Stone Cold Queen: Sick Boys Book 2

by Smoke , Lucy

  Gray-blue eyes widen when she finally realizes what I'm talking about as she feels my cock jump against her stomach. "Are you fucking serious?" she mutters.

  "Unfortunately."

  Her scowl deepens, but she doesn't get another chance to lay into me because at that moment, Abel bounds around the side of the SUV, followed at a much slower pace by Brax.

  "Looks like we ruined a touching moment," Abel snickers. "Literally—touching."

  "Fuck off, asshole," I snap, but his voice does the trick. I move away from Avalon and turn, resting my back against the side of the vehicle as I tuck her into my side. I half expect her to try to wriggle away, but she remains in the circle of my arm. Always full of surprises.

  "Are you done for the day?" Brax asks.

  I nod. "Yeah, you?"

  "Yeah. Only got one more exam, and then it's all over."

  "How was coach?" I ask.

  Abel and Brax both shrug in a non-communicative gesture, and I can guess what that means. Coach is pissed. We haven't been showing up to practices lately. It's not really like we can get kicked off the team—not with who we are—but he can choose not to play us.

  "Did you tell him we had business to deal with?" I ask.

  "Of course, we did," Abel says. "He's still not too happy, but I think if we show that we're putting in the effort over the summer, he'll get over it."

  Irritation flashes through me. I respect the man, and I understand that many adults don't take too kindly to being told what to do by three college students, but the fact of the matter is, Eastpoint owns his ass, and therefore, so do we. If we want to skip practices to take care of rapist drug dealers and smart-mouthed little bitches then we will. "Even if we don't," I hear myself saying, "he'll get the fuck over it. We pay that motherfucker."

  Avalon's hand touches my chest, startling me into looking down. Her lips twist. She seems amused, rather than scared of my anger. Any other chick would be running for the hills, but any other chick isn't Avalon fucking Manning. My hand curls more firmly around her side, and the desire to pick her up and put her in the back of the SUV rises back to the surface. "Chill, D-man," she chides.

  “You gonna make me, baby?” I counter.

  She arches one of those dark brows of hers but doesn’t respond. She doesn’t need to. I know she handles me in her own way, and I’m down with that so long as I can handle her in mine.

  “There’s another issue,” Abel says, drawing my attention back to him and Brax.

  “What is it?” I demand when I see the graveness of their features—someone’s fucked up.

  Abel darts a look at Avalon, and I don’t understand why until he starts talking. “Corina’s planning her end of the year birthday party, and she’s made it her clear mission to have Kate Coleman there.”

  “Already?” I blink when Avalon leans forward around me and grins. “Damn, that was fast.”

  “You know something about this?” I ask, looking down at her.

  She shrugs. “Depends.”

  I narrow my eyes on her. “Depends on what?”

  “On if you’re going to let me be a little evil,” she shoots back.

  “When do I let you do anything?” I grumble. “You’ll just fucking do it whether I agree to it or not, won’t you?”

  She smiles—a true fucking smile—and for a split second, my chest caves in. The world fades away. And all I can suddenly see is her. That smile is dangerous. It’s wicked and evil and oh so tempting. That smile tells me she’s planning something horrendous.

  “Awww,” she says, reaching up to pat the side of my face, “you are trainable.”

  “Hold up, wait,” Abel puts his hands up. “What are you saying? Are you in on this?”

  “Corina invited me to her birthday,” Ava answers. “And I said I’d go—and that you’d go since I realize you won’t let me go alone…” She trails off with a pause, looking around as if waiting for one of us to deny that claim.

  “Absolutely not,” I tell her. She doesn’t go anywhere with Corina fucking Harrison without me or one of my guys. Her last name may not be Kincaid, but she’s untrustworthy all the same.

  She nods, completely unbothered. “Exactly what I thought,” she continues. “So, I told her we’d go on the condition that she invite Kate Coleman and make sure she’s there. I’m glad she’s taking my request seriously.”

  “What are you planning, savage girl?” Brax asks, watching her closely.

  Avalon merely grins and tips her head back as she looks up at him. “You’ll see,” she hedges. “But it means we’re going to Corina’s little party.”

  “I’m in,” he says immediately, a wicked grin appearing on his face.

  “Hold up,” Abel says quickly. “I want to know what you’re planning before we go walking into the hyena’s den.”

  Avalon screws up her face and swings a confused look towards him. “Hyena’s den?” she repeats.

  Abel shrugs. “Hyenas are fucking scavengers," he says. "That's exactly what she is."

  Ergo, she's no fucking lioness. Not like Avalon, herself.

  Avalon rolls her eyes. "If you don't wanna come, fine," she says. "I'll go by myself."

  I tighten my hold and swing her around until her front is mashed up against mine again. "No, you won't," I tell her, dropping my voice.

  She arches a brow. "Think you can stop me?" she challenges.

  I lean down into her face and reach up to grip her chin to ensure she sees the danger in my eyes. "You bet your sweet fucking ass, I can," I say. I let that statement rest before I finish. "But I won't have to. We'll go with you. You may not realize it yet, baby, but you're one of us now. We back each other up."

  Braxton whoops at the same time that Abel releases a low groan before stomping around the side of the car and yanking the back door open. "Front," I call out, not looking away from her face as she smiles at me. Her little plotting smiles make me want to slam her on a nearby surface and fuck her goddamn brains out, but I suppose I'll settle for a little backseat fingering on the way home.

  Abel's head pops around the side of the SUV, and I release Avalon's chin to reach into my pocket, withdrawing my keys and tossing them towards Brax. "You drive," I say. "We're riding in the back."

  Abel's eyes roll, but a smile overtakes his face too. "Riding?" he asks. "Or ridin'?" He snickers at his own stupid joke, and I spin, opening the back door of my car. My hands span Avalon's waist, and she doesn't even blink as I lift her onto the seat and slide my hand straight up her throat, grabbing it in a fast movement.

  Her eyes widen, and her lips part. I have no fucking doubt if I slipped my fingers into her jeans right now, she'd be soaking wet for me. "Ready to go home, baby?" I ask as I lean forward and nip her bottom lip.

  She flinches, her blue-gray eyes flashing dangerously. "Your home, Dean," she says. "Not mine."

  "It'll be yours, too, soon enough, baby," I tell her, pushing her back to give me room to climb in alongside her as Braxton takes the wheel and Abel grabs the front passenger seat. "You'll see." And then I proceed to show her just what ridin' with me feels like the entire way home. Maybe if I do it enough, I'll train her to equate coming home to me with nothing but bone deep pleasure.

  25

  Avalon

  That weekend, after exams are all done, I stand in my room at the Sick Boys’ mansion, combing through my duffle bags. Even though when I arrived, one had been filled with dirty laundry and the other with clean shit, since I'd officially moved in with the guys, someone had gone through my stuff, washed it, and returned it hung up in perfectly pressed lines. Probably one of the nearly invisible staff that come in and out of the house like silent ghosts.

  The guys' maid had nearly given me a fucking heart attack when I'd gone down to grab a water while they were all out doing their own shit sometime during the week. Since then, however, I'd seen neither hide nor hair of anyone else. It’s almost too easy to convince myself that it’s just them and me, especially when I start seeing far
more of them than I ever expected. Small moments that are so normal they surprise me. I’m so used to seeing them dressed to kill—quite literally—and always with their guards up. But here, in their house, they’re just normal twenty-something year old guys. Abel hangs out in his boxers, playing video games. Braxton drinks milk straight from the carton in the kitchen after a workout. He works out shirtless, and it’s allowed me to really examine him. I’d never noticed the tattoos on his spine. I know Dean has his, and that Abel has a few of his own, but Brax—he’s completely inkless everywhere except that back of his. Every inch of skin from his shoulders right down to the top curve of his ass is covered in twisting dark patterns. I wonder if he’s hiding something.

  "Hey," Dean's voice sounds from the hallway as he opens the door and strides inside. "Are you ready?"

  "Almost," I say, bending over and snatching a hair tie from one of my duffles and the cheap brush with no handle that I keep in there. I comb back my hair and pull it back into a tight ponytail while he remains in the doorway, leaning on the frame with his arms crossed.

  "What?" I ask.

  He shakes his head. "Nothing, you just look damn fine, baby."

  Baby ... when had I gotten so damn used to that term from him? My back straightens, and I shrug but don't respond. I don't tell him, but he looks damn fine too. His shoulders stretch the dark fabric of his t-shirt, and I can't help the way my eyes trail down to the fit of his jeans.

  My attention doesn't go unnoticed. "See something you want, baby?"

  I look back to his face, and he grins. I force myself to turn away. "Are the guys ready?" I ask, ignoring his question.

  "Yeah, they're downstairs."

  I grab my phone off the desk and slip it into my pocket. "Alright, let's go."

  Dean captures me as I try to slip past him, his hand touching my hip and locking down. "Still don't want to tell me what you're planning?"

  Desire flares up inside of me. Fuck. Every time he touches me, it's there—burning in the background. Only he can ignite it. But he doesn't just fucking start it, he throws gasoline on it too until I'm nothing but a raging inferno. I lick my lips, and his eyes drop to my mouth. "Nope," I say slowly.

  "What if I were to offer an incentive?" he asks, his eyes not leaving my lips.

  A grin flits across my mouth, and I reach up, touching his chest and pushing him back slightly. "There isn't an incentive you could offer me that would make me ruin the surprise I have in store tonight."

  "Oh, but I'd love trying," he says with a smile as his eyes lift back to mine. Those wickedly dark irises swirling in a mass of red, honey, and brown.

  I slip away and start off down the hallway, calling back over my shoulder. "Better hurry, or we'll leave you behind, D-man."

  The sound of his footsteps behind me makes my heartbeat thrum just a little bit faster, and my whole body clenches when he stops behind me just as I reach the stairs. "I don't mind being behind you, Ava," he says against my ear. "It's such a pretty view after all."

  With that, he rears back and smacks my ass, chuckling as he rounds my body and descends the stairs ahead of me. I have to admit, I can see the appeal, I think as I watch his ass in those tight fucking jeans.

  Shaking my head, I start down after him, and we meet up with Brax and Abel in the foyer before heading out to Abel’s Mustang. I wonder if anyone else—any of their hangers-on or their football friends notice that it's kind of like their signature. Or at the very least Abel's signature.

  I slide into the backseat, and Abel puts the top down, letting in the warm spring to summer air. My face tips back, and I look up at the fat moon hanging overhead, wondering how the fuck I got so comfortable with guys who were a bunch of strangers a few months ago, and at times, even worse than strangers—they were my fucking enemies.

  I swallow around a suddenly thick throat and sit up again as the car takes off. Dean eyes me from his periphery. "You okay?"

  Abel's head turns, and his eyes meet mine in the rearview mirror. I force a smirk. "Just really looking forward to the evening's festivities," I half-lie.

  Brax turns in his seat. "Do we get to watch?" he asks curiously with a grin on his face.

  I roll my eyes. "No," I say, "but you'll likely see the result of my handiwork soon."

  "What are you going to do?" Abel asks.

  What is it with these guys and wanting to know every damn thing I do? It's like they don't trust me. I smile to myself. If they don’t, they've got good instincts. I wouldn't trust me if I were them either. "I'm going to teach Kate Coleman a lesson," I reply, facing forward in my seat. "Fuck with me and you'll regret it.”

  * * *

  Abel pulls up to a mansion that looks like it's been cut out of some down home magazine. All straight lines, white paint, and big lavish green bushes that have been cut into weird shapes. I grimace as he parks behind a line of luxury vehicles, and we get out.

  "What do her parents do?" I wonder aloud as we walk up the front steps.

  Dean chuckles as Abel and Braxton catch sight of some of their football friends just inside the door. "Julia Harrison is a top-class gold digger," he says, leaning down into my ear so I can hear him over the beat of the music. "But Malone Kincaid is a subsidiary of Kincaid industries. He's got a trust fund bigger than most of the upper-middle-class families’ yearly income. "

  I'm smart, but I don't speak business professional the way Dean does. I tip my head back and narrow my eyes on him. It's easy to forget, sometimes, that he's been groomed to take over a business that spans continents. In a few short years, he'll probably be one of the rulers of the world—literally. And where will I be? Will I still be the program princess? Will I go back to another Plexton? Maybe not my hometown, but a place just like it. Or will I be with him?

  I'm rooted to the spot as I realize I want the second option. I want to be with him. I want to follow him into hell and see what he does. Not only that, I don't want to trail behind him. I want to rule at his side. Dean Carter is a king, and I'm ... aiming for the spot alongside him. I want to be his fucking queen.

  That makes tonight all the more important. I need to do this without him behind me. Oh, I believe him when he says he'll back me—that they all will. But I need to prove to, not only him and the others, but to Kate and whoever is backing her that I can take care of myself. A queen is powerful all on her own, and I intend to show them all that fact.

  "Do you have your pocket knife?" I ask.

  His eyes widen, and just as he's about to open his mouth and speak, someone jostles us, wavering in their heels as they stumble along past us. Dean's head lifts, and he turns a scowl the drunken girl's way before he swings that deep, hellish gaze right back to me. Other people might be scared of that dangerous look in his eyes, but for me ... it makes me think of nothing but chocolate, torment, and a whole lot of orgasms.

  He delves his hand into the front pocket of his jeans and pulls out the simple blade, handing it over. I take it and slip it into the cup of my bra with a grin. "Do I want to know what you're going to use that for?" he asks.

  I shrug and spin, lifting up on my toes, I plaster myself against his chest, circling his neck with my arms. My heart thuds, pulsing in my veins as I lean into him until he can feel the heat of my breath against his lips. "I'm going to do such wicked"—my nipples pucker as his hands grab my ass, lifting so that I'm settled firmly against his crotch as well. I keep going—"dirty"—he rubs his erection against my groin, and I repress a soft groan, forging ahead—"evil things with this knife of yours," I manage to finish.

  His eyes gleam, and it's as if they're lit by the fucking flames of hell. "I think I'm gonna make that pansy-ass knife my favorite fucking one then," he tells me right as his lips graze mine.

  "Avalon!"

  I might have held back my soft moan a second ago, but I can't stop the chuckle that leaves my lips as he growls against me and lets me down at the sound of Corina's voice. "I'm going to get a drink," he tells me with a scowl as Corina finally
appears, bounding through the mass of people that have collected in the front hallway of the house. "Come find me when you're done doing what you need to do."

  "Coward," I taunt as he practically runs in the opposite direction as Corina stops at my side.

  He doesn't respond except to lift his hand and toss me his happy middle finger over his shoulder. "Where're the others?" Corina asks curiously.

  "Oh, they're here," I tell her. "Somewhere off with the other football guys."

  "Oh." She relaxes. "Good. Well, I hope they're having fun. What do you think of my outfit?" She takes a step back and twirls, and I look to the loose top that can barely be called a top and the skin-tight black booty shorts encasing her lower half. The only reason I believe those things haven't ridden up and turned into a thong is because they're glued to her skin—it's the only explanation.

  "You look great," I say, then let my voice harden as I lift my eyes and meet her gaze. "Is Kate here?"

  Corina has some skill, that's for damn sure. Her smile doesn't even falter as she reaches forward and snags my wrist in her grip. "You just have to see the lounge in the East wing," she says. "It's got the best view of the pool." She keeps talking as she pulls me along. "If you didn't bring a bathing suit," she continues. "I can lend you one because really, you just have to try the pool. It's saltwater. Supposed to be good for your hair and skin." She lifts her hands and waves at her guests as we pass by. A few nod my way, probably recognizing who I am either from one of my fights or because I've had a Sick Boy on my ass practically since day one at Eastpoint.

  We reach the lounge she's talking about minutes later, and she drops my wrist, pushing into the room and closing the door behind her before making sure it's locked. The inane chatter she'd kept up the entire way here is blessedly cut off, and she leans against the door with a sigh. Then her head lifts, and she pushes off and strides across the room to what looks like an open wet bar. She pulls down a glass and uncorks a bottle.

  "Want one?" she offers almost belatedly.