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

by Ashley Gee

  I manage that impulse, just barely.

  It helps that Iain is just as scary as Vin, if in a completely different way. Vin rages hot like an exploding sun, but Iain is so cold that he seems practically reptilian.

  With about the same level of humanity.

  He was the sort of child who burned ants with a magnifying glass just to watch them fry. It’s as likely his mother gave birth to him as it is that she hatched him from an egg.

  Speaking would also draw his attention, which is the last thing I want.

  I move through my day in the same way I always do, completely silently and without any attention from a breathing person. But the entire time, I’m secretly waiting for the hammer to fall and Vin to show me what terrible fate awaits for rejecting him so completely.

  It isn’t until I get home that I realize Vin has been playing an entirely different game.

  The first thing I notice is the fleet of black F-150s lined up on the road with Cortland Construction painted on them in gold letters. I’ve seen them around town before, because the Cortland’s company handles pretty much every building or renovation project in the county. But they never do business in the Gulch.

  Nothing ever gets built or renovated here.

  I’m halfway down the block before I realize the gigantic trash bin they use for construction debris is parked in my front lawn. Disgusted, I step over the planks of wood laid out on the sidewalk and make my way to the front door. If Vin thinks that using my house as a dump is going to get under my skin, then he has no idea what it’s like to live in the Gulch.

  That feeling of smug satisfaction lasts as long as it takes to open my front door.

  Controlled chaos is the only word for it. Two workers with tool belts strapped around their waists are on the stairs, hammering down fresh pieces of wood to replace the steps that have been rotted and broken my entire life. Another one slips past me with an armful of tile, headed for the tiny bathroom that all three of us share.

  What in the hell are they doing here?

  A balding man with a paunchy midsection, dressed in a cheap button-down shirt and khaki pants approaches me with a clipboard in his hand. “Are you Zaya Milbourne?”

  I nod more out of shock than anything else.

  “You need to sign this work order and then initial there.” He thrusts the clipboard under my face. Obviously sensing my hesitation, he clears his throat. “Everything is already paid for, but without a signature from the homeowner, we can’t guarantee the work.”

  I wave him away and the man just shrugs and walks off, like it doesn’t make a difference to him.

  My house is being renovated.

  Vin set this up, all of it.

  It has to be just another form of manipulation, and I refuse to accept it. I tell the nearest workman to stop what he’s doing and take it all away, and he just ignores me. But as I hurry through the house, it quickly becomes clear this isn’t the sort of thing that can just be undone.

  There is new flooring in the living room, and the last of the wallpaper has been scraped off so the walls could be painted a soft gray. In addition to the stairs being reinforced, workmen carry wooden timbers into the unfinished basement to reinforce the sagging floor. Grandpa’s sleeping chair has been replaced with a hospital bed that elevates nearly into a sitting position.

  I wouldn’t believe it was possible to do all this in one day if I wasn’t seeing it for myself.

  Zion strolls past with a sandwich dangling from his mouth and a bag of chips in his hand.

  My mouth falls open before I can stop it. “Where did you get that food?”

  He raises his eyebrows, speaking with his mouth still full. “Kitchen.”

  Of course, he got food from the kitchen. The kitchen that hasn’t had anything but expired cans of green beans and frozen trays from Meals on Wheels for the last year. I stomp down the hallway, noting with some aggravation that the floorboards no longer creak.

  Our dingy kitchen has been scrubbed to within an inch of its life, although that isn’t enough to hide the decades of neglect and wear. But if the new countertops and appliances lining the hallway just waiting to be installed are any indication, an even greater transformation is to come.

  And I want to tear my fucking hair out.

  Zion comes up behind me, slurping on a can of soda that definitely wasn’t here a few hours ago. “Nice, isn’t it?”

  The glare I cast him speaks volumes. The loudest thing it says is that we can’t trust charity from Vin Cortland.

  “Let’s just enjoy it while it lasts,” Zion says with a shrug. “There was even a nurse in here earlier giving Grandpa a sponge bath.”

  I also hadn’t missed the brand new hospital bed in the living room and a row of oxygen tanks that the insurance usually only paid to replace every other month that Grandpa needed it.

  You can look a gift horse in the mouth when it’s attached to more strings than would choke a marionette. Nothing in this world comes for free, especially not from a guy like Vin Cortland.

  If Vin is trying to get under my skin, he succeeded.

  I hate that.

  He isn’t even here overseeing all the work he ordered. I search every inch of the house, ostensibly to catalogue all the invasive changes, but don’t catch so much as a glimpse of his characteristically smug face so I can throw something at it. It’s somehow even more annoying that he would do this and not even give me a chance to refuse it.

  Because I realize as I tour the house that not all of this can be taken back. The walls can’t be unpainted, it isn’t possible to un-repair the foundation or replace the wooden stair steps with the broken pieces in that trash container outside. Some of this is permanent, the labor paid for, the work signed, sealed, and delivered.

  Which means I’m in Vin Cortland’s debt.

  That bastard.

  The men wrap up for the day pretty quickly after I get home, although I wonder if they’ve received some kind of signal. None of them will look me in the eye as they file out to their trucks, except for the apparent foreman who holds the clipboard out to me again with a hopeful look on his face. My glare chases him out the door.

  To my relief, the crew hasn’t had time to do much upstairs. The long hallway still has the same depressingly dingy wallpaper, little yellow flowers on a green background that have faded so much I can barely make out the pattern. The door of my room is closed, and I push it open slowly, dreading what I might find on the other side.

  Everything looks the same. The same cut out pictures on the wall and ratty comforter on the bed. Then my gaze shifts to the far corner, and I let out a weary sigh.

  A shiny new iPhone sits on top of my desk with the film still covering its dark glass surface. The thing looks like it came straight off the factory line, but when I pick it up the screen lights up as if it’s already been activated.

  I used to have a cell phone, one of those prepaid deals you can buy without needing credit. We sell a few different ones at the Gas and Sip. But I ran out of minutes months ago and couldn’t afford to buy more, so the phone stopped working completely.

  But this is the latest model and nothing like what you can buy from a gas station. And I don’t have to guess who is paying for the plan.

  As soon as I pick it, the phone pings with a new message that pops up on the screen.

  Vin: More where this came from. Just say yes.

  My gaze moves to the closed window that looks out onto the scrabbly trees and far off cliffs. The sky here is thick with fog and smog, nothing like the beautiful views up in the Bluffs. Nothing moves out in the distance, and it’s still broad daylight. I just hope it’s a coincidence this message came at the exact same moment I picked up the phone. I tell myself he can’t be out there, only a coincidence.

  Vin isn’t out there somewhere watching me right now.

  He doesn’t need to see me to know exactly what I’m doing. He has been able to see right through me from the very day we met.

  It tak
es everything I have not to throw the very expensive piece of tech across the room so it shatters against the wall. It’s only my aversion to destroying something so expensive that keeps the thing in my hand and not in the nearest trash can.

  I don’t bother to respond and close down the messaging app. Instead, I open up the list of contacts. Vin’s number is the only one that is programmed in, of course. I wouldn’t even be surprised if Vin figured out a way to keep me from calling anyone else with this thing.

  This is a Faustian bargain if I ever heard one, except Vin won’t be happy with just my soul.

  Fifteen

  It takes a day or two of ignoring the elephant in my house before I finally get around to playing with the iPhone. Vin hasn’t approached me at all, no more messages and no following me around at school, almost as if he’s trying to bide his time.

  Every so often a new text from the only contact pops up on the screen, always saying the same thing.

  Say yes

  Say yes

  Say yes

  But I haven’t so much as laid eyes on him in the hallway. There hasn’t been any sneaking into my room in the middle of the night, or otherwise pestering me. My days are as silent as they’ve ever been. Even my usual tormentors, like Sophia, have mostly been ignoring me.

  Zion has been spending more and more of his time cutting class and hanging out with his Gulch friends, most of whom had already dropped out by sophomore year. Grandpa is doing better than he has in years, but he is still usually asleep by the time I get home from school.

  Jake still smiles at me when our path’s cross at school, but he learned his lesson the last time and hasn’t spoken a word to me. He risked passing me one note during AP Government to confirm that we were still on for the Founder’s Ball.

  It makes me wonder if he only wants to take me at this point to prove something to Vin.

  That would be pointless, taking on Vin Cortland doesn’t make you brave. Just stupid.

  But even the possibility of going to the Founder’s Ball with the person who will piss Vin off most isn’t enough to overrule the isolation that suffuses every moment.

  I have never felt so alone in my entire life.

  But maybe that’s the point.

  When I finally force myself to ask him, it turns out that Zion has Amelia’s phone number.

  I’ve never asked him how he always manages to have a phone on him despite our extreme poverty, but I can only assume it involves petty theft of some kind.

  The night before the Founder’s Ball, I finally decide to reach out to her. Amelia is the closest thing I have to a girl friend. I can trust her not to spread stories, because she has as few people to talk to as I do.

  It’s Zaya. I have an iPhone, a fridge full of food, and I don’t know what to do.

  Be there in 15.

  “This looks like something out of Extreme Makeover - Trailer Park Edition,” Amelia exclaims as she walks through the door. “What in the name of Adam’s shiny elbow happened to your house?”

  Amelia isn’t cursing, even though it really seems like she wants to. It makes me wonder what the hell must have happened for her not to let a damn or hell slip out of her mouth.

  I hold up the phone so she can see the picture of Vin that has been set on the home screen. There is some kind of parental lock that prevents me from changing it. It’s been days, and I still haven’t cracked it.

  Amelia lets out a low whistle as she looks around the transformed living room. “Is this what all that posturing at the Gas and Sip was about? I thought Cortland was going to strangle you, not remodel your house.”

  If given the two options, I know which one I’d have preferred. I gesture for her to follow me upstairs so we don’t disturb Grandpa, who is still sleeping.

  He sleeps a lot these days. I doubt he has even noticed all of the changes in the house.

  “Are you going to explain?” she asks expectantly as I close the bedroom door behind us and sit down on the bed.

  Instead of answering, my thumbs move along the phone’s screen. Moments later her crappy flip phone vibrates with the message.

  He wants me to marry him.

  I like her even more when, instead of screaming for joy or telling me how lucky I am, her mouth drops open and she just stares at me.

  “Why?”

  I text her again.

  He has to get married to get his inheritance.

  “That’s not really an answer to my question.” Amelia sits gingerly on the edge of my bed and crosses her legs at the ankle. Today she wears a calico-patterned dress that has short sleeves but bunches of ruffles down the front. I catch the hint of a bright pink bra strap before she pulls the ruffled neckline back into place. “There are a hundred girls who would take that deal, even if there was nothing coming on their end but the name. Why would he pick you?”

  I shrug, even though it isn’t just confusion swirling through my head. Amelia doesn’t know anything about the history between Vin and I, nobody really does. But nothing from the past would explain this bizarre turn of events.

  And I don’t want to speculate on the whims of Vin Cortland, because that is the best way I know of to get my feelings hurt. He either chose me because torturing me has been a favorite pastime of his for years, or because he thought I would be easy to control.

  Neither of those options is particularly flattering.

  It should tell me something that I still have his gift in my hand, an expensive phone that I should have pawned at the first opportunity.

  I think I’m going to get rid of this thing. Hammer maybe?

  “Don’t you dare!” Amelia snatches the phone out of my hand and turns it over to inspect the back. “This is some top-of-the-line crap. Sell it if you have to, but trashing it would just be a waste. Then you’ll only have something else to feel bad about.”

  I hate that she’s right.

  It makes me want to share a thing with her that nobody but me knows, if just to see what her reaction will be. I need to know just how far from sanity I’ve let myself go.

  When I pull the shoebox out from under the bed and drop it in her lap, Amelia looks at me like she thinks there might be a bomb in there. I nod at her to open it when she hesitates.

  Her face is gratifying, because clearly I’m not the only one going crazy here.

  “Where did you get this?” She gasps the question as she thumbs quickly through the bills, clearly doing a mental calculation. Then she catches the look on my face, and her eyebrows shoot up. “From Vin?”

  I nod as she hands the shoebox back, gaze lingering only for a moment on the pile of cash before she lets the lid fall shut.

  “That’s wild.”

  Picking up my new phone, I text her again.

  I don’t know what I’m going to do with it.

  “Well, don’t throw it away,” she insists with a laugh. “In fact, if you’re ever feeling generous just make sure to keep me in mind.”

  I know Amelia well enough that I don’t think she’d come back here with a crew and try to roll us over. She isn’t like that, and not just because her family is religious. Amelia is a straight shooter. If she was thinking about robbing me, she would give me fair warning to keep my belongings locked up.

  Which is why she is the only person I feel comfortable coming to for help. I trust her to tell me precisely what she’s thinking, just because I asked.

  Jake is taking me to the Founder’s Ball. I need you to help me get ready. Like really ready.

  “Sounds like you’re hoping to turn heads,” she comments. “Or maybe just one head in particular.”

  I shrug as I gesture toward my closet. Even though I rarely have more than two quarters to rub together, my closet is full to bursting. My mother didn’t take much with her when she blew out of town. Initially, I told myself that meant she had to be planning to come back eventually. But with each passing year, it seemed more and more likely that she just didn’t want to waste the time it would have taken to pack up
her stuff.

  So I still have everything. From the “lucky” jean shorts she’d always wear on Saturday nights at the bar to the wrinkled uniform the Cortlands gave her that is still covered in grass stains and smells like glass cleaner.

  Amelia lets out a surprised gasp when she opens the door and a cascade of fabrics in every possible color burst from the closet. Julia Milbourne’s tastes trended toward the cheap and flashy, but nobody could fault the variety of her wardrobe.

  “Holy forking shirt balls. I feel like I’m in the wardrobe department at the theatre. The only thing missing is a space man costume.” She sifts through the hangers so quickly that dresses move like flashes of colored light. “You should have told me to bring my sewing machine so we could alter some of this stuff. Although, I do love a good vintage item.”

  I already knew Amelia makes her own clothes. Her father buys yards of plain fabric from the farming supply store with the only instruction to cover everything below her neck and above her ankles. The way she eyes the mini-skirts and slinky tops in the closet, I wonder what she would do if given free reign.

  Amelia pulls out a flaming red dress, so bright that it practically glows stoplight. It’s low-cut, lower than anything I’ve ever worn outside of the house before, with a slit up the side that stops at mid-thigh. She holds it up to herself and lets out a low whistle. It’s one of the few dresses in the closet that is classic instead of dated. “If you want to make a statement, this one will get the job done.”

  I take it from her with shaking fingers, unsure why I suddenly feel so nervous. She turns her back as I pull off my sweatshirt. It isn’t necessary to try the dress on to know it will be a perfect fit, but I do anyway. I inherited my build from my mother, curves that don’t disappear even when I don’t get enough to eat and wide hips that I’ve always hated.

  My body always seems like an invitation thrown out to the world for all the wrong things.

  “Wow.”

  That’s all Amelia can say when she turns back around and sees me standing in front of the mirror. My reflection is that of a fully-realized woman with the world in the palm of her hand, not a little girl who won’t speak up for anything, including herself. The dress hugs my hips, which only highlights the gentle taper of my waist. Even without a bra, the bust creates enough cleavage to be sexy without crossing the line into the obscene.