Cruel

by Raven Kennedy

  “God, do you think she’s ever had an orgasm?” Clay asked while staring at Mrs. Brodie as she circled the table. “Or is she just wound up for the fun of it? I bet she’s a dominant in bed,” he said way too loudly. “Mrs. Brodie slapped him between his shoulders with her ruler, and when he turned around to stare at her, she gave him a stern look...and then winked at him. “That’s hot,” Clay whispered once more.

  A message came through on my phone, and I sneakily pulled it out of my dress pocket to look at it.

  Rogue: After class, have Clay drop you off at the Salvador Bar

  Me: OK

  “Is there something intriguing about your crotch, Miss Livingston, or are you on your phone during my class?” Mrs. Brodie asked.

  Damn. She was good.

  We spent the rest of the class learning how to glide across a room as well as learning the appropriate noise level for polite laughter. It was exhausting, and at the end of it, I wondered if my lifelong dream of gymnastics was actually worth the trouble of attending this torture. I was never much for learning social cues or the rules for polite society. With the heirs, I didn’t really have to play by the rules. The world accepted whatever they did as law, because they demanded respect. They didn’t need dated traditions to feel powerful and poised. It was just who they were.

  When it was finally done, I stepped into the bathroom to change into a sleek, all-black dress that hit me mid thigh and clung to my curves. It was long sleeved to fight of the autumn chill, but still sexy. I paired it with my knee high boots and black stockings. Gradually, I’d started to feel comfortable in my skin. I was no longer the tomboy who used to chase the guys around, and I wanted to dress like it.

  I was just finishing up, combing my fingers through my long brown hair, when I heard a snide voice ask, “How’d you do it? You turn whore for them all and let them take turns?”

  I turned around to stare at Stephanie. She was still in her white dress, and for a split second, I pictured how it would look if I broke her nose and got blood all over it. Red was my favorite color, after all.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I replied before checking my makeup in the mirror. I wanted to get out of there as fast as possible, but I also didn’t want to give Stephanie the impression that I was running from her.

  “How’d you get them to like you again?” she pressed. “How’d you get them to like you at all? I never got why they were ever friends with you.” I detected a sense of longing in her tone that I recognized all too well.

  We were alike in some ways, both of us craving the Heirs in ways we couldn’t understand. But unlike her, this wasn’t some infatuation for me. They were like my fucking air.

  I cocked my head to the side and for a moment, I felt like Godfrey Taylor. I enjoyed how Stephanie’s brow dipped and the perplexed expression crossed her features. She was genuinely confused.

  “Maybe I was never really out,” I said with a confident shrug. They weren’t trying to hide me anymore, right? What was the point?

  She snorted in disbelief. “Right. Come on, Scarlett, everyone knows you’re just a toy to them. Hell, the whole world is their playground. You don’t mean more to them than I do. You’re just something they like to play with, but they’ll get bored with you just like they did before,” Stephanie said while closing in on my personal space. She smelled sickly sweet, and I hated that I associated her perfume with Godfrey.

  “Well, Steph,” I began, while fluffing my hair one last time. I turned to face her with a wide smile. “I guess I’ll just enjoy having their interest while I can.” I winked for good measure and headed for the bathroom door.

  Stephanie’s voice stopped me when my hand curled around the door handle. “They still come to me, you know. It’s my bedroom that Rogue and Godfrey have been visiting every week since they dumped you.” I jerked around to meet her triumphant gaze, and my stomach churned at her pleased expression. “Oh, you didn’t know?” she asked with mock sympathy. “Guess you’re not as important to them as you thought,” she said with a smug smile that I wanted to claw off her face.

  Before I ended up punching the bitch again, I yanked open the door and rushed out of the bathroom. Stephanie’s laughter hit me in the ears on the way out.

  I found Clay propped against the wall, flirting with one of the other junior cotillion girls. I yanked on his arm and pulled him away, never slowing down even as we got outside, despite his questions about what was wrong. When we got to his car, I pulled open the door and got in, my breathing way too erratic.

  Clay started up his BMW and started to drive, shooting me a look. “What crawled up your ass, girl?”

  “Nothing.”

  He snorted and shifted gears. He was the only person I knew who could actually drive stick shift. He always bragged about how good he was at handling his sticks.

  “Cut the shit, Livingston. You were fine when you went into the bathroom. I saw the Palmisano chick follow you in there. She give you trouble?”

  I pinched my bottom lip in thought. “No more than usual.”

  He sighed. “Fine. Don’t tell me. Am I dropping you at home?”

  At first, I considered telling him yes, despite Rogue’s text. Maybe I should just go home, just to piss him off. But then I considered it, and I shook my head. “No. Salvador Bar on Congress Street.”

  He hummed in acceptance and turned toward the right direction. I fumed the entire way there, and Clay, being the non-pushy person that he was, let me be. He just turned up the radio so loud that the music washed over me, drowning out my thoughts with the hard hitting bass. When we pulled up to the bar, Clay looked over at me, his dark hand still propped over the stick shift in his confident, easy way. “Want me to come in?”

  I shook my head. “No, I’m okay. Thanks, Clay. I know cotillion class sucked, but a date was required, and you really saved my ass.”

  He grinned mischievously. “Well, it is a mighty fine ass.”

  I managed to crack a smile. Taking off my seatbelt, I leaned in to peck a kiss on his cheek. “I’ll text you later.”

  He held up two fingers. “Peace.”

  I got out of the car and closed the door, waving as he drove away. Just when I was about to turn toward the bar, I was whirled around by a pair of strong hands. “What the fuck was that?”

  I looked up at Rogue’s angry expression, but I was too pissed off at him to cower. “What was what?” I asked, shrugging him off of me and taking a step back. I wasn’t in the mood for his possessive bullshit, especially not after what Stephanie just insinuated.

  He blinked at me, like me moving away caught him off guard. We were standing in the middle of the sidewalk, causing people to have to swerve around us, so he grabbed my arm once again and pulled me into the bar. I was getting really fucking tired of all his manhandling, so I reached over and pinched him as hard as I could on the back of the bicep. Asshole didn’t even flinch.

  The inside of the bar was swanky. But then, Luis's mama was a real estate tycoon for a reason. She knew which places to buy and how to run them. We were met with dim, blue-toned lighting and a black and stainless steel interior. Music played at the back of the bar, and a long, metal bar top surrounded the rest of the high tables fixed around the room.

  Rogue led me off the entrance, to the hallway that led to the back employee area. It was semi-private, but I could still see into the bar area. Rogue studied me, taking in my outfit for the first time, but the lust in his eyes didn’t replace his anger. It only seemed to magnify it.

  He braced a hand on the wall behind me, caging me in. “You kissed him.”

  I frowned, taken aback. “What? Who?”

  “Clayton Hammond,” he gritted out.

  I rolled my eyes. “Rogue, I gave him a kiss on the cheek. As a friend. I was thanking him for going with me to the cotillion class.”

  Rogue looked me up and down again. “I don’t give a shit. I don’t want you kissing him.”

  When I went to scoff, he r
eached up and grabbed hold of my jaw. “These lips belong to me,” he said, making the blood in my veins pump faster. “The only place they should ever be is on mine, or wrapped around my cock.”

  I reached up and smacked his hand off of my face. His eyes flared, but I met him with just as much anger. “Don’t be a hypocrite,” I threw back at him.

  His frown deepened. “What?”

  I crossed my arms, ready to read him the riot act. I wanted to yell and scream, to punch him in his stupidly handsome face for managing to hurt me so soon after having sex. “Tell me, does the same rule apply to you now? Or do you get to kiss and fuck and get your dick sucked by just anyone?”

  “Scarlett—”

  “No,” I cut him off and laughed bitterly. “You know what, Rogue? I shouldn’t be surprised. I really shouldn’t. It’s not like we’re officially dating. We fucked a few times. That’s it,” the words tasted bitter in my mouth. “But out of all people, does it have to be her?”

  He ran a hand through his dark hair in frustration. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

  “Stephanie Palmisano,” I shot back. “You visit her house every week.” I watched his eyes widen, and I knew right then that it was true.

  I shook my head and shoved past him, but he grabbed me and whirled me back around, pinning me again. “Don’t walk away from me.”

  “Get off me, or I’ll scream,” I said levelly.

  Instead of doing what I asked, the asshole dropped a hand and shoved it under my dress. I brought my palms against his chest to push him away, but when I felt his fingers run over my panties, I let a whimper escape my parted lips. I wanted to claw at him, but instead, my fingers fisted into his crisp, white shirt. He dipped under, pulling my panties to the side so that his finger could rub against my clit, and I had to bite back a moan.

  He leaned in, pressing his breath against my neck. “You’re wet.”

  “Not for you,” I lied. I wasn’t sure why I bothered. Rogue could read me like a fucking book. He knew how well my body responded to him.

  He chuckled darkly, and the sound shot straight to my core as his fingers continued to dance over my nub. “You can’t lie to me, Scar. I know you better than you know yourself.”

  “You don’t know me,” I said, but he shoved a finger inside of me, and my head fell back against the wall in bliss.

  “I do know you. I know everything. I know that you like that I have you here, pinned against this wall, where anyone could walk by and see me fucking you with my hand.” His dirty words only added to my euphoria, and I could feel myself already near orgasm as he added a second finger and started pumping into me. “I know that you’re mine, and that you’re about to come all over my fingers.”

  I didn’t want to, just to spite him, but he was right. I did like being there, teetering on exhibitionism. I liked that someone could walk by any second and catch us. So even though part of me wanted to hold back and not give in to an orgasm, I was too out of my mind with excitement. When my orgasm hit me, I leaned forward and smashed my lips against his. I practically fucked his mouth with my tongue as he fucked my pussy with his fingers, and he swallowed my every moan and whimper until I was done.

  Rogue Kelly was my personal drug, and I was hooked on him. I was addicted to every violent high and cruel low that he made me feel.

  When he felt my orgasm pass, he pulled his fingers out of me, but kept a steadying hand around my waist so that I didn’t topple over. When he went to move, my hand shot out to wrap around his arm. “Is it true? Do you and Godfrey visit Stephanie every week?” I asked quietly, my face flushed from my orgasm.

  He sighed. “It’s true. But not in the way that you think. I can’t tell you more than that.”

  It was my turn to sigh. “That’s the thing, Rogue. I told you already, I’m done with the lies and the omissions. I’m either in, or I’m not,” I said, before pushing off the wall and walking away.

  I didn’t know what hurt more—the fact that he wouldn’t talk to me, or the fact that he let me walk away.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  I couldn’t hold back the glare on my face as I sat across from Mr. Taylor at our family dinner. Even though it had been a week since the guys told me what he forced them to do, I was still fuming with anger. I closed my eyes as he spoke, imagining myself lunging across the dinner table to rip his beady little eyes out of their sockets. The only reason I didn’t was because Mama and Daddy were actually having a decent night together. They’d only fought once this past week. It had been about the new couch Mama bought that cost a year’s tuition at Smith Academy. It was an ugly peach color, but her purchases usually coincided with Daddy’s trips to the Bahamas with his girlfriend.

  Usually, we only got together once a month, but Daddy won a high profile case. I knew he’d rather be out celebrating with a woman half his age rather than be here with me and Mama, but Mr. Taylor thought a family dinner was in order, and since he called the shots at the law firm, there we were. Personally? I think everyone was just waiting to call my parent’s bluff. Their marriage was a sham, and I was pretty sure all of Savannah knew it.

  Godfrey was on my left, barely picking at the roast Mama bought from the Piggly Wiggly off main street. Naturally, she placed it on her best silver platter and even printed off a recipe to reference for when Mrs. Taylor asked for it—and she always asked for it. Mrs. Taylor was just waiting for Mama to slip up and admit that she wasn’t nearly as domestic as she pretended to be. The effort spent on lying probably could have gone towards actually preparing dinner, but Mama didn’t like to do things the honest way.

  “I’m just beside myself with excitement. Royal is gonna come home for Christmas this year,” Mrs. Taylor said while beaming with pride. Every damn time she came over, she looked for a reason to brag about her eldest daughter. “She’s just changing lives down there in Ecuador. She says she’s really enjoying Doctors Without Borders.”

  Godfrey and I choked back laughter at the same time. Godfrey’s older sister, Royal Taylor, was probably on a beach somewhere writing checks for vaccines and not actually doing any work, but their Mama didn’t want to hear that. It was practically sacreligious to say that Royal was anything less than perfect.

  “So, Daddy, tell me about this case you just won,” I said in a sickly sweet tone.

  Since learning the darker sides of Mr. Taylor’s firm, I’d been dying to know if Daddy was involved in it, too. Something told me that my father wasn’t smart or confidential enough to coordinate something like that. Carlisle Livingston liked to brag, and he’d probably blow the whole operation by posting about it on social media, but I wanted to be sure.

  Everyone turned to look at me with surprise. It was rare that I actually paid any mind to anything regarding the business, and it didn’t escape me how Mr. Taylor gave me a fastidious look, like he suddenly grew suspicious of me.

  “It was a fun case,” Daddy said excitedly. “It was a merger between Massey Industries and a new business, Lone Wolf. They didn’t want to sell, but didn’t really have a choice.” Daddy was a corporate lawyer. It’s how he made his money. He used to tell me that nothing else was really lucrative enough to be worth his time. The rest of our fortune came from Mama’s inheritance.

  “I’ve always wondered about that. Didn’t you start out in corporate law too, Mr. Taylor?” I asked. His eyes sliced at me like a knife, as if I’d accused him of murder right there at the dinner table. “What made you decide to switch to criminal law?” I grabbed the roll on my plate before taking a large bite, butter trailing down my chin as I spoke with my mouth full to really piss off Mama. “I recently learned in my Government class that it’s not as fiscally rewarding.” I reached for my glass to take a long sip of water to wash the glorious carbs down as Godfrey went rigid beside me. I didn’t think anything of it—Godfrey got worked up over nothing. But within moments, his hand was clamping down on my thigh, squeezing tightly in warning. I sunk my hand under the table to squeeze him back—a
nd I did it harder.

  “Since when are you interested in law, Scarlett?” Mama asked with a tittering laugh. I turned to look at her and took her rosy cheeks as a sign that she was already tipsy. Maybe I could sneak a second roll without her giving me a lecture about it later.

  “I’ve been looking into the pre-law program at Harvard. Been debating on following in Daddy’s footsteps.”

  At my explanation, Mr. Taylor relaxed, but Godfrey kept his hand firmly on my leg, undeterred. He knew I was full of shit. “Oh, Miss Livingston, the courts are no place for a woman,” Mr. Taylor said with a condescending chuckle before sipping on his whiskey on ice. “And to answer your question, I find the criminal courts to be titillating. It’s more fun, you see. More twists and turns.”

  “I guess that proving guilty people are innocent would be an adrenaline rush,” I quipped as Godfrey dug his fingernails into my skin. It hurt like a bitch, but I didn’t let it show.

  At that, Daddy dropped his silverware to glare at me. I was treading dangerous waters, going head-to-head with a shark. I was feeling reckless and careless. What was the worst he could do? Have the Heirs take me out? Maybe I’d be another clean up job. That thought made my hatred for Godfrey’s daddy deepen. How dare he sit there, pretending to be a model citizen, husband, and father, while he constantly destroyed evidence, bribed, blackmailed, and forced his son to do his dirty work.

  If Mr. Taylor was affected by my comment, he didn’t show it. Guess he really was that good. You had to be in his line of work. “First rule of being a lawyer, Scarlett. All your clients are innocent.”

  “And the lawyers?” I shot back. “What about them? Shouldn’t they be held accountable?”

  Mr. Taylor let a slow smile spread across his face, like I just hit his shit list, and he couldn’t wait to destroy me. The expression made my heart beat faster. His eyes flicked over to his son, and I felt Godfrey’s fingers dig even deeper into my skin. “See? This is why women don’t belong in the courtroom,” he said, making our parents chuckle nervously. “Isn’t that right, Godfrey?”