The Bully (Kingmakers)

by Sophie Lark

  He sweeps out of the room, disgusted with all of us.

  Lola hurries after him, probably knowing that the second I’m released I plan to claw her fucking face off.

  Penmark follows at a more leisurely pace, throwing one last wistful glance at the ruin of Dean’s back, as if admiring his handiwork.

  I want to kill him, too. I’d already be making plans to do it if I could think of anyone but Dean.

  The moment the groundskeeper releases me, I run to Dean. I kneel in front of him, taking his face in my hands, bawling and kissing him and begging for him to tell me he’s alright.

  The groundskeeper unlocks the manacles. Dean slumps forward, falling into my arms.

  I can’t stop crying and I can’t stop holding him.

  I can’t believe he did that for me.

  I don’t know how I didn’t see this sooner. Dean loves me. He loves me past anything I could have imagined.

  If his anger is a furnace, then his love for me is the sun, burning bright enough to light the universe.

  “Baby, are you okay?” I sob.

  Dean nuzzles his face against my neck, still leaning heavily against me, his arms dead weight around my shoulders.

  “How come you always smell so good?” he groans.

  I let out a strangled laugh. “That’s what I think about you.”

  I feel his fingers gripping loosely on my back, trying to pull me tighter against him.

  “I’m so sorry,” I cry. “I can’t believe you did that . . .”

  He struggles to sit up a little, slipping his hand under my hair to hold me at the place where my head meets my neck. He presses his forehead against mine.

  “Are we even now?” he says.

  “Oh my god.” I shake my head. “You’re insane.”

  “I am insane,” he growls. “I’m crazy for you, Cat. I always will be.”

  “It terrifies me how much I love you,” I tell him, holding him as tight as I can without hurting him more.

  The groundskeeper clears his throat.

  I completely forgot he was still in the room with us.

  “Are you going to help me take him to the infirmary?” I bark, furious at him and every other barbarous employee at this school.

  “Yes,” the groundskeeper says in an almost-apologetic tone.

  He was no rougher than he needed to be, holding me back while Penmark had his fun. Actually, now that I’m really looking at him, his brown hair and close-cropped beard are vaguely familiar to me—he might have been friends with Miles once upon a time.

  He stoops to take Dean’s arm over his shoulder so he can help support his weight. I try to do the same on the other side, though I’m too short to be of much use.

  “Thanks, Brenner,” Dean groans. “Why’d they have to bring Penmark in for that? He’s such an asshole.”

  “Agreed,” Brenner grunts. “It’s one thing to do a job, another to enjoy it.”

  We hobble off in the direction of the infirmary, moving slowly so we don’t jolt Dean too much.

  He’s weak and reeling, but not in terrible spirits.

  “I don’t know what they’re making such a fuss about,” he says. “Nobody liked Rocco anyway.”

  “I sure didn’t,” Brenner mutters. “After all, I’m the one that had to clean him up.”

  30

  Dean

  That fucking dickhole Penmark really fucked up my back, and now I have to lay in the infirmary bored as hell.

  I’m missing all my boxing training AND the last event in the Quartum Bellum. I have to hear about it second-hand when Cat comes to visit me.

  “It was a shooting challenge with stationary and moving targets.”

  “Did we win?”

  “Of course.” She grins.

  “Fuckin’ Leo.” I shake my head. “He always wins. It’s not even exciting anymore, just takes all the surprise out of it.”

  “It’s so tedious being an eternal champion, isn’t it?” Cat laughs.

  As she tilts her head to smile at me, I see a glint of scarlet in the hollow of her throat. The necklace I gave her—restored to its rightful place.

  My heart burns as bright as that stone.

  “Was Claire Turgenev disappointed?” I ask her.

  “It was actually really close. She’s a fantastic Captain, too. I’m sure she was upset, but she shook Leo’s hand, all classy and kind.”

  “Fuck being classy,” I say. “I like to gloat.”

  “Maybe I will, too,” Cat laughs, “if I ever win anything.”

  Snow pops his head through the infirmary door.

  “Hey,” he says. “How are you feeling?”

  “Great,” I tell him. “Ready to be back in class.”

  “Good,” he grunts. “I have a lot of mats that need cleaning. Towels that need washing . . .”

  “You know I’m only helpful when I need advice.”

  He nods to Cat. “Will you break up with him again so he’ll be useful?”

  “Sorry,” Cat laughs, “Can’t do it.”

  “Ain’t happening. Thanks for visiting though,” I tell Snow.

  “Oh, I’m not here to visit you. I’m here to see my wife,” he says, striding across the room to wrap his arms around Sasha while she’s trying to scrub an instrument tray at the metal sink.

  “He’s lying,” Sasha calls back to us. “He’s been asking about you every single day, Dean, even after he visits you.”

  She leans back against Snow’s broad chest, humming cheerfully to herself as she works.

  “Well . . . he’s the best in my class.” Snow shrugs.

  “I never thought you’d admit that,” I say. “You know, you’re not a bad coach, either. I wish you’d be here next year.”

  I say it lightly, but my stomach clenches up all the same. Losing Snow feels like losing a lot more than a coach.

  “We’ve got to get back to the kids,” Snow says. “Even if they’re not kids anymore, we still like to see them.”

  He lets go of Sasha to turn back toward me.

  “I’ve got a good gym in New York, Dean. You could come train with me. Zane is there—you’ll never find a better sparring partner.”

  “If he hits like you, I doubt anyone wants to be his sparring partner,” I say.

  Zane Rybakov’s hammer fist aside, it’s a tempting offer. Unfortunately, I owe Danyl Kuznetsov two years’ service.

  “I’ll think about it,” I tell Snow.

  “I’d better go,” Cat tells me, gathering up her bookbag. “I’ve already missed an alarming amount of classes.”

  She squeezes my shoulder and kisses me on the cheek.

  “You can give me a proper kiss,” I growl. “They don’t care.”

  Cat blushes but kisses me right.

  “Young love.” Sasha smiles. “It keeps the world running.”

  “You’re still young,” Snow tells her, “and beautiful as ever.”

  He kisses her even harder.

  I leave the infirmary the last week of school.

  I tell Cat to meet me in the Bell Tower one last time.

  But first, I have an errand to run.

  This particular errand is something I should have done a month ago and saved myself a lot of trouble. Better late than never.

  I find Lola Fischer swanning down the hallway on the ground floor of the Keep, accompanied by her perpetual shadow Dixie Davis.

  I’d have no problem taking on the both of them, but I’m saved the trouble when Lola ducks into the nearest bathroom.

  “I’ll meet you in class!” she calls over her shoulder to Dixie.

  I wait for Dixie to amble off an appropriate distance down the hallway, then I follow Lola into the ladies’ room.

  Lola, of course, is no fucking lady.

  She’s a conniving little bitch too stupid to take the hint the first time around. This time she’ll get the message.

  I wait for her to finish pissing, then pounce on her the second she emerges from the stall.

&n
bsp; I’m still not back to a hundred percent mobility, my back stiff with freshly-healing scars, but I’m still plenty strong enough to seize Lola and fling her against the wall.

  Lola screeches, her blue eyes wide with shock and terror.

  “Yeah, I’m out of the infirmary,” I growl. “So you probably should have kept your posse closer. Or better yet—you should have fucking listened when I told you to stay away from Cat.”

  “Nothing happened!” she squeals, trying to squirm away from me. “They didn’t do anything to her!”

  I grab her by the throat and slam her against the wall again, bouncing her head off the tiles.

  “Oh yeah, it was a Sunday picnic,” I snarl. “Other than Penmark’s back massage.”

  “I didn’t know they’d do that!” Lola cries.

  “It doesn’t matter,” I say. “You tried to fuck over my girl and now you’re gonna pay the price.”

  Lola’s blue eyes narrow. She sneers, “You can’t do anything to me. Don’t forget the Rule of Recompense. You harm one hair on my head, and you’ll get the same thing done to you.”

  “Funny you should say that,” I tell her. “That’s exactly what I had in mind.”

  Lola stares at me, not understanding.

  Until I pull the clippers from my pocket.

  “NO!” She shrieks, trying to twist out of my grip.

  I flick the switch, the clippers making an aggressive buzzing sound like a swarm of angry hornets.

  “Hold still. Or this will get a whole lot messier.”

  “No! You can’t!”

  “Why not? What are they gonna do, shave my head too? Saves me going to the barber.”

  I swipe the clippers right across her scalp, leaving a long bald patch down the middle of her head. A sheet of wavy caramel hair tumbles to the ground.

  Now Lola is fully blubbering, all her toughness melted away like ice cream in the Mississippi sunshine.

  I shave her bald, every fucking bit of that hair cut off and tossed on the grimy bathroom floor.

  I hold the last lock up in front of her eyes.

  “You say one word to Cat, you so much as fucking look at her, and I’ll be back for your finger. You saw the whipping I took for her—I would gladly lose a pinky to see you lose one of yours.”

  Lola stares at me in horror, her big blue eyes rather disturbing without the accompanying mane of hair. She looks like a baby doll shorn by a callous toddler.

  “Your hair will grow back,” I say softly. “But your finger won’t.”

  With that, I drop the last few strands on the floor and leave the bathroom, Lola’s whimpers trailing after me.

  For once, Cat beats me up to the Bell Tower.

  She’s waiting for me, a dozen candles lit all around, the pillows neatly stacked. She’s dressed simply in a t-shirt, sneakers, and skirt, her hair pulled up in a loose ponytail, the spattered freckles on her cheeks already darkening from the spring sunshine.

  She’s never looked more beautiful.

  She seems strangely nervous, maybe because the last time we were up here, she tried to do something kind for me and I shouted at her.

  “It’s good to be back,” I say.

  “I’m not . . . expecting anything,” she tells me awkwardly. “If your back isn’t healed yet—”

  “Don’t worry about my back,” I growl. “It would take a lot more than that to get me to keep my hands off you.”

  She flushes, that mischievous smile tugging at her lips.

  Still, there’s an invisible barrier between us, something we both have to navigate. I’m not in control of her and she’s not in control of me—we both stand here free and unencumbered, wondering what that looks like for both of us.

  “I never thanked you,” Cat says. “For what you did for me.”

  “I did what had to be done,” I tell her. “Just like you would.”

  “I shouldn’t have made those sketches . . .”

  “Cat, those drawings are what put the heart in me for everything that came after. The ones you drew of me . . . I saw them and I thought you must love me. Then I knew I could endure anything.”

  Cat stares at me, eyes wide.

  “Didn’t you already know that I loved you?”

  I swallow hard, embarrassed.

  “I just . . . I fucked up so bad . . .”

  “Dean. You really don’t know how I feel?” she says, tears gathering in her eyes.

  I clench my fists, not knowing how to tell her this thing that I can hardly admit even to myself.

  “I don’t think . . . anyone could really love me.”

  Cat stares at me, part tearful and part angry.

  Then she runs at me, beating on my chest with both hands.

  “Why can’t you see that I love you? I fucking love you! I don’t care what you do to me, I don’t care what you say to me. I don’t care if you lie or scream or try to run away. I don’t care if you’re filthy or soaked in bleach or set on fucking fire! Why can’t you understand I love you! Without limit or reason.”

  I look at her furious face, those brilliant dark eyes, and finally after all this time, the key turns in my heart.

  I believe her.

  I fucking believe her.

  She loves me.

  She loves me the way I love her.

  I seize her and kiss her, her arms around my neck, her legs around my waist. I taste the sweetness of her mouth and the salt of the tears running down her face. I bite her lips, I breathe in her breath.

  “Cat,” I say. “You don’t know what a monster I can be, but I’ll be your monster. Everything I do will be for you. To protect you. To help you. To love you every day of my life. I’ll burn this whole fucking world down for you if that’s what you want.”

  She presses her forehead against mine.

  “I know exactly who you are, Dean. And I fucking love you.”

  31

  Cat

  Hypnotic — Zella Day

  Spotify → geni.us/bully-spotify

  Apple Music → geni.us/bully-apple

  Dean kisses me like my lips are the only thing keeping him alive.

  He slams me against the crumbling tower wall and gropes my body with both hands. Bits of mortar and stone rain down on our heads, covering us in soot and dust, but we don’t give a fuck, we barely even notice it.

  I had planned to be careful of his injuries—now I can’t think of anything but how badly I need him.

  It doesn’t matter. Nothing can dampen Dean’s fire for me, not heartbreak, or time apart, or even a whipping.

  He’s tearing my clothes off and I’m ripping at his, desperate to put my hands all over him, to smell his sweat and his skin, to lick him and bite him and suck every place I can reach.

  I tear off his dress shirt, buttons ricocheting off the huge bronze bell. Dean shoves my skirt up around my waist, shredding my panties with his fingers and yanking them aside.

  I can’t stop kissing him. I thrust my tongue all the way in his mouth, wanting to taste every bit of him, obsessed with the fullness of his lips and the way his tongue feels against mine.

  My hands are in his hair, gripping tight right at the scalp.

  His hands are wrapped around my waist, lowering me down on his raging hard cock.

  He thrusts into me in one motion, his cock tearing into me like we’ve never fucked before. His cock is a battering ram, his hands invading armies. I surrender to him, every bit of me, while still biting and clawing at him as if I want to fight.

  We fall to the ground, dangerously close to the hole in the center of the floor, through which the rope to ring the bell once descended. Now the bell lays silent on its side, likewise straining the limits of the uneven, weakened floor. Dean’s and my combined weight crumbles the edge even more, knocking several more stones down into empty space. We have to roll away to avoid tumbling down ourselves.

  Dean fucks me hard against the stone floor, scraping my back on the rough ground.

  I roll over on top of
him, mounting his cock, digging my nails into his chest as I ride him hard and fast.

  I can’t get enough of him. It feels like years since we did this, it feels like I might have died if we were apart any longer.

  We’ve knocked over several of the candles. I smell smoke and singed fabric—one of the pillows, most likely. I don’t give a fuck. I’m not stopping, not even slowing down, not for anything.

  Dean flips me over and enters me from behind, his hips slamming into my ass. He grunts as he drives into me, a primal, animalistic sound. He’s a beast and I love it.

  My left hand drops through a hole in the floor as another stone falls away.

  This whole tower is going to collapse.

  I must truly have lost my mind, because in this moment I don’t care. I don’t care if the whole thing crumbles around us, as long as I’m locked together with Dean, his arms around me, his cock inside me.

  Dean picks me up again, scooping me up in his arms like I weigh nothing at all. He’s so phenomenally strong that he can fuck me at any angle, any position. He takes over my body, and all I can do is gaze in wonder at the slabs of muscle on his chest, the straining tendons running up and down his arms like cords.

  The floor shifts and cracks under our feet. I hear more stones falling down.

  That noise is distant compared to the pounding of my heart, and my relentless hunger for Dean.

  With each stroke up and down on his cock, I feel my climax building. We’ve come too far now—I’m hurtling headlong into this raging pleasure. Nothing can pull me back now.

  Dean’s hand clenches around the back of my neck, his other hand gripping my ass as he fucks me harder and harder. He slams me against the side of the bell, driving into me with all his might. Our impact against the bronze makes a dense, echoing clang. The whole bell shakes, sending a deep vibration across the floor. Dean lets out a roar at the same frequency, his cock twitching inside of me. I start to cum too, biting down hard on his shoulder.

  I’m made of pleasure—every nerve, every cell.

  The whole floor splits beneath us, the bell tipping down through the jagged hole.