the corner of his mouth kicks up in a sexy smirk. “So good, huh?” He leans over and wraps his lips around the thumb I just sucked, but instead of sucking on it, he bites it. Hard.

  I yelp, but no one hears because everyone is talking and laughing loudly. “Ouch, Royce!”

  He chuckles, his soft lips crashing onto mine briefly. “Yeah,” he says, licking his lips. “I’m never letting you out of my sight ever again.” My heart explodes in my chest, the shards of the aftermath ricocheting through my flesh. As soon as it exploded, the logicality of my situation makes my head spin and stomach sink. I twist around to block my face from crumbling. Tears well at the back of my eyes as I internally count down from twenty. Breathing in and breathing out. Every second I spend with him only lathers my pain with guilt. So much guilt.

  How the hell am I going to get through lockdown?

  I left Jade out the back with the girls while Lion called church after the feast. We touched base, he told everyone that he hadn’t heard back from the cartel, and now everyone is leaving, retreating to their bedrooms or to their tents out back. Lockdowns are always inconvenient for routines, but they’re necessary. They’re what keep us safe.

  “Remember the day we met?” Lion asks, sucking on his cigar.

  I chuckle. “Yes, I fucking do…”

  Four Years Earlier

  I pulled my car up to the parking lot of Patches, the rumble of my V8 growling angrily beneath my ass. “It’s a shit hole, for one,” I murmured to myself. Bitch probably set me up.

  Picking up my phone, I sent off a message to Orson and Storm, pausing over their names briefly. What we had gone through yesterday was enough to drive a wedge through any friendship, but our friendship wasn’t any friendship. One day, we would turn what we went through into something good. That I fuckin’ know.

  If I die, Patches is the bar I’m at.

  I pushed my phone back into my jeans pocket and threw my hoodie over my head, climbing out of the car. It had an old-style house vibe to it, with a worn porch and aged wood lining the entry. The words Patches is inscribed over the chipping paint job, the log door swinging open with the wind. Taking the steps needed to the entrance, I pushed open the door with a squeak and it slammed shut behind me.

  The temperature in the room is noticeably cooler than outside, and that’s not from the weather. The room is split between two groups.

  On one side was a pack of bikers, wearing thick, heavy cuts and all of various shapes and sizes, and on the other side, standing somewhat calm and chill, was a group of older men dressed in suits and dripping with gold. I feel like I just strolled into an episode of The Sopranos crossed with Sons of Anarchy.

  “Ah…” I said, but it was too late, gunshots rang out. I instantly ducked behind a table to take cover. “Fuck!” I was probably about to die, all because I listened to some random ass lady that told me to go to a fucking bar in the ass crack of nowhere. Bullets sprayed everywhere, smashing glasses and bottles. When everything died out, I tipped my head around the corner to see the older man from the MC side on his knees, his hands up behind the back of his head and the mafia boss and his side all pinned on the MC.

  Shit.

  Pulling my Glock out from the waistband of my pants, I pointed my pistol at the man who looked more important, since he was the one who had a gun pointed at the older man on the ground.

  “I told you to stay out of my business, Lion.”

  Pop!

  I squeezed the trigger and he dropped to the ground after my bullet penetrated the side of his head. I hadn’t killed a man before. This was my first time, but something inside of me knew that I needed to save this man today—at any cost. The MC side all whipped out their guns, shooting down the other two men who were with the mafia boss. I stepped closer to the bodies, studying them charily, wishing I could do something. Anything.

  “What you thinkin’, son?” the older man, Lion, asks, his attention unrestrainedly on me.

  I shrugged. “Just that if these are bad people and if you could, would you want to do more to them?” My eyes found his. “I mean, death is the coward’s way out. The fun should start before they’re dead. Humiliate them. Show them they have no control, not anymore.” The anger I felt inside of me was tipping over the edge of my control, and I didn’t like it. But seeing blood, and bodies on the ground, made me think of Diamond, and how much I would fucking kill to have his mercy pressed to the tip of my gut.

  Lion flashed me a prideful grin, displaying his gold tooth. “Mmmm, where did you say you were headed?”

  Present

  “Yeah, I remember like it was fucking yesterday.” I chuckle, shaking out of my memory. “We burned that whole fucking place to the ground.”

  “Which was hard to do, considering that bar had sentimental value to this club.”

  That catches me off guard, and I guess that should have been something I asked him a long time ago, but it slipped my mind among all the bodies, blood, and being patched in instantly.

  I lean back in my chair, stretching my legs wide. I’m trying to force my thoughts from drifting to Jade asleep upstairs, in my sheets. My cock swells against the zipper of my jeans at the fucking thought of it. “You gonna tell me about that…”

  Lion clears his throat, taking a cigar out of his humidor and putting it between his cracked lips. Age hasn’t been kind to the old fucker, but he was definitely a handsome cunt in his better days. “There was a girl.”

  We both look at each other and laugh. “Isn’t there always.”

  Lion lights the trunk of his cigar. “This one was different.” I never asked him why Bonnie was only his wife and not his old lady. I never asked him about a lot of shit when I think back on it, but the thing with Lion is that if you were to know something about him, you would know because he would tell you. Digging into his life would do nothing but piss him off, and you don’t wanna be pissing him off. Age isn’t the only thing that hasn’t been kind to him, his patience hasn’t either. “She was my old lady.”

  I pause, my fingers tensing around my chair. Without filling the silence with unnecessary shit, I keep quiet, waiting for him to continue. He does. “Met her when we were in our early twenties. She was this
mysterious witch that I fell in love with instantly. My old man and president at the time warned me off her. His words were… Stay away from girls with dark hair and bright eyes. Their soul will always battle between good and bad.” He shakes his head, running his withered hands over his face, his gold rings clinking. “Should have fucking listened. I didn’t. Fell in love. She ran away from her messed-up family to be with me here, and then one day, she just—” He stops breathing. “Vanishes. Tried waiting for her for years, but she never came back. That day I met you, I had just found out that her family had close fucking ties to the Colombian cartel, and I was ass-deep in trying to find her. Dead ends. Every fucking time.”

  He flicks off the ash of his cigar and leans back in his chair, the wood cracking under his weight. He takes a long pull, rolling the brown trunk around in his mouth. “Gave up, found Bonnie and had that little shit Gypsy. Told her she’d never be my old lady, already had one of those.”

  It’s true, we only give the honor to one woman, and by the sound of it, she was that for Lion. Even as he speaks about her, I see the clear pain in his eyes, the twitch in his fingers around his cigar from anger, and finally the brittle tone he uses when speaking about her. Every now and then, he’d gaze off into the distance, as if reliving a memory. Or a nightmare. Can’t figure out which is what.

  “I’m sorry, big man,” I murmur roughly, taking out a rolled spliff from my pocket. “Did you ever find her?” By this point, I’m completely engrossed in this asshole’s love story gone wrong. Sounds like some modern-day twist on Romeo and Juliet.

  His head tips back as a laugh rips from his throat. “Fuck no. Bitch would be locked in my room for days on end if I had.”

  “And what if you do find her one day?” I ask the question that I’m sure he never wants to answer. “Do you know who you’d choose?”

  His eyes come to mine, and for the first time since I’ve met Lion, the muscles in his face stiffen somberly. There’s not a hint of a smile. He is deafeningly dangerous in this moment. “Every fucking time.”