Hateful Bully (Bad Bullies Book Two): A Dark Step Brother Bully Romance

by Logan Fox

  Halfway there, he yells out, “Stop taking everything so fucking seriously, Jo!”

  During a break, I’m at the cooler splashing ice water over my head when I notice a few of the guys on the team huddling up on the sidelines again.

  They start laughing, a few of them slapping the others on their backs. Alex stands among them, and he happens to look my way. His grin fades a little before brightening. Then he lifts his palms up and parodies a reluctant shrug.

  What you gonna do?

  My gaze flashes to the bleachers.

  Sean is halfway up, and he’s making a beeline for Candy’s row.

  The cup crumples in my fist. Icy water pours over my hand, and I absently drop my cup to the grass.

  I want nothing more than to race after him and bash his fucking face against the concrete until it looks like chopped liver.

  But that doesn’t make any sense. Like Alex said, Candy is nothing to me. We’re not related. The only thing binding us is some pathetic scrap of paper our parents signed.

  Have my dick down her throat by nine tonight.

  Candy gives Sean a double-take when she realizes he’s headed for her, and then looks around as if she’s expecting to see someone else sitting close by.

  Come to think about it, I haven’t seen her around anyone. I knew she was a snob, but I’d thought she’d have found her crowd by now.

  My chest tightens, and it’s not with anger. Fuck, I can’t believe I actually feel sorry for her. I bet she does this all on purpose. Makes herself seem aloof and shit. Bet she’ll have Bettie fucking Monroe eating out of her hand before the week’s out.

  Sean stops beside her and hikes his cleat onto the concrete row she’s perched on.

  As if she’s stupid enough not to realize that the massive bulge by his dick is a cup. Fuck, maybe she doesn’t, because suddenly Candy doesn’t know where to look.

  A hand clasps my arm. I swing around to face Alex, and realize I’m not next to the water cooler anymore.

  “Dude, just chill, would you?” he says, shoving at me. “Sean’s a lady killer, but, and no offense, your sister is kind of a bitch.”

  “Stepsister,” I say, but my heart isn’t in it.

  Sean’s a good-looking dude, and he’s one of the guys on the team with the most notches on his belt, but I guess even he doesn’t stand a chance against—

  Candy puts a hand over her mouth and ducks forward, laughing. Sean leans a little closer, one hand dangling from his upraised knee, the other describing something like a farmer talking about his crops. Wide, expansive gestures. Candy now has both hands over her mouth, and she’s shaking her head.

  No, he didn’t.

  Oh, you should have seen him, hot stuff. So, listen…

  Sean comes to sit next to her, leaning close enough that their shoulders brush. Candy doesn’t lean away. In fact, she ducks her head so her hair hides her face. Her hands hover, then she nods and takes out her cellphone.

  Christ, she’s an alcoholic and a slut. I’m one lucky, lucky guy.

  “Where the fuck is Sean?” Coach yells from a few yards away.

  “He’ll be here in a sec,” Alex says and trots away.

  Yeah, soon as he’s done banging my sister.

  I grimace, turning away from bleachers and heading for the huddle of football players.

  Stepsister.

  I manage a whole thirty seconds of silence on the car ride home.

  “Why’d you give him your number?”

  Candy squirms. She’s been sitting still as a porcelain doll next to me the entire time we’ve been driving, as if any sudden movements would set me off. “I didn’t.”

  “I know what I saw.”

  “You think you do, but you don’t.” She crosses her arms over her chest and shrugs her shoulders. “And so what if I did? What does it matter to you, anyway?”

  I check my left and then make a smooth turn out of Fifth Street and onto the main road that takes us to the quiet suburbia of home.

  “You ever stop to wonder why I’m not dating anyone?”

  Candy snorts. “Because no one in existence could be that masochistic?”

  My expression turns deadpan. “Dad—” I cut off with a grunt. “My father forbids it.” I catch her eye for a second as I check my right for traffic before switching lanes. “It’s a distraction.”

  “Forbids it?” she repeats, a laugh in her voice. “He didn’t say anything to me.”

  “He assumes his kids are psychic.” My jaw tightens when I realize I kind of included her in that statement, but I guess I can’t keep denying the fact much longer. “So you might as well ignore Sean, and everything else with a dick, until you’ve graduated.”

  “What about college,” she asks airily, her nose rising an inch into the air. “Can I date then?”

  I shrug. “Guess we’ll have to see when we get there.”

  She makes an angry sound and turns to stare out the window. “I didn’t give him my number,” she says. “I don’t…I didn’t like the thought that he could just call me up whenever.”

  Something floods through me, and I’m not sure if it’s relief. “Guess there’s something between those ears of yours after all.”

  She lets out a low, sardonic laugh. “You’re a fucking dick.”

  I shrug, letting her anger slide right off me. With a sniff, Candy rummages in her blazer. She crosses her legs, exposing an extra inch of her thigh and then tugging at the hem of her skirt like I’m a fucking lecher.

  She puts her cellphone to her ear, studies her neat fingernails, and says, “Hey, Sean?”

  A bolt of anger shoots through me. I slam on brakes so hard, she goes flying forward. If she hadn’t buckled up, she’d have a broken head right now. Instead, her seat belt snaps tight.

  Her phone disappears with a thud into her footwell. “What the hell?” she gasps, yanking at the belt digging into her chest. With a whip of her head that sends her dark hair flying, she glances into the road behind us. “You could have killed us!”

  “There was no one behind me,” I say calmly. Then, pointing to her cellphone where it lies between her feet, I add, “Pick it up. Delete his number.”

  “Fuck you!” she spits out and starts fumbling with the buckle of her seat belt. “Let me out!”

  “I have to drive you back home,” I say, my voice a dead monotone as I put the SUV into gear and pull off smoothly. “So that’s what I’m gonna do.”

  She punches my shoulder, then again. Again.

  I let her. Better she takes that frustration out on me than she lets Dad have it. I know for a fact he’d draw her over his lap and let her have his belt.

  He’s done it with me and Emma plenty.

  “Delete it, Candy.”

  “Go to hell.”

  Again, I slam on the brakes.

  Again, Candy jerks forward. This time, she lets out a strangled scream and redoubles her efforts to take off the belt.

  This time, she succeeds.

  But I lock the door before she can wrench it open. I have full control over the locks from the driver’s seat. She’d need a brick and a strong throwing arm to get out of here.

  Her hands are in fists, and she pummels them into me when I reach over and grab her phone from the footwell.

  But her phone’s locked, and it’s the kind that needs a pin or her fingerprint to unlock it.

  “Pin.”

  “Burn in hell.”

  “Pin.”

  She doesn’t reply.

  I grab a fistful of her hair and yank back her head. She lets out a flabbergasted gasp, grabbing my wrist, but as soon as I twist my hand, she freezes up. Her face contorts with pain, but it smooths out when I hold the phone in front of her.

  “Unlock it.”

  Her finger trembles when she lifts it, but she unlocks her phone without a fight. I release her hair, and she draws back from me, huddling in the corner like a kicked dog as I hunt through her contacts.

  There are surprisingly few o
f them, and most of them are girls and things like ‘bakery’ or ‘vet’.

  I delete Sean’s number. I have a strong urge to scan the rest of her phone, looking for other clues to who this stranger is that’s suddenly become such an integral part of my life, but then a car streams past me laying on its horn, and I toss the phone into her lap.

  “You’ll thank me later, darling,” I say.

  Chapter Nine

  Candy

  My heart is pounding so hard, it should be coming right out of my chest. I ease open my bedroom door and pad into the hallway on my socks, my sneakers dangling from my hands.

  I’m normally fast asleep by this time, but there’s so much adrenaline pumping through my veins, I’m literally vibrating. I pad down the hall and take the stairs one at a time, keeping as close to the wall as possible; I haven’t lived in this house long enough to know which of them squeak.

  I head through the kitchen and stop at the back door.

  The alarm panel is lit up like a damn Christmas tree.

  Breathe.

  I tap out the pin code to deactivate the alarm, expecting a wailing siren to explode into the hush of the sleeping house…but all that happens is that there’s a low beep, and the panel goes dark but for one light.

  Thank God.

  I pause on the doorstep to put on my sneakers and hurry across the lawn, heading for the gates.

  I don’t have a remote control, so I can’t open them, but that doesn’t mean I can’t get around them. Or, in this case, over them. It takes me a few minutes to climb over—I’m moving slowly, so I don’t fall or tear my clothes—and I breathe another heavy sigh of relief when I’m on the other side.

  I turn back to Bale Manor, staring at the sophisticatedly illuminated facade. I still remember seeing this mansion for the first time and wondering if I’d hit my head on the way over from the hovel Mom and I had been living in.

  Who’d have thought I’d be sneaking out of this palace of a house a few weeks after I’d moved in?

  I let out a low laugh as I start down the dark street.

  Josiah Bale, that’s who. At least, that’s probably what he likes to think.

  Dad assumes we’re psychic.

  Bet you didn’t see this coming, asshole.

  Gees, I thought my heart had been beating hard before…now?

  “You look nervous,” Sean says, letting out a rough laugh as he takes the corner.

  I don’t like the way this guy drives. Josiah might be a first-class douche bag, but I’ve never felt safer with someone in a car. And that was while he was pushing the speed limit trying to get us to school on time. This Sean guy? He drives like he’s got a terminal illness.

  Who the hell buys their kid a Camaro anyway? I guess his parents don’t think he has a reason to live either.

  “You’re going really fast,” I manage, trying not to sound as if I’m about to wet myself.

  “We got the road to ourselves,” he says as if that’s an excuse.

  “Are we there yet?”

  “Almost,” he says, grinning at me instead of watching the road.

  I look away, facing forward and gripping my seat belt like a lifeline. Hell, for all I know, it’ll be the only thing between me and violent death tonight.

  You know, I take back what I said. I had trusted Josiah’s driving skills until he’d almost killed me earlier today. Until he’d grabbed my hair and forced me to delete Sean’s number.

  Luckily, one of the girls in my English Lit class gave me her number if I needed notes to catch up on the syllabus. And, surprisingly—or, maybe not—she had Sean’s number.

  It had been an awkward phone call, but so worth it.

  “You got a headache or something?” Sean asks. I tug away my hand, only now realizing I was rubbing my scalp.

  “I’m fine.”

  Sean indicates and pulls into a driveway. Several cars line the street outside, with more behind the wrought iron gates barring our way.

  I grit my teeth and turn the grimace into a smile when Sean looks my way. Suddenly, I’m not so sure this is worth it.

  Worth what? Pissing off Josiah? My stepfather?

  I can’t answer that question any more than I can explain why I took Sean’s number. Any more than I can explain why I decided to go out with him tonight.

  “Lighten up,” he says, nudging my thigh with a knuckle. “You act like you’ve never been to a party before.”

  I’ve been to parties before. Of course I have. But not the kind where alcohol and weed are in such abundance, or with crazy-suggestive hip hop music blaring on the sound system. And it seems all the kids are either making out, playing beer pong, or have already passed out in a pool of their own vomit.

  Sean drinks it in like he’s come home while my eyes start watering from the cigarette smoke stinging them.

  “Wanna drink?”

  I should say no—hell, I’d promised myself this morning I’d stop drinking—but all it takes is one condescending glance from a girl who looks like she’s probably the head cheerleader or something before my resolve crumbles.

  “Yeah, thanks.”

  “Whatcha like?”

  I scan the dizzying array of bottles clustered on the kitchen’s granite countertop, looking for something familiar. I spot a dark brown bottle near the end, and my mouth starts to water.

  Candy, no.

  Screw you, Josiah.

  I smile and point at the bottle of Irish cream. Sean nods and goes over to pour me a glass while I wait and try not to look like a total loser.

  He comes back and hands me a plastic cup, bumping his against mine. I turn my grimace into a faint smile and take a sip. Sure doesn’t feel the same, drinking it from a plastic cup. Doesn’t taste the same either, but in a good way. For some reason, this one’s sweeter. Maybe it’s because I just brushed my teeth. I take another sip, then a gulp, willing it to get on and do its job.

  “Hey, there’s something I wanna show you,” Sean says.

  He leans over and grasps my hand, lacing his fingers between mine. A thrill chases up my arm, and I drop my eyes before I can start blushing like a damn kid who’s never even been kissed.

  I haven’t. Been kissed that is. But I’ll be damned if anyone will ever find out. Dating isn’t exactly a top priority if you’re trying to keep your mother from OD’ing while keeping whoever she’s sleeping with at the time from throwing you out of the house.

  Also, no one wants to date the kid wearing old, stained clothes to school, who can’t even afford a textbook.

  Thankfully, that all changed since Mom met Mr. Bale. My clothes are new and clean and fit properly. I’m wearing a new bra that I didn’t have to wash in the school basin. I still haven’t gotten the hang of wearing makeup and stuff like that, but my hair is sleek and shiny from using a hair straightener, and I even spritzed on some perfume before I left home.

  A shopping spree was the first thing on Mom’s list after we moved into Bale Manor, and Wayne was kind enough to let her use his credit card.

  I don’t think I’ve ever seen my mom happier—eating ice cream as we shopped at the mall and came home with bags and bags of stuff.

  I should feel like a million bucks. Instead, my perfume smells too strong, my hair keeps falling in my face, and my new bra’s intent on chafing off my nipples.

  Knew I shouldn’t have gone with the lace one. It sure looks pretty, but I may as well have duct-taped pot scourers to my chest.

  Sean leads me to a wide staircase. Kids gather on the steps, leaning against the wall or the railing, and we have to weave through them to get to the top.

  It might be my imagination, but I swear conversation dies down as we pass. There’s even the odd murmur that sounds as if it’s directed at me.

  “…Getting laid…”

  “…Bale’s sister…”

  “…Get her hair so…”

  “…Like thirteen?”

  My cheeks grow hot. I do my best to ignore the rest of the comments, focus
ing instead on Sean’s back. He’s wearing a t-shirt that struggles to contain his wide shoulders. Whether it was intentional or just because he might not always find clothes in his size, heaven knows.

  The hand holding mine is warm and strong and slightly rough.

  Can I pull away? Would he let me?

  Not that I want to. Despite the whispers, Sean’s only just met me. There’s no way he’s expecting us to bang, right?

  As we reach the top of the staircase, a girl to my right puts a hand over her mouth and snickers.

  Shit.

  “Uh, can I—” I pull back on Sean’s hand. “Where’s the bathroom?”

  He glances at me over his shoulder. There’s a moment where I’m convinced he won’t release me, but then he grins and uses his chin to point down the hall. His hand opens, and I hurriedly take mine out of his before he can change his mind.

  “Meet me in the game room when you’re done,” he says, tipping his cup against his mouth as he carries on down the hall.

  The game room?

  There’s another giggle behind me. The sound chases me to the first door on the left. The light is on inside, and the door swings open to reveal a neat, bright bathroom. I close it behind me and stare at the empty keyhole.

  No key.

  Anyone can come in.

  Well, it wasn’t as if I was actually going to pee. I just need to get my head straight. I walk over to the basin, set down my cup, and glare at my reflection for a moment.

  You’re being a dick.

  I grimace at myself.

  Your first real house party and this is how you behave? Oh my God, why would I want to go make out with a football player? Dear Lordie, my soul shall surely burn in eternal hellfire.

  I stand straight, push back my shoulders, and take up my cup.

  You know what? Next time, I will put on makeup. Dark eyeliner like I saw the girls on the stairs wearing. Lip gloss. Several layers of mascara. Hell, I might even go so far as to stick on false lashes. I smile and take a sip from my cup. Then another. Another.