Sicko

by Amo Jones

  I clear my throat. “You and Mom?” I test the waters that I want to fucking dive into. “You good?”

  He shakes his head, laughing. “Ask me what you really want to know.”

  I have two options right now. I can pretend that I don’t assume he has a little girlfriend, or I can show him the hand I’m holding—with the knowledge that I have a whole new fucking deck hiding under my ass. “You’re around that age to find someone half your age is all…” My fingers flex.

  He chuckles. I can almost feel Gypsy’s eyes boring into mine. He doesn’t know shit about what I’m talking about, he just assumes that I’m catching on to who my old man really is. “I may have…” Dad says the words I already know.

  “That poor little bitch. She hot?” I joke, kicking my leg out in front of me. “Let her know that when she’s over riding on daddy’s washed-up cock, she can come drop to her knees for her master.”

  Dad visibly stills, and it’s the most emotion I have seen in him since—forever. He is an emotionless man in general, hardly shifting energy to accommodate anyone. He releases his tension with an easy smile on his lips. “Mmmhmm, sure.” Standing up, he swipes his lips with his thumb. “See you in two days.” Just as he reaches the door, his fingers flex around the handle as he looks at me over his shoulder. “Oh, and boy? Wanna keep an eye on your sister?”

  “I had every plan to do that, but not for the reasons that you, as her dad, are probably hoping for.”

  He turns this time, facing me while leaning against the doorframe. “Elaborate.”

  “Well,” I say, pushing up from my chair. “You’re hoping I keep her safe, you know, away from all the bad little boys in college. Which, given that’s definitely something I would have done in the past, but now I don’t give a fuck.” I smirk, hitting the steps and going straight for the fridge. “I’ll watch her, though. Only now I’ll be watching her with my hand around my cock.” I throw him a wink, wrapping my hands around my cold beer and slamming my stainless-steel fridge closed.

  Dad shakes his head. “You really going to go with the whole incest thing? I mean, I always knew you had a thing for her, but this?”

  I swallow my cold beer while swiping my mouth with the back of my hand. “Chill, old man. I’m not about to dip my finger into the honey pot.” Ignoring him, I’m hoping he disappears so I can get back to business with Gypsy.

  The door closes behind me just as Gypsy opens his mouth. “Hate that fucker.”

  Chuckling, I sit back in my chair and shake my head. “You’re paranoid.” My phone dings in my pocket and I reach inside, unlocking a new message.

  Nellie: She’s annoying. Why do I have to watch her constantly?

  Because I fucking said so.

  I toss my phone onto the coffee table. “There’s something up with Dad and his shipments.”

  Gypsy whistles as I scoop up my keys for my bike. “Damn, might want to also check this out, brother.” I look down at his phone that he’s passing me before going back to him.

  “What?” I snatch it off him and look down at the phone. It’s a girl, naked and bound, back facing the camera. Her long brown hair trails down her back, stopping above her tailbone in soft waves. Sexiest fucking body I have ever seen, with curves that made my fingers itch, reaching to touch, and a soft ass that dips where it’s supposed to.

  I push play when I realize it’s a video.

  The man recording walks out from behind the phone, wearing a dark suit, gloves, and a ski mask. My breathing halts when I see the K Diamond emblem glistening on his chain.

  Everyone knows who the fuck K Diamond is. He’s notoriously known in the human trafficking sector of underground scum. The name itself came from his symbol. It’s a K and then another K mirrored, creating a diamond where each tip of the letter begins and ends.

  “That’s your phone, man,” Gypsy whispers, pointing down at it.

  I clench my jaw. What the fuck does he want. We all know how he works. He chooses his tormentors who he knows can afford it, and taunts them with something, or someone, that he knows we will want or need, offering them at a price. If we ignore it, he kills that person—which to be honest, I don’t know who this bitch is in the video, so I couldn’t give a fuck—but then he puts a hit out on your mom, grandmother, fucking sister, aunt. Any other female that you are close to. It’s how he chooses his victims. No one knows why he does what he does, or even how. He hides his identity behind a ski mask and cameras. If you purchase your bait that he sends you, they come with the K Diamond brand burned into their flesh as a reminder. He’s a serial killer, rapist, and fucking all-around gross motherfucker.

  His body moves in front of the girl, as she twists and turns her wrists together in the rope binds. A red tie is tied to the back of her head, but other than that, her skin is clean.

  She doesn’t seem as dirty as the other girls I have seen through his videos. Her skin is tanned gold, and for once, I’m annoyed that I can’t see the victim’s face. There’s a reason why this man has chosen me, but there’s never been a case where he specifically chose a girl for his victim.

  Kneeling in front of her, I watch as his ski mask comes into full view over her frail shoulder. “This one is different.” The voice that comes through is over a recorder. “Are you ready to gamble on a diamond?” Before I can answer, or take in anything that’s in the video for a clue, the video cuts out and I’m looking back at a blank screen.

  “How have you managed to fall on his radar?” Gypsy asks, puffing on his joint like his life depends on it.

  My fingers are flying over my phone in a rush and when I put it to my ear, Storm’s voice cuts through. “It’s Tuesday, you know I’m busy on Tuesdays. What is it?”

  “I need your smart-ass brain.”

  I hang up and we move outside of my house, swinging my leg over my bike while shoving on my helmet.

  “You going to buy that chick? Play into The Riddler’s game?”

  I scoff. “Fuck no. When he sends me her body parts, I’ll preserve them in my freezer.”

  Pulling into the clubhouse, I kick out the stand to my bike just as Lion strolls out with a cigar hanging out of his smirking mouth.

  “What’s so funny, fucker?”

  He removes the cigar, shaking his head. “How’d it go with your visitor?”

  My mouth slams closed, just as Bonnie, Lion’s wife, strolls out of the clubhouse. The clubhouse is an old house that was built in the 1950s by one of the original Wolf Pack MC members. The house has been in Lion’s family for generations and generations. The industrial buildings that surround it were built around this house. Four small pillars stand at the front, and a porch that has been stomped on by bloody biker boots way too many times. Aside from that, the chipped paint from the bullet holes and tinted windows hide all the nasty shit that happens inside. Six bedrooms, two lounges, dining room, and an extension of a sunroom off the back porch. It’s everything that older folks loved. Back in the day, it would have been worth a fucking shit ton. Sitting on a couple of acres, the whole property is fenced by metal padding. There’s a garage filled with a bar, pool tables, and cum-filled sofas to one side, and a fighting ring on the other. Typical type shit. At the back of the property, hidden behind the house is a small playground, and behind that, is where we bury past brothers. Headstone after headstone stretches out to the back of the fence line. Kids fucking love it when they’re here, say the place is haunted. Which it is. The MC live and breathes each other, that shit doesn’t stop the day we die. It continues through the soil we party on.

  “Not fucking good.” I roll up the sleeves to my shirt, curling them around my elbows.

  “Wanna call church?”

  I nod my head. “Yeah.”

  “What’s this I hear about a pretty girl here a few nights ago on your account?” Bonnie teases, hands on her wide hips. Bonnie is around the same age as Lion, sitting in their mid-fifties. She has long blonde hair, brown, beady eyes, and a whole lot of don’t-fuck-with-me goin
g on.

  “She’s my sister, first of all.”

  Bonnie’s smile only stretches even farther. “Well, I’d be careful if you’re bringing her around, you know that if you don’t own it, one of these fuckers will.”

  I flip her off as we make our way into the house.

  Once I’m inside, I follow Lion into the main boardroom of the house, also known as the lounge room, where we hold what we call church. Cliché as fuck, but since there isn’t a hell room equivalent to church, we continue to use it.

  I take a seat at Lion’s right side as the rest of the brothers pile in one at a time. My eyes find Wicked straight away, a slight grin playing on my mouth as my finger rubs my upper lip. His jaw is set, his eyes dead. Wicked is exactly as his name perceives him, fucking wicked. He’s who I choose to bring with me if I need anything done, and likewise with him.

  He takes the seat beside me as Gypsy sits opposite, on the other side of his old man aka Lion. The little shit is a complete fucking headcase, driving his old man nuts. He’ll never be taken seriously in the club and will only ever be respected because of his lineage to Wolf Pack. Which makes him a brat. Justice goes beside Gypsy, our level-headed ex-lawyer who can negotiate his way out of any deal at the fucking drop of a hat. Beside Wicked is Roo, the Australian in the club and a thirty-three-year-old Thor looking motherfucker. I wanted his name to be Thor when he patched in, but he got Roo instead, because when he fought Gypsy in the ring, Lion said he kicked like a kangaroo. If you’ve ever seen one of those muscled machines kick, you’d know that’s not a fucking compliment. He has long blond hair, blue as fuck eyes, and skin as golden as the Sydney Bondi sand he comes from. Pretty fucker can crush your skull with a flick of his wrist too, so I wouldn’t fuck with him. Opposite Roo is Billie The Puppet, yeah, after the very same psychopath from Saw. I mean, need I say more? Billie is fucked in the head, and I don’t mean that lightly. He likes to play games with his victims, which means I very rarely take him with me on kills. He fucks around, likes to drag out death as long as he can before actually putting the poor fucker out of his misery. One time, in Sicily, we got in the middle of a mafia war between the Italians and the Russians. Was a fucking mess, but Billie here decided to send a message to the Bratva who had apparently personally insulted him by wearing the color pink. It was one man who wore pink, but Billie was offended. He took him, laid this poor little fucker beneath a hydraulic machine, and slowly crushed him. I’m putting it very fucking lightly. There were minutes there, before he sandwiched this poor cunt like a fucking crepe, that his flesh was popping out the sides, swollen and about to burst. Every time this little shit answered a question wrong, Billie would push the button. And I mean, he was asking stupid questions, like what’s after B? The kid would say “C!” and Billie would laugh like a maniac, scratch the Fuck the Police tattoo over his neckline and say, “Ehhhh! Wrong!” then push the button again. We’d all be sitting there fucking dumbfounded, but we knew this was what he liked to play. I mean, his story is one fucked up enough for the books. He is also the exception of how you should judge someone by their past. Even if they don’t live there no more, they still decided to live there once upon a time. He is that fucked in the head.

  Opposite Billie is Fury. Fury is a Vet, African American man who, for real, you don’t want no beef with. He is old-school and has no problem ending your life with his fist. Fury is also one of the smartest fuckers I’ve ever met. Ever. He’s a single father to the most annoying brat in the world, but she’s also the MC princess, so if anyone picks on her, I’ll kill them.

  Fluffy and Slim are our two prospects—for now—but they don’t sit in church with us. We leave the prospects with Billie. He has enough fun with them to last a fucking lifetime. Poor little fucks.

  Lion’s gavel drops and the pounding on the solid piece of wood silences everyone. “Sicko, what the fuck is going on with your old man?”

  School is beginning to feel more and more like a prison. It’s worse here, because I don’t have the safety of my mom to fall back on. I’m caged between reality and my nightmare, I can’t move. I can’t breathe. I’m alone, even though Sloane is always with me.

  “Hey, you’re okay?” Sloane asks, handing me a Solo cup. It’s a Friday night and I usually have James on Saturdays, but I haven’t heard from him since Tuesday. I’m thankful that I haven’t seen him since then because it was weird.

  We move through the sea of people as my head pounds with the music and my blood warms from the alcohol inside of me. I tip my drink down my throat. “I need to get out of here, Sloane,” I yell into her ear when she pulls me onto the lounge dance floor.

  “What do you mean?” she asks, wrapping her arm around my waist and falling into my back. “We just got here!”

  I spin around to face her, my hands coming to her cheeks. “I mean out of college. I don’t think I’m in the right frame of mind to complete it right now. I already know that I’m failing.”

  Sloane waves me off, grabbing my hand and moving me to the front of the house. “Nonsense!” She pulls through the front door until we’re out on the patio. “But I will support you if you were to take a break. I get it, J. You’ve been a little bit off lately. I will support whatever it is that you need to do.”

  My shoulders relax slightly as emotion builds in my throat. I love Sloane. I truly believe that every girl needs a best friend, but not every girl needs a husband. A spouse’s love is conditional, whether you see it or not. When you first fell for your partner, it was for reasons. A best friend will love you forever.

  “Thank—” The rumble of bikes coming down the street halt my words. I shake my head and internally roll my eyes. There’s no fucking way. “Thank you. I need another drink.”

  “Another drink?” an unfamiliar voice murmurs behind me, and I shuffle to see who it belongs to. He flashes his pearly white teeth at me, a complete contrast to his black hair. “Name’s Jensen.”

  I smile softly, trying not to cringe. I don’t know why college boys don’t do it for me, and very briefly, I thought this one could. But now, face-to-face, I know that’s another fail.

  I take the drink from him. “Thanks.”

  “Jade, right?” Jensen says, leaning against the railing. His eyes remain on mine, his feet crossing at his ankles.

  I nod. “Yup,” taking a sip of the flat beer. Gross. Everything about college is severely overrated. Even somewhat tipsy, it does nothing to fill the void that’s aching in my chest.

  “Is Ollie inside?” Sloane asks, winking at me. “I think I’ll go find him.”

  Somewhere in the back of my mind, warning bells are going off, but I silence them. I need to put myself in college. Mentally, I’m not there. I’m many years ahead of all the people at this school. I’m struggling.

  Sloane’s eyes fly over my shoulder as music continues to pour out of the house. She pales. “Oh shit. Jade…”

  I turn my head slightly over my shoulder to find Royce tossing his helmet on the ground near his idling bike, his eyes furious and on Jensen. His jaw tenses, his fists closing. How the fuck did I miss the fact that their bikes had stopped? Everything spins, my brain fuzzy. Ah, that’s probably why.

  My brows curve in as he gains distance, but just as he’s about to reach us, one of the other bikers steps in front of him, hand on his chest. This one has short hair on the sides, longer on the top. He doesn’t seem to have a flick of tattoos, and almost looks too good to be in an MC vest, no offense to Royce. Wicked. Wicked leans into Royce’s ear and whispers something that only they can hear before I watch as Royce’s face morphs into serenity. Calm. All of the anger we all witnessed has vanished.

  Royce’s eyes cut to mine, a snarl on his mouth. He pushes away from Wicked and storms toward me, only this time, he does it while grabbing a cigarette, putting it between his swollen lips, and lighting the end gracefully.

  God, Royce. So damn beautiful it aches my soul. When I was a teenager, I thought that ache was butterflies, but now, what I
feel isn’t butterflies in my belly. It’s my soul exploding from beneath my skin and not having anywhere for the shrapnel to escape to. It’s everything that should kill you but doesn’t, instead it lingers within your veins, spreading poison. The bow in his middle lip, the symmetry of his face, the strength of his jaw, the beautifully cut cheekbones, sharpened by a scalpel. It’s even the tattoos that stain his flawlessly muscled skin, and the way his dark eyelashes fan out over his cheeks. It’s his annoyingly perfect nose and impeccably straight, white teeth. Royce Kane is not for one girl, he’s for every girl. He’s your mom’s secret fantasy and your father’s insecurity.

  He’s a big slut too.

  “What are you doing here?” I say through gritted teeth, just as his eyes swing to Jensen. I steady myself by clutching on to the wooden rail. Woooo.

  He winks at Jensen. “Actually, not for you. Where’s Nellie?” I try not to let the way he dismisses my encounter with Jensen affect me. This is what I always wanted, to not have his attention, so why does it bother me so much anyway?

  “She’s in the house.” I lean against the railing, which puts me right in front of Jensen. If I wriggled back just a little farther, my ass cheeks would hit his crotch. “What is Nellie to you anyway?”

  “Ahhh,” Jensen says, his hand coming to my hip. Instantly, Royce’s eyes snap to where they flex.

  The harsh lines around his eyes soften as he quickly composes himself. He takes a step forward, his messy military boot hitting the tip of my Givenchy. The heat pouring from his body is enough to ignite an angry inferno. Or maybe I’m drunk.

  He leans down until the tip of his nose touches the side of my temple. Jensen’s grip tenses around my sharp hipbone. “Mmmm,” Royce growls softly, his warm breath touching the skin on my face. “Wouldn’t you like to know, Duchess.” At the simple drop of my nickname, my insides solidify.

  Breathe in.

  Breathe out.