Necessary Cruelty: A Dark Enemies-to-Lovers Bully Romance (Lords of Deception Book 1)

by Ashley Gee

  “Zaya, is that you?” Grandpa says as I open the front door. He rarely leaves the living room these days because of his illness, but he tries his best to keep up with us. His mind goes a little more each day, making him scrambled and forgetful of things I told him only moments before.

  I rap the wall with the side of my fist in response as I climb the stairs.

  Vin Cortland isn’t omniscient, and he doesn’t have our dilapidated house bugged. But it’s safer to play by his rules as much as humanly possible, even when he wouldn’t know the difference. Otherwise, I might let something slip at the wrong moment and suffer for it.

  Sometimes, it’s just easier not to talk. It means that people don’t ask the uncomfortable questions I see burning in their eyes. More than one social worker has made the trek out to the Gulch to check in on us, spurred by reports from the school or someone just wanting to be a crank. None of our close neighbors would call the authorities for any reason, much less something as pervasive as child neglect. But ultimately, Zion and I wouldn’t be here if there were anywhere else to go. And any foster home willing to take us in would be significantly worse than this.

  Zion won’t be home tonight. I knew that from the moment he left the cafeteria today. He’ll be off getting drunk or high, anything to forget that he walked away without putting up a fight. But I don’t want him to fight, not when the odds are so heavily stacked against him. He’d only get himself hurt, and I’d still be in the same shitty situation I always have been.

  That’s guilt for you. It doesn’t understand reason, all it wants is to eat you up from the inside out.

  The stairs creak as I make my way up to my room. I grip the banister so I can skip the step with missing subfloor. The house is falling down around us, and eventually there will just be a wall or two holding up the leaking roof.

  That’s a concern for another day.

  My room is at the far end of the hallway because it’s furthest from the others. According to Grandpa, girls need their privacy. But my room also faces the back of the house, with a great view of the scraggly forest leading up the mountain. Anyone standing in our backyard has a clear view of my bed and wouldn’t be visible from the street.

  There isn’t much in the way of decoration, some pink gossamer curtains I found at a thrift store and pictures cut from library magazines taped to the walls. I can clearly hear Grandpa snoring downstairs, and wind whistles through the siding, sometimes making it feel like there’s a tornado inside the room with me.

  My bag is heavy on my back. I sling it onto the rickety wooden desk in the corner.

  I tell myself to get my schoolwork done. Decent grades and a scholarship to a state school are my only chance of finding a way out of this place. But there are days when even that modest dream feels as likely as winning the lottery when you’ve never even bought a ticket.

  My stomach rumbles, the school lunch not enough to last an entire day. Emptiness gnaws at my spine and makes it difficult for me to think. The bed beckons me away from my work, slumber the only relief from the oppressive weight of my life.

  In sleep, I can dream of something better.

  At least until I open my eyes in the morning, back in the waking nightmare.

  Thorns prick my skin as I push my way through the tangle of old rose bushes, most of which stopped flowering years ago. It’s Founders’ Day, and the whole town has gathered to celebrate. Even the black sheep are invited, including us.

  I don’t always understand the whispers, but I know what the people in this town think of us. That we belong down in the Gulch with the day laborers and the riffraff.

  But we’re Milbournes, and we have as much a right to be here as anyone, that’s what Grandpa always says.

  Zion has wandered off to do God knows what with his friends and left me alone. I don’t like the crowds — all the people make me nervous and edgy. So I’m searching for a place where things are quiet.

  The ground is littered with large stones that dig into the sole of my too thin shoes, making my feet ache. Thorns catch in the fabric of my shirt, some deep enough to poke my skin. But I keep going, drawn inexorably forward and unwilling to turn back.

  I don’t mind pain when it serves a purpose

  When I emerge from the thick patch of overgrown roses, I see a boy standing all alone at the edge of the cliff, staring down into the crashing waves below. He doesn’t turn as I approach, but I know he must have heard me.

  I come to a stop next to him, my toes just touching the edge of the cliff that is a hundred feet above the jagged rocks below. I’ve always been an anxious sort of kid, but in that moment I don’t feel any fear. Wind blows against my back as if pushing me closer to the edge, but I won’t take a step back, not until he does.

  The boy finally turns to look at me, a mix of curiosity and respect in his gaze. I stare back as the wind picks up.

  Something passes between us. Something that feels eternal and dangerous.

  When he smiles, it’s like the clouds parting to reveal a glorious sun.

  I won’t find out until later just how rare it is to see him smile.

  He tells me his name, but it’s chased away by the wind.

  Five

  When I snap awake in the middle of the night, I immediately know I’m not alone.

  The thin curtains covering the window let in enough of a glow from the floodlights outside that I can just make out the figure sitting at the desk chair in the corner of my room.

  For a moment, fear tightens my throat and steals my breath as I reorient myself to the present instead of dreams about the past. The fear only lasts until my vision adjusts to the darkness enough that I can tell who it is sitting there.

  As if there is more than one person that it could be.

  Vin watches me come awake with an expression that isn’t visible in the dark, but I know he has a scowl on his face. Wood creaks in the silence as he shifts his weight, but he doesn’t say anything.

  And neither do I.

  Grandpa is long asleep, not that he would be capable of mounting the stairs to come to my rescue. And I know Zion hasn’t returned from wherever he goes at night, because the noise he makes coming in the house would have woken me up.

  Vin and I are never alone at school. He either has the other Vice Lords with him, or he avoids me like the plague. At least, it feels like he avoids me. But I can’t ignore the fact that he always seems to be around anytime the rules are broken. One time, Liam Connelly grabbed my elbow and tried to pull me into a broom closet, knowing I probably wouldn’t open my mouth to protest. Vin was there before Liam even had the chance to close the door behind us, breaking my would-be rapist’s jaw badly enough that he required corrective surgery.

  But that has always been one of the rules: no one else gets to touch me.

  I see a flash of white in the darkness, and I know it’s the note Jake had my brother pass me at lunch. Vin leaves it on the table as he stands, seeming to loom over me even though he is still across the room.

  He circles the bed like a shark in the water, scenting blood. But it’s his scent that permeates the room, a heady mix of wood-smoke and bergamot with just the barest hint of oleander. Always, with the fucking oleanders. I have the feeling he rubs himself down with them just to mess with me. That scent will stay here, tainting the air, long after he leaves.

  It’s been so long since the last time he showed up here like this that I almost had myself convinced we were done. But the two of us are like two meteors on a collision course in the darkness of space, destined to collide in a spectacular display of destruction.

  In a moment of fancy, I wonder if it’s jealousy or possession that has brought him here tonight, after months of staying away. Realistically, I know the reality is both simpler and more complicated than that. He is here because he can’t stop himself from coming.

  He wants me in a peculiar and twisted way, but he also might wrap his hands around my throat and squeeze the life from me, something he has threatene
d to do more than once in the past.

  His presence here is inexplicable, because there isn’t any explanation required.

  Vincent Cortland does whatever he wants whenever he feels like doing it. That is the way it has always been.

  Everybody talks about destiny like it’s some wondrous thing that must be written in the stars. Really, destiny is just the inevitable result of your decisions rushing up from the future to blast you in the face. If you jump off a cliff, hitting the rocks below becomes your destiny. You’re accelerating towards destiny in a free fall, and at that point there isn’t any stopping what has to happen next.

  Just because something is your destiny doesn’t mean it won’t destroy you.

  I fold my legs in front of me and wrap my arms around my knees as my gaze tracks his movements in the dim light. He paces like a caged predator in a zoo, desperate for a way out. I don’t say anything as I continue to watch him. This always plays out the same way, and I figured out it’s better to be patient a long time ago.

  Vin crawls into the bed without asking for permission, and I scoot over to make room for him. He lies on his side on top of the blankets behind me while one hand wraps around my waist to haul me back against him. His open hand rests heavily against my stomach, forcing me down with pressure that is just on the wrong side of too much.

  Spooning is supposed to be a romantic thing, but he manages to turn it into a punishment. That has always been a talent of his, taking something good and twisting it into a thing that I both love and loathe.

  We lie together in the dark until our breathing is in sync. I try to take slower and shallower breaths, because I hate that it is so easy for our bodies to become a perfect match. But there isn’t any use trying to fight it. Our chests rise and fall together, his breath tickling the back of my neck as he exhales.

  An hour passes in silence, but neither of us have fallen asleep. Every place his body touches mine burns. My muscles are clenched and taut as he forces me back against him, but his proximity compels me to relax even as I wish it wasn’t the case.

  Our hearts might be at war, but our bodies have a mind of their own.

  I only wear a t-shirt to bed most nights, maybe throwing on a pair of sweatpants when it gets particularly cold. Pajamas are a luxury I simply do not understand. I can’t imagine spending money on clothes that I never wear outside the house.

  The hand that has been still on my stomach this entire time shifts to my hip, stroking down the bare skin of my exposed thigh. His lips touch the back of my neck, so softly it makes me want to cry.

  But I won’t call it a kiss, refuse to even think that word. Despite everything, despite my fear, the one thing we never do is kiss.

  Vin Cortland doesn’t kiss anyone.

  When his mouth shifts away, it leaves a flash of heat across my skin, one that refuses to fade away. He rubs my thigh in small circles for long enough that it almost lulls me to sleep. When his fingers grip my skin hard, I let out an involuntary sound that isn’t one of pain.

  His hand finds the damp crotch of my panties, and he exhales sharply against my neck. Moments like this are the only time when he is ever gentle, touching me in a way that is slow and deliberate.

  Almost reverent.

  I could fight him off if I really wanted. If I screamed or said no and pushed him away, then he would leave. He isn’t here to force me. It would almost be easier to deal with if he were. Knowing that I could end this, and I still don’t, makes it so much worse.

  I don’t say yes, but I don’t say no.

  Because I don’t say anything at all.

  My silence is also my consent.

  He pulls my underwear to the side. One thick finger pushes inside me, and my body uncoils until I sink into the mattress. The moment I’ve been anticipating since I first woke up with him in my room is finally here.

  It’s never as bad as I imagine it will be, as part of me hopes it will be. I think he does that on purpose, building up suspense until I can only focus on what he might do next.

  A second finger joins the first. Vin works them in and out of me, curling just slightly on the downstroke to brush against the little ball of flesh inside of me that is so sensitive the pleasure borders on pain. He watches my face as he pulls out and uses the gathered wetness on his fingers to draw circles around my clit, sending sparks of painful pleasure down my spine.

  I turn my head and squeeze my eyes shut so he won’t see whatever emotion hides behind my gaze. He continues to tease me, using his fingers like implements of destruction as he strokes and thrusts. It is the most exquisite sort of torture.

  I both love and hate it.

  Similar to how I feel about him.

  I keep my body still, even as my breathing comes faster and in sharp little gasps. God forbid I actually give him what he wants, a sign that I want this. He needs me to confirm that he doesn’t climb into my window at night because he is some pervert who knows he can get away with abusing the girl that doesn’t have anyone left to protect her.

  He has to convince himself that I want this as much as he does.

  Vin keeps going until I’m on the very edge of climax as stars burst behind my closed eyelids. Then his fingers slide away, leaving a trail of moisture on the inside of my thigh. He leans back, which leaves me feeling cold, like I’m standing next to a fire that just went out.

  I hear the familiar sound of foil ripping, but I don’t turn to look as he unwraps the condom. This is my last chance to raise a protest and make him stop. He moves more slowly than he needs to, almost leisurely as he pinches the center of the latex circle and then rolls it down himself.

  Vin gives me plenty of time to protest, to react at all.

  Like always, I don’t say a word.

  His hand comes back to my thigh to adjust the angle of my hips, and then the hard length of him pushes inside of me. He takes it slow, always does at first, with unhurried strokes. Pressure builds deep inside my belly as the pleasure overwhelms my ability to resist. When my nails dig into the heavy arm he has wrapped around my waist, it’s a signal for him.

  He thrusts inside me with the all the force of his strong hips, bottoming out until he fills me completely. I let out another gasp as my hands tighten on the only anchor I have as he pounds into me like he wants to drive both our bodies into the springs of my thin mattress. His name dances on the tip of my tongue, but I swallow it down until it feels like I might choke on it.

  I won’t give him the satisfaction.

  Sex doesn’t have to mean anything if you don’t want it to, except part of me wishes it did. Even with all the negative emotions swirling between us, this becomes something greater. We’re more than just two bodies illuminated by a streak of light from the low-hanging moon outside my window.

  Anger. Hatred. The sins of the past. Things that connect us in a way that transcends anything physical. Sex is an afterthought to what lies between us.

  It’s at moments like this, in the darkness when the whole world has gone quiet, that I can almost convince myself we’ve gone back to a time before. Before we lost faith in each other. Before the world conspired to destroy whatever precious thing once existed between us.

  Before it all went wrong.

  My beat-up copy of Antigone is on the nightstand, and I focus my gaze on it, willing myself to go somewhere else mentally. I try to remember the first line of the play as my mind descends into fog.

  My mouth moves, even though no sound comes out. “You would think that we had already suffered enough.”

  The arm around me shifts so his hand can worm its way between the thighs I try to keep clamped shut. His thumb flicks against my clit like he’s thrumming a guitar, and then he presses down ever so slightly with the sharp edge of his nail.

  I try to hide my reaction, but he pays too close attention. Orgasm hits me hard enough that my spine bows back against him as my mouth opens in a silent scream. Despite my attempts to keep still, my body turns boneless and loose as I collapse back a
gainst him.

  Vin lets out a satisfied groan as he comes, gripping my hip hard enough that it will leave a bruised imprint of his fingers later. He chuckles darkly to himself as he rolls away, and I don’t bother to ask him what he’s laughing at.

  I am always the butt of the joke.

  He rises off the bed and flicks the blanket over me, knowing I won’t move as long as he’s here. The condom is tossed in the wastebasket, and I have to remind myself to take out the trash before Zion gets home, in case he comes in here looking for something. Only as Vin does up his pants do I realize he never took them off, screwing me with just his fly down and the waist of his pants around his hips. Somehow, that little detail makes me feel even worse than I already do.

  He leaves a stack of crumpled bills on the table, and I know it will amount to exactly $125 without needing to get up and count it. That is the same amount of money my mother earned each day she worked for his family. In the past, I’ve thrown the money back in his face or tried to burn it with one of the lighters that is always lying around. But it’s usually easier not to fight him, weak protests won’t make him think any better of me.

  My voice is hoarse with disuse when I finally recover enough breath to speak. I say the only thing guaranteed to get under his skin, the only thing that will hurt him in even a fraction of the way he hurts me.

  “I forgive you.”

  His shoulders tense, so I know he heard me, but he doesn’t turn back.

  “I don’t want your forgiveness,” he says, voice a raspy whisper in the darkness. “Just your silence.”

  The door slams shut behind him with enough force to shake the walls, and a dusting of plaster falls from the ceiling to coat my bedspread.

  Two meteors accelerating in the darkness of space.

  It is only a matter of time before we crash and burst into a million tiny pieces.

  Six