Hate Me Like You Do, page 19
Some of the new flooring that was laid down in the hall, that leads to my soon to be new bedroom, creaks when I walk on it. It’s still settling into place in the bones of this remodeled home.
Intrigue sparks inside me as to exactly what my father is making for me in that room. In my peripheral though, I see a figure emerge from the room I’m currently staying in. Quiet knowing steps disappear down the stairs.
I twist to follow. Messy brown hair pushed back from his face, perfect posture, and scarred hands. Knox strides down each step. He acts as if he is unaware of my presence but I know that isn’t true.
He’s just so damn good at pretending.
Knox gives a small nod to Reed as he passes him and darts into the open door of the bathroom, shutting it firmly behind him. Reed watches me curiously, his steps carrying him closer to the kitchen.
I spy an opportunity.
Reed disappears behind the swinging kitchen door. His image isn’t hidden for long as I push my way inside. The muscles under his shirt become apparent as the material clings to him when he reaches inside a cabinet. With a small look over his shoulder he does a double take then turns to face me. He’s holding a small jar of peanut butter but those sweeping eyes of his stay on me.
“Whats up?” he asks quietly, casually leaning against the counter. One hand opens the drawer next to him pulling out a spoon without his attention leaving me for a single second.
“I’m just… looking for a snack.”
A sly smile, a few tentative steps, and my teeth raking over my bottom lip is all it takes for a different sort of hunger to flash through his eyes.
He clears his throat, holding up the jar. “Peanut butter? It, uh, has protein.”
Protein. Even when he isn’t trying, he sounds like a jock. It doesn’t fool me, I know he’s more than a muscle head.
Most days.
I step closer. With one hand ahold of the container, I let my palm graze against his while the other unscrews the lid. Then I take his other hand.
His eyebrows raise but he lets me do it without a fight. I single out his pointer finger and dip it into the jar. The thick, creamy peanut butter follows gravity in a drop that threatens to fall from his finger.
It never hits the floor. Not when I guide his hand to my mouth, my tongue racing over his finger to devour every ounce of the sticky creaminess. My tongue slides along his skin, sucking hard before kissing there slowly.
Reed holds his breath.
I pull away and he watches me very carefully like this is a fragile moment that could break any second. I dip my own finger into the jar and offer my hand.
“Protein?” I ask. The one word sounds so much dirtier than it should.
Reed hums then adds a small smile before he leans down and flicks his tongue over me to lap up the snack. The way he does it to me is the opposite of how I did it to him. Slow flicks of his tongue twirl around me before he sucks so hard I feel the sensation right between my thighs.
His steely eyes appear darker when he looks back up at me.
Not that I care to notice much. Not when my body is so alive again. Thrumming just from his closeness.
I grab either side of his face and draw him to me until my lips meet his. His tongue tastes sweet but the kiss is anything but. It’s soft at first, tentative even. I don’t pull away so he deepens the kiss, becomes more aggressive.
The plastic tub of peanut butter topples to the floor with a noisy clatter and a few loud bounces before it rolls away. His hands wrap me up and tug me close to him by the curve of my hips until every inch of his towering muscle is upon me. With little strength he lifts me off the floor so my toes rest on top his feet and he inches us to the island in the kitchen. Cool countertop teases my thighs. He presses into me as if we weren’t already close enough. As if we’ll never be close enough.
He pulls me forward until my center meets the hardness beneath his jeans and I can’t help the moan that slips from my lips. Everything about him feels good.
So good that I almost forget the plan that I had in my mind when I started all of this.
I grip his hard biceps but when I hear the door open, I let my hands fall lifelessly to my side. A show and a shadow of the girl I have been since I left the library today.
Rough hands push Reed off of me, holding me firmly where I stand. My part continues as I let my eyes fall to the floor and make no move to speak or appear as I’m anything other than a prop in the moment.
It’s one thing to kiss me in the small hidden space in the school library where only the librarian can find you but it is another to kiss me in your best friend’s house. Especially when your best friend is Knox Reyes.
And especially when he’s right here.
“What the fuck?” Knox growls, pointing an accusing finger at Reed. “Are you trying to take advantage of her? She isn’t in the right headspace for your bullshit.”
“You think I’m taking advantage of her?” Reed laughs a low and rumbling sound that I can feel in my core. He looks over Knox’s shoulder for some form of help I won’t be giving him.
Sorry, not sorry. It’s my turn to play the game you boys were always so good at.
How does it feel?
How does it feel to trust someone so completely and then be fucked right over by them?
“She doesn’t seem all that interested to me.” Knox swings the pointed finger at me. All he sees is the sad, unhinged girl, who walked out of the basement his father left her in. “Nobody touches her. That is the rule.”
“You mean like you haven’t?” Reed’s pretty gaze becomes a dangerous glinting thing.
“You say that like you know what the hell you’re talking about.” Knox remains careless but something in the atmosphere changes. I try not to let a triumphant smile rise on my face.
Broken girls don’t smile.
“I know that you, that Landon, you’ve both played the line and broken that stupid ‘no touching’ rule since the day you made it. You think I don’t notice anything because I’m busy with football. You’re so fucked up, Knox.”
“You’re fucked up if you think you can talk to me like that.” Knox’s even voice never raises but he leans a little closer.
“Oh,” Reeds leans back dramatically laughing, drawing out the word. “Too big and bad now that daddy is home to handle any harsh bit of truth tossed your way?”
Wow, men really run away with a drama scene when you hand them a script.
Knox grinds his teeth but doesn’t respond. Reed shoots me another desperate glance. He’s waiting to see if the girl that walked in here and playfully toyed with him is still around. I give him a quick wink. He shakes his head with a grimace.
Does it hurt? Does it hurt the way you hurt me?
Here I stand like a bomb that has detonated and I get the pleasure of watching destruction come falling down around me.
“Don’t touch her.” Knox finally spits. “And don’t… don’t talk to me.”
Reed pushes past us, giving me a deep dark glower from under his blonde brows. The door swings closed behind him. Then for a heartbeat Knox and I are alone. Our eyes lock and he sighs long and slow.
Steady hands settle on either side of my thighs and I can see how much his life is weighing on him. I’m a mess of wanting to hurt them the way they hurt me and wanting to comfort them.
“You okay?” Knox asks on a tired, rasping voice.
I shiver in response, my body telling me to stop being a stupid, vengeful girl and care about these boys. Because they deserve to be cared about.
But didn’t I?
His palms lift on either side of me and his fingers just brush my skin before his entire body locks into place, the loud call of our names causing us both to flinch.
“Violet.” A bellowing call, a sweeping demand.
“Knox.” An angry statement, a booming command.
Two shiny black shoes step into the kitchen, a phone held in the clenched fist of Ronan’s hand. His face is red, his expression… well it certainly isn’t joy he’s experiencing.
“Violet, why is it that the first week back at school I get a call and you have already stayed late for detention?” His fingers press into his temple.
“I’m sorry,” I muster. It doesn’t feel like an act that I’m putting on to rouse the boys when Ronan is standing here with waves of frustration falling off of him.
“Tell me why.” He crosses the space between us, his steps echoing along the tile floor.
Knox twitches at my side but doesn’t step closer. I glance at him. Does Knox know why I had detention?
I bite my lip, my hands intertwining and twisting in front of me much like the nerves in my stomach.
“Tell. Me. Why.” This time his tone is a pointed whisper, each word a bitter staccato.
My gaze adverts away. I can’t say it. How do I say that? I got caught making out with not one but both of the boys that you’re allowing to stay in your home with me? Is that what he wants to hear?
“Tell me!” He slams his fist against the counter before grabbing my shoulders with both hands, shaking me. “I give you a new start. A fearless beginning. Riches beyond anything you’ve ever had access to and the first chance you get you are trying to muddle the Reyes name.”
Looking up at the contorting rage before me I let out a squeak of a gasp as he shoves me behind him, continuing to talk as he does. “Indecency. Whoring around. Not my daughter.”
His fist gathers in the collar of Knox’s shirt. Ronan’s long finger jabs back toward my face. The motion reminding me of Knox’s actions just moments ago. Their similarities terrify me.
“For some reason, you two can’t stop eye fucking each other.” His fist rams into Knox’s stomach. Stiffly Knox doubles over with a hiss of air.
“You whore around with him.” He grabs a fist of Knox’s hair pulling hard enough Knox is staring up at me with empty eyes. “You whore around with who the hell ever at school.” He lets go of his hair only to slam his fist into the side of Knox’s face. “For every thing you do. All the wrongs you commit while under my roof. He will pay.”
My heart explodes in my chest. Each beat becomes an overpowering rhythm that plays across every part of my body. It pounds inside my head.
“Stop it.” I scream, reaching out, my body moving on its own accord. But my small attempt is nothing. Not when he shoves Knox to the ground the heel of his foot digging into Knox’s tattooed hand.
A crack echoes in the room.
Knox curls into himself but he seems to know better than to make any noise. Anything to provoke the man will only make it worse. He’s deadly silent with every blow that rains down on him. I wish I could go back to not having a father.
Ronan smiles at the noise. Content with the abuse he steps back to me.
“Son,” he pauses until Knox looks up, his shoulders shaking, his breaths trembling but he never makes a sound, “this is for not keeping her in line.”
My head snaps to the side. My cheek stinging and hot from the abrupt backhand. Strands of my hair fall over my face, hopefully, covering the tears that the feeling brought to my eyes.
Mr. Reyes adjusts his gray suit, shimmying his tie up to his neck. He clears his throat, picks up his phone, and exits the room as if nothing happened.
Cautiously, I bring my hand to my cheek. Warm, wet blood smears under my fingertips.
Trembles run through Knox’s body as he stands, the side of his face already blooming into the shades of a new bruise. Without a word he opens a drawer, pulls out a towel, then reaches around me to the freezer. His arm brushes along my hair and I can’t help but lean into him just slightly.
He holds a small bag that sounds like a bunch of loose marbles colliding as it shifts in his hand. He folds it into the towel. His dark, wide eyes scan every part of my face before gentle fingers lift my chin and he carefully presses the towel to my face. I cup the makeshift ice pack against my cheek, recoiling from the pain of its touch but also clinging to his fingers beneath mine.
“He likes to wear big rings,” Knox whispers.
His attention slips to my lips for a single second before he lowers his hands from my face and takes a very deliberate step back.
And then he passes without another word.
“Wait, your hand?”
He holds it close to him, not even flexing his fingers. “It sounded worse than it is. It’s not broken.”
“How do you know?”
“I’ve had many broken bones before, Vi. I’m familiar with the feeling.”
The door clicks shut behind him. Today may have been the first time I’ve ever been in detention but it will also be the last. I won’t test Ronan.
I won’t test or punish the boys.
They’ve clearly been punished more than I can even imagine.
Twenty-Nine
Dee
Dark dry scabs streak across my face now, a little healed but still stinging with pain. Mr. Heethers already came by before I shut off my light, a sorrowful downward tug on his lips wrinkling his weathered face as he explained that Knox’s black eye, his hand, and the bruising cut along my cheek were merely from a small but scary car accident. It was just so lucky we made it out alive.
We are just so lucky.
So very lucky.
Mr. Heethers told the lie as if he believes it himself. Except for the way that his eyes traced over my wound, his lips pursed together, and his whispered, “I’m sorry.” He knows the truth. He helps hide the truth. Probably for a very large sum of money.
I toss and turn under the sheets tonight. The bed far too lumpy, the air too hot and stuffy in this new room. A dim light lingers in my room from just down the hall. Reed must have left his lamp on, on the nightstand. The light a small blimp of reassurance in my otherwise dark room.
I can’t help but wonder if he left the lamp on by mistake or on purpose for me.
Faint, soft snoring tells me he is fast asleep in his room. Something I wish I could be doing at this moment. My mind though is only replaying the silent way Knox took his father’s punishment meant for me.
He was right. I loathe how much he was right. Every ounce of pain that my father put Knox through didn’t feel like something he deserved. It felt like he was out to shatter my own heart too. Watching Knox hurt was more painful than the small lashing across my cheek.
Cool air floods over my body as I toss the comforter off of me. I blink at the ceiling. Knox isn’t in the bedroom. I hid under my covers immediately after I scurried from the kitchen, not wanting to explain the injury to Landon or Reed.
Sleep never came. It’s all just a movie of Knox bending over as our father plunged his fist into his stomach. It’s a flash of black as my head is snapped to the side. It’s pain. So much pain.
Not my cheek though. My chest. My aching, agonizing heart.
Easing out of the bed and down the hall, I tiptoe past the open door to Reed’s room. I have half a fleeting thought to stop. To let my hands graze against his exposed chest as it rises and falls so steadily. Just to feel that exhilarating, earth shaking, feeling of being alive again.
But I’ve played enough today already.
And I won’t do that to them again. I thought I wanted some form of payback.
It’s a game though. And it’s too dangerous to play with their emotions.
As well as mine.
Boards whine underfoot as I pass Landon’s room. The light already shut off. Steadying my hand, I hold tight to the railing as I wander through the black shadows of the house. Light only breaks through from under the kitchen door.
I follow it.
The fridge door is open, propped by Knox’s elbow. A loud shushing noise fills the air as he presses the tip of a can of cool whip to his lips, spraying the whipped sugar onto his tongue. I can’t help but stare at the angle of his jaw, the defining lines of his throat as he tips his head back and swallows it all down. He tenses when he notices my presence, bringing the can away from his face.
“You should be sleeping,” he mumbles, his arm swiping away the extra foam from the corners of his mouth.
“Just me?” I ask. Annoyance fills my features as I give him my best leveling stare. “Your face looks awful.”
“Well shit, go easy on my ego. There goes my modeling career.”
“I think models typically have to be more alluring than you. Not many people will pay to have you mean mug them all day.”
A practiced half smile tips his lips.
I hate that I can’t tell if his smile is real or fake anymore.
Loudly the metal can of cool whip clinks against the shelves in the fridge as he puts it away. It’s one of the only noises, apart from our breathing, in the house. The cooks, maids, and other staff are sleeping in their quarters. We are the only two around.
My hand drifts to touch the scabs, again. “I hope I won’t scar.”
“You won’t. It’s too shallow a cut. He learned early on what scars and doesn’t scar.”
I think of Ronan’s hands. My eyes betraying me as I watch how the tattoos are stretched across Knox’s knuckles.
“You can look, I don’t care,” he whispers in such a low tone that the sound of it seems to feather walk across my bare arms in a trembling shiver.
But he looks like he cares. He looks away as if he, himself, does not want to look at any of the wounds on his perfectly imperfect body. Nonetheless he holds his hands out toward me.
On quiet steps I close the space between us, taking his hands in mine. My thumbs run over the white scars that are raised on the skin. What did that cruel man do to him? What happened to his hands?
One rough calloused palm releases from me and he reaches up, stroking his thumb over my jaw then nudges my chin up.
“You’re talking, again.”
I swallow the lump in my throat.
“What pulled you out of it?” When he grazes the corner of my lip, he stops the gentle strokes across my face.
Blood rushes to my cheeks, only causing the cut to sting more as I try to pull away from his grasp. He holds my chin firmly.
“Father said you were indecent. Whoring. Unlikely the entirety of the story, but I’m curious.”
