Page 99 of Wicked Scorn
Her eyes are wide, but the blush traveling up her chest tells me she loves every fucking filthy word I just uttered.
“Get some sleep baby, cause you and I, we’re gonna be fucking just like rabbits. I’m gonna wake you up with my dick and put you to bed with it, also.”
Chapter 39
Oakley
It’s been a few days since Mr. Bryant attacked me, and no one has said a word about anything to me. I don’t know who Mr. Blackwood has on his payroll, but it’s been nothing but ‘This is currently under investigation, but no foul play is indicated’.
I’m at Jeremiah’s game, and I’ve barely taken my eyes off of him the entire time I’ve been here. I feel like it’ll be this way in forty years. It’ll be hard to pull my gaze from him because he’s the only thing I see. The roar of the crowd fades into white noise as my eyes lock onto a figure standing just beyond the bleachers, leaning against one of the many pillars that make up campus. He looks utterly detached from all of the chaos around him. Royce. My heart skips a beat, not out of affection but shock. Two years. Two agonizing years without a word besides that one pocket dial, and here my brother is, like some ghost risen from the dead.
“Oakley?” Lincoln’s girlfriend’s voice cuts through the din, her eyes assessing and questioning.
“Give me a minute,” I manage, my eyes not leaving Roycewhile asking for understanding. I don’t know how much she knows about the situation with my brother and Jeremiah, but I’d suspect she knows at least a bit. Lincoln likes to pretend that he stays out of everyone’s business and that he couldn’t be bothered to get involved, but I’ve seen the way he is with Iris. He tells her every little thing, just like Jeremiah does with me.
Without another moment spared, I rise from my seat and stride purposefully toward Royce, each step fueled by anger and curiosity. I know Jeremiah is watching me, even from the game. I’m safe as long as his eyes are on me. I can feel Iris’ gaze burning into my back, also. Watching, waiting and willing to jump in if I need her. A girls’ girl, well, at least to me. I appreciate it more than she’ll ever know.
As I close the distance, his frame comes into sharper focus: taller, more muscular, and that scar. It slices across his neck, raw and jagged. A reminder that I have no idea what it’s from because he cut me out of his life without a word. It stands out starkly against his rugged exterior. It’s impossible to look away.
“Royce,” I say, my voice barely a whisper yet surprisingly steady. His name tastes bitter on my tongue, memories of betrayal flooding back. He looks up, his piercing blue eyes meeting mine. For a moment, it’s like looking at the brother who was always there for me until he wasn’t. Then I realize that they’re colder, harder, and darker than before.
“I should have known I’d find you here, little sister,” he replies, his tone as rough as the scar that marks him. If he’s not here for me, then he must be here for Jeremiah. Suddenly, I feel very protective. If he’s here to start their feud up again, I won’t be bulldozed this time. I have enough of a voice to tell him exactly where he can go.
“Two years,” I start, the words catching in my throat.
Emotions too volatile to contain flood through my entire body. “Where the hell have you been?” My question hangs in the air. My fingers itch to reach out to touch my big brother. But something else gnaws at me, more urgent than his disappearance—the scar. “What happened to you?”
He smirks, but there’s no humor in it. Just bitterness and old wounds. “Life happened, oak tree. Things you wouldn’t understand.” He uses an old nickname, and the look that he’s giving me is like he’s daring me to push further.
“Try me and don’t call me that,” I counter, stepping closer. He has no idea what I’ve been through, so right now we’re a match made up of traumas.
“You’re determined, I’ll give you that,” he mutters, his eyes flickering with something unreadable.
“Don’t patronize me, Royce. Not after everything.” My voice is sharper now, cutting through the pretense.
“Everything?” He scoffs, running a hand through his tousled hair. “You don’t know the half of it, Oakley.”
“Then enlighten me,” I challenge, refusing to back down. “Or leave. But don’t you dare stand there and act like you don’t owe me anything.”
His eyes darken, a shadow crossing his face. “You chose Jeremiah. Remember that.”
“Is that what this is about?” I snap, anger flaring. “Two years gone, and you’re still hung up on that night?”
“More than you know,” he admits, voice low and dangerous. The scar on his neck seems to pulse with his words.
“Then why come back?” I demand, frustration bubbling over. “Why now?”
“Because,” he says, stepping closer until we’re almost touching, “some things can’t be leftunfinished.”
The cheers from the game swell behind us, but they feel miles away. All that exists is this moment, this confrontation. And the answers I desperately need.
“Fine,” I say, my voice trembling with determination. “Let’s finish it. Where the hell did you disappear to?” I demand, my voice cracking with desperation. The words spill out before I can stop them, years of longing and confusion bubbling to the surface as water rims my lashes. I search his eyes for any hint of remorse or explanation, but all I see is a wall of bitterness.
“Does it matter?” Royce’s voice is cold, almost detached. He leans against the stone column, arms crossed. “You made your choice when you didn’t back me up, Oakley. Whether I was right or wrong, you should have taken my side. I’m your brother.” Spoken like a man who was definitely wrong and knows it, but somehow, it’s still my fault.
“Isn’t it always like this with you?” I retort, the sarcasm biting. “Always running, never facing things head-on.”
“You’re still young. Still innocent. Don’t speak on things you don’t understand.” I want to throttle him. He has no idea about any of the shit I’ve gone through. Things I’ve done.
