Page 1 of Wicked Scorn
Prologue
JEREMIAH
I’m sprawled on the couch, my fingers swiping through the screen’s endless scroll with the kind of numb dedication you reserve for three a.m. The phone casts a glow that no doubt shows the creases under my eyes—tired, yeah, that’s me.
I need this year to be over. I need to start my freshman year at St. Charles and get my brothers and me the fuck out of here. I know Dad has a house on campus for us, he’s held it over our heads for so damn long. The caveat is that we all have to be in school and since Graham and I are a year behind grade wise because of some dumb shit called birthday cut-off from kindergarten, that means Linc and Penn have been unable to move out even though they are well into their freshman year.
Robert Blackwood was hell-bent on creating his own little army of sons and made sure we arrived months apart. The thought process behind that still baffles me. Each of us with different mothers, absent, whether by force or choice. My own mother is a free love, go where the music takes her type ofperson and had no fucking problem leaving me with the Devil of Whispering Ridge.
Bzzzt.I squint at the name lighting up my phone. Bunny. What’s she doing up?
Bunny
Can’t sleep
Her message reads. Concern licks at my insides, chases away the exhaustion clinging to my bones. The truth is, she’s the reason I can’t fall asleep. If I’m being honest, she’s the reason for everything.
“Shit,” I mutter, thumbing back a reply.
I’m coming to get you. Motorcycle ride might clear your head. Be ready
The air is brisk when I get outside and kick the bike to life; its growl eats up the silence and sends a shiver down my spine. I race through the streets under the night sky, the hum of my bike’s engine vibrating through me.
Oakley’s place comes into view, all picket fence perfection and quietness. She’s just there, wisps of blonde hair and pale skin, bathed in the moonlight. My heart does this stupid little stutter-step when I see her, standing alone, vulnerable out here. I want to protect her. Fuck. I want to possess her.
You can’t have her. She’ll never belong to you.
“Hey,” I call out, pulling up beside her. She jumps, startled, but relief blooms across her face when she sees it’s me.
“Rem.” Her voice skims over the nickname she gave me, sending ripples down my neck. No one else calls me that, just my bunny.
“How many times am I going to have to tell you to dress warmer?” I tease, killing the engine and swinging off my bike.I don’t mind the view, but something inside me is feral at the thought another man might see her like this.
She shrugs, the action small and defeated. “My mind was somewhere else, I guess.”
I peel off my hoodie without a second thought, tugging it over her head and watching as it swallows her up. It’s an excuse to touch her, and we both know it. My fingers graze her skin, and something forbidden passes between us—we’ve been like this for the last year, since her sweet sixteen birthday. Oakley’s only a year and a couple of months younger than me but it always felt like the age difference between us was vast. She’s my best friend’s little sister, but everything about her is woven into my very being. She’s supposed to be mine, but it’ll ruin everything for everyone if I cross that line.
“Thank you,” she whispers, slipping her arms into the sleeves. The fabric hangs loose on her frame, no doubt my scent is enveloping her.
“Helmet on, let’s go.” I help guide it over her head, our faces inches apart. I can smell her shampoo, strawberries, and it twists my insides in knots.
“Where are we going?” she asks, her breath ghosting against my cheek as I fasten the strap under her chin.
“Anywhere but here,” I say, climbing back onto the bike and then holding my hand out and helping Oakley get on the back. Her hands settle around my waist, her touch is tentative at first but grows bolder as if she’s grounding herself to something solid in the midst of her restless thoughts tonight.
“Ready?” I ask, looking back at her.
“Always,” she breathes out the word, and it’s all the cue I need.
We take off into the night and it swallows us whole, the city pulsing under us as we cut through the streets. Oakley’sarms tighten, her grip fierce, unyielding—like she could anchor me to her in this moment forever. I lean into the bike, and she follows, seamless, a part of me. She’s been riding with me for so long, I don’t worry about having to coach her on what to do.
“Too fast?” I shout over the engine.
Her laughter is light, almost like a fucking fairy. “Never with you!”
The cool air nips at my skin, but her warmth bleeds through my shirt, stirring something reckless in my blood.
“Tell me something good,” I yell back to her, craving the sound of her voice.
