We greeted her warmly anyway. Within a few minutes, a bunch of other people joined us too, and the new guy was the topic on everyone’s lips. I kept quiet, listening to what everyone else had to say. The girls at the table kept glancing in my direction, waiting to hear what I thought. One negative word from me, and Hendrix Hawthorn would not be getting into the La Perla panties of a single Fulton student.
Unfortunately, I had a feeling I’d have to tackle this one head-on and speak to him directly. There just wasn’t enough information to decide if he was going to be trouble—or if he was worth the trouble.
Before long, the conversation moved on. William complained about Mrs. Watson’s surprise quiz in Calculus, Harlow threw in a completely random fact about the Fibonacci sequence that I had no idea where she’d learned but was positive was correct, Drew loudly and half-jokingly hit on Mena, and half the table reminded him she had a boyfriend.
Business as usual.
Lunch ended, and we dispersed to our next classes. Mulling over the new guy proved to be a good distraction through the afternoon, and I pulled at the waist of my skirt only once, thinking about how I couldn’t wait to change into something very different and go to my dirty little secret. Only a few hours to go.
I was the first one of us girls out at the end of the day, so I threw my bag into the car, put my sunglasses on, and leaned back against the hood to turn my face up to the sky. There was a chill in the breeze, but the sun was driving it away.
Hendrix Hawthorn came striding down the steps as if he owned the place. He looked casual enough, but that neutral mask was still in place, and his Ray-Bans were already over his eyes. Nicola and a few other senior girls were trailing a safe distance behind him, whispering to each other, trying to get up the courage to talk to him. Tess even adjusted her boobs to put her cleavage on better display.
I rolled my eyes behind my shades and gritted my teeth. I didn’t know why his presence bothered me so much. Maybe it was the blasé attitude. Maybe it was the fact that I had no idea what his deal was, and I really hated not knowing things.
But I was never one to let things fester.
As he passed my car, I pushed up into a standing position and called out, only slightly raising my voice. “Hendrix, right?”
I glanced at the girls behind him, pleased to see they were dispersing, even if their focus hadn’t left us. Most people nearby had slowed down and were throwing us surreptitious glances. They knew just as well as I did that this interaction would determine where the new guy would fit in the complex social hierarchy of Fulton Academy.
Hendrix pressed his lips together and looked as if he might just keep walking, but then he seemed to notice all the attention too. He slowed his steps and half turned his body to face me.
Well, at least he was smart enough to realize that ignoring me would be a bad move.
“Yeah.” His deep voice was as disinterested as his facial expression. He stuffed a hand into his pocket and chewed on something, adding an edge of frustration to his impassive posture.
“Welcome to Fulton Academy.” I folded my hands in front of myself, giving him my polite but professional smile—a smile I’d perfected at twelve years old. “I’m Donna Mead.”
“Uh-huh.” He smacked the gum. “I’ve already had the welcome speech from the people in the office.”
“This isn’t official business.” Maybe he wasn’t as smart as I thought.
He looked me up and down. “No thanks.”
“Excuse me?” I raised my eyebrows.
He flashed me a grin, mashing the pink gum between his perfectly straight teeth. “If this isn’t an official welcome, then it’s clearly . . . personal.” He leaned in as if he were sharing a secret, but I kept my back ramrod straight. Was that cinnamon? “And I’m not interested in getting personal with you.”
My right hand twitched with the urge to slap him. Luckily, my left was wrapped around it. I shoved down the rage, removed my sunglasses, and cocked my head, giving him an amused smile. “That’s really presumptuous of you. I just wanted to introduce myself. Starting at a new school after the year has already begun can’t be easy. I can help ease the transition. I could make your time here very pleasant.”
I left the implications hanging in the cold breeze between us. I could make his time at Fulton incredibly fucking unpleasant too if I wanted to.
He watched me for a moment, his sharp jaw working that gum a little faster. Then he turned to face me fully and took his own sunglasses off. “I know girls like you. You think you rule this school and that you’re going to grow up to rule the world. I know exactly what you think you can control. But I don’t give a shit, princess. I don’t want to be in your court. I don’t give a flying fuck about making friends or getting personal with you or your hangers-on, so just pretend like I’m not here and continue to live your perfect little life. I’m just here until I can graduate and join the real world.”
He blew an obnoxiously loud bubble, jammed his sunglasses back on, and walked away from me.
He fucking walked away from me. It was doubtful anyone had heard our exchange, but plenty of people were looking, watching for a hint of what my decree would be on Hendrix fucking Hawthorn.
I resisted the urge to chase him down, scream at him, smack that smug look off his face. Instead I smiled and replaced my sunglasses, keeping everyone in suspense for a little longer.
The smile was even a little genuine. He’d pissed me off, disrespected me, and was downright antagonizing. But I had a feeling I was going to have fun breaking him.
Chapter Two
Donna
Gravel crunched under my favorite pair of thigh-high boots. The red miniskirt was tight around my thighs, the sheer top showed off my lacy bra underneath, and I was wearing more makeup than I ever did in public.
But I wasn’t perfect, polished Donna Mead with starched uniforms and manicured nails tonight.
I was . . . someone else tonight.
Dark Donna.
The gaudy green neon above the metal door read Davey’s.
A smile pulled at my ruby-red lips as every step I took toward the shiftiest establishment I knew took me away from myself.
Mom had come home from her boozy dinner, and I’d heard her snoring through the door as I passed her bedroom. Harlow was on her computer and had been oblivious to anything going on around her for hours. She’d be going to bed soon, and she’d leave early in the morning for tennis while Mom slept in. Meaning no one would notice me sleeping in.
My Legal Studies extra-credit assignment was done.
I’d mentioned a headache to the girls, ensuring they wouldn’t try to get me out.
My to-do list for next week was written up in order of importance.
Hendrix . . . ugh! Hendrix was tomorrow’s problem.
The girls had witnessed the tail end of our conversation, and I’d told them every detail in the car. Amaya swore profusely, calling him some very colorful names. Harlow mostly laughed, amused that someone was getting a rise out of me. Mena didn’t like that he’d said mean things to me, but in the same breath she hoped he was adjusting to a new school OK.
I still hadn’t decided what to do about him, but as I pushed through the rusty metal door, thoughts of the infuriating guy melted away. Instead, the pumping bass sent chills of anticipation down my spine.
I paused in the entrance area only long enough to slip a fifty to Anton—the burly bouncer whom I had a standing arrangement with. Not that Davey’s was that strict with checking IDs anyway. Anton was paid for his discretion as much as for my entry. He gave me a nod, tucked the bill away, and readjusted himself on his stool. I didn’t think I’d ever seen him crack a smile.
The Davey’s clientele was as questionable as the stale trail mix they served up at the bar, but I didn’t come here for stimulating conversation or to meet my future husband. I came here to have fun—to let the loud music and edge of danger drive all other thoughts from my mind.
I swayed my
hips to the music as I made my way through the middle of the room, checking out who was on the dance floor. A lot of bikers hung out here, drug dealers, hookers—basically unpredictable people with questionable morals. People who made a thrilling jolt of fear race down my spine.
When I reached the bar, I wedged myself between a couple of bikers and a prostitute named Gina (she’d spilled her whole life story to me on one of my previous visits but had no memory of it or me—so I didn’t bother saying hello). I stuck my ass out, crossing my booted feet at the ankles and arching my back. My gaze stayed forward, but I could practically feel hungry male eyes caressing my curves.
Three busy bartenders were working the bar, but luckily Bea spotted me first.
“Hey, girl.” She greeted me with a fist bump. Bea was in her thirties, had dreadlocks and a penchant for leather vests, and took shit from no one. “Usual?”
“Yes, please.” I gave her a genuine grin. We’d never spoken much beyond that exact exchange, but just like Anton, I had an understanding with Bea.
She dropped a glass of what looked like vodka and soda in front of me, but it was actually just soda. Even when I ordered an alcoholic drink in front of other people, Bea knew not to serve me alcohol, and she knew to keep her mouth shut about our agreement. I slipped her a fifty as I paid for the drink, and she gave me a wink before moving on to take the next order.
I was here because it made me feel alive. I didn’t actually have a death wish. There was no way I was going to risk getting intoxicated in this crowd.
I turned to lean back against the bar, sipping my drink as I scanned the room. There were a few guys with potential. I liked the ones who were taller than me in my heels. I didn’t really care what color his hair was, what his voice sounded like. I hardly even bothered with his name half the time. But he had to be strong, confident, with some intensity simmering around the edges. He had to be the one to approach me.
The boys at my school couldn’t handle me. But these lowlifes—these criminals with dark pasts and nothing to lose—they could handle me in the best, most depraved ways.
That’s why they had to be older. How could they handle me if they couldn’t handle themselves? Even so, I still never went for anyone who looked older than late twenties. I had control issues, not daddy issues.
In the bathrooms, in their cars, against the rough brick at the back of the building. One guy had even taken me to the back of the parking lot and bent me over his vintage Mustang. That was a fun night . . .
I never hooked up with the same guy twice, and I never let them think they could get more than one night of fun—not that any of them were interested in anything serious.
As my gaze wandered the crowd, I spotted the only man I’d ever slept with more than once.
I knew him only as Shady—yes, I was sleeping with someone who went by Shady, which pretty much told you all you needed to know about him. Not that he ever told me what his “business” was, but he was at Davey’s a lot, all the staff knew him, and he was always talking to some new face.
Like right now. Shady was standing with his shoulders slouched, one hand holding a drink and the other in the pocket of his tracksuit pants, talking to someone in a very expensive suit who looked as if he didn’t want to be there.
When the suit walked away, I sauntered over.
“Donna.” He smirked at me from under his baseball hat. He only knew me as Donna.
I pressed myself against his side and brought my lips to his ear. “Hey. You busy tonight?” I made my intentions perfectly clear by giving his ear a little bite.
He groaned and gripped my hip.
Shady wasn’t my usual type. He was only a little taller than me, and while he was lean and fit underneath those ridiculous tracksuits, he wasn’t the size of a fridge. But he had the dominant confidence—bordering on cockiness—in spades. And his cock was huge.
“I wish I could, Donnie baby,” he answered, and my face fell. “But I got some important business I gotta take care of tonight. If you’re still around after close . . .”
But I was already shaking my head. I was never there that long. I couldn’t risk getting home too late.
“Next time.” I winked at him and walked away, making sure to sway my hips a little extra as I moved to the center of the dance floor.
He’d send me a bunch of texts later, telling me what he wanted to do to me. I was already looking forward to the thrill of reading them—a little slice of danger in my normal, clean life.
I didn’t always pick up when I came to Davey’s. Sometimes I just wanted to dance, to thrash out my frustration with the world on the sticky floors. Sometimes I liked to sit in a corner and people-watch, wondering what these people’s lives were like. Were they easier than mine? Harder? What secrets did they have?
As I walked away from Shady, I had a feeling no one would approach me tonight. Sometimes, when he was in a shit-stirring mood, I thought maybe Shady made sure no one approached me. I didn’t know if he was actually possessive or if he just liked to fuck with me, but I didn’t care either way. If anything, it amused me. And I refused to give him the satisfaction of my reaction.
I rolled out of bed sometime after ten the next day—a good three hours later than my usual wake-up time. Harlow was still at tennis, and Mom liked to sleep in and have breakfast brought to her in bed when Dad was away. He was more active, like Harlow, and usually dragged Mom out to the pool or for a walk in the mornings.
The house was silent as I made my way downstairs, yawning and enjoying the fact that no one was around to make me feel as if I had to cover my mouth.
The hour alone before Harlow got back from tennis was the only peace I had all weekend. Mom got up not long after, just as Dad returned from his work trip and insisted on a family lunch.
I spent Saturday night at Amaya’s with the girls. We stayed up late, watched movies, gossiped—and discussed the Hendrix topic ad nauseam.
“God.” Amaya groaned, letting her phone drop to the couch next to her. “That is the sixth text I’ve gotten from a basic bitch fishing for info on the new guy. Do your own damn research!”
I chuckled and ran my hands through the ridiculously soft faux fur of the cushion in my lap. Mena and Harlow were throwing bits of popcorn at each other, trying to catch them with their mouths between fits of giggles, and only half paying attention.
“No boy talk!” Harlow yelled, then launched herself to the side to try to catch a kernel.
Mena laughed so hard she had to wipe tears away before she could speak. “I don’t get why everyone’s obsessed with him. He’s just a guy.”
“Because we go to school with a bunch of thirsty bitches,” Amaya deadpanned.
I laughed. She wasn’t wrong. People were fascinated because he was a shiny new toy, but he’d made it perfectly clear he didn’t want to be played with. We may as well give him what he wants . . .
“Reply to them.” I gestured at Amaya’s phone, and she picked it up.
“What should I say?”
“Just write . . . Hendrix who?” I grinned. “And nothing else.”
Amaya nodded, already typing. “Brutal.”
I spent most of Sunday doing homework, and on Monday, while most people were dragging their feet into school, I marched in with a faint smile. Every time something annoyed or frustrated me, I’d remember the loud music thrumming in my chest, the smell of beer and sweat and cheap perfume, the feeling of eyes on me as I danced like a stripper. Shady must’ve been in one of his moods, because I ended up not finding a guy to have dirty sex with, but it was still a fun night—exactly the break and distraction I’d needed.
With the help of a few depraved texts from Shady, my Davey’s high lasted well past the weekend, and I was still feeling loose as I pulled into the school parking lot on Tuesday morning.
“What the fuck?” Amaya growled. She’d spotted the Tesla in my spot the same time I did. I came to a stop and gripped the steering wheel, taking a deep breath.
; “Whose car is that?” Harlow leaned between the front seats.
Everyone at Fulton knew not to park in that spot—everyone except one infuriating new asshole.
“I’ll give you three guesses.” My buzz was wearing off, and I hadn’t even stepped foot into the school yet.
“We’ll just have to park somewhere else today.” Mena squeezed my shoulder. “It’s no biggie.”
She didn’t get it. It may have been just a parking spot to everyone else, but I knew how these things worked. If I gave them a parking spot crumb, those vultures would devour my whole carcass—scrape my dignity, influence, and power from me strip by bloody strip. I had to remain in control.
“You guys go ahead. I’ll drive to the back of the lot and look for a spot.”
“No way, girl. We stick together,” Amaya protested immediately, but Harlow was already undoing her belt.
“I can’t get another late mark. Sorry, sis!” She sounded genuinely sorry but also a little satisfied at my ire—little sisters.
“I’ll walk with you,” Mena said to me.
I checked the time and shook my head. “Thanks, girls, but there’s no sense in us all being late. Get your fine asses out of my car.”
I flashed them a smile to show I really didn’t mind, and they got out, rushing for the front doors. There were hardly any students still outside. I had five minutes to find a spot and get to my first class.
Just as I was about to take off, the door to the Tesla opened, and Hendrix fucking Hawthorn stepped out, completely unhurried and unfazed.
I quickly put my car in neutral and pulled the parking brake, then got out too. If I had to be late, so would he.
“Hendrix.” I raised my voice, letting the edge cut into the single word.
He looked over his shoulder and rolled his eyes. “What now? I’m gonna be late.”
“You’re in my spot.” I folded my arms and glared, showing him exactly how pissed I was.
Like You Hurt: A Standalone Enemies to Lovers Romance (Devilbend Dynasty Book 2) Page 2
