Page 134 of The Wicked
“We have a sweaty, steamy gang bang that centers very close to a very sweaty orgy. We let out our frustrations by fucking each other’s brains out.”
“My God, you’re such a man-slut,” Milk said, her nose scrunched up in disgust.
Upper spoke up drowsily. “That’s not a bad idea.”
Dog pointed his hand in Upper’s direction with a grin. “See, Upper gets it.”
“Upper is sleep-deprived,” Devil pointed out.
“Yup.” Upper snuggled closer to Milk. “That’s bloody right.” He yawned.
“I say we give the first option a theme, like the truth behind our names?” Milk suggested.
We all nodded in agreement.
“Okay, so the first option, who’s going first?” Dog asked.
“No one asks questions, right?” Devil inquired.
“Yup. No questions.”
“Elio Marino’s my half-brother. He’s The Wicked, and I’m The Devil,” Devil said.
There was silence. A very long silence.
Upper and Milk shared the same wide-eyed look.
Even though I knew, it didn’t stop me from freezing beside him, seeing as he had just blurted it out.
Just like that.
“Are you serious?” Upper asked.
“As a heart attack,” Devil responded.
“Dude,” Milk breathed out.
Dog slowly took a seat on the single-seater couch. “Now that’s a fucking foul; how can you expect us not to ask questions, motherfucker.”
Devil shrugged. “You made the rules.”
“My fucking God,” Dog muttered. “I’ll go next. Since we’re starting with the heavy shit.” He squared his shoulders.
We all waited for him to speak, and I braced myself.
“I had a dog named Dog. I mistakenly shot him when I was seven. With my mom’s stun gun. She was a cop. He didn’t wake up.”
Silence settled.
“That’s—that’s awful,” Upper said, straightening.
“I’m sorry,” Milk whispered.
“Yeah, thanks.” Dog offered a tight smile.
“I’ll go next,” Upper said. “Kinda glad we’re not asking questions because… yeah.”
He swallowed. “I… I am a bastard prince.”
