Dirty Lie: A High School Bully Romance (Forrest Grove Academy Book 1)

by K. Walker

  Dirty Lie

  Forrest Grove Academy, Book 1

  K. Walker

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Also By Kylie Walker

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  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  Copyright © 2019 by K. Walker

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead is purely coincidental. K. Walker holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.

  Chapter 1

  The front door slammed shut, and I jumped, silently cursing myself. Glancing over at the little alarm clock next to my bed, I fought the urge to groan. If he was home this early, it couldn't be good.

  I could already hear him stomping around down the hall. No doubt he'd gotten kicked out of the bar again—probably started another fight. He never could control his temper when he was drunk, which was pretty much all the time.

  I glanced at the clock again, and then let out a sigh. It would be at least an hour until Mom got home and that was only if it was a slow night. Tonight was a Friday, though, so I doubted she would be back anytime soon. And that meant I would have to go out there and make him something for dinner.

  If I didn't, well, I didn't want to think about what he would do. To him, Mom and I only served one purpose - to serve. He was giving us a roof over our heads, he claimed. And that meant we had to do whatever he told us. That usually meant I was stuck cleaning and cooking and bringing him beers throughout the night. Which I figured was better than the things he wanted Mom to do for him.

  I shuddered at the thought. I doubted there was enough alcohol in the world to make him even close to attractive. But Mom had never been great at choosing men, and most didn't stick around for long. We'd already been here for a year, so I kept hoping she'd be on to the next one soon.

  Sliding off the drooping mattress, I called a bed, I padded over to the door and pulled it open. I could hear him grunting from somewhere in the living room, and I took a deep breath, bracing myself for another night of hell. The whole house reeked of cigarette smoke, but the stench worsened as I made my way toward the living room.

  Greg was there all right, in the battered old armchair, he treated like a throne. He'd already stripped out of his work clothes, leaving them in a pile next to him. I would be expected to wash those, of course, even though I could hardly stomach touching the damn things. No matter how much detergent I used, I just couldn't get the stench of sweat and smoke out of them.

  But as gross as his clothes were, they were a far sight better than the man himself, sitting there in his tattered boxers, his beer gut spilling over onto them. I had to fight down the bile that threatened to rise up every time I saw him like that.

  "There you are," he snapped as if he'd been home for more than two or three minutes. "Get me a beer. And get me some food, too."

  Even a few feet away, I could smell the alcohol on his breath. He certainly didn't need another beer, but I wasn't going to argue with him. It just wasn't worth the effort. There was still some leftover pasta in the fridge from a couple of nights ago. He was already so plastered, I doubted he'd eat very much, and I really didn't feel like cooking anything tonight.

  I got him his beer first, a can of what had to be the shittiest beer on the planet. I'd tried one, once, when I was just so sick of everything that I wanted to get drunk and pretend life didn't suck. I'd almost puked after the first sip of it.

  When I told my best friend JP about it, he'd howled with laughter. When I told him what brand it was, I thought he was going to suffocate; he was laughing so hard. In his words, he'd "rather drink horse piss than that garbage." But it was cheap as dirt, so Greg kept buying it.

  It's not like he made a whole lot working construction. Nor did Mom make very much as a waitress. Together they made just enough to keep a roof over our head, the electricity on, and Greg plastered. And there were times the second one was optional.

  Wasn't I just lucky?

  Greg barely even glanced at me when I handed him his beer. He had the TV on, some football game or another playing. I didn't even pay attention to it before I headed back to the kitchen and poured some leftover spaghetti into a bowl and stuck it into the microwave.

  I stared at the little green numbers, watching them count down as the microwave's hum filled the kitchen. I wished Mom had let me get a job when I'd turned sixteen last year. Then maybe we wouldn't have been stuck living with Greg the Gross. But even though I was legally old enough, Mom had been adamantly against it. I was the kid, she'd insisted. It was her job to take care of me, not the other way around. My job was to focus on schoolwork, not spend my nights and weekends waiting tables like her.

  When the microwave finally dinged, the high-pitched sound echoing around the small kitchen, I let out a sigh. I just wanted to get Greg his food, then get my ass to bed. I wasn't tired, not really, but sleep sounded like a much better option than being Greg's personal slave until Mom got home.

  Walking back into the living room, I nearly dropped the steaming bowl of spaghetti. Greg was sitting right where I'd left him two minutes ago, beer in one hand. The problem was, the other hand held his cock, pulled out the fly of his boxers. I gagged at the sight of it, my stomach doing backflips as I fought not to puke up my own dinner.

  It wasn't the first time he'd exposed himself in front of me, but it never got easier to look at that thing. I was still a virgin, and if all guys looked like that down there, I was going to stay that way. I could not fathom how Mom was able to stomach even the thought of sex with him.

  Greg must've heard me walk into the room. He looked up and smirked at me. "When's your mother gettin' home? This thing ain't gonna suck itself!" he asked with a laugh.

  "No idea. It's Friday. She'll probably be late," I managed to force out as I crossed the room, suddenly very interested in the football game on the TV. I didn't even glance at Greg as I handed him the bowl of pasta, not wanting to see any more of him than I absolutely had to.

  Already I wanted to puke. The sooner I got out of this room, the better. I'd seen far too much of Greg for this lifetime, thank you very much.

  Greg grunted as he took the bowl from me. I didn't have to look at him to feel his gaze on me, though. God, this guy gave me the creeps in so many ways. "Well, she better get her skank ass home soon. She can't be whorin' around all damned night when I got needs."

  I rolled my eyes. Y
eah, because her schedule totally revolved around your "needs," I thought bitterly. And he acted like she was out there working the street corners, selling her ass for anyone with five bucks in their pocket. She was a waitress for crying out loud. And not even one of the topless ones at that dive bar, Daddy Dave's.

  Hell, if she'd been working there, she'd have probably made enough to get us out of here by now. I'd even suggested it a couple of times, and while Mom wasn't appalled by the idea, she wasn't interested in it either. She wanted to set a good example for me, she'd said. She’d worked as a waitress in strip clubs before, but she’d always kept her clothes on.

  I'd rolled my eyes at that, too. Because, as much as I loved and respected my mother, staying with dirtbags like Greg was not setting the best example for me. But I knew Mom was doing the best she could. It wasn't her fault life had dealt her one raw deal after another.

  That just seemed to be how the world worked for the two of us. Things never went well for very long.

  I turned away from Greg and headed toward the hallway. He let out a moan behind me, and I made the stupid mistake of glancing back. Greg's eyes were on me again, but he wasn't holding the bowl of pasta anymore. He was back to holding himself, his hand going up and down as he stared at me.

  "Yeah, you like that, don't you?" Greg sneered as he continued to pleasure himself. His hand moved faster as his eyes roamed up and down my body. "Bet you're just as big of a slut as your mom, ain't you? You suck dick just as good as she does?"

  I shuddered at the thought. More than once I'd walked in on the two of them doing things I'd rather never remember. I'd always suspected Greg had purposely orchestrated it, so I'd walk in on them, and the look he gave me just confirmed it.

  "Not for all the money in the world," I spat at him, glaring at the pervert. He was close to three times my age. He didn't have any business even thinking about me that way, much less saying those things out loud! "I can't imagine any woman would willingly touch you."

  Greg's look hardened. He took a long swig of his beer, and then slammed the empty can down on the little table next to his chair. "The fuck you say to me, bitch?" His words were slightly slurred, but his intentions were not. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out just how pissed he was, especially once he stood up and marched toward me, his cock leading the way.

  I wanted to turn and run down the hall, to barricade myself in my room until Mom got home. But as I stared in Greg's eyes, all I could do was stand there and glare at him. I was tired of being scared off by him. I was tired of taking his shit. I didn't need him, and neither did Mom.

  If he wasn't going to treat us like actual human beings, then he could fuck right off.

  Greg stopped about a foot away from me, and I could practically see the steam rising off him. Then, he grinned. "Oh, you're like that, huh? You like to play hard to get? Well, good. 'Cause you're about to get something hard!"

  Before I could open my mouth to tell him to fuck off, he was on me, pinning me to the wall. He may not have been an athlete by any stretch of the imagination, but he still had at least two hundred pounds on me. I pushed against him, struggling to get his fat ass off me, but he wouldn't budge.

  "That's it, fight me, you little whore. I like a bit of a challenge!" He pressed his whole body against me, and I shivered. Tears streamed down my cheeks as I thrashed against him, putting every ounce of strength I had into pushing him off me. But it was no use. Skinny little me had no chance of overpowering him.

  There was nothing I could do except cry and scream, praying one of the neighbors might hear me. But in this neighborhood, screaming didn't mean very much. It was safer to mind your own business than risk getting your face smashed in, or worse.

  But that didn't stop me from screaming my head off even as Greg pulled me away from the wall and threw me down on the floor. Once, it had been carpeted. Now though, all that remained was a thin layer of tattered fibers just barely covering the concrete below. And as Greg put his weight on top of me, grinding against me, the hard floor made me wince.

  "Yeah, you like that, don't you, you little slut? How many cocks have you had? I hope you're not too loose!" His stubby fingers found the clasp to my jeans, and he fumbled with it as I struggled to get away from him. He mumbled a curse under his breath, then finally hooked his fingers into the waistband and pulled. He wasn't strong enough to tear the beaten denim, but it' was enough to break the threads holding the button in place.

  "Let me go!" I screamed as he pulled my jeans open, revealing the black panties I had on underneath. I thrashed even harder as he tried to pull my jeans down. Just because he wanted the whole world to see him in his underwear didn't mean I wanted anyone to see me in mind!

  Greg grunted as he fought against my thrashing. He may have had me completely overpowered, but I wasn't going to make this easy for him. I would fight him tooth and nail every step of the way. I swung my hands in his direction, doing everything I could to beat him off.

  But all the stuff JP showed me about defending myself didn't help when I was on the ground with three hundred pounds of lard trying to undress me.

  Greg moved faster than I've ever seen him, his hand lashing forward as he backhanded me. I screamed even louder as the pain tore through my cheeks. "Stop fightin' you stupid bitch!" he roared, his voice drowning out my cries.

  I sobbed even more, thrashing even harder. I was going to die here, I knew it. But I didn't care. I wasn't going to stop fighting until my very last breath.

  Greg let out a triumphant roar as he pulled my jeans off, holding them up for me to see. But before he could so much as grin at me, the front door flew open, slamming against the thin walls and making the house shake.

  Chapter 2

  "Get off of her! What do you think you're doing?" Mom stormed forward, all five and a half feet of her, raging mad. She must've been able to hear me screaming from outside for her to have burst in like an angry bear.

  Greg sat up but otherwise didn't budge. He glared at her even as she approached and started swatting at him. "Fuck off, bitch," he growled, shoving her away. But while she stumbled back a couple of steps, she wasn't to be deterred.

  "That's my daughter, you drunk oaf! Get off of her right now!" She stepped forward again, still swatting at him. But no matter how angry she was, she didn't have any more luck pushing him off me than I did. She wasn't going to give up, though, and I could already see red marks on his arm and back from where she clawed at him.

  And while she wasn't strong enough to move him herself, eventually, his anger and rage won out. He stood up off of me and shoved Mom aside, knocking her to the ground. He loomed over her, glaring down, his hands balled into fists. "You useless cunt! Why do I even bother to keep you around?"

  With him distracted, I scrambled for my pants, but before I could pull them on, he turned and glared at me. I backed away from him, clutching my jeans to my chest as tears continued to pour down my cheeks.

  Obviously pleased with the way I cowered away from him, he smirked and turned back to Mom. "Now you keep your damned whore mouth shut. And, maybe, once I'm done with her, I'll give you a good fucking, too. That's all you whores are good for anyway!"

  "No! Don't you dare touch my daughter!" Mom screamed at him, her voice louder and higher pitched than my own. She sounded like a banshee, screeching into the wind. "Run, Bella! Get out of here and call the cops!"

  Greg turned and glowered at me again. "Move an inch and I'll cut your skinny throat and toss you into a ditch!" He'd moved far beyond his normal angry drunk self now. He was raving mad, spittle practically flying from his lips as he spoke.

  I had to get out of here, had to call the cops. Otherwise, Greg was going to kill both of us. We needed to get as far away from here as possible. I just had no idea how I was supposed to make that happen, not with drunk Greg more than willing to beat the piss out of either of us.

  Mom wasn't having nearly the meltdown I was, though. Somehow, despite all of this, she'd managed to keep h
er head on straight. With Greg's attention on me, she lashed out, swinging her right leg up between both of Greg's, hitting him right in the nuts.

  He let out a loud roar as he collapsed to his knees, clutching himself as he spit out obscenities.

  Mom scrambled to her feet and rushed over to me, lifting me up off the ground. "Let's go. We've gotta get out of here, now!"

  Still clutching my jeans to my chest, I stumbled as she pulled me toward the front door. I wasn't sure where we'd go, but I didn't care. As long as we got out of the stupid house, I didn't care where we went.

  And we'd almost made to the door, too. Almost made it to freedom. But while getting kicked in the balls no doubt hurt like hell, it wasn't enough to take Greg out for very long. He roared from somewhere behind us. I didn't dare turn to look though, I just followed Mom toward the front door, praying we could get there before him.

  A loud, echoing, bang split the room in half. Mom jerked forward as red sprayed from her. She stood for a moment and then slumped to the ground.

  "Mom!" I yelled, dropping to my knees beside her. Blood pooled around her

  "Run," she croaked out, struggling to stand up again, coughing and spraying blood even as she fought to move.

  All I could do was stare at her in horror. It was like my entire body had locked up. This couldn't have been happening. There was no way it was happening.

  "That's what you get, you stupid bitch!" Greg's words jarred me back to reality. I turned and stared at him. He was standing only a couple of feet away, a silver revolver in his right hand, pointed at me. Where he'd gotten the gun from, I didn't know.