Charming Devils: A Bully/Revenge Reverse Harem Romance

by Katie May

  Real witches are much more terrifying.

  The motor of Elias’s motorcycle revs as he crawls along beside me. Since he’s driving this time instead of walking, he’s forced to go slightly faster than I can walk. He’ll make it a few blocks ahead of me, stop, and then wait for me to catch up.

  After the tenth time, I blow out a raspberry and give him the side-eye. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

  His gorgeous mouth twitches, eyes sparkling with mirth behind the translucent helmet, almost as if he’s been waiting for me to say exactly that.

  Or…

  As if he was just waiting for me to acknowledge him.

  “Nope,” he says calmly, putting the bike into neutral and jumping to the side. He removes his helmet, shaking out his purple-highlighted hair, and begins to walk beside me.

  “This isn’t permission for you to join me,” I huff stubbornly, but his grin only broadens. Unlike Emmett and even Karsyn, he doesn’t have any dimples. However, his smile extends to his eyes, causing them to glow in the darkness. At this hour, the sun still hasn’t quite set, and dark, oppressive shadows sheath the entire neighborhood. The only saving grace is the street lamps lining the length of this street.

  I won’t admit this to anyone, let alone Elias, but his presence every morning serves as a comfort. I feel…protected. Safe. I don’t know if I would feel as comfortable walking to school at seven in the morning if he wasn’t beside me.

  But the mere thought of admitting that out loud sends cold fear trickling down my back, almost as if someone is squeezing out a sponge above my head.

  I shouldn’t feel comforted. I know that. Being with him is the equivalent of standing on a tightrope and having the rope suddenly cut. You don’t have enough time to grasp the building’s edge before you fall, fall, fall.

  Isn’t this just like before?

  He made me feel safe then, too.

  A memory sweeps through me before I can shove it beneath the proverbial rug.

  Elias’s kiss was like a soft spring rain. It feathered across your bare skin, but you weren’t cold. Instead, you wanted to open your arms wide and embrace the rain like you would a long-lost friend.

  “Attention, everyone!” Lucas called from the makeshift stage erected in the school’s gymnasium. “We have an important announcement.” Even with hundreds of kids pressing in on all sides, obscuring me from view, I could feel his eyes searing my skin. Somehow, someway, he found me in the crowd. “Can Peony Simone come up here, please?”

  I turned towards Elias hesitantly. He had apologized, but his friends? Not so much.

  Elias offered me a tentative smile that didn’t reach his eyes. Looking back, I should’ve seen that smile for what it was. I should’ve noticed the way it twitched ever so slightly, transforming it into a grimace.

  “Go,” he whispered with an assuring squeeze of my shoulder. “Maybe they want to apologize.”

  Apologize.

  The thought sent my heart into overdrive.

  All I had ever wanted was to be a part of their group. One of the Devils. And then they had begun their incessant bullying, destroying piece after piece of me until I feared there was nothing left.

  Until last week, when Elias stopped me in the hall and apologized profusely. There had been tears in his violet-tinted eyes as he begged for me to forgive him. He told me he always had feelings for me, and he was afraid of them. He didn’t think I was a freak or weird or any of the other derogatory terms they’d called me.

  I hadn’t believed him.

  But then the next day, he had sidled into a seat beside me during first hour. And at lunch, he offered me a bouquet of gorgeous peonies. Ignoring the weird looks he received from my other classmates, and the hostile ones from his fellow Devils, he’d befriended me, eventually inviting me to the end-of-the-year dance.

  It made me realize that maybe I never hated the Devils as much as I pretended to. After all, emotions were like a pendulum, swinging from hate to love in the blink of an eye. I’m not saying I was in love with the Devils or anything like that, but maybe I didn’t hate them. Maybe.

  “Are you sure?” I asked Elias, staring once more at the stage. Karsyn and Cassian had joined Lucas, and all three of them were staring intently at me, almost as if there was a spotlight I couldn’t see.

  Where were the teachers? Shouldn’t they say something?

  Hope was a fickle thing. When it faded, it left you feeling empty and bereft, as if you had nothing inside of you anymore. It constructed impenetrable walls around your heart that no one could remove, not even an army.

  Elias smiled tightly and nodded towards the stage.

  “Go.”

  I pull myself out of my memory, having not realized that I stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. Elias stands directly in front of me, worry clouding his features.

  “Peony? Are you okay?” he breathes, his hands warming my arms as they brush up and down and back again.

  But all I can see is his face at the dance, when he plunged his hand into my rib cage and grabbed what little of my heart remained. All of their torment, all of their cruel jokes…

  It all paled in comparison to what Elias did to me that night.

  “Why?” I whisper. I can’t hear anything over the erratic pounding of my heart.

  His brows crunch together in confusion.

  “Huh?”

  “Why me?” Tears well in my eyes before I can contain them, and I mentally curse myself for showing weakness.

  I can see the exact moment understanding dawns. A myriad of emotions crosses his face—pain, regret, anger, and then finally, guilt. So much guilt, even I’m choking on it.

  And then I realize why Elias has been following me to and from school. It’s not because he likes me or even cares about my wellbeing.

  It’s because he feels guilty.

  Uriel warned me that the Devils might have changed. He told me that they’d likely grown up and reformed.

  Elias wears his guilt the same way he dons his leather jacket. He doesn’t actually want to spend time with me, the freak. He just wants to alleviate his guilty conscience.

  “I need to go.” I practically shove him away and race down the sidewalk.

  “Peony!” he calls, but he doesn’t follow me.

  None of the Devils have ever physically hurt me, but they’re the ones responsible for every scar on my soul and each cut on my arms and thighs.

  Even now, years later, my skin tingles at the memory.

  Freak. Weirdo.

  Those words haunt me, just like the ghost taped to our school’s window.

  Mariabella and Emmett are waiting for me at my locker when I arrive. They take one look at my dour expression and then exchange anxious looks.

  “Peony? Are you okay?” Mariabella asks softly, like one would when cornering a rabid dog. But all I can hear in her voice is pity.

  Pity. Pity. Pity.

  Pity for the poor, broken soul who’s been through hell.

  I hate that simple word and the numerous connotations behind it. There’s an underlying assumption that a person wants to be pitied, wants to have people fret over them. And maybe that’s true for some, but it’s not true for me.

  I don’t want people to look at me like I’m some sort of victim.

  Mariabella nudges her elbow against my side and offers me a reassuring smile. I attempt to give her one in return, but I’m afraid mine comes across more as a grimace.

  When we arrive at our class, I’m still in an extremely sour mood. No amount of teasing from Emmett or compliments from Mariabella can pull me out of it. I slide into my desk feeling like complete and utter shit. Worse than shit. Like the gum that has gotten stuck to the bottom of your shoe. You go about your day normally, repeatedly stomping on and smearing it, until you realize you have a pesky tag along. Then you take a knife and you cut the gum from your sole, all the while grimacing in disgust.

  I’m that gum.

  I can tell the two of them are u
neasy around me, despite their best attempts not to show it. Emmett continues his relentless flirting, and I try my best to smile. I honestly do. But it almost seems as if the muscles around my lips are incapable of working. Instead, they sag downwards.

  Lucas arrives then and moves to sit in the seat in front of me once more. Like always, he’s wearing a form-fitting sweater that clings to his muscular but lithe form. His red hair is slicked away from his cold, critical face. He spins around in his chair until he’s facing me, his sea-blue eyes meeting my own until I hastily look away. I don’t want any of the Devils to see me like this. I’m afraid they’ll see too much, see the demons I wish to remain hidden.

  His red brows scrunch together, and something akin to concern flitters across his face. He opens his mouth before snapping it closed, the concern diminishing like it was never been there to begin with.

  “I want to take you out.”

  Mariabella sucks in a breath in the seat beside me, and I wrench my attention off of Lucas to meet Emmett’s imploring gaze. He’s smiling, displaying those mouth-watering dimples, but his hand anxiously twists his pencil through his fingers. I watch, mesmerized, as the silence turns pregnant and pronounced.

  “What?” I finally pterodactyl-screech.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I watch Lucas stiffen ever so slightly. It’s so miniscule that I almost think I imagine it.

  “I want to go out with you, Peony Simone,” Emmett declares without preamble, using the hand currently not destroying the pencil to run through his blond hair. “I think you’re sweet, funny, sexy as hell, and I want to go on a date with you. Tonight.”

  “Oh my god!” Mariabella gasps, and I can’t tell from her tone if she’s excited for me or upset.

  “I…um…” Almost unwittingly, my eyes flicker to Lucas’s face. As usual, it’s carved from stone, giving no hint of what he feels. But his eyes tell an entirely different story.

  They seem to burn like a blistering hot flame.

  He’s positively livid, and the thought sends a surge of something through me. Satisfaction? Contentment? Something else entirely?

  Either way, it’s not Emmett’s face I picture when I reply, “Yes. I’d love to.”

  Chapter 23

  He corners me the second first hour ends. His huge body seems to block me in from all sides as he towers over me, eyes spewing vitriol and something I would almost describe as jealousy.

  “Tell him no.” His words are as monotone as everything else in his life, devoid of any inflection or emotion. He could’ve been reciting something as mundane as the newspaper. But that same fire flashing in his eyes from class remains as he glares down at me.

  “I don’t think I will,” I huff, purposely giving him my back as I change out my books in my locker. Lucas releases a disgruntled huff, standing so close that his hot breath stirs the hair by my ear. Goosebumps ripple across my flesh, and I try to quell my body’s automatic, visceral reaction to his nearness.

  “You don’t want to go on a date with him,” Lucas continues as I slam my locker shut and stride briskly towards the staircase. I know that his next class is on the opposite side of campus, but despite that, he follows me into the stairwell.

  “Don’t tell me what to fucking do,” I hiss, whirling on him. Instantly, I become lost in his ice-blue eyes. Not in the “I’m so captivated by your beauty” way. Something about Lucas seems to innately command my attention. I think it’s the power he exudes in seemingly tangible waves. You could never mistake him for anything less than the predator in this situation.

  But I refuse to be his prey.

  Maybe this is the moment when two lions meet in the middle of a jungle, and a fierce battle ensues. Only one of us will emerge victorious. Sooner or later, either Lucas or I will have to submit and bow down willingly to the other.

  And it’s not going to be me.

  A few last-minute stragglers shove us apart as they hurry up the stairs, the bell ringing overhead, but we continue our standoff. His chest rises and falls with every consecutive second, and my attention can’t help but drop there. Some demented part of me, a part that I hate more than anything else, wants to place my palm directly over his heart and feel if it’s beating as rapidly as my own. That same part wants to run my fingers across the smooth planes of his chest and stomach, memorizing his muscles through touch alone. Would he have scars? I imagine not. Lucas seems too…perfect for something like that. Too ethereal.

  “Tell him no.” Lucas’s cold voice drags me out of my wistful fantasies, reminding me of what, exactly, we’re fighting about.

  “Why the fuck would I do that?”

  Lucas doesn’t answer; he simply takes a step closer. I have to crane my head back to maintain eye contact.

  His hand moves to touch a strand of my white hair, pulling it between his fingers. I scowl, attempting to pull my head away, but he doesn’t let go of my hair.

  “When you got hurt at the football game…” Lucas trails off.

  “What?” I ask dryly when he doesn’t continue. “Did you forget what you were going to fucking say? It’s a good thing you’re pretty, you fucking prick, because you don’t have a lot else going for you.” I rap my knuckles against the side of his head, and his scowl deepens.

  “Such a bad girl. Such a filthy mouth.” He takes a step even closer until my heaving chest touches his muscular one. “Do you know what I want to do when you sass me like that?”

  “Lock me in my locker?” I hold up my hand and begin to tick off the various offenses. “Pour tomato sauce on my hair? Cut my hair? Call me a freak? A weirdo? Torture me in gym class? Trip me in the halls? Oh wait, you’ve already done all of that!”

  “You hate me,” he says simply. It’s not a question, but I take it as one.

  “I fucking despise you,” I seethe, allowing all of my loathing to spew from my lips like a sickly poison. “I hate you and everything you stand for. How can you stand here and think that you have the right to tell me what to do? How can you stand here at all, after what you did to me?”

  “Peony.” His voice is harsh, a warning, but I continue on.

  “I want you to bleed, Lucas Scott. I want you to burn at the stake the way you made me burn.”

  “I’m not a good guy, Peony,” Lucas says gravely, and I see in his eyes that he’s thinking about all of the things he’s done to me. All of the things he will continue to do. I truly believe there’s something irreparably broken inside of him. Something dark and twisted and laden with shadows. Maybe that’s why he’s so obsessed with breaking me—he’s already fundamentally broken himself. A man like him can never love, can never find true happiness. In ten years, he’s going to end up in rehab or dead. That need for control…

  It’s going to kill him.

  And while one part of me wants to dance on his grave, another twisted part of me rebels. Screams. Cries. Her agony is almost palpable.

  “You’ll never forgive me,” he continues on, and this time, his voice is high-pitched in wonder, as if the thought that I could hate him forever never crossed his mind. Those eyes of his become guarded, almost cautious, as they narrow on me. “Even though that was five years ago.”

  “You don’t just forget about years of torture,” I hiss.

  “I’ve never forgotten.”

  “What?”

  His voice is quiet, a breath in the wind. “I never forgot you, Peony. I never stopped thinking about you.”

  “And you won’t forget me.” I stand up on my tiptoes so our faces are mere centimeters apart. “I’ll make sure of that, Lucas Scott. I can’t—”

  His lips collide with mine before I can even finish my sentence. Before I can even catch my bearings. Before I can even blink. His lips feel softer than I would’ve thought, lighting up everything inside of me like a wildfire. A tiny voice, almost muffled, sighs in contentment, as my body arches towards him like a flower seeking sunlight.

  I want to run my fingers through his dark red hair until the strands stick in
all directions. And then when he leaves this spot, I’ll be on his arm, a queen to his king. Everyone will then know who’s responsible for his disheveled state, and a surge of possessiveness cascades through me.

  The taste of mint invades my mouth as my lips part instinctively, granting his tongue entrance. I feel my hands move to his chest and clench his shirt, squeezing the fabric as he makes a low, dangerous noise in the back of his throat. His massive frame pins my much smaller one against the wall, and I’ve never felt more petite. He holds so much power in his lithe, muscular frame. So much anger and energy. He could snap my neck as easily as he can caress it and shower it with kisses.

  What are you doing?!? Why are you kissing Lucas fucking Scott? Why are you enjoying it, panting for more?

  Coming to my senses, I jerk my head away from him, lift my hand, and slap him as hard as I can across the face. I don’t care that there might be a camera in the stairwell, capturing this on film. I don’t care that Lucas could make my life even more of a living hell.

  All I know for certain is that a tiny piece of my anger incinerated with my slap. And at the same time, I never felt more empty and broken.

  His eyes flare brightly as he rubs a hand across his red cheek. That apathetic expression remains on his face as he stares at me blankly.

  “Go fuck yourself,” I hiss, storming up the staircase. I’m to the second level when I realize that he hasn’t followed me…but he also hasn’t left. I would’ve heard the sound of the door slamming shut.

  Curiosity getting the better of me, I tiptoe towards the railing and peek my head over the side.

  My breath leaves me in a whooping exhale, and my body’s internal temperature ratchets up one thousand degrees.

  Lucas still stands at the bottom of the stairwell, now leaning against the wall, out of view of the lone camera. His jeans are unzipped, his long cock squeezed between his fingers as he strokes himself. Fuck, he’s big. Not wide, but long. And is that… Is that a piercing?

  I bring my fingers to my mouth to quell the gasp that wants to escape as he throws his head back in pleasure, stroking himself. His hand fondles the mushroom tip before stroking back to his base. His other hand begins to fondle his balls as a breathy exhale leaves his parted lips.