Hate Me Like You Do, page 11
Her wrist rolls faster, her tongue flicking against mine and consuming me with every single thing she does. The demanding feeling inside me builds and builds and builds and just as I groan against her, she slaps her palm hard against my throbbing erection.
I go down fast, falling to my knees as if Knox just slammed his fist into my face all over again.
And she stands above me, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she looks at me with hooded, hateful eyes.
“Never show your weakness, Landon,” she rasps out.
She walks away like nothing ever happened, like she didn’t just leave me lying at her feet. The bathroom door closes behind her with a quiet click.
All too quick I try to swallow down the emotion that’s burning in the back of my throat. She doesn’t know it, but she is my weakness.
Thirteen
Knox
Drinking whiskey always somehow feels like a punishment, one I’m quick to give myself. Each sip leaves me cringing as it makes my mouth somehow feel dryer and dryer each time. The burn and the taste alone should be enough for me to learn that I don’t like it.
But I do it anyway. Usually to block out the things I don’t want to think about.
Like my father.
Like myself.
Like Violet.
I suck down another gulp straight from the bottle I found in my father’s desk drawer. His desk is where I find the strong stuff. This room is where I find any solitude these days.
My hand grips the bottle so rough I wonder if I could break the glass as I glower down at the image of my father and I fishing when I was five years old. Flesh along my knuckles is still red, raw, and speckled with blood.
I crossed the line today. Today the side of me I wish didn’t exist came to life. If Reed hadn’t intervened would I have stopped?
Would I have killed Landon without a second thought?
I take another drink. Enough of this and tomorrow I won’t need to worry about remembering today and the person I am.
Some people are a product of their environment.
And I am definitely a product of my environment. I had a twin brother once. And he was good. A good kid.
What I am, is exactly what Ronan Reyes created me to be.
An image. A cruel reflection of himself.
A fucked up kid with fucked up thoughts that I’ll never show the world.
Ahead of me the office door cracks open a bit, Violet’s eyebrows are arching up and a smug look has her lips twitching at the corners. Her cheeks are rosy, her lips a berry red as if she just drank blood.
Or maybe something less sinister like wine.
My body responds to her presence in a strange way. I’ve never really cared what someone felt or what they might be thinking.
But Violet Demure is my opposite in every way.
Or at least she was.
Dee is pure and everything I’m not. I’m not sure how it happened, when I crossed the line from wanting to just fuck her to wanting to protect her. It’s a blurry line, really. Getting blurrier by the moment too.
She’s still in my black hoodie. The one I wear around the house that doesn’t see the light of day because it’s too worn for my father to deem appropriate for the public's eye. It’s also my favorite hoodie.
And warmth flares oddly within me at the sight of the large material cloaking her small frame.
Dee steps in so her entire body is in view. Under my hoodie is the thin shorts she wore most of the summer. Also a favorite of mine. Lavender shorts that stop just under the curve of her ass, they are barely visible right now, but they’re there.
I want to steal them too. I want to take it all off until every innocent part of her is bared to me.
She clears her throat, glancing at the bottle in my hand. I set the drink down against the dark stained wooden desk, giving her my attention.
“I saw Landon and I was curious what the other guy looked like. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that?”
I grunt, the smallest hint of a smile playing on my lips. Does she want to see if I’m okay?
Or does she hope I’m as fucked up as Landon is.
Hardly.
Lifting my arm up I show her my red knuckles, the only marks I have. The only marks I can ever have. I don’t bruise easily anyway but if my father taught me one thing it was to never let them leave evidence on my body. My hands are so scared, no one would notice a new scratch.
She huffs a laugh. “Unbelievable.”
Leather squeals underneath me as I stand up from my father’s desk chair. Her big emerald eyes watch me with caution as I approach.
“Come to tend to my wounds?” I purr.
“I think you can take care of yourself, Knox.” Violet moves to walk around me before I get too close to her. She wanders to the desk, smelling the whiskey with a frown.
I cocked an eyebrow at her. She’s not wrong.
“I’ve never been in this room before,” she says quietly, her fingers skimming along the glossy window frame.
No one comes in this office. I’m not allowed in this office. And yet, we’re both here now.
“This is a private room. My father’s office is off limits even to me.”
“Then I won’t stay long.” She looks down at the little picture, picking it up and showing it to me as if I haven't been staring at it angrily for the past twenty minutes. “I’m not sure I’ve ever seen you smile like you are in this image.” There’s a far off sound to her hesitant voice.
It makes me sick to even think about that age. I was confused, anxiety on edge so much that I made myself throw up nightly when I thought about the repercussions of the little things my father might punish me for.
“That was a very different person in that picture.” That was a person who hadn’t known death first hand. Hadn’t wielded his body like a weapon. Hadn’t felt someone’s pulse drain away under his fingertips. I am a very different person indeed.
“You definitely seem different.” She straightens, standing determined before me, barely meeting my shoulder but keeping her confidence locked in place.
Why does it make me so pleased that I know I made her this way? I made her stronger. She can face whatever fucked up things happen in her future.
Because of me.
“You don’t have to worry about me anymore,” she says suddenly.
Okay, she’s peaked my interest. Casually, I walk up to her. I arch a curious brow then reach around her for the whiskey bottle and take a long drink. My body thrums to life when my forearm brushes against her side.
I’ll miss the burn of her skin against mine when she finally leaves.
But I think we’ve finally done it. I think she is finally going to leave. Run away, Vi. Get as far away from this place and my fucked up father and never look back.
Given the state of my lowered inhibitions, that was a dangerous thing to even think. Goodbyes always look an awful lot like opportunity without any strings attached.
It physically hurts my stomach to think of her not being here.
But it hurts more to worry about her staying here.
With someone more dangerous than myself.
And that’s why she has to go. She has to go before my father returns.
I can’t tell her that. I can’t tell anyone that. But if she doesnt get the fuck out of this house, she’ll find out soon enough.
In the worst way possible.
She moves to pass me but I step in front of her. She doesn’t step back and the space between us is nonexistent as I pin her in place against that glossy desk with just my chest brushing hers.
No longer does she shy away from my touch. Either she doesn’t believe the rumors or she has nothing else to lose. Punishing her, pushing her away, may have been a terrible way to keep her safe but it also did her some good. The new confidence that replaces her gentle manor, it makes me want to do bad, bad things. In the very best way.
I want to test her more. Punish her more. Break her…more.
My hands find the flesh on the backside of her thighs, smooth creamy skin slides beneath my palm and I arch my fingers higher under the hem of the shorts. Before I get too carried away I drop down lower on her legs and lift her up on top of the desk, her breath catching as her pretty eyes grow wide.
Fuck, that innocent look alone could make me come.
Ever fiber within me wants to rip my father’s desk to shreds and lie Violet out as a feast atop it. I want to devour every inch of her body. A hungry hum vibrates within me.
She lets me touch her the way I used to touch her in the dead of night. I missed her skin against mine, the breathy sounds she used to make when my hands gripped her in all the right places. Nothing slows me, my palms finding their pace trailing up and down the length of her bare sides beneath her shirt.
Her expression now is… unreadable. What is she thinking?
The drilling dirty guesses that pop into my head only make me lean even closer to her, my hips pressing into her thighs until the heat of her pussy is all I can think about. Is she thinking I should give her a proper goodbye? One that might satisfy the need that sparked inside me the moment she spread herself across my bed with her hair fanning out around her and the first real smile I got from her lighting up her face. No one smiles like that at a killer.
But she never saw me that way. She never believed the endless dark whispers that follow me around like a haunting shadow.
And she damn sure never asked.
She’s smart. She’s a good girl.
Steady fingers push through my hair, fisting there hard. The movement is playful and hateful, the perfect embodiment of our relationship. I hope she hates me enough when she leaves to never return. Growling, each rough, calloused part of my palms slip all the way up the bottoms of her shorts. I dig my fingers into her ass, pulling her even closer.
Her head tips up, her lips parted just right as my cock strains against her sex.
There is so much I want to do right now. So much the growing urge within me wants to unleash… yet there is something more I have to think about. There is always a bigger picture.
“You hate me and yet you want to fuck me,” she whispers against my neck her nose tracing my jaw slowly before she leans back.
A smile slices my lips but I won’t answer her. I’ve never hated Violet Demure. But I hope she thinks I do.
“I just came in here to tell you, you don’t have to want to hate me or screw me anymore.” Her perfect teeth rake across my lower lip and I feel that tingling feeling pulse right through my cock. “We never should have met, Knox.”
She’s right about that.
My father didn’t pick just any random fucking charity case when he dialed up Violet Demure and offered her room and board for a year.
Why has she never really thought about the bigger picture?
When I lean into her, my lips just barely brushing hers, she pushes from my arms, sliding down off the desk. Pain and frustration cut into me all at the same time as she walks away.
I’m glad I’m alone so no one can see how long I watch the door after it closes behind her.
If I don’t love anyone then no one can use them against me.
So, I don’t love Violet. Not at all.
Landon’s wrong about what we’re doing to her. He has no idea how wrong he is. What we’re doing here is so much bigger than high school or us.
It’s all about saving her life.
It just fucking hurts that we’re ruining her life in the process.
Fourteen
Reed
Dee tries to be stealthy, she thinks no one sees her. But I do. I watch her scamper away from Mr. Reyes’s office, leaving the door slightly ajar. Her cheeks are rosy, the hem of her shorts pushed up to reveal that perfect curve of her ass.
A flare of jealousy leaves me grinding my teeth. They think I don’t know, they think I’m some sort of dumb jock. They think I don’t notice how the other two break all the rules just enough that they think it goes unnoticed.
I notice.
Knox and Landon, they steal touches here and there. Do they steal more than that?
There are too many secrets lying hidden away in this house.
A rule is a rule for a reason. We committed to this plan and I feel like I’m the only one with follow through.
I step into the office I’ve never stepped foot in. It’s bigger than I thought it would be. Knox leans up against the wide oak desk his fingers hovering over his lips.
He drops his hand as soon as he sees me. His face quickly returning to impassive, unimpressed, most certainly apathetic.
“So, since when are we beating the crap out of our best friends?” I begin.
Knox chuckles under his breath. “You come to tell me you’re backing out of the deal too?”
“I’m not. I finish what I start.” I stand up straight. I want to take offense to his question, but he’s just seeing if I can still be trusted. Trust just enough to be friends but don’t trust someone enough to get hurt. That’s how he works.
Knox and I go way back. Known each other for so long I’m in shock he would question my loyalty.
The first time my dad caught wind that Ronan Reyes’s son was attending my school, he pulled me aside.
“Ronan Reyes is a powerful man, a wealthy man. If you’re in his good graces he could help you achieve anything. Think of your future.” That’s what he fucking said to a six year old kid who didn’t even know what a future was.
This year when I told my father Knox wanted company while his father was out of town, he jumped on the idea. Sent me away for as long as it takes.
He dumped me is more like it.
Not that I care. Life’s easy here. As long as you play by the rules.
At least I don’t have to see my mom stumbling around the house like a botoxed Barbie, too drunk to remember to put makeup on both eyes.
My family is a fucking mess.
It’s funny because I think me and Knox could have been friends even if my dad hadn’t pushed for the friendship. Knox loves football, comes to almost every practice we have just to watch.
A lot of people never understand why he doesn’t try out for the team.
But I think it’s simple really.
He loves violence.
And hates authority.
By watching, he gets to view all the violence without any of the growling and yelling from Coach Rodney.
I pull myself from my thoughts, speaking again. “Do you know how bad this looks? I come in to find you on top of Landon, swinging at him without thought. It’s like you didn’t even recognize who it was beneath you.”
“I knew what I was doing. I’m in control.” He tilts his head at me.
‘I’m in control.’
Are you, though?
Knox turns away from me, finding the desk chair and planting himself in it. Vacantly he picks at the side of the smooth leather seat, his thoughts seemingly stealing him away already. I can smell the alcohol from here.
“If Landon is going to be a problem, I’ll take care of it,” he says so quietly it gives me chills.
Right, because that’s what Knox does. That’s what his father taught him to do. Take care of the problem. Bury it six feet under or deep enough no one will remember it’s an issue.
“Landon isn’t a problem.” I walk forward, stopping before him to rest my palms on the desk and give him an even stare. “Landon is our best friend.”
“How do you suppose we keep this up then?” Knox leans back in the chair holding my gaze with that chilling dead look in his gaze that he gets too often.
The real question is how do I talk Knox off the edge? How do I hold up my end of the deal, save Landon’s ass, and not let any more blood be spilled by his hands?
Suddenly it’s not just Dee in trouble anymore.
It’s all of us.
Fifteen
Dee
I’m making a plan. They wanted me gone, so I will be. The newspaper threatens to fold over as I’m reading but I shake it straight again. It’s a crawling noise like a whip that sends me back to the snapping of an old worn belt of a long forgotten boyfriend my mother once had.
I endure. It’s what I do. Endure, adapt, survive.
I notice the strain between the boys. I thought it would make me happy seeing them like this but it doesn’t. It makes me feel guilty, like it’s all my fault.
It’s a stupid, stupid gnawing feeling that I can’t shake.
Days have come and gone since Knox gave Landon the now yellowing bruise under his eye. His glasses are already replaced. God only knows how damn expensive it must have been to get new glasses that fast. The table and lamp they broke in their wake has already been replaced. I can’t help but feel like it was all because of me. They took me in because I wasn’t eighteen yet, I still needed a legal guardian.
I’m an adult now, I can figure it all out on my own now. If I can find the freaking rental listings. I exhale so loudly it shakes my paper in front of me.
Reed and Landon push into the kitchen together, clearly on the hunt for a snack. Their laughing dies down when they see me.
The paper bends backwards as Reed pulls it away from me. “You know they have electronics now, right? I think only the lower class actually open up newspapers…”
I’d cut off my right arm this very second if Reed had a clue what sort of shocking income makes up the lower class.
“What are you doing?” Landon asks.
“Looking for low income housing. I’m eighteen and can sign a lease.”
Such a not so casual thing to say but I shrug anyway. You know, just doing what every high school senior does, reading through the paper trying to find a house of my own so I can move out with all of my two belongings and get out of your hair.
Reed’s eyes grow alarmingly wide and he turns to Landon. Landon shakes his head slightly, dismissing what I say as if it’s not a possibility.
