by Amo Jones
Why does his voice suddenly sound familiar?
You’re drunk.
I step backward, forgetting that Jensen is right there, so obviously, my ass hits the apex of his fucking thighs. “Nellie’s in the house.”
“Who is this?” Jensen whispers into my ear from behind. I have to give it to him, he has balls not cowering at the presence of Royce.
Any other man most definitely would.
My eyes lock with Royce’s, the rim of plastic coming to my lips as the stench of stale beer swims up my nose. “Just my brother.”
“Oh, shit, man!” Jensen chuckles, sliding me away. “I thought you were an ex-boyfriend or something, but figured you were a bit too old.” He’s literally twenty-two. Jensen is a fuckwit. The Royce I know would have already punched Jensen, but I guess he’s not the same boy I knew.
He’s more composed. More in control. He’s a weapon that’s been sharpened and only utilized to cause mass destruction. I’m in trouble.
Royce’s eyes remain on mine, but his words are for Jensen. “If only.”
He leaves and I finally exhale the breath that I’ve been holding. Jensen reaches for me again, but all I want to do is run. I can’t breathe, being suffocated by this life isn’t helping. I can feel my mind slipping into a dark hole and I don’t think I’m going to have the courage to pull myself out of it this time. Everything around me slows as my pulse quickens. I take the few steps needed to get to the front grass. I can vaguely see bikes parked at the front, but I don’t care about them. I want the safety of my dorm, to be held indoors, in my soft blankets and safe. Safe.
Before I can stop myself, I’m running. The wind is whipping through my hair, drying the tears that keep falling down my cheeks. My life is fucked. I’m ruined. I wish I could go back to all those years ago and stop him from leaving. I wish he cared enough to not have left me in the first place. Pain tightens its steel fist around the organs of my heart and squeezes.
“Jade!” I hear someone yell out behind me, but it’s too late, I need out. I need to be away from everything and everyone. I need silence and a cliff with the bluest water beneath. I want to watch the moody waves crash against dark rocks so my soul knows it’s not alone.
An arm wraps around my waist and I’m being lifted off the ground. I kick backward, annoyed with the tears. The pain. The weakness. “Let me go!”
“Jade!” he yells again, only this time his voice sounds too familiar. Like bile rising up my throat, his name rings in my head. James.
I freeze in his arms, dropping to my knees. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know it was you.”
I don’t want to be punished. I’m tired. I thought he was Royce. He sounded like Royce. My head is bowed as dark boots come into view. I can faintly hear another bike, but I dismiss it.
Those are boots, not loafers. Before I can stand, Royce is meeting me face-to-face, his eyes searching mine. “What are you doing, Duchess?”
I gulp past the rock that’s in my throat. He can never know. “I—” Searching his eyes, the blue depth of them is enough to remind me of the waves I so desperately yearned for just moments ago, his pupils the color of the rocks that they would crash against. “Why didn’t you take me?”
Royce pales, all blood draining from his cheeks. “What?”
Don’t repeat yourself. You’re going to regret it. He doesn’t care about you anymore; he has made that much clear. “Why did you leave me there?”
After a beat of silence, he snorts. “You being there was better for you than you being with me. Trust me.” He stands, pulling me up with him. Before I can protest, he’s directing us back toward the party, signaling to whoever it was that followed him on his bike.
“But that’s just it,” I murmur, while refusing to pull out of his grip. It feels too good. Like the empty part of my soul has recognized the piece it has been missing for four years. “I don’t trust you anymore.”
“Listen,” Royce says just as we reach the edge of the driveway. He turns around, his hand on my throat, and backs me up against a brick wall. Pressing a leg between mine to pin me there, he tilts his head and studies me. “One, I don’t give a flying fuck about your trust. All I want is to have you stay the fuck out of trouble and keep your head down. Two? Stop making this about something other than what it is. You are my sister, one I didn’t fucking ask for, but I protect anyway. I don’t give a fuck who you fuck in your free time, where you stay, or…” He pauses, licks his bottom lip and then catches it with his teeth. His grip around my throat tightens. “Or how fucking good my hand looks around your throat. Now swing those fucking legs over my bike.”
He pushes me back and my hand comes to where his was, massaging it softly. I can feel the pieces of myself slowly fading away. James took all that I had and replaced it with hurt and pain, and the one person I leaned on for most of my life hates me now.
“I can find my own ride.” I shove past him and make my way down the driveway. The bikes are rumbling in the background while the men on them all watch us with careful but eager eyes. As if they’re fascinated by what they see. The party is mostly inside and out the back, but there are a few people on the patio, including Nellie, Ollie, and Sloane. No Jensen in sight. Thank god.
“Duchess!” Royce snaps, and it roots my feet to the ground. “On my bike. Right the fuck now.” The air shifts around me and anger slowly boils to the surface. I don’t want to make a scene. I never like making one, but he’s pissed me off more times than I can count tonight and yeah, my emotions may have been bruised a few minutes ago, enough to not answer him back, but now I’m angry.
I spin around and take the four steps to where he towers over me. I swing my arm back, fist my hand tightly, and punch him right in the jaw. He barely moves, but whatever.
“Fuck you, Royce!” I scream into his face on my tippy toes—and I still don’t reach his neck— “Fuck you for leaving me and then coming back and thinking you can tell me what to do like I’m some little puppy that you keep on a leash. You!” I point my finger into his face, which is the exact moment I realize I fucked up.
He snatches my finger in the palm of his hand while his other flies to my throat again and I’m falling backward, my head smacking against the grass. I see double for a few seconds while Royce has a firm grip on me everywhere. “Still a fucking brat, huh?” He leans down until the tip of his nose touches my earlobe and only I can hear what he says. “I’m going to say this one time, Dutch. You’re legal now. I’d watch that fucking tone.” Pushing off me, he stands to his feet, glaring down at me. “The only thing you’re riding tonight that isn’t me, is my bike. Now get the fuck on, and maybe, just maybe, I’ll take you back to your dorm tomorrow.” It’s as though he whacked the alcohol out of me. Defeat latches its ugly grip around my bones, as my eyes stay locked on the sky.
“I’m not staying at your clubhouse, Roy.”
“Bike, Jade. Now.”
Pushing up from the grass while grumpily pulling twigs from my hair, I scowl at him, ignoring the chuckles around me. “I hate you.”
“More than I can say about you. I’ll be back in a second.” He looks over my shoulder. “She moves, tie her to my bike.” My arms latch around my body as I dutifully make my way to the matte black Harley Davidson that’s parked to the side. Turning to look over my shoulder, my eyes land on the same guy again, Wicked. Unintentionally, I seek him out anytime he’s near. My stomach drops out my ass when I find him already studying me carefully. Nellie said that he doesn’t speak, I wonder what that means and why. I can’t help but want to know more about him.
“You know,” the younger one says, I think his name is Gypsy. He grins around his floppy brown hair. His eyes are gentle, his features too pretty. “Don’t get me wrong, seeing Sicko get all worked up over a girl for once is pretty fucking entertaining, but, I gotta say—” He whistles, shaking his head.
“Don’t say it,” one of the other men mutters. He’s darker in skin color, with a shaved head and hazel eyes.
“You’re a dumb motherfucker.” That same man shakes his head, squeezing his eyes.
After talking with Nellie and Sloane, Royce is back in front of me, shoving his helmet over my head. “On the bike, don’t let your legs touch the pipes, and put your arms around me.” I do as I’m told after he’s on. Starting it up, the vibration of the angry engine rumbles against my intimate area and I quickly squeeze my legs closed, which only means they tighten around Royce.
He turns over his shoulder, enough for me to see a smirk on the corner of his mouth and one dimple pop.
Revving the engine, I wrap my arms around his torso as he guides us out of the driveway.
It’s about a thirty-minute drive out before he’s pulling into the clubhouse, the gates sliding open and people spilling out of the front doors. It’s a Friday night, and it’s rather early, so the number of people who are partying is not surprising at all, although it shatters my hopes to sink into warm sheets and let sleep take hold.
The bikes cut out and everyone climbs off. I follow, my legs turning to jelly as soon as they’re back on the ground.
I take off the helmet. “Can I just go to bed?”
Royce ignores me, turning his back to head into the main house. There’s a fight happening in the corner where an octagon ring is set up, with drunk men laughing and cheering, and loud rock music spilling out of the house and to the front. I feel like a thousand eyes are on me, and I don’t want any of them.
I know this is his area, and I don’t want to be annoying to him by following him everywhere. I also don’t want him to feel like he has to look after me, so once he has disappeared into the house, I look around carefully at all the people here. A mixture of old and young, some middle age. More men than woman, some big and some skinny, some muscled, some average.
“You’re wondering why he left you here unarmed,” a voice murmurs from behind me and my eyes drift close to catch my breath. That is a really nice voice. Soft and smooth like velvet. It wraps around your body like silk.
Turning around to face the owner, I’m surprised when I see Wicked leaning against his clean white Harley, his arms crossed and legs the same. “Somewhat.”
Wicked doesn’t flinch, his eyes staying on mine. It’s unnerving how he can do that. Say a lot by saying nothing at all. “Royce doesn’t let anyone ride bitch on his bike. You came in like that.” Wicked stretches his legs wide into a spread and my mouth waters. “No one will so much as breathe near you now. He knows he doesn’t have to worry.”
“And you?” I find myself saying, and then I want to punch myself for saying it out loud. “Will you?” I’ve always been one that would prefer to dance with danger than walk with the mundane.
Wicked cocks his head an inch, taking me in. “Guess that will be up to Royce.” He pushes off his bike and walks past me. Before he makes it any farther away, I call out to him.
“Wicked?” I say, studying his broad shoulders and patch. “You called him Royce, not Sicko?”
His shoulders tense before he relaxes and carries on to the house. I still don’t know what I’m doing standing here, but that conversation with Wicked was strange. Every other person here calls Royce Sicko. Except Wicked. Weird. Or maybe not. I make my way toward the side of the house, finding a little path that leads to the back.
“Hey!” someone says from the dark corner of a small garden shed, skipping toward me while shoving what was probably a joint into her back pocket. “Are you Sicko’s sister?” she’s cute. With shoulder-length brown hair and a skinny little frame. She’s wearing tight blue skinny jeans and a Harley Davidson loose tee.
“Ah, yes?”
She screams, her skinny arms flying around my neck and pulling me into her chest. “I’m Everly, but people call me Silver, after my mom. I’m Fury’s daughter!”
I don’t know who Fury is, but I nod, hugging her back awkwardly. “Cool!”
She steps back. “Oh my god. I’ve always wanted a big sister. This is awesome to have someone else around my age, since all the women here are old as fuuuccckk!”
“Hey! You little fucking shit!” someone else calls out, rounding the back of the house with one hand on her hip. “One day, I’ma whip your ass.”
“Bitch, please. You love me and you know it.” Silver gestures to me. “It’s Sicko’s sister! Look how pretty she is!”
The older woman rolls her eyes, coming closer to me. “Ignore Silver. She’s so used to being a brat that she forgets she’s seventeen.”
Silver flips her off. “Lion is clearly not hitting you right, or are you going through menopause?”
The woman ignores her, keeping her eyes on mine. Her skin is beautiful for her age, but her eyes tell a story of how much they’ve seen. “I’m Bonnie, Lion’s wife.”
“Hi,” I say, crossing my arms in front of myself. Lion is scary. I can’t imagine this woman putting up with him.
Silver hooks her arm in mine. “Oh this is awesome. Bea is going to be so pissed when she sees you. I mean, I get that you’re his sister, but it’s foster, and you’re insanely hot! Bea is going to hate you.” I don’t know who she’s talking about and I’m not sure I want to know. I just want a bed and food. Food will be good. Where the fuck is Royce?
We climb the stairs that lead to the back porch and sunroom. Yelawolf “Psychopath Killer” is thudding through the house as I turn to shut the door behind me. Spinning back around, I freeze when I see Royce, Wicked, Lion, and Gypsy. They’re all seated around a small table with drinks in their hands, with Royce looking tense. A blonde girl is on his lap, a joint between his fingers. There are a couple of girls in here actually, all dressed different to Silver and Bonnie. More exposed.
“Oh, this is going to be great,” Silver whispers, leaning into me. “Just saying, after you throw the first punch, I’m going in.” I want to squeeze her and say I’m not fighting anyone.
The blonde flicks her fake long hair over her shoulder, her brown eyes coming to mine. “Aw, is this your sister?” Her smile seems sincere, and for a split second, I wonder what Silver was talking about. Until Silver opens her mouth.
Silver grins at—who I’m guessing is Bea. “Foster.”
I watch as her smile switches to a scowl and she looks at me with newfound competition.
Bonnie flicks her fingers at the three of them. “Get out of here. Go rub on someone out there.”
Bea runs her finger down Royce’s face. “Aw, I can stay, right, baby?”
Royce’s eyes are on mine, his jaw as tight as my fist. He hates the word baby. I’ve always known that, so I can’t help the smirk that creeps on my mouth. This girl is nothing but a dick warmer, or she would know that Royce hates that word.
His eyes narrow when he catches my smirk. Licking his lips, he bares his teeth at her and chews on her neck. “B is right, babe. Go ahead, I’ll grab you when I’m going to bed.” I fight the obvious distaste that that leaves in my mouth as Bonnie takes my hand and gestures to the empty seat beside Wicked, leaving Royce’s smug, scowl-ridden face right opposite mine.
Bastard.
“Now, are you a vodka, gin, or rum girl?” Bonnie asks, moving around glasses in the cupboard.
Royce smirks at me. “She’s a water girl.”
I raise my brows at him in challenge, feeling the heat of Wicked beside me. Why do I feel him so deeply? “Actually, I’m more a whiskey girl now.” I smile up at Bonnie. “Royce forgets that he doesn’t know me anymore.”
Lion chuckles from the other side of the table. “Girl’s gonna drive you mad, son.”
As Bonnie sets the glass in front of me, I take in the room we’re in. Looks like a second kitchen area, more private than the rest of the house. The paint is old, furnishings look to be a hundred years old, but the photos hanging in frames all over the walls catch my attention more than anything else.
I take a sip of my whiskey, relishin
g in the burn it ignites over my lips. A photo catches my eye behind Royce as I run my tongue over my lips to suck the residue. “It’s good, thank you, Bonnie.” The photo is of a man holding a baby, a bandana tied around the front of his head. Standing in front of his bike. He looks like a proud dad. Something every child wishes they had, which is probably why it caught my attention. Something I wish I had.
“Are you boys going to sit in here all night or are you gonna go tend to your guests?” Bonnie says as Silver takes a seat on the other side of me. I can feel the heat of both Wicked and Royce’s stare on me. They’re both different, but one. A gang on their own. It’s weird to witness, because the last time I saw Royce, the only people I could see him having that kind of bond with was Orson and Storm.
Wicked leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. I turn to face him, his stone eyes on mine before moving to Royce.
Royce stands from the table. “I’ll be back in the morning. Jade, come on.”
“You’re not having her sleep here are you?” Silver says. “I mean, I’ll take her to my house if that’s what you’re planning. Those beds are nasty.” Her pretty face scrunches up as she says the words.
Royce ignores her. “Come on.”
“Wait!” Silver stops me with a hand on mine. “What’s your number?”
“Fucking hell,” Royce grunts. “Really?”
Bonnie chuckles. “And me too. I want it.”
“I’m not even surprised,” the darker man says, who looks a lot like Silver. “Really, you’re fucking lucky Swifty isn’t here either, or she’d be grabbing her number too.”
Royce rolls his eyes. “Hurry up.”
Silver ignores his moody behavior as I blabber off my cell number to them both. “Thank you for the whiskey, Bonnie.” Bonnie smiles at me, taking a seat on Lion’s lap. Lion seems to still be studying me, his head tilted to the side. My eyes flick back to the photograph that caught my eye when I first came in, before going back to him.
“Yes, that’s me,” he answers my unspoken question. He notices a lot without saying a lot. Interesting. Scary, a little, but interesting.
