The Bully (Kingmakers)

by Sophie Lark

  I almost want to laugh.

  It sounds like he’s never apologized in his life.

  He looks ridiculously relieved, as if he thought saying those words might kill him.

  Unfortunately for him, no amount of apologies is going to wipe his insults out of my brain.

  “I don’t care,” I say coldly.

  “Why not?” he demands.

  “Because you told me you loved me, and then you said I meant nothing to you. So your words are meaningless.”

  Dean flinches, looking guilty.

  “I know, Cat, but I was so angry—”

  “You’re always angry,” I interrupt. “Always pouring out your rage on everyone around you. Well, it’s not going to be me anymore.”

  “Cat, you can’t be serious—”

  He’s trying to take my hand, but I yank it away from him.

  “I’m very serious. Don’t make me hurt you again.”

  Dean laughs, knowing as well as I do that I only managed to knee him because he wasn’t expecting it. I have no chance of actually injuring Dean. Only he has the power to hurt me.

  And he did.

  Too much and too well.

  I push past him into the dining hall.

  He accosts me again the next morning, apparently hoping that a good night’s sleep will have improved my mood.

  It hasn’t.

  I barely slept at all. I tossed and turned in an agony of indecision, until Rakel snarled at me to hold still or she’d duct-tape me to the bed.

  I miss Dean. I miss him badly.

  But I can’t stop remembering Lola’s taunts, and Dean’s insults following directly afterward, proving the truth of her words.

  Just because he likes fucking you doesn’t mean he gives a shit about you . . .

  He’s using you because you’ll do whatever he says . . .

  And then, worst of all, echoing over and over in my brain:

  You’re nothing to me.

  I never really believed that Dean could love me.

  What fragile hope I had was shattered as he raged at me in the tower.

  Zoe’s right: love doesn’t hurt like this. Love doesn’t bring you to your knees with grief and misery.

  “Cat, you’re being ridiculous!” Dean cries, annoyed at my continued resistance. “You can’t throw away everything we have over one fight.”

  “I didn’t throw it away,” I say coldly. “You did.”

  I can already see his temper rising, right now, when he’s supposed to be begging for forgiveness.

  “You’re getting mad all over again, aren’t you!” I cry. “I bet you want to shout at me, don’t you?”

  “Only because you’re being—” Dean raises his hands like he’s going to strangle me, and then abruptly cuts himself off.

  I laugh in his face.

  “Being what?” I demand. “Tell me again how awful I am.”

  Dean takes several deep breaths, his lips pressed tightly together in a thin line.

  It would be funny watching him try to control his temper, if it didn’t make me so sad at the same time.

  “I’m sorry I insulted you, Cat,” he says. “I didn’t mean it. I was out of my mind.”

  “So was I,” I say quietly. “But I’m sane again now.”

  I walk to my first class, having missed breakfast by talking to him.

  26

  Dean

  I’m starting to realize the depth of my mistake.

  Cat is not forgiving me.

  And I know the reason why.

  I really fucking hurt her. I can see it in her eyes every time I force her to look at me. She’s trying to be so cold, so aloof, but I hear the tremor in her voice, and I see her hands shaking.

  I never realized how fragile our relationship was.

  I flung it against the wall like that speaker, and it shattered into a hundred pieces. Now I’m trying to glue them back together and it isn’t fucking working. I don’t know how to restore her trust.

  I try giving her space for a couple of days, but when I approach her again outside the Keep, she’s as determined as ever.

  “It’s over, Dean,” she tells me. “Our relationship was wrong from the start. Nothing built out of violence and lies and coercion could ever turn into something good.”

  “That’s not true!” I cry. “It can be whatever we want it to be. It’s our choice what it becomes, it doesn’t matter how it started.”

  She shakes her head at me, her eyes sad and unbelieving.

  It doesn’t help that I can barely contain my frustration every time she shuts me down again. I’m trying to prove to Cat that I can be calm, controlled, reasonable, but it’s driving me insane that she won’t speak to me, that she won’t give me another chance.

  “I love you!” I say, seizing her hand. “And I know you love me too. Look at me and tell me you don’t.”

  She refuses to look at me.

  And refuses to answer.

  The next time I see her, she’s walking to class with Hedeon Gray.

  It feels intentional, like she’s trying to enrage me.

  She knows I don’t trust Hedeon. I don’t trust any man around her—I’m the one that should be walking at her side. I’m the one she should be gazing up at, smiling in that way that feels like a hand reaching into my chest, squeezing my heart . . .

  I cut across their path, making Hedeon pull up short.

  “Thanks for keeping her company,” I say to Hedeon. “I’ll take it from here.”

  Hedeon throws a quick glance at Cat, which only infuriates me more.

  “I don’t think—” he starts.

  “Yeah, don’t think,” I hiss. “Don’t strain your brain. Just carry on your way.”

  Hedeon glares at me, fists clenched at his sides.

  Hedeon’s a decent fighter, and he’s not afraid to face off against even Silas. But he knows if he goes toe-to-toe with me, I’ll knock him flat.

  Plus, I haven’t slept in three days—I probably look none-too-stable at the moment.

  Deciding it’s not worth the hassle, Hedeon stalks off toward the Keep.

  Cat rounds on me, cheeks flaming and eyes snapping. God she looks sexy when she’s angry.

  “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” she demands, stomping her foot in a way that’s utterly adorable.

  “I’m walking you to class.”

  “I don’t want you to walk me to class. I don’t want you anywhere near me.”

  “Yes you do,” I growl. “You miss me, and I miss you. Stop torturing us both.”

  “You have no right to scare off my friends or to harass me!” Cat cries. She’s angry too. The air between us crackles with that tension so familiar to me—the kind that makes me want to seize her and kiss her until both our lips are bloody.

  I’d do it, if I weren’t afraid it would break the last bonds between us.

  Because Cat really is pissed, and I don’t trust myself not to make this worse.

  “You leave me no choice!” I say. “I can’t just walk away from you. I need you, Cat. I love you.”

  “It’s always what you want, what you need,” she says, tears glinting in her eyes.

  “Then tell me what you need! Tell me what to do, how to make it up to you! What will it take for you to forgive me?”

  Cat looks up at me with a quizzical expression.

  “Do you really mean that?” she says.

  “Yes! Yes, I mean it.”

  “You want to prove to me that you’re sorry?”

  “Yes, I told you that a hundred times.”

  “Alright then,” she says, folding her arms across her chest. “I want a month.”

  I stare at her, at her pale face and stubborn jaw.

  “A month?”

  “That’s right. I gave you a month once. Now I want the same in return. A month of you obeying my every command.”

  I can’t help the smile tugging the corner of my lips. “That doesn’t sound so bad . . .”

&nbs
p; “Don’t be so sure,” Cat says sternly.

  “And at the end of the month we can start over again?”

  “Maybe,” she says, still frowning at me.

  Maybe is better than no.

  “What’s the first order, boss?” I grin.

  “You can carry my books,” she says, dumping them into my arms. “Walking five feet behind me.”

  “No problem,” I say. “This is my favorite view.”

  “And don’t talk,” Cat snaps, over her shoulder.

  I follow Cat to her next class, silent and obedient.

  It’s a good thing she can’t see me, because my cock is already rock hard, watching that cute little ass stomping away five steps ahead of me.

  Over the next week, Cat dredges up every bit of humiliation I put her through and heaps it back on my head.

  She makes me dash around running errands for her until my head is spinning. She orders me to feed her grapes in the dining hall like I once did to her, and even demands that I strip off my shirt and fan her with a folded pop quiz, like she’s Cleopatra and I’m an Egyptian concubine.

  It’s not the ideal time for me to look like a fucking idiot, since Vanya Antonov was already trying to siphon off as many of my friends as possible, and Bodashka, Pasha, and Valon have joined him in openly mocking me.

  Cat has forbidden me from fighting any of them.

  She says I’m not supposed to lose my temper whatsoever.

  You might as well ask a shark not to swim.

  I’m fucking drowning in all the aggression I have to stuff back down inside of me, every time Vanya throws another jeer in my direction.

  The only silver lining is that Bram is still sitting next to me at Cat’s table, seeming to find the whole thing amusing and even slightly admirable.

  “Wish I had someone to do weird kinky shit with at lunch,” he says, stuffing half a bacon sandwich in his mouth.

  He looks across the table at Rakel.

  “You look like you know how to get nasty . . .” he says, mouth full of sandwich. “How about it?”

  “What a tempting proposal,” Rakel says acerbically. “Unfortunately I’m already dating Joss Burmingham.”

  “That spotty little Spy? I’m way hotter than him.”

  “But he’s learned to chew, swallow, and then speak, so he’s got that going for him.”

  Bram gulps down his bite. “How ‘bout now?” He grins.

  “Still no.” Rakel sniffs.

  Anna and Leo have maintained an admirable level of silence through all this, though I know Leo is dying to give me shit about the fact that I’m once again stripped down to my trousers, holding up Cat’s water glass so she can take a sip, while barred from speaking to her.

  Leo can barely lift his eyes from his plate, and I think Anna has kicked him under the table at least three times.

  I have the strangest sense that Anna is rooting for me. She meets my eye across the table, giving me an encouraging smile.

  Chay is less restrained. She keeps coming up with new ideas for Cat to torment me.

  “You should make Dean wear knee socks and a skirt!” she says cheerfully.

  “Chay,” I say. “Please shut the hell up.”

  She ignores me.

  “Oooh, make him stand up in our Banking class and sing the Russian national anthem! I’ll tell you if he does it.”

  “Professor Graves will expel me,” I say.

  “Quiet!” Cat hisses at me, snapping her fingers for another sip of water.

  I never realized she was such a little sadist.

  It only makes me like her more.

  I can’t be certain, but I think she’s thawing toward me, just a little. I don’t think she believed I’d last one day of this treatment. It’s going on seven, and I’m determined not to crack. I’ll show her that I’ve learned to control myself. That I’m really fucking sorry. And that I’ll do anything to make her happy.

  That’s what I realized after talking to Snow.

  I will do anything for Cat. Sacrifice anything. Pay any price.

  I’ll grovel forever if that’s what it takes to get her back.

  I don’t give a fuck if I look stupid in front of the whole school, or if Vanya spreads the news of this to all of Moscow, undermining my position in the Bratva.

  I want Cat more than I want anything—even to become Pakhan.

  I’ve never loved someone more than my own ambition.

  It’s terrifying.

  Because I’m not in control of Cat. I can’t make her love me.

  All I can do is hope.

  27

  Cat

  I can’t believe Dean hasn’t snapped yet.

  I only started this whole thing because I thought it would be the easiest way to get him to leave me alone. I thought I’d give him one order and his pride would intervene. I expected him to tell me to fuck off, and everything would go back to the way it used to be.

  That’s not what I wanted—but it seemed inevitable.

  Instead, he keeps coming back for more.

  Day after day he lets me order him around. He listens to the jeers and catcalls from Vanya and Bodashka. I can see his hands shaking, his fists clenching. I know how badly he wants to rain down retribution on their heads.

  But I told him not to do it. And he’s actually obeying.

  I’m not getting any pleasure out of this. I’m not dominant by nature—I don’t enjoy being cruel.

  Still, I feel driven to push him and push him.

  Only then can I believe that he truly loves me.

  I want to give in. It’s torture sitting next to him, worse even than when I was his slave. He smells so fucking good, and he’s so goddamned handsome. He’s even developed enough of a sense of humor that he can laugh at himself when Leo throws some gentle teasing his way. A year ago, he would have flipped the lunch table over.

  Maybe I should end this and tell him he’s forgiven.

  It’s what I want to do.

  But there’s one, cold kernel of fear inside of me still.

  I don’t know what it will take to wash it away.

  As a complicating issue, Lola is up to new tricks. Someone broke into my room, and I know it was her. She rifled through all my belongings—just mine, not Rakel’s.

  When I found the room in upheaval, I ran to my dresser, terrified that she’d stolen the ruby necklace. I almost cried with relief when I found it still tucked safely inside a clean pair of socks, in the back of my drawer. Though I told Dean I was going to throw it away, I never could.

  Only after I put everything back in its proper place did I discover my missing sketchbook.

  The sketchbook contains nothing but drawings. I have no diary, no personal letters kept in my room.

  Still, it felt like the worst kind of violation.

  My drawings are highly personal. They’re my outlet, my most private thoughts and feelings.

  I only hope that stealing that book and burning it is the worst that Lola plans to do. It hurts to lose it, but I dread what other plans she might be concocting.

  The next morning Dean is waiting outside the Undercroft to walk me to class.

  He’s not supposed to talk to me, but as soon as he sees my face he asks, “What’s wrong?”

  His voice is so gentle and genuinely concerned, that before I can think better of it I tell him, “Lola broke into my room. She went through all my stuff and stole my sketchbook.”

  Dean frowns, considering.

  “What do you think she’s doing?”

  I instantly feel a wash of relief that he doesn’t dismiss the action as more of her harassment. He knows what Lola is like, and he knows she’s building to something nasty.

  “I really don’t know,” I say. “I don’t know why she’s so determined to turn this into a vendetta.”

  “Some people hate to see other people change,” Dean says quietly. “It threatens them. They can only feel in control when their environment stays static.”

  �
�I don’t want to be static,” I say, looking into his face.

  “Neither do I,” Dean agrees.

  It’s the first calm conversation we’ve had together in a week.

  I expect Dean to start pressing me to forgive him again, but instead he simply holds out his hand for my bookbag, so he can carry it for me.

  “It’s alright, I’ve got it,” I say.

  I sling the bag over my shoulder and offer him my hand instead.

  My fingers slip inside his, warm and natural and comforting.

  We walk to class hand in hand, over fresh grass with the first buds of purple clover coming up. The breeze from the fields outside the castle walls smells of spring.

  Now that Dean is finally staying quiet, not pushing me for conversation, there’s a hundred things I want to say to him.

  He walks with his long strides carefully matching my pace. He’s been right beside me this whole school year, one way or another.

  We reach the Keep. I’m supposed to go up to the third floor, and I know Dean has his boxing class over in the Armory.

  All of a sudden, I don’t want to part, not even for an hour.

  I clutch his hand, looking up into his face.

  Dean smiles down at me.

  “I’ll be right out here waiting for you,” he says.

  But when I come out of the classroom after Chemistry, Dean is nowhere to be seen.

  28

  Dean

  As I’m walking from the Keep to the Armory, two hulking groundskeepers step out of the shadows of the Grand Hall and flank me, one on either side.

  The Kingmakers staff are all ex-soldiers, ex-mercenaries, combat-trained and mafia-initiated. Their daily tasks may involve menial activities such as tending to the greenhouses and building the infrastructure for the Quartum Bellum challenges, but at the end of the day they’re here for security purposes.

  Like a stag encircled by wolves, I have the instinctive impulse to fight or run.

  It takes all my discipline to face them calmly.

  “Back up to the Chancellor’s office?” I say.