The Hate Vow: A Dark Enemies to Lovers Romance

by C. Hallman

  “Come on, we’ll get some real groceries,” he says, and I breathe a sigh of relief.

  By the time we get to the grocery store, my face looks almost normal again. My eyes are still red and slightly swollen, but at least I don’t look like I just did ten rounds in the boxing ring. I have looked that way before, and it wasn’t pretty.

  Walking through the aisles of the small-town grocery store next to Ryder is like walking next to a giant billboard saying, look over here. He is tall, muscular, and always dressed in black. Tattoos are not only covering his arms but also his hands and neck. Overall, he looks like a criminal, a bad guy—who will destroy everything around him without thinking about it twice. What nobody knows is that I am the same. Maybe I’m even worse than him.

  Ryder makes me push the buggy while he throws random items in as we go.

  “You know I brought you along so you could pick some stuff.”

  “Oh.” I was actually wondering why he made me tag along. “You want me to pick stuff to cook for both of us?” I don’t want to assume that he wants to eat my food. Having dinner together yesterday was nice for me, but I have no idea if Ryder feels the same way. Maybe he doesn’t like my food.

  “If everything you make tastes like what you whipped up last night, then yes, cook away.”

  Nodding, more to myself than him, I put stuff in the cart. When we get to the register, Ryder leans against the magazine stand and watches me unload everything out of the cart. The cashier is a young girl with purple hair and a piercing in her bottom lip. She scans and bags everything on the belt while I deposit the bagged groceries back into the cart.

  “That’ll be $128.73,” she announces, looking at me expectantly. I look over to Ryder, who is still in the same spot, looking very much amused.

  The cashier looks up at me. “Ma’am?”

  I glance over at Ryder. “Ryder?”

  He grins at me. “Yes?”

  Ugh, he is really doing this.

  I want to scream as loud and long as my lungs will allow. I want to throw myself on the floor, kicking and screaming like a two-year-old having a tantrum. That’s how I feel on the inside. However, on the outside, I plaster my usual stone mask onto my face and ask in the most courteous tone I can manage, “Ryder, could you please pay?”

  The cashier, obviously very uncomfortable with our little spiel, looks away like she is trying to ignore us.

  After what seems like an eternity, he strolls over and slides his card. Before he types in the pin, he glances at me again. “What do you say?”

  Please, someone, kill me now.

  “Thank you,” I say. Somehow, I do it without shouting it in his face. He punches in his four-digit code and waits until he is handed the receipt by the poor young girl behind the register.

  He gets in the driver’s seat as soon as he unlocks the truck, leaving me to load the groceries and return the buggy. When I get back in the car to buckle up, he snickers. “That was fun.”

  Yes… so much fun.

  6

  Ryder

  A few days pass, and we fall into some kind of routine. Penny stays at the house, never even asking to leave. She cleans, does my laundry, and has dinner ready when I get home. When I ask for sex, she seems all too eager to oblige.

  I have lost track of how many times we’ve had sex and how much money she’s worked off. Hopefully, she still owes a lot. I don’t want her to leave.

  Shaking that thought away, I concentrate on the now and the fact that I’ll get my bike back today.

  It’s been two long weeks of waiting for my bike to be fixed. So, when Maddox tells me he is going to pick me up to get it, I feel like a little kid on Christmas morning.

  “I’ll be back in a bit,” I tell Penny before heading out the door just as Maddox pulls up in his SUV. It’s weird not seeing him on his Harley, but I’m glad he came in a car, because there is no way in fucking hell I would ever ride shotgun on a bike.

  As soon as I get into the vehicle, I can tell something isn’t right. Maddox is even grumpier than his normal broody self. His frown more prominent, the glint in his eyes a little unhinged, and the grip on the steering wheel a little too tight.

  “What the hell is wrong with you?” I ask after we’ve been driving for a few minutes.

  “I think someone is skimming money off the top,” he blurts out. “Numbers are low even though business has stayed the same. Someone is fucking with us, and I don’t think it’s one of the people we deal with.”

  “What are you saying? That one of our own guys is doing it?”

  “I don’t know, Ryder, but I’m going to find out, and I hope you have my back on this.”

  I almost snort. “Is that even a question? You know I have your back. Always.” I can’t believe he’s even asking. Maddox and I have been best friends for years. I would do anything for him, and I trust him with my life.

  “I know you do, but this is different. We’ve never had to take care of our own. We might have to kill one of our brothers, and even though everybody knows the rules, someone might not agree with it. At the very least, they are going to resent us for doing it, and that brings up a whole other set of problems.”

  “Then we deal with them too. We’ll kill whoever needs killing. Like you said, everybody knows the rules, knows what happens if you steal from the club. I don’t give a fuck who gets butthurt about killing one of our own if he broke club law. Besides that, you’re the Prez. You make the decisions, and I’ll be standing by your side no matter what.”

  “I figured you’d say something like that, but I needed to make sure before I actually investigate. We’ll find out who’s been stuffing their pockets, and then we’ll cut off his balls.”

  “Now, you’re talking.” I grin. My enjoyment of violence has always been unusual. It has gotten me into trouble more times than I can count. This is why I’m the VP of an MC and not a pencil pusher in an office.

  When I get back to the house, a plethora of savory smells greets me at the door. She made some kind of chicken with a herb and lemon sauce. I don’t know the name of it, but I don’t really care. All I know is that it’s delicious.

  “How did you learn how to cook?” I remember cooking was not her mom’s best attribute, so she must have learned it elsewhere. At my question, her face scrunches up like the memory triggers pain.

  This is becoming less fun and more depressing. I like seeing her in pain, but only when I’m the one causing it. Also, I don’t want her so broken that she doesn’t push back at all. I want some kind of reaction out of her other than crying. I keep waiting for her to slip up. Get so mad that she firers back at me with a witty remark or a good insult. I was sure that she was going to break at the grocery store, but I don’t think we even put a crack in that wall of hers.

  I wanted her to be mad and yell at me. Instead, she did exactly what I told her to. She didn’t just swallow her pride; somewhere along the past five years, she chewed it up and spat it out.

  For a moment, I think she will not answer at all, but then she says, “I used to spend all my time inside our house. He didn’t want me to go anywhere, so I ordered a bunch of cookbooks and learned how to cook.” Her voice is flat and monotone, as if she was rattling off a shopping list and not talking about a memory.

  This is getting old. It’s not fun when it’s this miserable. I need to fix her, so I can break here again myself.

  After dinner, I watch her clean the kitchen before telling her to follow me to the bedroom. Sex seems to be where she can forget about him. This is the only time I have seen her let go and relax a bit.

  My clothes come off, and I lie down on my bed. Standing naked at the bottom of my bed, she waits for direction. “Sit on my face.”

  “What?” she asks like she didn’t hear me.

  “Sit on my face,” I repeat a little slower and hold out my hand. She takes it, and I pull her on top of me, guiding her pussy to my mouth. She is sweet and soft on my tongue.

  Just like last time
I was eating her out, she is stiff at first. I let my hands roam over her thighs, and I can feel her body growing softer and needier. With her hands on the wall above me, she is bracing herself. She doesn’t look down at me, but I’m watching her closely. Her face is flush, her eyes are closed, and her mouth is ajar. She is panting and moaning softly now, but I don’t think she is close to coming. For some reason, she can’t let go like this.

  I’m trying to figure out if she doesn’t want to let go or if she doesn’t know how. I keep sucking on her clit, letting my tongue glide over it before dipping it inside of her. I can taste her arousal, feel her thighs quiver, but when I look up, her eyes are shut, and her jaw flexed as if she is grinding her teeth. What the fuck is wrong with her? Why can’t she come like this?

  Giving up, for now, I push her off my face and flip her around, so I can fuck her doggy. I enter her from behind in one swift move, making her gasp. I go slow for a minute, enjoying how tight she is in this position. Her body is still stiff, and it looks like her thin arms are about to give out. I need to feed her more. She is too skinny. She can’t even hold her own body weight up like this.

  I let my hand travel up her spine, drawing a shiver out of her. When my hand is flat on her back, between her shoulder blades, I push her down. She lets her upper body fall to the mattress with a sigh. I can see her shoulders relaxing, and I can feel her body softening. Now, with her more relaxed, I can get back to enjoying this.

  Grabbing her hips with both hands, I fuck her in earnest. Slamming into her over and over again, until I feel my balls tighten, ready to shoot up a load. Her body is rocking forward with every thrust. In the heat of the moment, I pull my hand back and slap her ass with my flat palm. One second, I’m balls deep in her tight pussy. The next, she is across the bed, huddle up by the headboard.

  “Don’t do that,” she whimpers, adding more quietly, “please.”

  I should have known that she wouldn’t like that. But honestly, I wasn’t thinking about that when I did it. Spanking is not really a turn on for me. I’ve done it in the past because girls wanted me to. Most chicks seem to like it, but I don’t see its appeal.

  “Get back here. My dick is getting cold,” I scowl at her.

  “I-I’ll let you do whatever you want, but you can’t hit me.”

  “Hit you?” I can’t help but roll my eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous. I didn’t hit you. I spanked your ass. There is a big difference. Believe me, if I had hit you, you would know it.”

  Her accusation makes my blood boil. Grown ass men get out of my way when they see me coming. I don’t need to hit a woman to make myself feel like I’m stronger than anybody else. I fucking know I’m stronger than everybody else.

  “I won’t let you hit me,” she repeats, her voice shaking, and I know she is on the verge of crying again.

  I wasn’t planning to keep smacking her ass, but her choice of words gets my attention. “You won’t let me?” I smirk. “And how are you going to prevent me from doing whatever I want with you?”

  “I will… I’ll fight you.” Her voice is quiet and trembling, even though I can tell she is trying her best to keep it strong and even.

  “Maybe I’ll like you fighting me.” I move closer to her, and she flattens herself against the headboard in response.

  “I won’t stay here. I’ll leave.”

  I move even closer, and she squeezes her eyes shut as if that will make me go away. When I’m an inch away from her face, I whisper, “Then I’ll lock you in, cuff you to the bed, so I can use you whenever I want. Maybe slap you around for real this time.”

  Her eyes fly open, meeting mine with pure terror, and I know I’ve gone too far. Shit, this is not how I get to her. This is just fucking her up more. I straighten up, putting some distance between us.

  “Get out,” I growl. Her eyes go wide, and then she slowly moves off the bed, keeping her gaze on me as if she is expecting me to pounce on her like a wild animal. I take in her slight frame as she moves. She is so small and skinny, her limbs slender, and her skin pale. She looks breakable to me, like a glass figurine that will break into a thousand pieces if you ever drop it.

  “Sleep on the couch and don’t even fucking think about leaving. I’ll find you wherever you go, and then I will lock you up for real, got it?”

  “Got it,” she murmurs before exiting the room.

  Well, this sucks. Now I have to jerk myself off.

  7

  Penny

  My chest is heaving, and my heart is still racing when I return to the living room. Only when I’m back at the couch, do I notice that I didn’t even pick up my clothes. I’m standing in the room completely naked. A shiver running over my entire body as I try to think about what I should do. Do I just go to sleep on the couch like he said, or should I calm down and go back in there?

  Part of me knows that he didn’t actually hit me. I might be inexperienced in bed, but even I know that spanking while having sex is a thing. Still, it was too much for me. Too close to the pain I used to endure daily. It took so much to get away from that. I will never let it happen again.

  I finally lie down on the couch, covering up with the blanket Ryder gave me. I close my eyes and try to go to sleep, but I can’t shake the stupid urge to go back to his bedroom and apologize. He looked furious when I accused him of hitting me. I know Ryder hates me, and he might do some fucked up stuff to me, but I don’t think he would actually hit me. Ryder likes to mess with my head, but he doesn’t physically hurt me. Not like Tommy used to.

  I twist and turn, unable to calm my mind. I’m not sure how much time passes, but it must have been a few hours. I cannot go to sleep until I apologize.

  I get up and walk to his room; quietly, I open the door. It’s completely dark and silent inside. And I realize he is asleep. Of course, he is sleeping. Why wouldn’t he be? Silently cursing my stupidity, I close the door again when a low growl has me stopping dead in my tracks. Mojo.

  “What the fuck are you doing?” Ryder’s sleepy voice meets my ears.

  “I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to wake you. I was… about earlier… I-I’m sorry.”

  “Go to sleep,” he murmurs, and I hear the rustling of the bedsheets, letting me know he is lying back down.

  I tiptoe out of the room and go back to my couch. I’m not sure if it’s because I apologized or because I’m so tired, but when my head hits the pillow, I am out almost immediately.

  When I wake, I’m alone again. With the blanket wrapped around my body, I walk through the house. Ryder isn’t here, and wherever he is, he took Mojo with him. I’m completely alone, and for some stupid reason, I hate it. I wish he would have left his dog here.

  After I eat some breakfast, I decide to pass the time by taking a shower. Using some disposable razors I found under the sink, I shave my legs, my lady parts, and under my armpits. When I’m done with that, I get dressed and wipe down the bathroom.

  Once everything is clean, including me, Ryder is still not back. There is nothing else to do around here, and I can feel my mind going into overdrive. I need something to do. Shit, I can’t go on like this. I need a plan. I take out the little notebook from my backpack and stare at the list of jobs I could do and classes I could take. Pamphlets of programs and organizations that could help me are stuck in between the pages.

  But first, I need to pay off my debt. I write five thousand on the top of an empty page and minus it with the money Ryder promised me every time I sleep with him. I don’t count last night since I made him stop halfway through. As I write the number, I try not to think about the fact that I am basically a prostitute now and instead pretend that I’m just doing book-keeping for some normal job.

  When I’m done, I think about my next step. I need to find a job, save up enough money for an apartment, or at least a room somewhere, then college. Maybe I’ll apply for some grants or scholarships. I need to get to the library. I can use the computer there and start applying.

  Ryder said last night that he d
oesn’t want me to leave, but maybe he’ll let me go for a few hours if he knows where I am. I can take the bus back and forth.

  My thoughts are interrupted when the back door opens, and Mojo comes running in. He goes straight for his water bowl and starts slurping up water like he just went on a run. A moment later, Ryder walks in. He is wearing running shoes, shorts, and a sweat-soaked shirt that is clinging to his body.

  I try not to gawk at him, but it’s really hard not to. He is tall, muscular, and there is something about him that commands the room as soon as he steps in. He glares at me but says nothing as he takes his shoes off, walks by me, and into the bathroom. He must still be mad about last night.

  As soon as he is out of sight, I panic again. What if our deal’s off? What if he is done with me and brings me back to the club to let the other men have me?

  I can hear my pulse buzzing in my ears, and I can feel my breathing speeding up, ready to fall into a full-blown panic attack. Before my fear can spiral out of control, Mojo appears next to me, placing his heavy head and one paw on my lap. He looks up at me and whimpers slightly as if he is sorry for me. Maybe even telling me it’s going to be okay. I reach out for him and pet him on his neck and behind his ear.

  It takes me a moment to realize that the panic has passed, and my breathing has evened out. I almost laugh out loud. Mojo, the hell hound, calms me down.

  My moment of peace is short-lived when the back door suddenly swings open. I jump up from the chair, ready to run away, and Mojo growls next to me.

  “Whoa, whoa, calm down, Mojo,” the guy says, holding up his hands.

  Mojo listens to his command and stops growling, but still stays by my side. I stare at the man standing in the kitchen. He is wearing the same clothes Ryder wears, a vest decorated with patches, dark jeans, and black boots. His arms are covered in tattoos, and just like Ryder, he is tall and muscular. The last thing he has in common with Ryder is the way he looks at me… this guy wants to have sex with me. I see the lust in his eyes.