Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 106464 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 532(@200wpm)___ 426(@250wpm)___ 355(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106464 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 532(@200wpm)___ 426(@250wpm)___ 355(@300wpm)
Royce’s hand is on the front of my throat when he leans up, catching his breath as my eyes search his. I can almost hear the thoughts rushing around in his head. Bringing my hand to the back of his neck, I tug him back down to me, grazing my lips over his.
“Stop thinking.”
He growls against my lips and withdraws, retreating back to his side of the car and leaving me high and dry.
Sighing, I pull myself up into my sear and fix my eyes on the back of Wicked’s head. More lights pass, and I squint to see if what I’m noticing on the back of his neck is really there. The scar that’s poking out behind his shirt becomes more visible.
My eardrums pulse as the lights flick over his neck.
I can’t expose the fact that I know what that scar is or means, for the very reason that I have the exact same one on my ankle.
Kissing never made sense to me. It was something that seemed redundant. I didn’t want bitch’s lips on mine, I’d much rather them be wrapped around my cock, but I dropped the ball. I got out of hand, by the same hands that always wanted to fix me. Fix my problems. Tell her my secrets, or fuck, just look me right in the eye and conjure my soul to give them all to her. That’s what Jade is to me. She’s a walking, talking, fucking witch that is everything my soul wants and craves. My body craves her, but my soul fucking needs her. Having her lips on mine was every fucking thing I thought it would be, and that’s what pisses me off the most.
“She still in bed?” Wicked asks, wrapping his knuckles with tape.
I stretch out my neck, swinging my arms around to warm up. “Yeah, she crashed as soon as I put her in there last night.”
Wicked seems suspiciously interested. “In your bed?”
I flip him off. “We’ve been sharing a bed since we were kids, fucker. Nothing different.”
“You’re right, brother. No different. Oh that’s right, except for the fact that now you want to put your dick inside her.”
I chuckle, turning on the stereo. I set up the undercover garage outside as a gym. Boxing bags, weights. I needed it to keep me busy, but now it’s pretty much a Wolf Pack gym. “Yeah, but that can’t happen.” I start pounding my fist into the punching bag.
“Wanna remind me why?” Wicked cautiously asks, holding the bag in place. “You’re Sicko, the fucking legend on the streets with a signature. No one would ever want to fuck with you. So, why?”
I clench my jaw. “It’s complicated.”
“How so?”
“You asking a lot of questions today, or what?” I lay into the bag as Cypress Hill hums loudly in the background. “Because your face is a little too close to be asking so many questions.”
Wicked sighs before chuckling. “All I’m saying is that the three of you are pretty fucking secretive as to why you’re all to stay away from her. I’m just curious as to why.”
I stop punching, unwrapping my wrist and tossing the rags across the ground, swiping the sweat from my abs. “Because she has to stay away from all of us. It was part of the deal.”
His face pales. “Yeah, I get it now.”
“Good.” I toss my water bottle across the ground, grazing my hand over the scar on my left pec.
I was annoyed with myself on how quick I went to sleep last night. I at least wanted to make it a little harder for him, what with him kissing me and then pulling away.
Taking out the milk from the fridge, I look around the house. It’s exactly what I would have thought Royce to own. The large windows that overlook the beachfront being the main attraction, with its pointed arch all the way to the roof and mahogany stained wood. The furniture is all clean leather sofas, with a big TV hanging on the wall. The kitchen is filled with stainless-steel appliances, yet the décor has a gentle feminine touch to it. I instantly think that maybe Royce had someone else in his life. This house has definitely been lived in by another female. The cow skull hanging over the front door, to the Persian rugs spread over the wooden floorboards. The house is beautiful. Breathtaking. But the stench of perfume haunts all the furnishings.
I take my glass of milk to the front of the living room, needing a better view of the water. I chuckle when I see the ski boat wrapped around his private dock. The fairy lights twist and knot around the railing leading to it. To the right, there’s a large tree with claw-like branches, hanging over a fire pit that has scattered chopped logs placed around in a circle for seating. He really built his own life, and I just came back in and crashed it.