Like You Hurt: A Standalone Enemies to Lovers Romance (Devilbend Dynasty Book 2)

by Kaydence Snow

  “I don’t know,” I gritted out, reminding myself he’d done me a solid and I should cut him at least a little slack. “But that’s not really any of your concern, is it?”

  “Jesus.” He rolled his eyes. “Why do you have to be so fucking defensive all the time? I’m just trying to look out for you.”

  “Why? Why do you give a shit? I’m nothing to you. We’re nothing. I appreciate what you did last night, I really do, but that doesn’t give you an automatic right to have an opinion regarding my life.”

  I got out of the car, my purse and heels clutched to my chest, not even caring that I was barefoot in a parking lot probably covered in needles.

  “Thanks for the ride.” I tried to say it in a neutral tone, but I was so riled up and raw from everything that it came out sounding sarcastic. Frustrated with myself, and the entire situation, I slammed the door shut.

  His tires threw up dirt and gravel as he peeled out of the parking lot and disappeared.

  Good. I didn’t need anyone else trying to control my life. I had enough of that from society, from my parents, from my own damn self.

  I hobbled to my car, scrambled into it quickly, and locked the doors. It felt as if someone was watching me. I knew it was just paranoia, but it still made my heart hammer in my chest and my hands shake a little as I reached for the ignition.

  I’d wanted a thrill when I started coming to Davey’s, an adrenaline rush. But I never wanted this.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Hendrix

  I drove straight home, grinding my teeth and intentionally speeding—something I hadn’t done since I’d left New York. I knew it was stupid, reckless, could send me right back there. But nothing else seemed to ease this infuriating pressure in my head, the incessant need to do something thrumming through my body.

  I’d stuck exactly to the limit on the way there, unwilling to put Donna in any unnecessary danger—she did that plenty herself. But I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t also to get more time with her.

  She smelled like my shampoo, and her delicate, warm body was so close, drowning me in her scent mixed with mine. I wanted to pull over at least six times and just hold her, but I resisted. She would’ve kneed me in the balls and taken off with my car, and I wouldn’t have blamed her. Not after what she’d just gone through.

  That girl was spiraling. I didn’t really know what her deal was, hadn’t figured her out completely yet, but she’d been sloppy. Donna Mead was many things, but she was not sloppy. It had been desperation driving her, and she’d let her guard down.

  Was it me? Maybe my presence had distracted her. No, fuck that! I wasn’t about to blame myself for some despicable shit a couple of lowlifes pulled.

  I just wanted her to stop going there before she got raped, murdered, or kidnapped into human trafficking. I’d carried her lifeless body out of there the night before. Excuse me for being concerned.

  But no, all she saw was me sticking my nose into her business. God, she was fucking infuriating. Least of all because I wanted to not care. I wanted to call her a bitch, say I didn’t give a shit what she did with her life, and actually mean it.

  Lost in my rage-filled thoughts, I nearly shot past Aunt Hannah’s house before slamming on the brakes and skidding to a stop.

  Gripping the steering wheel so hard I felt as if it might snap in half, I forced a few deep breaths down my throat. When that didn’t fucking work, I growled and got out of the car. Maybe blowing some shit up on a big screen would distract me.

  I barreled into the house and slumped onto the couch, but instead of reaching for the remote, I found myself just clenching my fists repeatedly, thinking about how fucking helpless she’d looked passed out in my bed all night.

  “Hey.”

  I shot to my feet at my aunt’s casual greeting, every muscle in my body tense.

  “Whoa.” Her eyes widened in surprise, her OJ halfway to her mouth as she leaned against the wall. “Sorry to interrupt your intense scowling session there. You all right?”

  “Shit.” I ran my hands through my hair for about the millionth time in the past twenty-four hours. I was going to go bald at this rate. “Sorry. I . . . you just startled me. I’m fine.” I forced a smile that felt fake to its core and lowered myself back to the couch. “I thought you were spending the day with Robbie.”

  “He got called into work, so I came home.” She made her way over to sit down, took a sip of her juice, and looked at me expectantly.

  “What?” I tried, and failed, to keep the irritation out of my tone.

  “We had a deal, Hendrix. You come to me if you’re in any kind of trouble. You’re clearly not fine. Start talking, kid.”

  “I’m not a kid,” I argued childishly.

  “Then act like it and tell me what’s going on.”

  Damn her and her logic. “Look, I’m not in any kind of trouble, OK? I promise. I’m sticking to our deal.”

  “Yeah, well, the deal included emotional and existential trouble, so . . .” She gestured for me to start talking.

  I gave her a withering look. “I don’t remember agreeing to that.”

  “Should’ve read the fine print.” She took another sip of OJ. “Spill.”

  Her banter was a good distraction for about two minutes, but the restless, tight feeling in my body just wouldn’t leave. Maybe talking about it would help. And my aunt was literally the only person I felt I could trust right now.

  “I don’t really know where to start.”

  “How about at the end?”

  I laughed despite myself. “Usually people say start at the beginning.”

  “Yeah, but fuck them. Tell me where you just came from. Obviously it has something to do with this. Then we can work backward.”

  How the hell was I supposed to tell her I’d just come from dropping off a drugged girl at the seediest bar in the state? Hannah was cool, but even she wasn’t that cool. Not to mention this wasn’t technically even my problem.

  “I . . . look . . . it’s not really my story to tell. When I said I wasn’t in trouble, I wasn’t lying.”

  “But someone else is?”

  “Not yet, but she will be if she keeps going like she is. But the fucked-up thing is that when you asked that, my first instinct was to say, ‘Not if I have anything to do with it.’”

  “Are you romantically involved with this girl?”

  I snorted. “Trust me, there’s been no romance.” There’d been heat, sexual release, a pull damn near impossible to resist, plenty of hurtful words, but no romance . . .

  “OK, so then why do you care so much?”

  “I don’t know!” I pulled at my hair again. “That’s a big part of the problem. I wanted to just come here, keep my head down, get good grades, and finish high school before figuring out how to make my life mean something after what I did. I didn’t even want to make friends. I don’t want anything to do with this. But every time I see her . . . doing some stupid shit, I just want to shake her. I see that desperate, caged-animal look in her eyes, and I know exactly how she feels, even if I don’t really know her at all. Because I used to feel like that. I used to have that look in my eyes.”

  “You want to save her from making your mistakes.”

  I paused, thought about it. “Yes.”

  “You can’t save people who don’t want to be saved, Hendrix.” She got a knowing, almost faraway look in her eyes, and I had a feeling she was talking about more than just my current situation.

  “That’s just it though. I think she does. She just won’t admit it. And then she makes me feel like shit when I try to be there for her.”

  “Does she know? About . . .”

  “No.” I shook my head. “No one knows, and I’d like to keep it that way.”

  “Fair enough. But I think you should talk to her. In a real way. Try to explain where you’re coming from. Lay it all out, and then you have to be OK with what she does with that. You can’t force someone to accept your help, but you can say yo
ur piece and move on knowing you did all you could.”

  “She won’t talk to me.” I slumped against the back of the couch.

  “Make her.” She shrugged. “You’re a big strong man.”

  “I thought I was a kid.”

  “Clearly, I was mistaken.”

  “Did you just advise me to manhandle an innocent young girl?”

  “I did no such thing. A man knows how to make someone hear him without resorting to violence or childish yelling.” She gave me a pointed look.

  I sighed and stared at the ceiling. She was right. I had to make her listen. This churning, unsettling feeling in my gut wouldn’t go away until I did.

  I got to my feet. “OK. I’ll be back.”

  “Now?” Hannah bugged her eyes out.

  “No time like the present. Life’s too short. Carpe diem, et cetera, et cetera.”

  I grabbed my keys and waved over my shoulder as I headed right back to my car.

  It took less than ten minutes to drive to her house. The big black metal gates were open wide, her ostentatious driveway curving up and around a bend. The top of the house was just visible in the distance.

  I slowed down, nearly came to a stop . . . then pushed down on the accelerator and drove off again, swearing under my breath. I’d driven over here determined to make her listen, but with no idea what I wanted to say.

  After pulling over around the corner, I pinched the bridge of my nose. What exactly did I want to tell her? I definitely didn’t want to detail my whole sordid past. I wasn’t ready to talk to anyone about that, let alone the girl who’d managed to get under my skin more than anyone ever had.

  Nearly half an hour went by as my mind wandered off on tangents, the same frustrations looping around and around, half-finished sentences floating past. None of it felt right.

  I was getting nowhere.

  “Fuck it.” I started the car.

  Driving around the block took almost as long as it had taken me to drive there in the first place, as the properties in the area were massive. I pulled into the driveway and made slow progress up the hill, then parked away from the imposing front doors, on the other side of the fountain.

  No way was I going to slink up to that front door looking timid and unsure, so I squared my shoulders, ran a hand through my hair—again—and walked up the stairs steadily and confidently.

  I rang the doorbell and resisted the urge to fidget as I waited.

  Donna’s mom pulled the door open—there was no way the petite blonde in three-quarter yoga pants and a loose shirt was a servant. Plus, Donna and Harlow looked like her.

  “Hello.” She gave me a friendly smile, a hint of curiosity in her gaze. “How can I help you?”

  This wasn’t my first time introducing myself to rich, proper people or to the parents of a girl I wanted to speak to. I’d had more privileged pussy than I could count—way more practice at this than I cared to admit.

  I pulled my Ray-Bans off and flashed her a grin. “Good afternoon, ma’am. I’m so sorry to bother you during the holidays. Please accept my apologies for showing up unannounced. If it wouldn’t be too much trouble, I just need to speak with your daughter.”

  She watched me for a moment, amusement replacing the curiosity in her eyes. “Don’t you kids all have cell phones for that?” She was teasing me. I liked her. Is this where Donna got her quick wit?

  “Yes, we do, Mrs. Mead, but this is a conversation I’d prefer to have face to face.”

  “OK then.” She looked me up and down one more time. “I’m guessing you’re here to see Harlow?”

  The younger sister appeared at her mother’s side before I could respond, sliding over the highly polished marble in knee-high socks and an oversized hoodie. “Did I hear my name?” She hip-bumped her mother, then looked at me, and her eyes widened. “Ooh! Wow! This should be good. I’ll get Donna.”

  She ran off as suddenly as she’d appeared.

  Mrs. Mead raised her eyebrows and cocked her head. “Donna?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” I nodded, pressing my lips together.

  “Come on in then.” She stepped to the side and waved me in.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Donna

  I’d just done up the clasp on my bra when Harlow barged into my room without knocking.

  “You’ll never guess who’s here.” She grinned, jumping up onto my bed like a deranged blonde gnome.

  “What? Who?” I pulled on a pair of baggy sweats and dug around in my wardrobe for an old hoodie I hadn’t worn in years.

  She waited until the damn thing was half over my head before dropping the news. “Hendrix Hawthorn.”

  “What?” The word was barked out, but the thick fabric muffled my voice. I scrambled to pull the garment on the rest of the way and caught Harlow’s ankle, sending her flopping down onto the bed. “What do you mean Hendrix is here? I’m not in the mood for pranks, Harls.”

  She shrugged, looking way too amused. “Don’t know what to tell ya, sis. He’s charming the yoga pants off Mom in the foyer as we speak. And he specifically asked for you.”

  “Fuck.” I released my sister and raced for the door, not even caring about my unbrushed, wet hair.

  As soon as I’d gotten back—just barely beating my parents home from their brunch—I’d taken another shower. The previous night had left me feeling dirty and off, not to mention I couldn’t stop smelling Hendrix’s fucking shampoo on myself. I’d had to drive home with my windows rolled down, the frigid air cooling my rage and washing the scent from my nose.

  After I thoroughly shampooed—twice—conditioned, and scrubbed every inch of myself, I’d been looking forward to putting on some warm clothing and taking a nap. Oblivion seemed like a really good idea.

  But no. Hendrix fucking Hawthorn had to ruin everything.

  What the hell was he thinking coming to my house? Was he really going to snitch on me to my family? Maybe I shouldn’t have been such a bitch to him when he dropped me off. I really didn’t need this shit right now.

  I rushed to the landing, then forced myself to slow down as I descended the stairs.

  There he stood, chatting to my mom in the same outfit from earlier, his T-shirt stretching over his broad shoulders.

  “Hello, Hendrix.” I kept my voice even and detached as I reached the bottom.

  “Hi, Donna.” He gave me a tight smile.

  “Hendrix tells me he goes to Fulton with you girls, but he seems to have expertly avoided mentioning what he’s doing here.” Mom chuckled, and Hendrix’s smile became more genuine.

  “Beats me.” I shrugged. “But please excuse us while I find out.”

  I pulled Harlow’s tennis shoes on—the only footwear by the door that Magda hadn’t collected yet—and stepped outside.

  “It was a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Mead,” Hendrix told my mother, and then I heard his footsteps follow me down the front stairs.

  When I reached the bottom, I turned on him and crossed my arms. “What are you doing here?” I demanded, keeping my voice low and my expression neutral in case someone was watching from the window.

  He stuffed his hands into his pockets. “I just came to talk.”

  “This couldn’t wait?”

  “Until school starts again? So you can keep avoiding me? Will there ever be a good time, Donna?”

  Movement in the corner of my eye caught my attention, and I looked over to see my mom and Harlow standing in the bay window, not even remotely hiding the fact that they were watching us.

  I rolled my eyes and took off. “Come on.”

  Hendrix grinned and waved at them before following me around the house all the way to the pool area.

  “OK, so talk.” I cocked a hip, squinting against the sunlight glaring off the pool. It was already giving me a headache.

  He huffed out a breath and ran a hand through his hair. Hints of auburn glinted under the direct sunlight, and I had the sudden urge to run my fingers through his dark hair too, see the colors shift
at my touch.

  “Look,” he said, “I don’t know why we keep ending up at each other’s throats, and I’m sorry for driving off on you earlier. I just want to talk to you about Davey’s.”

  I threw my head back and groaned. “Not this shit again.”

  “I don’t want to argue. Just, please, hear me out.”

  I gave him a look, not even trying to mask my displeasure. “Will you leave if I do?”

  He pressed his lips together and nodded, and I plonked down onto a lounger. Standing was starting to make me feel woozy again.

  Hendrix sat down across from me and leaned his elbows on his knees. “Why do you go there?”

  “Why do you care?”

  “You said you’d hear me out.”

  “Yeah. I never agreed to answer questions.”

  “For fuck’s sake, why do you have to be so difficult? I’m trying to help you.”

  “Why do you care?” I enunciated each word. I couldn’t figure him out, and it was pissing me off. “Are you into me or something? You wanna be my boyfriend? Is that it?”

  I was mocking him, but I also wasn’t ready to hear his answer to that question.

  I didn’t think I could stand it if he said yes; everything would change.

  I didn’t think I could stand it if he said no; nothing would change.

  Before he could answer, I barreled on. “Because this is never going to happen. And what’s more, I’m not interested in being with someone who thinks they can control me, tell me where I can and can’t go. My plan is to eventually settle down with William anyway.”

  “Will?” He looked somewhere between perplexed and disgusted. “That cardboard cutout of a guy? What could you possibly see in him? And what do you mean you plan to eventually settle down with him? This isn’t 1876. You’re either in love with the guy or you’re not.”

  “I didn’t ask for your opinion on my life choices, asshole! And I don’t have to explain jack shit to you.”

  He ignored that and kept picking apart what I’d said. “And I’m not trying to control you. I’m trying to understand you, maybe help you avoid making the same mistakes I did.”