My Sweet Bully Page 2

  The only difference is he didn't lash out and bite me—yet.

  “This is delicious, Mom,” I say, quickly changing the subject. I don't want to talk about it, not anymore. It's on my mind enough, talking about it just adds another layer I don't need.

  My mom hands me the present and takes her seat. “Here, happy birthday, sweetie.” She's smiling big, waiting for me to open my gift.

  Pulling out the tissue paper, I pull out a small box. Opening it up, there's a silver bracelet with a small charm of a girl running.

  Taking it out, it lays flat over my fingertips. “It's beautiful,” I say, folding it over my wrist and clipping the latch. “I love it.”

  Kissing my cheek, my mom rubs my back. “Good, I'm glad.”

  The party is small, it's just my parents and myself, but it's exactly what I need to get my head straight. School starts in four days, and I'm trying like hell to find some sort of normalcy here.

  The next few days go by quickly. My parents fall into a routine of their own with my father starting his new practice, and my mother volunteering at the local library. The only people we know in this city is my Uncle Greg, who's a local cop, and his wife Cynthia.

  Applying a thin layer of lip gloss, I smack my lips together, and wipe the excess off around the edges. I take one last look in the floor length mirror, before closing my bedroom door.

  “Mom, I'm leaving!” I call out to her, grabbing my bag and throwing it over my shoulder. “I'll call you if I'm going to be home late.”

  “Okay, Prairie, have a good first day. Hey, did you eat?”

  “I got an apple, I'm good.”

  “Prairie, that's not enough. Have a yogurt or a cereal bar!” Her voice gets louder as I walk out the door.

  Leaning in, I yell back, “I'm good, Mom! Thanks!”

  Closing the door quickly before she can start to throw toast at my head like ninja stars, I hop into my car. Putting the key in the ignition, it starts to kick on, only to sputter and die.

  No, no, not today. Of all days, not today.

  Gripping the key, I whisper a small prayer and turn it again. “Come on, come on, don't do this,” I say as the engine spurts and pops while I pump the gas pedal. “Let's go, you want to start.”

  The engine kicks on for a second and I'm about to breathe a sigh of relief when it coughs and dies again. “Fuck!” I yell, slamming the wheel.

  What the hell do I do now?

  I don't want to ask my mother, even though I know she'd give me a ride to school. Showing up on day one and getting dropped off by mom isn't exactly how I want to start the year.

  Resting my forehead on the steering wheel, I let out a slow breath and decide to give it one more shot. The ignition dings as I twist the key forward. I rub the wheel, wishing it to start.

  “Come on, start you fucker.” My voice is soft, but I speak the words out loud.

  Vroom!

  The engine purrs on as if it hadn't just fucked with me for ten minutes.

  “Thank you, thank you.” I'm tempted to kiss the wheel, but I don't, throwing the gear shift into reverse instead, and backing down the driveway.

  Taking a few turns, I'm on the main road, heading toward the school. My nerves are on edge as the anxiety of starting a new school gives me butterflies. I don't feel ready. I wish I had taken some time during the summer to go out and meet people, maybe make a few friends before school started.

  I never did. I let the summer consume me in a terrible way. I secluded myself, afraid to break down the walls.

  It's not my fault. I didn't build the walls, I only lived behind them.

  Stopping at the red light, I stare off, wondering if I'm going to like this school.

  I always thought I was going to graduate with the kids I had been with since grade school. Not once did I expect to have to start over as a senior.

  The light turns green and I hit the gas, turning the wheel to take the right. Out of nowhere, a horn blares loudly, and I can hear people yelling.

  Looking in my rear-view mirror, the car behind me is riding my ass, and keeps laying on the horn.

  I didn't see them when I was at the light, and I have no idea where the hell they came from. I feel bad, and I'm wondering if I cut them off and didn't know it. Waving a hand out my window, I hope they know I didn't mean to almost cause an accident.

  Focusing on the road, I keep checking the car behind me. They're still there, the car hasn't gone anywhere. Every turn I make, it’s right behind me. It's starting to make me uncomfortable.

  Are they following me?

  I take a left, so do they. I take a right, so do they. I can barely see the headlights on the car because they're so damn close to my bumper. But I do my best to ignore them, hoping that when I turn into the school they give up and leave.

  Only they don't, it follows me into the parking lot. My heart is racing, afraid that the person behind the wheel is crazy.

  Who follows a girl into a school lot and isn't crazy?

  Parking my car, I stay inside, and peer out my rear-view mirror as the car stops behind me, blocking me in. Reaching over to my purse, I dig my phone out and hold it in my palm. I'm not sure what I'm going to do. Call the police, call my parents, scream at the top of my lungs so everyone around knows I'm in trouble?

  Will they come to the rescue of a stranger?

  The doors open, and three guys climb out. I notice the driver is wearing a football jacket with the same colors as the school. The other two guys come to his side of the car, both of them in matching jackets.

  It's fucking students, they must be on the football team or something.

  Breathing a sigh of relief, I open my door, ready to apologize and introduce myself. It's not how I want to start my first day, but it is what it is. Fitting right into how my life has been going lately. Shitty.

  “Hi—” I start to say, but I'm quickly cut off.

  “Are you fucking serious? Where did you get your license? A fucking cracker jack box?” The driver arches his brows as he frowns. “You didn't even fucking look.”

  “I'm sorry, did I cut you off? Because if I did, I didn't mean to.” I’m trying to be nice, there was no need to get pissed. Accidents happen. Holding out my hand, I attempt to introduce myself. “I'm Prai—”

  “I don't give a flying fuck who you are.” The driver runs his hand through his hair, looking over his shoulder at his buddies. “But you need to know who I am.” I arch a brow, waiting for him to answer, because obviously I don't have a damn clue who he is. “I'm James Galligan, quarterback, lead varsity pick, and two time champion of Rosedale High.” Jabbing a finger in my direction, he chirps, “And you almost fucking hit me. I was turning left at the light, didn't you fucking see me?”

  “Left? Isn't left supposed to yield?” Crossing my arms over my chest, I tilt my head. I'm no expert, but I think I remember the rules from the driver's education class.

  James lets out another scoff, rolling his eyes like I just insulted him. I see it immediately, I know exactly who this guy actually is.

  He's a spoiled douche bag, who Mommy and Daddy let run their lives, and fund his every fucking demand; and I just ruined his day. That’s it.

  “Look,” I say, holding up my arms with my palms facing outward. “I said was I sorry, if that isn't enough for you—”

  “You're right, that isn't enough for me. I don't know where you're from, but let's get one thing straight,” he snaps, taking a long step forward so his face is inches from mine. “This is my school. I make the rules, I call the shots, I say what's enough. And your apology doesn't fucking cut it.”

  James takes another intimidating step forward, forcing me to take a step back. There's a look in his eyes that says he wants to hit me, and I actually think he might. His hands fist at his sides as the vein in his forehead throbs.

  The two guys with him are standing on either side, ready to follow their leader into the pit of assholery just to be cool. Looking around the parking lot quickly, I don't
see anyone I can call to for help.

  The hesitation I feel about yelling doesn't come from lack of an audience, it comes from lack of knowledge. Who is this guy? And why would anyone come to help the new girl?

  “Get out of my face,” I bark. I'm not easily intimidated, and I'm not going to let some football jock get in my head. If I can't depend on anyone else, I at least know I can help myself.

  “Or what?” he asks, lunging forward and stepping on my toes.

  I try to step backwards, but I stumble on my heels as his feet trip me up. Falling back, a strong set of arms grab me around my waist, catching me before I hit the ground.

  Helping to steady me, he pushes me behind him and puffs up his chest. But his hand stays on my side, protectively securing me out of reach.

  Standing tall, the stranger squares his shoulders. “What the fuck is wrong with you, James? Can't win against a guy, so you go after a girl instead? Did your dick shrink over the summer or something? “The stranger pauses briefly, then answers his own question. “Wait, you never had a dick, so. . .”

  “Fuck you, Ramon. Did your Daddy cash in some change to buy you a backbone and those clothes?”

  “No, I fucked your mother, and she gave me your clothes instead.”

  The two growl at each other, but the boy who stood up for me jerks his shoulders forward like he's about to charge, and James takes a long, submissive step back.

  The guy on James’s left slaps his shoulder and nods his head for them to go. Three against one seems like the better odds, but all three of them appear to be intimidated by this guy.

  “I'll be seeing you, Max, you can bet on that.” Climbing back into his car, they drive away and park in another spot in the lot.

  “You all right?” he asks, turning around to face me. He reaches for my arm, touching me lightly, then quickly pulls it away.

  Holy shit, it's him.

  His eyes expand wide as he takes a few steps back. Clearing his throat, his brows crinkle as I watch the recognition fall over his face. He remembers me.

  How the hell could he forget you? You pointed him and his brother out to the judge!

  Max grunts, disgust smearing his face as he wipes off the hand he had touched me with on his pants. Running his palms back and forth over his jeans, it's like he's trying to remove any remnants of me all together. Like I'm a disease and he's been infected.

  Squinting, his eyes dance back and forth over mine, filling with a million thoughts, a million words he looks like he wants to slap my face with. Only he doesn't. Max sucks in a slow breath through flared nostrils.

  Turning away, he takes a step forward like he's about to walk off, when I blurt out, “Hey, is that guy always like that?”

  I have to say something. This sense of desire settles over me, and I can't help but want to talk to him. There's no way for me to explain what the feeling is that spreads through my body, all I know is I just don't want him to go. Not yet.

  He's the only person I know here in a weird, uncomfortable, indirect way. How I know him isn't good, we met under strained circumstances. But I know him, he isn't a complete stranger like the world I'm about to walk into.

  He stops and glares at me over his shoulder. “A dick? Yes.”

  That's it, that's all he says. But his eyes, his eyes pierce me where I stand. They're so green, bright like emeralds as the sun hits them, causing them to spark with silver bursts.

  I hold my breath as he peers at me, his gaze alarmingly vacant, void of everything, but still full with so much emotion. Hate. Hate for me, that's what I'm seeing.

  “I, uh, I figured as much.”

  Max doesn't say anymore, he simply turns his head and starts to walk toward the school.

  Grabbing my bag out of the back seat, I run up beside him. “I'm Prairie.”

  “I know who you are,” he says coldly into the air, not acknowledging me at all.

  Bobbling my head on my shoulders, I'm embarrassed I said something so dumb. Of course he knows who I am. Nodding, I pick up my pace to keep up with him.

  “Right, right, of course you do.” Shifting the bag on my shoulder, I push closer to his side. “That guy was a fucking ass, should I expect that daily? Or is it just because I'm new?” I keep my eyes on his face, unable to stop myself from talking. “Because being new is hard enough, if I have to deal with him acting like that all year, I'm going to lose my mind.” I chuckle awkwardly, knowing he doesn't want a damn thing to do with me.

  Can you blame him?

  I'm a bumbling fool. I can't stop the words from spilling out of my mouth. And all they're doing is casting a shadow of annoyance on his face.

  “I know—” I start to say, but I quickly eat my words as he whips his head in my direction.

  Max grabs my wrist forcefully, stopping us both. There's anger in his touch, but all my skin feels is the heat off his fingertips, and the strength in his hands.

  The power. The dominance. The pure control.

  His skin is rough, coarse, like he's been working for years. He holds me firmly, digging his fingertips into my arm. I try to pull my arm away, not out of fear, but out of reflex.

  Max grips me harder, yanking me in closer. “You want advice, let me give you some advice,” he says, his voice a dark whisper. “Stay clear of me, stay clear of James, and keep your damn mouth shut.” His eyes steady on mine, mouth folding into a frown. “I'm not your fucking friend. I'll never be your fucking friend. Watch your back, or this school will eat you alive.” A devious smirk curls to one side as he points his middle finger in my face. “A girl like you; you're new, you're weak. You're fresh meat for the lions—you'll never last here. Remember, enemies don't make good friends.”

  “I don't have any enemies,” I say, my voice softer than I want it to be.

  “You have at least one, I know that much.” His smile thickens as he bites his bottom lip and gives me a knowing look. “And it isn't that asshole you met this morning.”

  He didn't have to say it for me to know what he meant. I identified him to the cops; why would I ever think I could talk to him like nothing happened between us?

  Flicking his bottom lip with his thumb, he twists on his heels, and starts walking again to the school.

  All I can do is stand there. Stunned. Numb. But so fucking hot on the inside.

  My body is tingling, the skin where his fingers touched me is buzzing and warm. Every nerve in my body is firing off as sweat beads up on the back of my neck.

  I watch him, admiring the muscles in his back and arms as they flex with each move. He looks hard as stone, cut like marble, strong as granite. The hard lines of his jaw are defined, with sharp angles and clear edges. His skin is smooth, with the faintest of stubble on his chin.

  He doesn't look like the same boy I saw that night. Everything about him is different. His demeanor, his stance, his eyes, his voice. Max that night was an uncertain, confused kid. Max today is a confident, determined man.

  He looks like an adult as he passes a small cluster of freshmen still hanging on the front steps. Max towers over the group, his muscles far superior to the pubescent boys around him. The small group splits like the Red Sea as Max moves through them like they aren't even there.

  The bell rings, knocking me from my trance.

  And as I head into school, I already know. . .

  Max Ramon is going to ruin me in more ways than one.

  2

  Max

  Her skin is like velvet. So soft. So delicate. So pure.

  And so very fucking breakable.

  My mind instantly turns to images of me taking control of her, teasing her tight little pussy until she can't take it anymore. When it becomes torture, when she's begging me to either fuck her or let her go, that's when I'll know I’ve broken her.

  There are only two things I want from her. To hear her scream my name, and revenge.

  Both will be sweet. Both will make me smile. And both will give me the satisfaction I crave. Destruction never looked so
good before I set my eyes on her.

  The thought makes my dick twitch, knowing how easily I could break her, damage her, make her wish she never met me.

  But the feel of her skin sends goosebumps down my arms, making me focus on the good stuff, the fun stuff, the things I shouldn't really want because I fucking hate her.

  She's no one. She's a rat.

  My fingers itch to run through her hair, wrap it around my fist and tear her head back so she's staring up at me. I want her to know me. I want to know her. Every inch of her body can tell me a story, and I want to hear it.

  I'll lick her from head to toe. Every curve, every dip, every nook. My tongue will taste every inch of her body. Claiming her in ways no man ever has, marking her so deep she'll still feel me between her legs when I'm long gone.

  Her body could be mine if I want it. All I have to do is turn on the charm, whisper the right words, and she'll be begging me to end her misery. Her bright blue eyes will glisten with need, her plump lips will pout with desire, and her teeth will nibble with hunger.

  I can't stop thinking about how she felt in my hands; silky, smooth, and so fucking tempting. Too tempting. Addicting if I'm not careful.

  I've never touched anything so delicate before. Everything in my life is hard and jagged, like a sharp rock, ready to slice me open if I make one wrong move. All it takes is one slip and I'm a bloody mess.

  I've been cut one too many times over the years, and this girl's cut me so fucking deep already, I'll never forgive her for it.

  I hate her.

  Hate is a strong word. It's a word that fits perfectly when it comes to her. She deserves every ounce of hate I have for her; I won't forget that.

  Prairie destroyed everything. She took the one person away from me who'd always been there for me, the only person that ever gave a shit about me. She came in from nowhere like a storm at sea.

  How could I ever see her as anything other than a rogue wave?

  My brother is in jail because of her. It's her fault I'm left to fend for myself, that I have to spend my weekends picking up trash on the beach for the next five months, and that my basketball scholarship is hanging on by a super thin thread.