Cruel

by Raven Kennedy

  “Y’all are some fucking assholes.”

  The both of them laughed hysterically, clutching their stomachs while trying to keep quiet, so as not to wake up my mama. Once the laughter subsided, I lay quietly for a moment longer. “How’s your Mama, Luis?” I asked. I’d been wondering how she’d been doing, if she was still using. It felt odd knowing that my best friend was struggling with his mama’s addiction but not being close anymore to comfort him about it.

  Luis let out another sigh, and this one didn’t sound like the forced one from before. “Well. She’s been using again. Not that she ever really stopped. She always says she’s going to, but then she slips. Sometimes I wish she didn’t have so much goddamned money. Her tastes are expensive. Too bad she has such a good business sense. I almost wish she didn’t.”

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered. Naturally, Luis deflected the conversation with quick wit, overcompensating for the fact that he was feeling something other than flirtatious with humor.

  “She could have worse fixations. Remember her hard rock phase? If I’d had to see one more leather skirt, I was gonna puke.”

  “That really was a tragic decade,” I added, playing along for his sake, even though he didn’t deserve an easy way out. It wasn’t like they’d given me any slack over the last few months. “Almost as bad as Bonham’s Garth Brooks phase.”

  Bonham slapped his face with both his hands in embarrassment as Luis booed. “He was the king of country!” Bonham tried to explain, before leaning over to mercilessly tickle me. I squealed and laughed so hard that tears rolled down my cheeks, rolling around on my mattress as Luis joined in on the assault. I finally managed to wrap both my arms around their necks and pull them close, crashing them to my chest in a drunk attempt at getting them to stop, but instead, it had the opposite effect.

  Luis nipped at my cleavage, biting and sucking just enough that it would leave a generous hickey. “You asshole,” I moaned before lifting my hips up to move Bonham’s fingers, which were tickling dangerously close to my pantyline. My laughter was starting to sound scarily similar to pants as Bonham dipped one time to brush along my soft skin before pulling away.

  Loud stomps sounded down the hallway and both guys jumped to their feet. Luis grabbed the bottle of champagne and tossed it under my bed just before the door opened and in rushed Mama, wearing a nightie that was bright red and see-through.

  “Hey Principal Livingston!” Bonham greeted with a shy wave, after roaming his eyes up and down her body. He threw a thumbs up behind his back that only I could see. Pig.

  “What are you boys doing here? It’s four in the morning on a school night, for Christ’s sake!” She ran her hands through her hair and then quickly wrapped her arms around her stomach, as if realizing that they were getting an eyeful of her body through the racy material.

  “Just wanted to see if that old tree outside her bedroom was sturdy enough to climb still, Principal Livingston,” Luis said with a smirk.

  Mama knew all about our impromptu sleep overs. She’d gotten used to it over the years, but it had been a good while since she’d caught us all in bed together.

  “You’d best go on home now, or y’all move to the guest room. You’re getting too old for this. And Jesus, Scarlett. Wear something decent if you know you’re having the boys coming over.” My brows shot up as Mama clutched her arms even closer, aware of the irony of that statement.

  “Yes ma’am,” I choked out as Luis and Bonham headed towards the window with barely contained laughter. They quickly opened it and left with a wink.

  “Those damn boys,” Mama said, but there was a small tick at the edge of her lips. She had just started to leave the room when she paused at the door. “Clean up that champagne you spilled on the carpet, Scar. Your room smells like a fucking bar.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  When my alarm went off the next morning, I rolled over with a groan. I hadn’t slept much. I might not have even slept at all. I couldn’t get my brain to shut off even though Luis and Bonham provided a nice, albeit momentary, distraction. I just kept hearing Dean O’Banion’s voice from the train tracks.

  Every time I closed my eyes, I saw his shadowed smile and felt the memory of his rough hand on me. And though I haven’t actually seen them, I kept imagining the photos of those poor girls, and couldn’t help but wonder if I’d be next.

  My emotions were still a jumbled mess as I got up to shower, and I had a right nasty hangover. Champagne always went straight to my head and left it aching the next day. I went through the motions of washing and drying myself, of getting dressed in my uniform and putting makeup on, but my bloodshot eyes and the crease between my brows revealed my anxiety. I couldn’t hold back the weariness on my face.

  What if O’Banion had taken me? What if one of the guys ended up dead? What if Rogue had to get blood on his hands again, or if other girls in their lives went missing? I hated Stephanie Palmisano, sure, but I would never want her to be kidnapped and sold into sex slavery. Who knew what this gang was capable of and how far they’d go?

  When I made my way downstairs, I could hear Mama already using the blender, mixing up whatever concoction of the day that her nutritionist planned. I had no doubt that it would taste like kale piss. When I got to our kitchen, I slumped into the stool at the counter, letting my backpack drop to the floor.

  “Morning,” she said over the loud rumble of the blender.

  I mumbled it back to her as she turned off the machine and poured us each a cup. Placing it in front of me, she took the seat beside me and started reading the local paper. I drank the green smoothie, not even caring when the grittiness hit the back of my tongue.

  “You’re quiet this morning,” Mama said, startling me out of my thoughts.

  I looked over, but my eyes caught on the front page of the paper. There were large, blown-up photos of the cotillion club, gushing on and on about the chosen debutantes this year. My mama wanted nothing more than for me to be one of those debutantes when my time came after my first year of college, and Bonham had given me that in. If I played nicely and did the Junior Debutante bullshit, it could happen. But I remembered what Godfrey had said in the showers, and he was right. This was my bargaining chip. I could see it the way my mama’s eyes lit up as she looked at all the poised girls in the photo and read over their family names. And maybe it was because everything else in my life felt like it had been forced on me, but I was ready to play my hand and force something of my own.

  “I’m not doing the Junior Debutante Club.”

  Mama’s head snapped over to me and she dropped the paper onto the counter. “Excuse me?”

  I took a long sip and met her eyes. “I’m gonna pull out of it,” I said with a shrug.

  “Scarlett Anne, now you listen to me—”

  “Stop,” I said, holding up a hand. “I’m not gonna do it...unless we make a deal.”

  Her eyes narrowed and her lips went thin, making her disapproval clear. She sat back in her seat. “Let’s hear it then, young lady.”

  “You want me to do the debutante thing? Fine. Then I want to be put back in gymnastics.”

  Mama sighed. “As I live and breathe! Scarlett, we’ve been over this. You need to be focusing on school. Not to mention, gymnastics was very hard on your body.”

  “This ridiculous juice cleanse you have me on is hard on my body,” I bit back. “And if you’re worried about school, then I certainly don’t have time for the Junior Debutante League.”

  Mama’s mouth opened and closed, like she was debating on what to say. She knew I was right. “Why are you so against it, Mama? You know I love it, and Coach Michaels says I could really go far. I could go to the Olympics!” I couldn’t hold back the excitement in my tone even if I’d tried. I wanted this so badly. Everything else in my life felt so out of control, but this was something I knew I had a handle on. I wanted to go back to the mat, even if I never performed again. It was killing me not to be pushing body to its limits—to actually
be coached again, rather than stealing a few minutes at the gym alone.

  “I just… I don’t want to see you get hurt, Scarlett. You get all these grand ideas in your head.”

  I let out a shaky breath, knowing that my words would hurt her. “Look, just because the only thing you amounted to was being Carlisle Livingston’s wife, doesn’t mean that I have the same aspirations. Even if I don’t make it, I want to do it because I enjoy it, Mama.”

  Her quick intake of breath let me know that I’d hit a sore spot, but the doorbell rang just then, so I hopped off my stool to go answer it, effectively avoiding her trembling lip and frustrated scowl. I cracked the door and pursed my lips when I saw Rogue on the other side. Black tattoo creeping over the collar of his school uniform, white pressed shirt that was partly untucked. He looked effortlessly casual and sexy—minus the bags under his eyes. He obviously got as much sleep as I did.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked as he placed a hand on the door and pushed his way inside. As soon as he was in my foyer, he was pushing up against me, wrapping me into a hug. I was so startled by the move that I froze in his arms, and all I could do was breathe in the scent of his cologne. Intense sex was one thing, but a hug? I didn’t expect it. After going months with them despising me, my body just automatically locked up.

  He felt me stiffen, but instead of pulling away, he held me tighter. He shifted his hand up the back of my shirt, splaying his fingers across my skin and pressing me tightly to his rock hard body until I melted against him.

  “My mama’s in the other room,” I breathed.

  “Guess you better keep quiet then,” he whispered. I groaned a bit as he scraped his teeth along my ear. “You smell so fucking good. I just want to eat you up.”

  “Rogue Kelly, is that you?” Mama’s voice called from down the hall. I immediately jumped back from him, just in time to look over at my nosy mother as she strode forward with a smile. “It’s been ages since you stopped by. Want me to put on a pot of coffee for you?” she offered while adjusting her robe.

  “That won’t be necessary, ma’am. I’m sorry to bother, but I was wondering if I could drive Scarlett to school today?”

  Mama beamed. She stared at me with calculating understanding in her eyes. “That’s fine. You’ll need to leave early, though. She needs to stop at Coach Michael’s office before class.”

  My mouth dropped open in surprise. Was she being serious? “Really? I can do gymnastics again?” I asked with a squeal. When she nodded, I launched myself around her, hugging her tightly. Mama and I didn’t do physical affection very often, but I couldn’t help myself. I wrapped my arms around her frail body, shaking her a bit to get out some of my excitement.

  “But your grades have to stay up, no fighting, and you have to stay in the Junior Debutante League. In fact, you have your first cotillion class tonight,” she said as I pulled away. She pinched a strand of my hair between her fingers, and her eyes took on a faraway look. I wasn’t sure where she went, but I wasn’t about to ruin things.

  “Thank you, Mama.”

  Behind us, Rogue coughed, and I turned my attention back to him. “You ready?” he asked.

  I went back to the kitchen, downed the last of my gross drink, and grabbed my backpack. My mama waved us off, and when Rogue opened the car door for me to get in, I nearly had a heart attack. When he saw the bewildered look on my face, he frowned. “What?”

  I shook my head and got inside, sitting on the seat. “Nothing.”

  He braced his muscled forearms on the door frame and leaned in until we were face-to-face. “Tell me.”

  Our faces were close enough to kiss. Luckily, my mama had already gone back inside, so she wasn’t there for the show. I let out a shaky breath. “I’m gonna have to get used to this again, Rogue.”

  “Get used to what?”

  “To you treating me like a friend again.”

  Rogue chuckled darkly and grabbed my chin with his thumb and finger. “I’m not your friend, Scarlett.”

  My stomach dropped straight to my toes, and I blinked at him. “But—but I thought...You guys told me everything. You’d been protecting me. Making it look like you didn’t care about me so that the Macon Mob wouldn’t hurt me. I thought we could be friends again? At least in secret.” I hated how much my voice shook. I couldn’t survive it if they rejected me again. I just couldn’t.

  I tried to look away, but Rogue kept a firm grip on my chin and forced me to keep my eyes on him. “You misunderstand me, Scar. I’m not just gonna be your friend. You’re fucking mine now.”

  With that, he dropped his hold and shut the car door, walking around the front to get in on the other side. I still hadn’t breathed by the time he pulled out of my driveway. When he leaned over and held my arm that rested on the center console, the shaken exhale finally escaped me. My skin felt hot at our connection, like I could be consumed with his fire just from that innocent touch.

  “You mean it?” I asked him, watching him from the corner of my eye as he drove us to school.

  “Yep,” he said simply.

  “But what about Johnny Jack’s men?”

  He shrugged. “They already know about you. The jig is up. I’m done acting.”

  I swallowed hard. I couldn’t even fathom that this was happening. I’d had a crush on Rogue for years, but he’d never seen me like that, so I’d just settled for being his friend. And then everything had happened with our fall-out, then the angry, intense sex… and now this. I didn’t know how to settle it all in my mind.

  “Stop thinking so hard, Scar.”

  He even knew what I was saying when I was silent.

  I cleared my throat and looked over at him. “Rogue?”

  He looked over at me. “Yeah?”

  “Don’t hurt me again.”

  His intense eyes didn’t falter. “I won’t.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  “A gentleman doesn’t sit first, order first, or eat first, Mr. Hammond!” Mrs. Brodie, Bonham’s socialite mother, said while slapping Clay’s hand as he reached for another chocolate cookie near him.

  I wondered how many of these so-called dinner table rules we’d be forced to swallow in our one hour table manners session. Mrs. Brodie’s button-up pastel dress was as rigid as her views on femininity, and if it were possible to have literal eyes in the back of one’s head, she’d have them.

  Clayton scowled before licking his fingers, earning yet another dissatisfied hiss from the uptight socialite. If rolling eyes were an Olympic sport, Clay would have gotten the gold medal by now. Maybe I should have felt bad about dragging him to class, but I was too busy laughing at how miserable he was. He had preconceived notions about what it meant to be my date to this Junior Debutante dance, and attending cotillion class nipped away his eagerness with one snap of Mrs. Brodie’s fingers.

  “I thought you said there would be food here. I didn’t realize you were making me learn which fucking fork to use,” he whisper-yelled at me before reaching for the cookie once more. The moment his fingers circled the perfectly-baked sphere, Mrs. Brodie swiveled in her heels to scowl at him.

  “We’ll eat it eventually. You just have to let me eat first,” I giggled.

  “Well I was hoping that it would at least be worth my while,” he growled under his breath before dropping the uneaten cookie back on the silver platter in front of him. I stifled a laugh.

  I had to beg Rogue to let me take Clay. Despite everything, I wasn’t ready to completely let him back in just yet. At school, he walked proudly with me on his arm, growling at anyone that dared to call me “trash” or look at me wrong. And it was nice—don’t get me wrong. But just a week ago, it was him doing all those nasty things to me. And even though our bodies were more than ready to forgive, forget, and fuck, my heart was still a little gun shy.

  He conceded, only because Godfrey called during the drive over here to say that they had a lead on a possible out on this whole situation, and since I wasn’t allowed to be alo
ne, he allowed Clay to attend.

  “This is such sexist bullshit,” Clay mumbled under his breath, and I had to hold back a laugh.

  A slap between my shoulderblades reminded me to stop slouching and I shot up with sharp surprise. Mrs. Brodie was a hellion with that damn ruler.

  “Why am I doing this again?” Clay asked while looking around the room. “None of these girls look even remotely fuckable.”

  I bit back a laugh. None of us did, really. Part of being a Junior Debutante meant that we had to wear oversized, white dresses that weighed as much as we did while hiding our best assets. “A lady holds her head high, but never her nose, Miss Palmisano,” Mrs. Brodie sneered to Stephanie while stepping forward to shift the fork on Stephanie’s place setting a millimeter over, like the slightest crookedness of the silver could cause a world war.

  “Are you going to tell me why I got a call from your not-boyfriend about keeping an eye on you today?” Clay asked while taking a sip of tea. He was holding his pinky up and looking ridiculous while doing it. “I thought you two were enemies with some weird sexual tension. Now you’re dating? Is he going to change his mind halfway through crumpets and kill me for being here right now? I thought he was gonna blow a gasket when he showed up at my place looking for you.”

  I eyed Stephanie, who was sitting across from us and listening to our whispered conversation. The classes were being held at Mrs. Brodies’ cotillion class downtown. The venue was opulent and smelled like my late grandmother’s perfume, the tables had white tablecloths, designed to show if we dared to get a single crumb anywhere but our china plates. “We’re not dating. I don’t really know what we are. He’s possessive, but I don’t know if it’s because of some other shit going on or if he really does care,” I admitted quietly.

  “What’s the other shit?”

  “It’s better if you don’t know.”

  “Ladies and gentlemen!” Mrs. Brodie exclaimed with a clap. “The essence of good manners is your conversational skills. Your job is to make others feel at ease in your presence.”