Like You Hurt: A Standalone Enemies to Lovers Romance (Devilbend Dynasty Book 2)

by Kaydence Snow

  “Excuse me?”

  “You.” I pointed at him, speaking as though I were explaining a complex idea to a child. “Are in.” I pointed to his car. “My spot.”

  He stared at me for a beat, then made a show of checking the ground around his car before raising his brows and holding his arms out at his sides. “Don’t see your name on it.”

  I took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of my nose. “I’ve tried to be nice, but you threw that in my face. You said you wanted to be left alone, but here you are antagonizing me. Everyone knows I park here. I’m now going to be late because of you. Move your car, and don’t let this happen again.”

  He threw his head back and laughed, his broad shoulders shaking under his blazer. When he looked at me again, the mirth fell from his features, replaced by an intense stare.

  “The spots are not allocated. Much as you like to think so, you don’t own this school, princess, you don’t own this spot, and you will never own me. I don’t respond well to being ordered around.” He locked his car and stalked toward the school as the bell sounded, leaving my profanity-filled response on the tip of my tongue.

  I resisted the urge to stomp my foot like the brat he thought I was. Instead, I got back into my car, drove to the back of the lot, found one of the last remaining spots, and took the walk to the entrance to calm myself.

  I was already late, so I didn’t bother to rush; no sense in ruining my appearance too. His blatant disrespect in front of the entire school—everyone would walk past and see his car in my spot—made it impossible to do nothing. And my seething rage and determination to remain in control allowed me to formulate a rough plan by the time I entered the main building.

  I sent a message to the girls in our group chat. “I’ve changed my mind. He needs to be taught to heel.”

  If he was going to act like a disobedient puppy, pissing on things he thought he had a right to, then I would treat him like a dog.

  Chapter Three

  Hendrix

  I frowned at the bulletin board. I knew for a fact I’d put my name down on the sign-up form on my second day at Fulton Academy, yet there was the spot, covered in white-out with some other dickhead’s name scrawled over the top.

  I gritted my teeth and fought the urge to hunt down this Thomas Booth and make sure he could never walk again, let alone kick a football.

  It was for the best—I’d come here to remove my own name anyway. Playing football was too close to my old life. Apparently the school was holding tryouts this late in the year because four of the players had been injured in some car accident—one was off the team permanently for breaking the coach’s strict no-alcohol-during-the-week rule. The dumbasses were getting wasted and driving around Devilbend on a Wednesday night. It was something I would’ve done—before.

  Only nostalgia had made me put my name down in the first place—misplaced longing for a life I now knew was a fucking joke. I flexed my fingers and bunched them into a fist, remembering the feel of the ball as it slapped into my waiting arms. I hadn’t played in over a year, and it was all my fault. All my stupidity and carelessness and . . .

  I dug my nails into my palm and forced myself to focus on my surroundings, the chatting of students as they passed, the opening and closing of lockers in the distance.

  The teal tie felt stiff and tight, and I tugged at it before adjusting the bag on my shoulder. I wasn’t used to the uniform yet.

  A short woman with glasses and a pencil skirt hugging her generous curves stepped out of the office and reached for the form I’d just been staring daggers at. She spotted me and paused, giving me a warm smile.

  “Did you want to sign up? It’s not too late.” She wiggled the form in front of my face.

  “No thanks.” I kept my voice even. There was no need to take my frustration out on the nice reception lady.

  I did my best to ignore the other students as I walked to my locker.

  She may not have whited my name out herself, but I had no doubt Donna Mead was the person behind its removal. It didn’t matter though. I didn’t belong on their stupid football team, especially if I wasn’t welcome. You couldn’t build a team if the team didn’t get along.

  I’d been at Fulton just over two weeks, and other than a few early verbal sparring matches with Donna, I’d hardly had a conversation with another person. The first few days had been a nightmare. It was a new school, all new people, the other fucking side of the country. I knew I was good-looking and tall, and now the giant chip on my shoulder gave me the edge of bad-boy danger private school girls creamed their panties for. A few guys had been friendly initially too, probably hoping I’d join the football team and help save them from a disaster season.

  I’d either brushed off or ignored them all, wondering how long I’d have to endure this torture before they got the hint. I just wanted to be left alone, finish my senior year, and never see any of these stuck-up, rich assholes again.

  By the end of the first day, it was clear who the “queen bee” was. Donna Mead strutted the halls with her predictable gaggle of girls and the confidence of a spoiled brat who’d never been told no. The guys all checked her out as she passed; the girls all glanced in her direction, as if waiting for permission to exist.

  Donna was exactly the type the old me would’ve gone for. If this were a year ago, before I went and ruined everything, she would’ve been riding my dick within a week, and I would’ve been throwing punches at any guy who dared look in her direction as we both got off on the power of being the most popular couple in school.

  A lot had changed. I had nothing but contempt for girls like Donna and guys like me now.

  I hated her for what she represented, but I hated myself more for what I used to be.

  I’d hoped to just sail under the radar, but it became apparent very quickly that wasn’t going to happen. Antagonizing Donna was the best and most efficient way of making sure everyone left me alone.

  So, I was rude to her, really embracing the cocky attitude, the side of myself I tried to push down.

  I could tell she was pissed, but the stares from chicks wanting to get in my pants didn’t stop. So I parked in her spot deliberately. Of course I knew it was her spot. I’d seen her park there, seen other students leave the prime space free. I got up extra early and sat in my damn car for nearly twenty minutes, waiting for her to show.

  It was almost cute, the way her nose scrunched up in derision. It took a lot not to chuckle while she was berating me. That was the first time I noticed she had one green eye and one hazel. So unusual. It was distracting, watching both the mesmerizing colors blaze in fury at me. I’d planned to hang around longer, really rile her, maybe even get her to raise her voice. But I’d started to forget all the hurtful things I’d planned to say to her and walked away much sooner than planned.

  It worked anyway. I’d goaded the queen of Fulton Academy into declaring war on me. I got what I wanted . . . and then some.

  The next day, a group of freshman girls were standing in the parking space, blocking my car with their gangly bodies. I laughed to myself as I passed. I had no intention of ever parking there again. I’d made my point. But the parking-minders remained for a solid week, faithful subjects trying to impress their queen. Most likely she hadn’t even had to ask. They’d probably only needed a vague mention of how inconvenient it was for her and jumped to her defense.

  I deposited my bag in my locker and gripped my biology books with one hand, slamming the locker shut with the other.

  As I walked the halls, no one looked at me anymore. Donna had made her declaration, and her loyal subjects were doing her bidding—excommunicating me.

  Just before I reached the end of the hallway, some junior with a wonky tie and acne around his nose deliberately bumped into me in an attempt to knock my books out of my hand. His intentions had been obvious in his jittery steps and nervous glances, so I’d had plenty of time to tense my core and grip my books tighter. The kid bounced off me like a tennis bal
l.

  Eyes wide, he stared up at me. I gave him a disparaging look, and he nervously shot a glance to the side before hanging his head and rushing off.

  I followed his gaze. Of course. Donna was walking up the corridor with her short friend—Mena? The guy had been trying to impress her and failed miserably.

  I rolled my eyes and went on my merry way.

  It had been two and a half weeks of this. At first, all the early attention for a hot new guy had abruptly stopped. Exactly what I wanted. Then people started throwing me openly hostile scowls wherever I went. Not unexpected, and definitely something I could handle. Then losers wanting to impress Donna started bumping into me, attempting to shove me into lockers, trying to intimidate me, while the chicks—also wanting to impress Donna, although mostly for different reasons—started saying bitchy things about me as I passed. Having the entire school against me was more than I expected, but I could still handle it. There were only seven months until the school year ended, and I’d never be seeing any of these people again. What did I care what they thought of me?

  I never fought back, never reacted more than to tense up and stop my ass from hitting the ground. I just sealed that impassive look on my face, turned my nose up as if none of these bastards mattered more than dirt on my shoes, and kept walking.

  Inside, I was writhing.

  Old habits die hard, and every time someone showed me aggression, I itched to drive my fist into their face, spear tackle them to the ground, knee them in the gut, do something violent. I knew it would make me feel better . . . momentarily. It just wasn’t worth it anymore. Not after what went down at my last school.

  As I neared my classroom, a football came sailing at my head. I’d seen the quarterback throw it. I caught it, not even flinching at how close it got to my nose or how my hand stung from the impact. The guy had a good arm, had to give him that. I was pretty sure his name was Drew—I’d seen him hanging out with Donna and her group.

  I fixed him with a deadpan stare. Nice try, asshole. A smile pulled at his lips as he stared at me in shock. He was as grudgingly impressed with my catch as I was with his throw. Suck on it—that’s exactly what you missed out on by scratching my name off the sign-up.

  I let the ball bounce to the ground and walked into my classroom to take my seat, like a good little boy. As I opened my textbook, I allowed myself a little smirk of satisfaction.

  The bell sounded, everyone settled, and Mrs. Shepard—a middle-aged woman with a killer rack that I’m sure was in the spank bank for half the boys at the school—started the lesson.

  And my fucking pen ran out of ink. I scratched it aggressively against the paper, hoping to get the blue stuff flowing by force, but it refused to budge. My grip on the pen tightened to the point that I could feel the plastic about to snap. Dropping it onto the desk, I took a deep breath and, without even thinking about it, turned to the chick in the seat next to me.

  “Hey, you got a pen I can borrow?” I whispered.

  The look she gave me was so full of derision and outrage you’d think I’d asked her to get on her knees and blow me in the middle of class. It was just a fucking pen.

  She looked away without even a response.

  I’d wanted to be left alone, but this was ridiculous. How hard was it to be polite every once in a while?

  Someone tapped my shoulder with a pen, and I turned in my seat. The chick one row back and to my right was holding out a black pen with a friendly smile.

  I frowned and eyed the pen, wondering if it was laced with arsenic. She was one of Donna’s girls—and I’d picked up enough from overheard conversations to know that Mena was Donna and Harlow’s cousin and very close with them both.

  So what the fuck was she doing acknowledging my existence?

  “It’s just a pen.” She rolled her eyes, but with a hint of humor.

  I took it and nodded. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” Her smile seemed sincere as she sat back and returned her attention to the front of the class.

  “Mr. Hawthorn.” Mrs. Shepard’s voice had me doing the same. “Am I boring you?”

  “No, ma’am.” I held the pen up. “Just borrowing a pen.”

  She gave me a skeptical look and got back to the lesson.

  I did my best to pay attention, but I couldn’t stop thinking about the anomaly that was Mena. From what I’d seen, the girl was genuinely friendly and sweet. She had a purple birthmark on the right side of her nose that would’ve made her a target for bullies at my old school. Fulton was almost identical, but Mena was one of the most popular girls, protected by her close friendship with Donna.

  It didn’t fit my assessment of who Donna Mead was and what she was about, and I didn’t like that. I didn’t like that I was suddenly wondering what made her tick. It had been a long time since a chick had made me curious, and I didn’t have time for it.

  I drove home in the brand-new Tesla Model S my parents hadn’t even questioned the price tag on. I resented having to take anything from them in the first place, but public transport in this part of Devilbend was a joke, so I’d caved and let them buy me one. But I’d chosen a ridiculously expensive one just to spite them, and the most environmentally friendly one to put some semblance of good into the world in a vain attempt to make up for all the bad I’d done. They’d just paid the bill, not even an angry message to their disappointment of a son.

  Being sent to the other side of the country to live with my aunt was almost as much a relief for me as it was for them.

  Aunt Hannah lived on the edge of the nicest part of Devilbend. Her townhouse was spacious and nicely decorated, but she didn’t have the sprawling land some of the ostentatious estates boasted—the kind of property I grew up on back in New York.

  I parked on the street, not wanting to block the one-car garage when she got home.

  As soon as I finished shoveling a sandwich into my mouth, I changed into sweats and spent the next couple hours zoning out with the help of video games. I got so engrossed in the explosions on the TV I didn’t even notice the front door opening.

  “Hendrix?” My aunt’s voice made me startle. She stood next to the couch, her arms crossed over her silk blouse.

  I immediately ended the game and dropped the controller on the coffee table. “Hey. Uh . . . how was work?”

  She ignored my question. “Have you been playing video games all afternoon?”

  “Yeah.” I cringed. I was eighteen and she wasn’t my parent, but I was here and not with my asshole parents because she allowed it. “I’m going to do homework after dinner.”

  She just sighed and gave me a disapproving look. She’d looked at me with disapproval a lot in the month I’d been staying with her. It grated on my nerves, but I kept my reaction tightly under wraps. Considering the reason I was here, what I’d done, I deserved the disapproving looks.

  I got up and started clearing the plates, cups, and chip packets. I liked to eat while I played. “Um . . . how was your day?”

  “Fine.” She followed me into the kitchen and dropped her oversized purse on a barstool.

  “Cool.” I nodded and pressed my lips together.

  Hannah was working her way up through the ranks at some marketing company. She worked hard, sometimes doing long hours and often bringing work home, her laptop and piles of paper spread over the dining table. She was in her early thirties, had no kids, and had no idea how to handle me. I wondered, almost daily, how my parents had gotten her to agree to let me move in while I finished high school. She and my dad weren’t exactly on good terms. I’d only met her a handful of times at family events—where she generally kept to herself in a far corner, scowling and getting slowly but surely drunk. But she’d been kind to me as a kid, bringing me little gifts and dropping the scowl if I happened to come up to her.

  “I’m staying at Robbie’s tonight.” She leaned on the counter. Robbie was her boyfriend, whom she rarely talked about and I had yet to meet. “Do you need me to leave you so
me money to order takeout for dinner?”

  “No, that’s OK. Bank of Dad has it covered.” I gave her a wry smile. My credit card had a very generous limit. My father may have sent me away like the blight on his reputation that I was, but he wasn’t about to cut me off.

  “Right. Good.” She stared at the counter, and I shuffled my feet. I was glad she was finally spending more time with her partner. My guess was she’d been spending every night at home because of me, and I felt bad.

  “You’re not to have anyone around.” She finally straightened and fixed me with a firm look. So, this was what was making her pause. She needed to lay down the law.

  “That won’t be a problem.” There wasn’t a single soul in Devilbend I would consider a friend.

  “I’m not messing around, Hendrix. I need a night to spend with my boyfriend, but leaving you alone makes me nervous. I won’t tolerate . . . insubordination.”

  If I hadn’t felt like shit to my very core, her attempts at a firm reprimand would’ve been amusing. She was a petite woman with strawberry-blonde hair and a tasteful manicure. I had a foot and a hundred pounds on her. There wasn’t much she could do to make me do anything, which made the fact that she hadn’t had her boyfriend over to intimidate me even more perplexing. I admired her, really. She was taking me on all on her own. But she had nothing to worry about.

  I’d spent the month since I’d arrived doing nothing but what she’d told me. She had only two rules, which she’d made crystal clear within half an hour of my arrival: maintain a B average, and stay out of trouble. The slightest hint of my breaking either rule would result in immediate removal from her home. I had no intention of letting her down.

  We’d hardly spoken since then, but I’d been respectful, cleaned up after myself, gone to school, stayed out of her way. I was doing all I could to show her I was serious, but she still felt the need to remind me I was on thin ice every few days. As if she was worried I was just waiting for her to let her guard down so I could go back to being the douchebag I’d been before.