Brutal Bully (Bad Bullies Book One): A Dark High School Bully Romance

by Fox, Logan

  “No,” Jessica moans, as Marcus shoves his fingers into her. “Please, stop.”

  Marcus puts his hand between her shoulder blades, and urges her down onto the bed, doggy style.

  His dick is already out, and he positions himself at her entrance, fixed so entirely on his task that he seems to have forgotten about me, the camera, every-fucking-thing except wet, drunk Jessica.

  “No. No!”

  He thrusts so hard into her that she lets out a hoarse shriek.

  It must have hurt like hell — Jessica’s body goes stiff a second before she begins thrashing under Marcus’s hand. He just bends over her, his other hand going to the back of her neck to keep her down as he begins fucking her even harder than before.

  When she starts screaming, he grabs a fistful of sheet and shoves it into her mouth.

  And, all the while, I’m laying right next to them, passed the fuck out.

  I’m frozen where I sit as I watch it all play out. Bitterness floods my mouth, but I keep swallowing it down, forcing it back.

  He keeps talking throughout. Princess this, whore that. Slapping and grabbing her ass as he watches his dick sinking into her.

  Marcus comes quickly — maybe a minute or two in — while Jessica’s still sobbing around the sheet he used to gag her with. When he pulls out, there’s no mistaking the streaks of blood on his dick.

  I sit forward in a rush, blinking hard.

  That doesn’t make any sense. I was the one with blood on my dick. That was how I knew I was guilty when Jessica confronted me the next—

  Marcus sits back with a long sigh, stroking a last few drops of cum from his dick, and then slaps Jessica’s ass so hard that even her muffled squeal reaches the camera.

  Then he looks down, and slowly lifts his hand to study his palm.

  His body tightens, and he scrambles off the bed, gaping at his hand.

  He didn’t know she was a virgin, and why would he? I never told him that’s why she wasn’t sleeping with me — just that she hadn’t put out yet.

  “Fuck,” Marcus’s voice comes through the speaker. “Jesus, fuck.”

  Jessica slumps to the side, and yanks the sheet from her mouth with trembling hands. “You fuck!” she says through a sob. But she’s staring at me where I’ve passed out beside her. She thumps my chest with a fist and breaks into a string of sobs.

  Marcus moves around to my side of the bed, waiting until Jessica burrows her head in her arm before climbing up beside me.

  What. The. Fuck?

  He unbuttons my fly with shaking hands.

  No.

  I begin shaking my head, my breath coming too fast, too hot, scorching my throat with every exhalation.

  He pulls my dick out of my pants, and then stares at it, face devoid of emotion.

  Then he begins jerking me off.

  “Fuck!” I push away, closing my eyes as I slap the laptop closed.

  That’s why I had cum and blood all over my fucking dick that morning. That’s why I never doubted Jessica when she said I’d raped her. How the fuck could I, with that much evidence stacked against me?

  * * *

  Indi

  Marcus grunts as he hoists me up and cradles me to his chest. I buck, moaning into my gag as I struggle to get out of his arms. He grabs my hair and tugs so hard I see spots. I go rigid, and then relax into his embrace as he starts walking.

  It’s impossible to tell where he’s taking me. It feels like late afternoon, but it could just as easily be a shady area we’re in. For some reason, I keep thinking of the church where I first met Briar, where he and Marcus were conspiring. It would be kinda poetic, him taking me there for whatever nefarious purpose he has laid out for me in his deranged head.

  As I feverishly attempt to place myself, both in time and space, memories come to me. Fragments, like raindrops splashing on my face, each one jolting clarity through me.

  He had a pair of sneakers in his hand when he came to my bedroom door. The same ones that were outside.

  Was it him that night, watching me?

  I bite the inside of my lip, willing away the feel of his hands on my thigh and shoulder. His footsteps crunch over something.

  Twigs? Dry leaves?

  The church then.

  It’ll end where it all began.

  What did he say to me in the hallway at the party last night? How peaceful someone looked. Her. She looked so peaceful.

  Had he been talking about Jess?

  “I didn’t hurt her,” Marcus says.

  I flinch at the unexpected sound of his voice, and get goosebumps when my mind latches to his words.

  Get out of my fucking head!

  I make a sound through my gag, and Marcus laughs. “You don’t believe me? You’ll see. She’s just fine.”

  Who the fuck is he talking about?

  But then he’s setting me on my feet. Pushing on my shoulders until I sit on something hard and smooth.

  A light breeze touches my cheek, bringing me the scent of burned wood. I squirm, blinking back tears when Marcus steps back.

  He doesn’t even bother lashing me to anything. What would be the point? Where would I run, bound and blind?

  There’s a soft sound a few feet away, and I freeze.

  Someone else is here, but who? And why are they so quiet?

  Briar.

  It’s an irrational, panicked thought, but that doesn’t make it any less terrifying.

  It’s been the both of them all along, hasn’t it? Was this all just some sick game for them, keeping me guessing? The one luring me in, while the other stalks me from the shadows?

  “Please,” I push through the gag. “Don’t hurt me.”

  There’s a sharp intake of breath, and then I hear a muffled whimper.

  Not Briar. Addy.

  I should have been relieved, but I’m not. At least if Briar was here, I might have stood some chance at getting him to let me go. I know I didn’t imagine the chemistry between us. That inexplicable connection we’ve had from day one.

  But he’s not here.

  Maybe he’ll never be. Maybe he doesn’t even know I’m gone.

  In which case it’s just me and Addy…

  And Marcus.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Briar

  I stand in a rush, pressing a fist against my mouth until the urge to puke dissipates some. All this time, I was convinced I was a rapist.

  The worst part is, I was kinda okay with that. Thinking about it brought the occasional fit of guilt and rage, but at the same time I felt numb to everything. Like it was all happening to someone else.

  Because it did.

  Because I never raped anyone. I never told Marcus to get rid of Jessica. He did it by himself. To protect himself, in case Jessica’s memory came back.

  And the idiot kept proof. Fine, he didn’t exactly keep it laying around the house, but it didn’t take that long for me to find it. Did he honest to God think this video would never be discovered? And the drawing? He sure loves his trophies.

  Fucking psycho.

  I glance to the side, and avert my eyes when they touch on that perverted drawing. But then I do a double take. At the angle I’m sitting, the person depicted in the picture looks even more like Indi than before.

  Thought she was lying about the murder. About the fire. Just like she thought I was lying, I guess. Meanwhile, I was bumping fists and buying drinks and playing X-Box with the person who raped and tortured her fucking mother.

  I bow my head and rub my fingers over my lids.

  Is that what he’s doing right now? Does he have Indi at his mercy, while I sit here with my fucking thumb up my ass? I alerted the police, but what the fuck else can I do?

  I thump the desk hard. Then again. Again. Welcoming the pain, drawing it deep inside to douse the guilt and shame drowning me.

  I can show the cops everything — the video, the drawing, the hoody — but what would that help? It might as well just be Indi in that drawing, beca
use I know deep down that’s exactly what he’d do with her if he got the chance.

  Bound.

  Gagged.

  Nak—

  Marcus’s bedroom door bursts open. I jerk and twist around in the chair.

  Brandon Baker is standing in the doorway.

  “The fuck you doing in my house?” the man belts out in a hoarse voice.

  Christ, he’s drunk. I move to the window, but slowly like I’m backing away from a wild animal.

  I guess Marcus got his build from his mother, not his father. Brandon Baker is wide and tall as an ox with a thick neck and a broad nose. Marcus’s features are more delicate, almost fox-like in comparison.

  This is only the second time I’ve met Brandon. The first was more than five years ago, when Marcus and I were still teens. He’d been in better shape back then, but still a hulk of a man. Alcohol abuse has webbed red veins over his nose and cheeks, and turned his eyes a shade too yellow for a healthy person’s.

  “Thought Marcus was home,” I say, trying to inject casualness into my tone. “But I see he’s not, so I’ll leave.”

  Brandon’s bloodshot eyes fix on the laptop before coming back to me. “You looking at his stuff?”

  “No, course not.” It’s probably an idiotic thing for me to do, but there’s still a bit of space between us — and Marcus’s bed — so I do it anyway. “You maybe know where he is?”

  Brandon’s laugh turns into a phlegmy cough before he’s done. “Prolly sticking it in some cunt or other.” His eyes narrow. “Or an asshole, all I know.” He gives me another long look, as if trying to determine if that might have been my asshole before.

  I lift my hands. “Fair enough. I’ll just be on my way.” Those stilted words are barely out of my mouth before Brandon takes a few lumbering steps closer to me.

  From what I remember Marcus telling me, he started out working as a bouncer at a night club. That was before he started his own security company, of course. Which is how he met my dad. A security company that obviously does well for itself, if this house and its location in Lavish is anything to go by.

  But Marcus also said his father was into some dodgy shit. That would better explain their finances than a security company in a town where there isn’t an electric fence in sight. Not unless installing a safe at some rich guys house made him enough…

  Client lists.

  Addresses.

  I tilt my head, and advance a step before I can stop myself. “You made him do it, didn’t you?”

  Brandon doesn’t seem to hear me. Instead, his hazy expression of drunken anger slowly contorts into surprise.

  “Ya look nothing like ‘er,” he says.

  What? Who?

  But that’s not important. “I asked you a question.”

  Brandon arrives in the present with a condescending snort. “Pissed tha’ m’boy isn’t actually your fucking bestie, you queer prick?”

  I scowl at him. “The hell you on about?”

  Fuck knows I can’t take him down, but I’d love to try. Even if it meant being bludgeoned into a coma, I’d love nothing more right now than to crack my knuckles into this ogre’s jaw.

  “Marcus does.”

  My mind feels like scrambled eggs. I shake my head, frowning hard. “What are you—?”

  “His mum,” Brandon says. “Spitting fucking image.” He lifts a finger, tut tutting me for all the world like he’d just caught me with my hand in the cookie jar. “But not you. Ya look like your father.”

  And why wouldn’t I?

  Wait…what?

  “Natalie,” I say quietly.

  Brandon’s face hikes up in a grimace, then he turns and spits into the corner of Marcus’s room. “Whoring cunt,” he says, spittle dotting his lips as he moves around the bed. “Tramp wouldn’t keep her legs closed if you paid her.” He laughs, rough and loud, and makes to grab me.

  I sidle away, and reach behind me. My fingers touch the windowsill, and the relief that escape is so near almost drives me to manic laughter.

  All those pieces I was trying to shove together? No wonder they didn’t fit. I was working a jigsaw puzzle with missing pieces. What I thought was a bit of sky turns out to be a lake. Clouds? A white dress floating on the surface of the water.

  Natalie was Marcus’s mother? Our mother?

  “That…that’s not possible,” I say.

  Dad would have told me. He knew she was sleeping around — how could he not have known who with?

  I don’t see it though — the resemblance between Natalie and Marcus. Yes, they both have black hair and dark eyes, but so does every other goddamn person in the world.

  Brandon’s obviously close to a psychotic break or something. Perhaps he’s schizo. Would explain the alcohol abuse, the domestic violence, the paranoid delusions.

  Marcus isn’t my brother. He can’t be. Because that means I share DNA with the sick fuck, and the thought alone makes me want to throw myself off the bridge at Angel Falls.

  “You’re crazy,” I say, moving back until my thighs brush the window sill. “No fucking wonder Marcus turned out the way he did.”

  In an instant, Brandon is in my face. His fist is a blur as it heads for my jaw. I half-fall, half-push myself out the window. I barely manage to grab the oak tree’s branch as I hurtle past, and I tear off the edge of a nail as I fight to cling to the rough bark.

  Brandon sticks his head out Marcus’s window, laughing so hard that his spittle dots my face like drizzle. “Might as well let go, boy. No more use left in you, is there? We got what we wanted.” He laughs again, and disappears inside the house.

  I consider letting go, but it’s two stories down with a stony-looking patch of ground to land on. Instead, I monkey climb down the branch and hop onto the grass, too flustered to bother making myself less visible.

  Soon as I’m back in my car, I slam closed the door and lock it. I doubt Brandon will come after me, but I’m not taking any chances. He might claim that Marcus takes after his mother — my mother? — but that apple certainly didn’t fall far from the fruit tree, did it?

  I slam my hands into the steering wheel, a well of red-hot fury burning its way through me. I have all of the answers, except the most important one.

  Where in the fuck is Marcus Baker?

  * * *

  Indi

  “Ready for your play date, Addy?” Marcus says.

  I shift on my hard seat, turning to the sound of his voice. Addy lets out a muffled sound of protest before shuffling closer to me. Things crunch and crack under her feet as Marcus brings her closer, and then the heat of her body warms my legs.

  “Sit up. There we go. Now put your head in her lap.”

  A heavy weight rests on my thighs. Addy’s body trembles against me, and it’s mere seconds before there’s a damp spot on my jeans where her tears have wet the fabric.

  She moans and shifts as Marcus does something behind her. I sit up straight, straining to see something through the sack over my head.

  No, not a sack — it’s a pillowcase. If I look down, I can make out the seams. I turn, and glimpse the vaguest suggestion of a big shape to one side.

  A wall. Possibly one of those that fell over when the church burned down. It looks monstrous from my seat on the pew, as if it’s about to tumble onto my head.

  When I look forward, I can almost make out a shape in front of me too, but the light’s all wrong, the fabric too dense, my head too sore.

  “Shh,” Marcus murmurs when Addy starts sobbing. Something drops to the floor nearby, and I flinch at the sound. Then another.

  Shoes.

  He’s taking off her shoes.

  I shift a little and lean forward, resting my head on Addy’s — cheek to cheek. I don’t know what comfort it will bring her, but at least she’s not alone.

  At least I won’t be alone either…except if he kills her first.

  A sob wracks through me at the thought, and then there’s nothing I can do to stop the tears.

&nb
sp; “Bunch of babies,” Marcus says with a laugh in his voice. “Don’t be sad. It’ll all be over real soon, okay?”

  But that only makes me sob harder. Above all else, I know Marcus is a fucking liar.

  * * *

  Briar

  As I turn the last corner toward my house, my foot slips off the gas. My Mustang grumbles sulkily at the loss of power, and threatens to cut out. I guide her onto the side of the road and shut off the ignition.

  Five cop cars with flashing lights line the road outside my house.

  Shit!

  Even if my father doesn’t accuse me outright of stealing his shit, the cops will want to talk to me. And they’re not gonna figure out where Indi is any sooner than I can, that’s for sure. We’ll all just be wasting more time.

  More time for Marcus to toy with Indi.

  More time for him to kill her…if he hasn’t already.

  And why are they even here? Just so my father can prove what a delinquent Marcus was? Shouldn’t they rather be calling all those clients of his, and letting them know there was a breach? That they should consider moving house.

  Because if Marcus knows where they live, Brandon Baker knows where they live.

  Christ, of course.

  Another piece falls into place. That painting in my father’s study, the one with that creepy little goblin. Only now can I finally make sense of the name scrawled in the bottom corner.

  Davis. Indi’s family home, her mother’s maiden surname.

  Fuck knows what the initial was, but that scrawl couldn’t form any other word, now that the thought’s latched in place.

  Marcus must have been accessing files on the regular for his dad. Every time my father had a new client and I mentioned something to Marcus, he must have had his father beat him up, knowing I would take him in. Getting me drunk so he could slip into my father’s study and get the new client’s information, knowing full well of the treasures they were keeping in their homes.