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

by Kaydence Snow

  “What the actual fuck are you talking about?” I dropped my head into my hands. Usually I at least partly enjoyed the challenge of verbal sparring, but today, I was just exhausted, beaten down. All I wanted to do was go to sleep. “You can’t keep demanding to know deeply personal shit about me while not offering up any of your own, Hendrix.”

  He was silent for a long time. I just enjoyed the peace and quiet and watched a line of ants marching between the pavers near my feet.

  “I moved here from New York, where I was born and grew up.”

  I lifted my head to look at him. He was in the same position across from me, but he was looking out at the view beyond the pool now, squinting against the sun just as I had.

  “My parents are just as filthy rich and influential back home as yours are here,” he continued. “I went to the best, most exclusive school on the East Coast—the only place harder to get into than Fulton. And I ruled that place. I’m not saying that to talk myself up. You know exactly what I mean, because it’s the same position you’re in at Fulton. People look up to you, follow your lead, want to be your friend. You can ruin their lives if you really want to. That’s why I came to you at the very start—I knew if I wanted to be left alone, the quickest way to ensure it would be to piss you off.”

  He sighed and looked me dead in the eyes. “I know what it’s like to have all those eyes on you, because I had them. I know what kind of immense pressure you’re under, because I was. I may not know exactly what makes you crave the depravity and danger of Davey’s, but I know that look in your eye. The desperate one that tells me you’ll do anything to keep chasing that feeling you get. I had it too. Until I went too far. I did something . . . unforgiveable. Something that ruined everything. I just want to help you avoid it.”

  “What did you do?” I couldn’t help myself. I had to know.

  He winced and rubbed the back of his neck. “I can’t talk about it. I . . . I’m not sure if I can trust you with that. Yet.”

  “You know I could just find out, right? You’ve given me enough information to do some digging. It wouldn’t take much.”

  “I know. But I also know you like a challenge.” He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. And he was right, damn him. I wanted to hear it from his own lips.

  “Donna, I know you’re a strong, intelligent, independent woman.” I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling at the compliment. “I’m not trying to tell you what to do. But you know just as well as I do how dangerous Davey’s is. After what happened last night, that should be painfully obvious. It’s just not worth the risk anymore. Please stop going there.”

  He made good points, but it still felt as if he was telling me what to do, and I hated that beyond measure.

  “No.” I sat up and crossed my arms. “I’ve been going there for over a year. Last night was a first, and I won’t let it happen again.”

  “For the love of . . . just. Let’s try something else. Whenever you get the urge for some danger, just come to me. We’ll go speeding on highways, or I can take you to an abandoned warehouse and we can break shit if you need to let off steam.”

  I was shaking my head. He didn’t get it.

  “Is it the random hookups? If it’s sex you’re after, I’m more than willing—”

  “Don’t.” I pointed a warning finger in his face and got to my feet. “This conversation is over. You’ve said your piece. Now leave.”

  Motherfucker thought he was god’s gift to women and his dick would solve all my problems. The arrogance. Although . . . if he fucked with his dick as well as he had with his fingers . . . No! I cut that train of thought right off.

  He stood too, putting his Ray-Bans on. “If you continue to go to Davey’s, I will find out, and I’ll have to tell someone.”

  “Tell who? Who would even believe you?”

  “Your friends? Your family?” He shrugged. “I’ll just keep talking until someone takes it seriously. If you die and I did nothing when I knew you were going there . . . I can’t have that on my conscience, Donna.”

  “Oh, so this is about you and your conscience? Fuck you!”

  He started up the path back to the front of the house as I stared daggers at his back.

  “I’ll be watching you,” he called over his shoulder.

  I stuck both middle fingers up at him and gritted my teeth.

  Once he was out of view, I took the other path up to the house and let myself in through a back door. Hoping Harlow and Mom were still glued to the front window, watching Hendrix leave, I rushed up the back stairs and into my room. I’d just lock myself in there and refuse to speak to them until they dropped it.

  Mom was nowhere in sight, but Harlow and Amaya were perched cross-legged on my bed, looking at me with expectant expressions. As if it were fucking story time at the library and they were a couple of five-year-olds.

  I heaved a defeated sigh and shut the door, leaning back against it. “Hey, Amaya. What are you doing here?”

  “Harls texted me that you had an interesting visitor. I came right over.” She grinned.

  “And you didn’t think to invite Mena?” I gave my sister an exaggerated look of disappointment.

  She shrugged. “I did. She had to work. But demands a full blow-by-blow when she gets off.”

  “Blow-by-blow?” Amaya repeated, barely containing laughter.

  Mirth bubbled up inside me too, and my shoulders began to shake. “When she gets off?”

  All three of us burst into laughter. For the first time that morning, I felt a little better. They were being nosy and annoying, but at the end of the day, I knew they cared. They wanted the best for me, just as I wanted the best for them.

  “OK, that’s enough with the stalling.” Amaya wiped the tears from under her eyes and fixed me with a look. “Spill.”

  I dragged my feet across the room and flopped onto the bed, face-first. “I don’t wanna,” I mumbled into the soft comforter.

  Harlow kicked my hip. “Start talking or I’ll tell Mom and Dad what really happened that time I had to get stitches at the back of my head.”

  I turned my head to glare at her. “You wouldn’t.”

  “D, come on.” Amaya started running her fingers through my damp hair. It felt like heaven.

  “It’s not that big a deal, really. He’s just being annoying.” What the hell was I supposed to tell them? It all revolved around my trips to Davey’s, and I couldn’t tell them that. They’d make me stop going, or worse—try to go with me. I couldn’t put them in that kind of danger.

  “There had to be a damn good reason he came to our house,” Harlow argued. “This is more than just your usual mutual disdain for each other.”

  “Just admit you hooked up with him. We won’t judge you,” Amaya said matter-of-factly.

  I sat up. “What makes you think we hooked up?” Was it that obvious? Did other people know? God, I was completely losing my grip on reality.

  They both looked at me as if I were an idiot.

  “He came to your house.” Amaya started listing things off while Harlow helpfully ticked them off on her fingers. “He braved meeting your parents. You were spotted talking in the kitchen at Mena’s birthday.” I knew that moment of weakness would come back to bite me. “You were spotted talking at the Halloween party. You thought he was hot that day we saw him at the gym. He riles you up like literally no other person on the planet. Your sexual chemistry is ridiculous, like some fanfic level of heat.”

  “Are you guys running an investigation or something? I feel attacked.”

  “Why won’t you tell us?” For the first time, Harlow actually sounded a little hurt.

  I had to tell them something, and it could definitely not be about Davey’s or how spectacularly I was failing at everything lately—not until I fixed it. And we had hooked up; it wouldn’t even be a lie.

  “OK, fine, yes, Hendrix and I—” I didn’t even get to finish the sentence; their excited squeals and proclamations of “I knew it” cu
t me off as they completely lost their shit, started bouncing on the bed, then pounced on me.

  We ended up in a tangle, our heads at the foot of the bed.

  “When?” Harlow demanded.

  “Where?” Amaya added.

  In the back of a dirty alleyway at a seedy bar just after I nearly fucked some guy whose name I don’t even remember. “Um, a couple times. Once at school.”

  “At school?” they both yelled in unison.

  “Yeah. I gave him a blow job in Mr. Kirke’s office while everyone was in a staff meeting.” I covered my face with my hands and laughed.

  “Respect.” Amaya nodded.

  Harlow remained silent, a look of slight disgust on her face. “I don’t need all the gory details.”

  “Well, I do. Is he hung? I bet it’s huge. I can tell by how he walks.”

  “Oh my god, you’re ridiculous.” I laughed.

  “Eew!” Harlow reached over me to smack Amaya. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

  “I don’t know.” I sighed. “It’s not like it’s going anywhere. It’s not serious. It can’t be. And I have Will to consider.”

  “Fuck Will.” Amaya frowned. “Actually, don’t. He’s never been able to even make you come. I don’t know why you keep stringing that wet blanket along.”

  “I’m just trying to think about my future.”

  “Is that why Hendrix was here?” Harlow asked. “He wants more—in the future?”

  “Yeah. Kind of.” At the end, I was still a little confused about it all. Did he have feelings for me? Or was he just on some weird crusade to stop teenagers from doing reckless shit? Thinking about it was making me exhausted.

  “Can we please stop talking about it?” I pleaded. “I’m not really sure where we stand, and I don’t want to deal with it right now. I have a headache, and I just wanna take a nap.”

  “OK, fine.” Amaya sighed and got off the bed. “Movie tonight.”

  “That sounds great.” I meant it.

  “I’ll text Mena.” Harlow was already bent over her phone as she headed for the door.

  I breathed a sigh of relief that they hadn’t pushed for more info. I had to be careful, and I had to make sure Hendrix didn’t pull a stunt like that ever again.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Donna

  I forced myself to take the stairs one at a time instead of bounding up them in twos. The auditorium was bursting, almost every Fulton student and staff member packed into the state-of-the-art facility for an assembly.

  Ms. Perry, the headmistress, stood on the stage in a pale blue pantsuit, talking about Fulton Academy’s charitable endeavors over the Christmas break. Half the students had already tuned out or were surreptitiously playing on their phones.

  I was looking for one particular student.

  I’d seen him file in with the others just moments before my phone had vibrated in my pocket, and I’d waved the girls in ahead of me as I checked the notification. It was an email from Stanford.

  I’d read it, and immediately the walls started closing in.

  I had this inexplicable urge to just . . . move. Leave. Get in my car and drive away. But I didn’t think my shaky hands could steer effectively. And for some reason, my stupid brain couldn’t stop thinking about Hendrix and the way he’d argued, pleaded with me to let him help.

  I didn’t want his help. I didn’t need it . . . and yet I found myself slipping into the auditorium through a side door and scanning the blank, indifferent faces. They were so calm—bored even. Didn’t they know my heart was about to burst out of my rib cage?

  As I climbed, I checked each row for those broad shoulders, that messy hair, those sometimes cruel eyes that seemed to see me better than anyone else ever had.

  “Miss Mead,” Mr. Monroe hissed, a reproachful look in his bespectacled eyes. He was easily the hottest teacher at Fulton, but he was also the meanest. He had his hands clasped in front of him, one of several teachers standing throughout the auditorium to keep an eye on the students. “Take a seat. The headmistress is speaking.”

  “Sorry, sir. I’m looking for another student. I’ve just come from the office with an urgent message for him.” The lie rolled off my tongue so easily even I was impressed, especially considering the tempest raging inside me.

  He eyed me suspiciously for a moment, but I didn’t falter. I was student body president, a top student, liked and respected by students and staff. I never got in trouble. Finally, he nodded. “Make it quick.”

  We’d drawn the attention of several students nearby, their curious gazes looking for any distraction from the boring speeches below.

  My eyes finally locked with Hendrix’s. He was sitting a few rows from the top, three empty seats and two juniors between him and the stairs. I kept eye contact, unable to break it if I wanted to, letting the desperation enter my gaze. He frowned and shifted forward in his seat.

  I climbed farther up, watching him, begging him with my eyes.

  When he got to his feet and shuffled past the other students, my heart kicked up a notch, even as some of the pressure around it eased.

  I met him at the end of his row, gestured with a tip of my head for him to follow me, and kept climbing. His feet brushed against the carpet close behind mine, and the back of my neck tingled from his scrutinizing gaze.

  Dear Miss Donna Mead,

  Thank you for your application . . .

  My steps faltered, and Hendrix’s hand shot out to grip my upper arm, holding tightly. He released me as soon as I was steady, and I picked up my pace.

  At the top of the stairs, he followed me inside the projector room and shut the door behind us.

  I stood facing the dark room, finally allowing my chest to heave, my face to fall. This room had a professional digital projector for screenings of films the visual arts students made, as well as several bulky lights and a control panel for school plays and performances. An assembly didn’t require any of those bells and whistles though, so the space was empty and silent. A few people definitely would have seen us slip in, but I was sure none of the teachers had—one of them would’ve come through that door by now to demand what we were doing.

  “Donna.” His voice was low, cautious, but curious. “What are we doing in here?”

  We receive a large volume of applications each year, and as such are unable to offer a spot to most applicants . . .

  I squeezed my eyes shut, taking a steadying breath that didn’t steady me at all, then turned to place my hands on his chest.

  “I’m taking you up on your offer,” I whispered, hoping he mistook my heavy breathing for arousal and not the clawing panic inside me.

  The smooth muscle under my palms stiffened as he narrowed his eyes. Just touching him, being close enough to smell that heady male scent with a hint of cinnamon, was already making me feel more grounded. But why wasn’t he touching me back? I needed him to touch me.

  “What offer?” His voice had gone low too.

  “The one you made by the pool that day, when you demanded I stop going to Davey’s and asked if I went because I wanted to get laid.” I slid my hands up and over his shoulders, pressing my breasts against his front.

  “If I remember correctly, that was around the time you told me to get lost.” He was still refusing to touch me, but his breathing was getting heavier.

  I shrugged and dragged my nose up the side of his neck. “I changed my mind. I want to fuck.”

  His hands finally gripped my hips, his fingers digging in. “Yeah, well”—he licked his lips and swallowed—“I don’t.”

  “Liar.” I growled, then bit his earlobe.

  He hissed but didn’t back away.

  This game we played, this back and forth, was making me wet already. The anticipation was building, the adrenaline of an unlocked door and the entire school sitting on the other side only driving it higher. It was the perfect distraction from what I’d just learned.

  One arm banded around the middle of my back, making me arch agai
nst him. His other hand threaded into my hair, and then he was kissing me. Intensely. Forcefully. His tongue immediately demanding my mouth. It was exactly what I needed. Unlike when we argued, I didn’t have even a sliver of an urge to fight him. I wanted to give myself over completely and let him consume me until nothing else mattered.

  Too soon, he broke the kiss and lifted his head out of my reach. I opened my eyes, panting, and frowned. “What the fuck? Don’t stop.”

  He grabbed a fistful of my hair and pulled lightly until my head was tipped back, at his mercy. “What happened?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Stop being a pussy and fuck me.”

  He smirked, then dipped his head, took my bottom lip between his own, and sucked. Just as my eyes started to close in satisfaction, he bit—not enough to draw blood but enough to send a jolt of pleasure shooting through me. But before I could tell him to do it again, he was back to staring down at me, denying me.

  “Stop deflecting. I saw that look in your eyes, Donna. You looked like you’d seen a ghost—of a person you just murdered. Tell me what’s going on.”

  I rolled my eyes and returned my hands to his front. “It’s nothing. Seriously. Can we please just fuck before the assembly ends and someone comes in here?”

  Did I seriously just plead with a guy to fuck me? Ugh! Who the hell even was I anymore? I pushed the indignation down and loosened his tie, but I got only three buttons of his shirt undone—barely a peek at the strong, muscular chest underneath—before he put a stop to that.

  He wrenched my wrists away from his shirt, then pinned them both behind my back in one big hand. With my arms restrained behind me, my chest jutted forward. He stared at my tits and licked his lips. He wanted this. Why was he being so difficult?

  The hand not holding me captive wrapped loosely around my throat, and I had to stop myself from moaning. But he didn’t linger there. He dragged it down over my collarbones and to my left breast, then squeezed gently. His thumb brushed over my aching nipple, caressing it over the fabric.