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

by Ashley Gee

  There is no shortage of guys in the Gulch, but none of them are my type, and most don’t bother to briefly acknowledge my existence.

  I used to wonder how it was possible that the influence of one guy still in high school could expand to cover the entire town. But then I remembered how many of the men in the Gulch are employed by Cortland Construction. Even the ones that don’t work could have charges laid or dropped on the whim of a county prosecutor who also happens to be Vin’s uncle.

  The cone of silence that usually surrounds me is so much worse when I see how wary other people are of me.

  It would be better if they didn’t notice me at all.

  But Vin won’t let me go unnoticed, not for as long as I have the nerve to show my face in his town.

  I enter the Gas and Sip just in time for an orange apron to be tossed in my face that I catch on reflex. Kathy, who works the early shift on the same days I do, isn’t trying to be rude, but she has four kids to get back to and a babysitter who charges for every minute she runs late. That woman is pretty much always in a hurry.

  The wooden bowl on the counter next to me has half a bunch of brown spotted bananas and a few apples, which likely accounts for the entirety of the fresh produce available in the Gulch.

  Everyone who lives in the Gulch filters through here. I know all of them by sight and most by name. From the drug dealers who think nobody knows about the stash houses they have along the train tracks to the migrant families who work the fields in the rural part of the county an hour away but live here because it’s the only place with houses they can afford. I know all the kids with reddened skin and pinched faces from living too close to the abandoned gold mine, because chronic exposure to heavy metals in the dirt leaves a visible mark.

  Splashing water hits the window at the front of the store which is so close to the street that only the sidewalk separates the door from the cars speeding down the road.

  “Fuckers!”

  Amelia Makepeace slams into the store, soaking wet and fuming. Her long-waisted, ankle-length dress has a muddy stain down the front, and the blue checkered fabric is heavy from street water so it tangles around her legs as she tries to kick it away. She dresses like something out of Little House on the Prairie, but judging from the way she acts, that isn’t by choice.

  “God, people drive like they have their heads up their assholes.”

  It isn’t raining outside anymore, but there is almost always water in the streets that pools in the deep potholes that never get repaired. When a car drives too fast down the road, like all of them do, whoever happens to be on the sidewalk at the time is going to get soaked.

  The Makepeaces don’t let Amelia drive, even though she is more than old enough to get her license. I’m not sure if it’s a financial thing or something to do with their beliefs.

  For obvious reasons, I can’t exactly ask.

  Not that I should be throwing stones. I have a license but no ability to use it, because Grandpa’s ancient Buick broke down over a year ago and there isn’t any money to get it fixed.

  Amelia’s father is the preacher at the tiny little church in the Gulch, although you’d never know it from listening to her. She is a chain-smoking, curse spitting dynamo, but only when her parents are out of earshot. She doesn’t attend Deception High, so I can only assume they homeschool her, but we see each other around town all the time.

  I get the feeling she saves up all the snarky things she isn’t allowed to say at home and then unleashes them all at once the moment that she leaves the house. She curses like a sailor and doesn’t seem to fear the consequences when word of it inevitably gets back to her father. Whatever punishment she gets is something she clearly is willing to deal with if it means she can be herself.

  That only makes me like her more.

  The Makepeaces have a dozen children, although it’s difficult for me to remember which of them are adopted and which aren’t. She likes to say that her parents found her by answering a classified ad while on a mission trip to Korea, but I assume that’s a joke. Amelia is the oldest girl, but the youngest Makepeace kid is still in diapers. Every Sunday, I see them walking past my house and down the dusky road toward the little church house. Amelia is always out front like a mother duck who wouldn’t mind so much if one of her mismatched ducklings wandered away.

  She is one of the few people who also understands what it’s like to stand out like a sore thumb in this town.

  I gesture at the roll of shop towels at the end of the counter that we use to clean up food spills, but she waves me away.

  “It’ll dry on its own,” she gripes. “And there’s no getting this stain out.”

  Amelia is one of the few people in the Gulch who won’t comment on the fact that I never speak, if she notices at all. Sometimes, I wonder if she has even figured out that I never hold up my end of the conversation. Typically, she says enough for the both of us, which I appreciate. Most people treat me like a circus freak or make a game out of trying to get me to slip up, like tourists who try to make the guards at Buckingham Palace break their forced silence.

  Because most people are assholes.

  Amelia just prattles on like she’s happy just to have someone listening.

  “Are there any hot dogs left?”

  She doesn’t bother to wait for a response and heads for the machine where pale hot dogs spin on rollers, beads of sweat dripping off them to sizzle on the heating element underneath. The smell of it used to bother me on the days when I came to work hungry. Even with my employee discount, it’s an indulgence I can rarely afford.

  Now I barely think of the things as food. Imagining the slurried flesh being forced into casings of skin helps it seem less appetizing. I watch her slather a bun with mustard and take a gigantic bite in a detached way. When I think about my empty stomach, I try to imagine that the gnawing feeling at the pit of my belly is a superpower. Other people need sustenance to live, but I gain strength from the emptiness.

  Sometimes, I almost believe it.

  Amelia doesn’t know that I’m literally starving, because I’ve never told her. Our lives have bounced off each other like the lines of two parabolas briefly touching before turning away, but they don’t intersect or overlap. She knows as little about what goes on behind the closed door of my house as I do about hers.

  Amelia comes back to the counter and plunks down a few crumpled bills and some coins.

  “You here alone again?” she asks, mouth still nearly full of hot dog. “That’s not safe. Anyone could come in here and hold you at gunpoint, or something,”

  I shrug in answer. The owner’s son is supposed to work with me in the afternoons but he only shows up when he feels like it. And it isn’t a blue moon tonight, so I’m on my own. And I’m not scared of armed robbery. Even someone from the Gulch wouldn’t bother with the tiny amount of money in the register, and I wouldn’t be afraid even if they did.

  You have to value your life to be afraid of losing it.

  Amelia pays and even drops her change in the tip jar that no one else ever seems to notice is there. I’m handing her a receipt when the bell dings above the door.

  I look up to see Jake Tully walk into the Gas and Sip.

  Amelia catches sight of my jaw-dropped expression and follows the direction of my gaze. When she glances back at me, a mischievous smile teases along her lips.

  “And who are you?” she drawls, leaning back on the counter. Despite the too long and too loose dress and a face that is entirely free of makeup, Amelia has all the confidence of a model walking down the catwalk. “I know all the boys around here.”

  “I’m Jake,” he says, an open smile on his face. “I just moved here from Los Angeles. What’s your name?”

  “Amelia,” she purrs, batting at his shoulder like a playful kitten. “Well, aren’t you just a big piece of man meat.”

  She always acts like this. Only people like me, who pay attention, realize it’s an act. These moments when she manages to get a
way from her family, as brief as they are, bring out the urge in her to act out. If her father were to walk through the door, God forbid, Amelia would immediately revert to the shy and retiring pastor’s daughter that she has to be during every other moment in her life. I wonder if Jake notices the unease in her narrowed eyes.

  It makes me wonder what goes on behind the closed doors of the Makepeace house.

  But for right now, I find myself staring at Jake in fascination. Everything about him seems genuine, uncomplicated, and I have no idea what to make of it. No one around here behaves like this, walking around introducing themselves and acting like they don’t have anything to hide.

  He seems so…normal.

  Like someone who isn’t doomed.

  It’s weird.

  Jake doesn’t seem surprised to see me standing behind the counter, which is noteworthy because I never told him I work here. Or where I live, for that matter.

  People who don’t live in the Gulch, don’t hang around here just for fun.

  Catching me watching him, Jake’s smile widens. He gestures behind me to the wall of tobacco products locked up in a case. “I need a pack of Newports.”

  I wrinkle my nose as I turn to unlock the case. Smoking might be the most disgusting habit I can think of, aside from maybe taking dumps in public spaces.

  “They’re not for me,” he adds, obviously reading the expression on my face. “I’m making an art project about consumerism under late stage capitalism. How the things we consume to relieve ourselves of the stress of society lead to even more anxiety that keeps up beholden to our own oppression. We’re all cogs in the machine.”

  Grandpa would have said that Jake sounds like a damn hippy. I have no idea what I would say if I had a voice, even mentally I’m at a loss for words.

  “Sorry,” Jake murmurs with a small shrug. “That was a little much.”

  “You’re an artist, huh?” Amelia sidles closer with half of a hotdog still in her hand. “That’s cool. Most of the guys around here want to be drug dealers when they grow up.” She catches the expression on my face, and her eyes widen. “But you don’t live around here, do you?”

  “Not exactly, my family bought a house off El Dorado, I think you guys call that area…”

  “The Bluffs,” Amelia finishes, the curiosity on her face shifting to something more wary, although it doesn’t stop her from asking questions. “What brings you all the way out here? You had to drive by a Whole Foods and the Rite Aid.”

  Jake blushes. He actually blushes. “I was just driving.”

  “And you thought you’d stop here? At this crappy little convenience store that doesn’t even have a gas station attached because the pumps stopped working years ago and the owner never bothered to get them fixed. The parking lot is so wrecked that grass is growing through the pavement. They really should call it the Keep Walking and Sip.”

  He holds up the pack of cigarettes that I just placed on the counter. “They don’t sell Newports at the Whole Foods.”

  She leans forward to rest her elbow on the counter, her chin propped up on her hand. It’s as close to him as she can possibly get without climbing into his lap. “Still seems like a long way to go.”

  But Jake just shakes his head with a rueful laugh. “You sure are persistent.”

  It’s a weird sensation to not be part of a conversation that is clearly for my benefit. Amelia obviously wants to assuage her curiosity, but she is making a choice to hold this little interrogation here at the counter

  And it’s an even stranger realization that someone can be your closest friend when they never hear your voice.

  I ring up the cigarettes and loudly tap the display before Amelia can say anything else. As much as I want to hear Jake admit that he came all this way just to see me, the whole exchange is a little bit excruciating. If Amelia embarrasses him enough, he might not try again next time.

  Then I remember that he asked me to the Founder’s Ball and I said yes, which makes my heart beat a little too fast. I can’t decide which I’m more worried about, Jake figuring out that I’m not worth the hassle, or what Vin will do when he finds out.

  When Jake holds out a crisp twenty-dollar bill, I reach for it, but he doesn’t immediately let go. The tips of our fingers touch, and I stare up into his friendly eyes for a moment that seems outside of time. I can’t decide if I feel drawn to him because I genuinely like him, or because he is the first normal guy who has ever taken an interest in me.

  I make his change, the coins in the drawer clanging loudly together because my hands are shaking. When I hand the money to him, I ensure our skin doesn’t come in contact again because I don’t trust my own body’s reactions.

  Amelia watches the interaction with obvious interest, her gaze passing back and forth between us. “Did you know my girl here can sing?”

  It usually isn’t this hard to maintain the imposed silence, but at the moment all I want to do is yell at her to shut the hell up. I restrain myself to just glaring, an obvious cue she chooses to ignore.

  “I mean, it’s been years, but our church choir has never been the same.” Amelia ignores my rapid head shake of negation and smiles brightly up at Jake. “Maybe you can help me coax her back sometime.”

  If a hole wants to open up in the earth and swallow a person whole, this would be a great time for it.

  “That’s something I’d love to see, or hear, I guess,” he says, smiling until he sees the look on my face. “If you want to, I mean.”

  I definitely don’t, and not just because Vin has robbed me of a voice. Neither Zion or I have stepped foot inside the church since our mother left. She was always the one who seemed to think that showing up for a few hours every Sunday could make up for a week’s worth of sins.

  Judging by the way we live, all of us risk bursting into flame the moment that we cross the threshold.

  I just shake my head at Jake as I tap the smiley face sticker on the register that says Have a Great Day! It’s not quite the same thing as a dismissal, but I can’t take much more of this conversation, even if I’m not exactly participating in it.

  Amelia slips her arm through Jake’s after giving me a conspiratorial wink. If it were anyone else, I’d think they were messing with me, but she’s doing what she does best: getting information out of people that they don’t necessarily want to give up.

  I turn back to the register with a small smile as I finish up the transaction.

  “I’ll walk you out, new guy,” she says airily. “And on the way, you can tell me why you’d come all the way out here of all places.”

  “I’m wondering the same damn thing.”

  The familiar voice raises the hair on the back of my neck, making me shiver like a piece of ice is sliding down my spine. It can’t be him. He would never be caught in the Gulch unless it’s the middle of the night and he’s about to sneak into my window. And it isn’t as if he would let anyone catch him doing that.

  It isn’t him.

  It isn’t him.

  It isn’t him.

  But then I look up and meet the cool gaze of Vin Cortland.

  Thirteen

  My hand is already moving to turn the open sign on the door to Closed as I address Jake and the other girl whose name I don’t try hard enough to remember.

  “You both have about five seconds to decide if you’re staying or going. I know what I’d recommend, but I consider it only fair to give people enough rope to hang themselves.”

  The stubborn look on Jake’s face doesn’t bode well for the rest of it remaining intact. He has the nerve to turn to Zaya, who just shakes her head quickly, obviously recommending the smarter choice.

  Amber, Ashley, Alaska — whatever her damn name is — grabs Jake’s arm and pulls him toward the door. Like the true coward he is, he lets the tiny Asian chick who looks like she is roleplaying as a pioneer woman propel him toward the door, but not before asking Zaya if she’ll be okay.

  Zaya waves him away, but the glare she lev
els at me is hot enough to burn.

  We’re both burning, baby.

  The other girl stops just short of the door and spares a glance at me. “Always nice to see you out and about, Vin. I assume the weather in hell isn’t favorable enough for you this time of year and you’re planning for a summer there.”

  Inwardly, I appreciate the attempt to grow a backbone, but the stony look on my face doesn’t change. “Two seconds left. Last warning, Allison.”

  “It’s Amelia, actually.” She rolls her eyes, but still yanks open the door and pulls Jake toward it. He hesitates, but takes another step away from the counter, gaze still on the girl he’ll only have over my lifeless body.

  Dude wants to play big man on campus but still does what he’s told. If anything, I’m doing Zaya a favor by making sure she sees how easy it is to make him back down.

  But then Jake shakes off Amelia’s hand on his arm and turns to face me. “I’m not leaving you alone with her.”

  My head tilts to the side as I stare him down. I’m taller, something I relish even though it wouldn’t matter if he was on the starting line of an NBA team.

  I own this town and everyone in it.

  “Jake Tully.” My voice has taken on the lazy quality that will be his only warning, assuming he’s smart enough to hear it. “Your dad is trying to open that new medical practice downtown, right? I heard the remodel has been seriously delayed, though. Getting those permits straightened out can be a real bitch.”

  My father owns the only construction company in town worth working with, and it’s pretty much impossible to get any permitted work done in this town without going through Cortland Construction.

  We snipe all the best labor and ruthlessly suppress the competition. I should feel bad about that, but I don’t. If the building contract isn’t with us, then the work doesn’t get done.

  I see the wheels turning in the idiot’s head while he tries to decide if I’m bluffing.