Cruel

by Raven Kennedy

  Rogue didn’t move for a moment. He just stayed inside of me, staring down at my face with tenderness before once more hardening his expression. I saw the transition. I watched him force himself to look at me with hate. My stomach roiled.

  Why? Why did he hate me so much? It was like he forced the hatred, and the challenger in me wanted nothing more than to keep pushing him. I wanted to break down this cruelness and shatter the mirrored emotion between us. I wanted to take the brick wall he’d put up between us and make it come crumbling down.

  There was tenderness there. I saw it. But it was gone now, so all I could do was steel myself in response.

  With a single steading breath, I finally gathered enough courage to speak. “Get the fuck off me.”

  He did.

  Chapter Nineteen

  I used to imagine losing my virginity to him in a romantic setting where he guided me to that special place of bliss with sweet, whispered words and affection. But no. He gave me a hard fuck, and I gave it right back to him. A punishing, consuming fuck that left me shamed but exhilarated at the same time. It was better than the romance I’d imagined. It was more Rogue, and it fed the secret desires that I’d never voiced.

  “Scar, stop,” Rogue growled while following me up the stairs.

  I felt him at my back as I ran up the rest of the way to his bedroom. When I glanced back at him, he was pulling on his pants as he walked, clumsily zipping up his fly. I didn’t give him a chance to catch up to me.

  I wanted a shower. I wanted to wash away the evidence of us and scrub my skin raw so I’d have some other sort of pain to focus on, other than the ache between my thighs. I wrenched open his bedroom door and then immediately marched across his room until I was in the connecting bathroom. I went inside and then slammed the door shut, locking it with a huff. I knew that if Rogue really wanted to, he could kick open the door. Part of me wanted him to.

  Oh god. That was what made all of this so twisted. I didn’t want to change a damn thing about what just happened. I’d let him use me and throw me away again and again because I craved him so much. It wasn’t the violent fuck that ruined me. It wasn’t even that it was Rogue Kelly who broke me in half, speared me with his cock, and demanded my pleasure. What killed me was that I enjoyed it. I liked not having the sweet sex I’d once dreamed about. I liked fighting him. I liked letting out our darker sides to run free. And the murder? I barely even thought about that. What kind of person did that make me?

  “What are you doing, Scar?” he asked in exasperation through the door.

  I squeezed my eyes shut while leaning against the wood and staring at the large walk-in shower.

  “I’m going to get cleaned up.” My voice was surprisingly casual considering everything that had just happened. Maybe if I continued to pretend to be just another one of his random conquests, I could get through this without jealousy eating away at me. I always thought that after my first time, he would take care of me afterwards. I should have known that I would end up taking care of myself. That was the common theme with them, wasn’t it? They teased me with a lasting friendship and then left me to deal with my life crashing down around me.

  When I walked to the shower and turned on the water, I heard the lock on the door click, and I knew he’d unlocked it from the other side. I didn’t turn to check, though. I didn’t even look back when I heard the door swing open and Rogue enter the bathroom. I stared at the water flowing from the spout and felt his eyes on my back.

  The steam from the shower quickly filled the small space as I tossed my clothes in the trash. I didn’t want to look at them and be reminded of how screwed up I was. “I brought you some clothes,” Rogue said before tossing a pile of sweats on the counter.

  “Thanks.”

  “Need anything?”

  “Nope.”

  I stepped under the water and slid the glass door shut before listening for signs that he had left. I could have easily looked to see, but I didn’t dare turn my gaze on him. I couldn’t handle seeing those angry eyes staring back at me. I couldn’t handle knowing that I’d never be more than a fuck. I lathered the soap in my palm and ran it over my body, washing myself again and again until the scalding water turned icy cold. And still, it wasn’t enough. I wanted to wash away how much I wanted Rogue Kelly, but it didn’t work like that. I couldn’t let him go. I couldn’t stop hoping that all the Heirs would care about me again.

  Finally, I cut off the water and got out of the shower. It surprised me when I found that Rogue was still there, his face expressionless. He was sitting on top of the granite counter, his back against the mirrored glass and one knee propped up with his arm braced on top of it. He was damp from the steam, his hair darker than usual and his shirt sticking to his skin.

  He could have spoken up at any time. I wasn’t sure why he just quietly waited for me to come out. I wanted to pry apart his skull and figure out what his fucked up thoughts are. But most of all, I wanted to know where I stood with him. He handed me a towel, and when I wrapped it around my body, his brown eyes stared intently at my neck.

  “What?” I asked, before twisting to look. I walked forward and swiped my hand across the mirror then stared at my reflection. I didn’t look any different. Aside from the ache between my legs, nothing outwardly showed that Rogue Kelly had destroyed me in the best way. But then I saw what he was looking at—the small bruise in the shape of his teeth on my neck. I touched it, feeling like an Heir Chaser who had been marked.

  “You don’t have to just sit here. I know the drill,” I snapped, dropping my hand.

  “What drill?”

  “You know. Y’all like to fuck ‘em and leave ‘em. I’m not under the delusion that things have magically changed between us, Rogue. I’m still trash right? Just another Heir Chaser? I can see it on your face.” I didn’t want his pity. I wasn’t no damn martyr. I knew the score, I knew Rogue.

  I picked up some mouthwash on the counter and guzzled it, swirling the minty flavor in my mouth before spitting it out in the sink. “You got me. You proved I was lying about Clay. I’m just another conquest to you, right? You took my virginity on your fucking staircase. I’m sure Bonham will love to spread that rumor. Now please don’t skip the whole song and dance about reminding me how I mean nothing to you. I already know. I’d rather just accept it on my own terms.”

  Rogue opened his mouth to speak, but then closed it again before any words escaped. I could see the internal war on his face, but I didn’t care what he was keeping from me right now. At this rate, I’d be lucky to survive with my heart still in tact.

  “Leave. Please? Just leave like you always do,” I replied, as sudden tears filled my eyes. It shocked me as much as it shocked him.

  “Scar. It’s not… it’s not like that,” he said.

  I snorted. “It’s not like what? I know I’m not special to you. I know this changes nothing. So please just don’t say anything. You should have let me go to Switzerland,” I said bitterly. “Why couldn’t you have just let me leave?” My tears were freely forming now, spilling from my red rimmed eyes as I reached for the clothes he’d brought me. Of course he’d give me one of his shirts. I bet it smelled like him. I’d never be able to ride in my car again without thinking about him. Never smell cognac without remembering how our breaths mixed. With a flash, I remembered the crown tattoo on his chest, but I shoved it away. I couldn’t keep tormenting myself.

  Rogue grabbed my wrist in a half-hearted attempt at pulling me closer, just as I heard his bedroom door open. Godfrey’s voice greeted us. “Rogue? You here, man? Did you take out the trash?”

  I flinched like I’d just been slapped. More tears fell from my eyes. I wanted to be done crying for them. For him.

  Rogue jumped off the counter and pushed me against the wall. He held his hand over my mouth while gazing adoringly into my eyes. “Please. Don’t...just don’t give up on me yet. I need to hate you for just a little while longer.”

  I dipped my brow in confusion. W
hat the fuck did that mean?

  “Please?” He pleaded again. “I have to hate you because it’s easier than losing you. I can’t let you leave,” he finally whispered before removing his hand from my lips.

  Then, he crashed his mouth to mine, knitting us together with his tongue while pulling at my towel with his calloused hands. His kiss felt desperate but loving, and it shocked the hell out of me. He held me like the world was going to explode right there in that bathroom and all he had left were a few stolen kisses to save him. I burst into an inferno of longing and heat. Letting my towel drop, I jumped up, wrapping my strong legs around his waist as he pushed me against the wall. I clutched his shirt and panted against his mouth.

  He tasted like cognac and hope, and all I wanted was to drown in him.

  “Rogue, quit jacking off and get out here,” Luis's voice yelled, and I somehow heard the sound of footsteps getting closer over my roaring pulse.

  “One minute,” he grunted out before slamming his lips to mine one last time.

  Our teeth clashed in a painful fight for one another. I didn’t know if I’d ever get this again, so I was selfish with his touch, claiming every last drop. If this was him kissing me goodbye, I wanted to savor every second.

  And then, he ripped himself away from me and set me back on the floor. He didn’t look at me. He didn't say a word. Rogue just exited the bathroom and never looked back.

  Daddy was searching his office when I finally got home that evening. It was a Monday, which meant that Mama had a meeting with the PTA and would probably go out for cocktails with her Bridge team afterwards. Daddy and I just sort of turned it into our unofficial visitation for the week. We usually ordered pizza and talked about nothing. He wasn’t a good guy—not by any stretch of the imagination. I was pretty sure I had two half siblings in Florida that lived in a “vacation home” we never actually got to vacation in. But he was my dad and another person in my life I had to lower my expectations for. Bonham once teased that I had Daddy issues. Maybe he was right.

  “Hey,” I said.

  Although most the time I looked forward to Monday nights with Daddy, I wasn’t in the mood for his grand gestures of goodwill and promises to do better. He looked good, though. Had a fresh tan, probably from taking his current girlfriend to the Bahamas a few weeks ago. His dark hair and chocolate eyes looked like mine, but he had a larger nose and defined jawline. It was odd, but he looked younger since moving out. The frown lines around his lips had almost disappeared and he’d obviously been working out, his beer gut was almost completely gone. Leaving his family looked good on him.

  “You’re home late,” he observed while glancing at the clock. He’d gotten used to me not having much of a social life these last few months.

  “I had dance class for the cotillion ball.”

  Daddy straightened while checking a folder on a shelf above him. I wasn’t sure what he was looking for in his office, but he was making a messy disaster in the process.

  “The junior ball? Was that why your mama bought a fourteen thousand dollar dress at Neiman Marcus today?” he asked with a frown.

  “Could be?” I replied with a shrug. “Or she could just like fucking with you.”

  Daddy sunk into his swiveling office chair before spinning to look at me. “She’s kind of a bitch,” he agreed stubbornly.

  “So why not divorce her? Isn’t it exhausting trying to live like this?” I asked, walking inside his office and propping myself against the wall. I wasn’t sure why I was asking my father about his opinions on his marriage. It probably had something to do with my inability to completely give up on Rogue. Was it in my blood? Did I crave a toxic relationship because I didn’t know any better?

  “There’s a phrase that us lawyers like to toss around in regards to divorce court, Scarlett,” Daddy began while pulling out his phone and smiling at whatever message his girlfriend of the week sent him. “It’s cheaper to keep her,” Daddy laughed at his joke, like it was the funniest thing he’d ever said. “Besides, it’s important that you grow up in a healthy home environment.”

  I snorted “Right. Because this is just oh so functional. Y’all are the picture of a healthy relationship,” I replied, deadpan. I started cleaning the papers on his desk when another question came to me. “So that’s it? There’s no other reason to stay with her other than me and money?”

  Daddy’s humorous disposition dropped for a moment. “Ah, I guess…” he struggled to find his words. “I guess sometimes it’s just hard to let go. Even when the things we’re clinging to hurt us.”

  I swallowed and looked down at my feet. He was right. “Wow, Daddy. That was almost deep,” I joked, trying to lighten the mood.

  When the uncomfortable mood didn’t lift, I started shuffling through the papers on his desk, distracting myself with organizing the mess he’d made. We worked in silence for a few moments, him shifting through the chaotic stacks of papers, and me cleaning everything back up. If that wasn’t a metaphor for our family dynamic, I didn’t know what was. I had been cleaning for a good half hour when I came across a document with Mr. Taylor’s letterhead on it. It was a list of his clients. I scanned the list then gasped when I saw Johnny Jack’s name. He was one of the most notorious criminals in Georgia.

  Turning to Daddy with the paper, I asked, “Shouldn’t you shred this? It has a list of Mr. Taylor’s personal clients.”

  Daddy reached over his desk and snatched it from my fingers. “That’s exactly what I was looking for.”

  I watched as he scanned the document with his finger, pausing on a name before glancing up at me with a grin. Then, for the first time since I’d gotten home, he looked me up and down and really looked at me. It was his assessing look that he reserved for the courtroom and his conquests. I wondered if he could see my red eyes and tight lips. “You’re okay, right Scar?” He looked guilty, almost. Like he’d forgotten he had a daughter that might still need her daddy.

  I decided to go with half-honesty. It was the most we could hope for in our family. “I miss the gym. I miss you, even though you make that hard to do sometimes.”

  “I miss you too, kid.”

  Well, then stop thinking with your dick and come home.

  “I better get going,” he said, breaking my heart just a little. “Next week?”

  I nodded with a sigh. “Yeah. See you next week.”

  Chapter Twenty

  I went to school early to work my sore muscles. Coach Michaels pretended not to watch me, but I could feel his eyes on my back as I stretched and then did some work on the trampoline. I was a little rusty, but by the end of the hour I was completing each twist with ease. I did straddle pike jumps and tucks, spinning and turning my body in the air until I felt weightless. I went until my legs were shaking, and I could barely stand to jump anymore. The juice cleanse Mama had me on was making me weak. If I weren’t malnourished, I could have easily gone for another couple of hours, maybe even transitioned to the mat and done a few more double back tucks to really stretch my back out.

  “You’ve lost too much weight, Livingston,” Coach Michaels said before heading over to hand me a towel. I tried to think of the last time I had an actual meal and frowned when I couldn’t remember. “You need protein to fuel your body and build back up those muscles. Some carbs, too. Hell, you should go out for ice cream.”

  I was rubbing the back of my neck with the towel as he stood over me, likely waiting for me to explain why I was skinnier than usual. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to eat. I always felt my most confident when I had a few extra pounds on my bones. I worked hard for these muscles, and I wasn’t afraid to be stronger than the boys. It’s one of the things they like about me.

  Liked. It’s what they liked about me. Past tense.

  My memory flashed to Rogue’s hungry eyes in his bathroom and in the town car. No, he still liked my body. Even if that was the only thing about me that he did like. “You better not be starving yourself,” Coach Michaels added. “You know,
I’ve got a few college scouts sniffing around. Some sponsors looking for the next big thing in gymnastics. I’m talking the Olympics, Scarlett. You realize you could go that far? You realize you’re that good if you kept at it?”

  I stood up, my legs shaking from exhaustion. “I could choreograph your routine, Livingston,” he added while following after me. I needed to hit the showers, since classes started in a half hour.

  “I don’t know coach.”

  “What about the University of Denver? They send more gymnasts to the Olympics than anyone, and I have a letter of recommendation just waiting to be stamped and sent.”

  My stomach dropped. I knew Coach was trying to be helpful, but it was like tempting me with chocolate when I was on a diet. Mama would never let me give up Harvard. Every Livingston worth mentioning attended there.

  “You know I’ve got a seat at Harvard. My mama would die on the spot if I told her I wasn’t going.”

  “That wouldn’t necessarily be a bad thing,” Coach Michaels grumbled under his breath. It was no secret that he wasn’t a fan of Principal Livingston.

  I laughed. “I’d like to read that letter of recommendation though, Coach. Does it mention the time you lost a bet to me?”

  Rolling his eyes, Coach Michaels replied, “How was I supposed to know you’d pull off the Yurchenko Vault?”

  “Don’t doubt me, Coach,” I joked with a chuckle, my face twisting into a smile for the first time since yesterday.

  We were quiet for a moment before Coach spoke again. “Talk to your mama, Livingston.”

  I sighed lightly “She wouldn’t pay for it. She’d probably take away my trust fund, too. But thanks. I appreciate it,” I said before disappearing into the locker room. I had to escape that talk before it got my hopes up. I needed to shut the cage door on my heart, because it would be a cold day in a Savannah summer before Mama let me give up Harvard.