Worse Than Enemies : A Dark Bully Romance Read online

  Copyright © 2022 by Bleeding Heart Press

  Cover Design: Mayhem Cover

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  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

  Epilogue

  King of Corium

  Blurb

  1. Quinton

  2. Aspen

  3. Quinton

  About J.L. Beck

  To Cassandra Hallman aka C. Hallman this book is for you.

  Thank you for being my wifey, co-author, and best friend.

  1

  Some people get louder the quieter they try to be.

  One of the many things I’ve learned after spending the past couple of months living in a hotel room with my mom and baby sister. Well, not a room. I think they call it a junior suite. There’s a living room area with a TV and a separate bedroom with two queen-sized beds.

  Like so many other mornings, Mom stumbled in a few minutes before dawn and tried like hell to be quiet so she wouldn’t wake Lucy or me. The woman left us alone for two and a half days this time, but at least she tried to be quiet when she finally came back. I guess she figures that makes her a good mother or something.

  Unfortunately, the quieter she tries to be, the louder she is. A herd of elephants might as well be marching through the room. I roll onto my side and find Lucy starting to stir. She’s four now and should be in pre-K, but that’s not my call. Next year, though, there won’t be any excuses. She has to go to school, which means our mother will have to do something she’s supposed to by registering the poor kid and making sure she gets to and from there every day. I hate to think it, but something tells me she’s got a lot of sitting and waiting ahead of her. Mom was flaky when I was Lucy’s age. Now, thirteen years later, she might as well live in a different state.

  “Shh, it’s okay. You can go back to sleep.” I’m gentle as I draw the blankets up over Lucy’s shoulders.

  The door between the living room and bedroom swings open a moment later. I know better than to hold a finger to my lips. I did that once when Lucy had a rough night with an upset stomach. I had just gotten her to sleep by the time our mother returned from another weekend with her latest boyfriend, so I touched a finger to my lips to signal for quiet.

  I had a swollen lip for three days after that. I won’t make that mistake again.

  She heads straight for the bathroom, and I exhale. How much longer are we going to have to do this? It was one thing when she did it when we lived in the apartment and there was room for all of us to move around without getting in each other’s way too much. I didn’t get my own bedroom then, either, but at least Mom didn’t come barging in to wake us up when she had a room of her own.

  “Morgan?” Lucy rubs her fists over her sleepy eyes.

  “It’s okay, honey. You go back to sleep. It’s still super early.”

  “Is Mommy back?”

  “Yeah, she came back. She always comes back.” Though there have been times when I’ve wondered whether she will. Wondered if the latest loser she’s dating will turn out to be a murderer or if—and I don’t know whether this would be better—she’ll decide to run off with him and pretend we don’t exist. “We’ll go out in the living room and turn on the TV.”

  I get up, then walk around to her side of the bed to pick her up and carry her out to the sofa. She brings a pillow, and I tuck her in with a blanket before turning on the TV. She’ll fall back to sleep for a while.

  Once she’s settled in, I go back to the bedroom and change from pajamas to a T-shirt and shorts. It’s supposed to be warm today. Spending so much time in the hotel, it’s easy to lose touch with the real world. I try to get outside whenever possible to breathe fresh air instead of the stale, recycled crap blasting through the vents. Later, I might take Lucy down to the pool. It’s important to me that she has a little fun.

  She’s lucky. At her age, this kind of thing is an adventure. She doesn’t see how incredibly fucked up it is that our mother hasn’t yet found actual housing for us since our eviction.

  Mom finally finishes in the bathroom, and while she stumbles her way through, changing out of her fancy dress, I wash up and brush out my long, blond hair. That’s one thing all three of us share, one of the few traits I’m glad Mom passed down. My blue eyes have circles under them, thanks to another night spent lying awake and thinking. I’ll be starting a new school in a couple of weeks now that we don’t officially live in our old district. I won’t know anybody. If we don’t have a permanent residence, how am I supposed to believe they’ll let me go to school anywhere?

  When I asked Mom about it, she waved me off. “We’ll be moving soon. You’ll see. I have something in the works.” In other words, she’s trying to con her latest victim into paying for a place. Not that I think she actually goes out and chooses victims to con, but that’s generally how it ends up. She uses them until they catch on to her or she gets bored. One or the other.

  By the time I come out, she’s already in bed. Only her head pokes out from under the blankets, and I see she’s wearing a mask over her eyes and plugs in her ears. I wonder what it’s like to live in a different world. She never even said a word to me when she came in.

  “I’m going to go down and get some coffee and maybe take a walk. Lucy’s on the couch with the TV on.” Either she can’t hear me or is pretending she can’t.

  Lucy is fast asleep again, just like I knew she would be. She’ll sleep for at least another hour, maybe two—it’s barely six o’clock. The café in the lobby opens at six, so I’ll be able to get some caffeine and charge it to the room the way I do everything else.

  That’s something else I can’t help but wonder about. How are we paying for this? What are we doing in the hotel if we can’t afford rent? It’s a pretty nice hotel, too, though, I can’t pretend I’ve been to many places before this. But we’ve stayed in a few cheap motels over the years, and this might as well be a five-star resort compared to that. Besides the pool, there’s a game room, a spa, two restaurants, and the café, which is already bustling even at this early hour on a Monday. A few guys in suits are waiting for their drinks when I get in line. I guess they’re here for business.

  Who’s paying for this? I can’t shake the question. Maybe it’s because I know what it’s like to have everything thrown upside down out of nowhere. One day, we had an apartment—not a great apartment, but it was ours. It was what Lucy called home, the only home she could remember. The next day, just like that, we had to throw our things into trash bags while our furniture got tossed out on the sidewalk for the garba
ge men to collect. I don’t think anybody would blame me for feeling like I always have to look over my shoulder, waiting for the next terrible thing is on its way.

  I know I stand out compared to the men waiting for their coffee. I cross my arms over myself, chilly in the air-conditioning, wishing I’d put on something that would cover me a little more when I feel the weight of their stares.

  “Large iced latte, please. Oat milk if you have it.” I charge it using my room card, then step aside to wait. One man, somebody who looks old enough to be my grandfather, inches a little too close for comfort.

  “Aren’t you a little young to be staying here by yourself?” he asks, his voice low.

  I look up at him. He’s staring down the front of my v-cut neckline and not bothering to hide it. “Excuse me?” I ask, playing dumb.

  “You’re a little young, is all. Are you staying alone?”

  “And what if I was?”

  “It seems a shame for a little girl to be running around by herself like that.” I swear, all he has to do now is lick his chops. He reminds me of the Big Bad Wolf in the old Three Little Pigs cartoon. The hotel has a channel dedicated just to those old-timey cartoons, and Lucy loves them. This man could be the wolf, easy.

  “Which is it? Am I a little girl, or am I the woman whose boobs you’re staring at?” Somebody standing within earshot snickers, but I don’t look at them. I stare at him and have the pleasure of watching his face turn almost purple, like his tie is suddenly much too tight. It’s not as if this is the first time an older man has talked to me like that. When I was younger, with some of Mom’s old boyfriends, I didn’t know what to do about it.

  Now? All it does is make me tired.

  He hurries away with his drink, and I can relax a little bit. Usually, I wouldn’t say boo to a ghost. But it’s been a long summer, and I’ve spent most of it in this hotel, taking care of my sister while my mother does whatever she does until all hours of the night. So, I’m not in the mood to be sexually harassed by some guy who probably has daughters older than me.

  It’s good to step outside once I have my drink in hand. The hotel staff is already hard at work, trimming shrubbery and sweeping the pathways. I nod to a couple of them as I pass and turn toward the abandoned bridge spanning the North Woods River. I enjoy going there sometimes, especially early in the morning. It’s peaceful, with nobody needing anything from me or demanding anything. I like to sit near the bridge and watch sunlight sparkling on the water. Sometimes I pretend I’m someone else, somewhere else. It’s easier than being me most days.

  Today, there’s something new—no, someone new. I spot him sitting on the bridge with his legs dangling over the side. Even I don’t usually step foot on the rotting old bridge, choosing instead to sit on the rocks overlooking the river. I doubt a car has passed over it in years. If it did, it would probably fall right through. More than once, I’ve wondered why they don’t just tear it down, but it’s probably cheaper to leave it here and use signs to warn drivers away from it.

  Everything about him screams leave me alone, from the hunch of his shoulders to the way he stares down at the water like it offended him. Why would he be mad at the river? He’s wearing a dark T-shirt and knee-length shorts. He looks like he could have been working out or going for a run.

  I should turn around and go another way. Maybe I should head back to the hotel. Lucy will get fidgety once she’s up, not to mention hungry. I shudder to think what Mom will do if she wakes her up, and I hate to think of her sitting there with her stomach growling while she waits for me to come back.

  But I can’t tear my eyes away from his short, brown curls. His chiseled jaw. Skin so tan, it’s almost bronze, like somebody who spends a lot of time outside. His body tells me the same thing. His build is muscular, but not obnoxious. He must play sports. He can’t be much older than me, so I guess he goes to one of the schools around here. Coming from the other side of town, I wouldn’t know.

  I don’t even know why I’m still standing here, holding this drink, staring at him. Something about him won’t let me go until I know more. The energy coming off him is so strong I can feel it from a distance.

  I can either pretend not to notice him and keep walking, or I can see if he needs help. Something tells me if I don’t, I’ll always wonder what happened to the sad, angry boy on the bridge.

  2

  Why am I doing this? My feet are heavy as I continue toward the bridge. I don’t have a good feeling about this. That’s why I can’t let it go. I’m afraid he might hurt himself. It’s stupid, and I know it is. I’ve never met this person. I have no idea why he’s sitting there. But I feel it in my heart. Something bad might happen if I don’t at least try to talk to him.

  So I try. “Hi.”

  His head snaps around fast enough that I fall back half a step in surprise. I can’t get the image of a wounded animal out of my head. “What do you want?” His voice is deep, filled with anger. Maybe even disgust. Why I would disgust him, I don’t know. Maybe he’s mad at the world, and I just happen to be the only person around.

  “Nothing. I came out here to sit and look at the water. I do that sometimes.”

  “Did I fucking ask?”

  “Actually, you kind of did. You asked what I want.”

  He rolls his eyes with a sigh of disgust. “Go away. Sit someplace else. Just get out of here.”

  I should. I know I should. He looks and sounds like he wants to rip my head off. Whatever he’s angry with or hurt by, he might decide to take it out on me. With a body like his, it wouldn’t be hard for him to overpower me if he wanted to.

  But I don’t feel like he would. I don’t know why. Something in my gut, I guess. If they’re cornered, a wounded animal might strike, but it’s only because they’re in pain. What they need is help. I wonder what kind of help I could give him.

  That’s what gets me moving closer to him. He stares out at the water, pretending to ignore me, but I’m not fooled. His jaw twitches, and it looks like he’s grinding his teeth. Maybe that’s a good thing. Instead of lashing out, he’s holding himself back.

  “Are you okay?” I ask.

  “Yes.”

  “Because you looked upset.”

  “Did I ask you how I looked? Why are you still here?” he demands through gritted teeth. “I told you to fucking leave.”

  “Yeah, I know, but I guess I don’t want to go yet.” I shift from one foot to the other. It’s difficult standing here when he obviously wants me gone. Standing up to that gross old guy at the café was one thing, but this is different.

  I take my time sitting down, careful not to go over the edge. The creaking of the wooden walkway running alongside the roadway makes my blood run cold, but I don’t think it’s going to collapse with only two people sitting on it. “Here. You look thirsty.” I hold out my latte, condensation rolling down the sides of the cup. “Do you like oat milk?”

  “Oat milk? Aren’t there enough kinds of milk in the world?” Still, he takes it.

  “But I like this. It’s really creamy. It sort of makes you feel like you’re drinking something bad for you when you’re really not.”

  “Why not just drink something bad for you?” He takes a sip anyway. It warms me inside. Like I won a tiny victory.

  And it gives me the courage to keep talking. “It’s pretty early in the morning to be out. Were you going on a run?”

  I can practically feel him closing himself off. He sets the coffee down between us before rubbing his palms over his thighs. “I was going for a walk,” I explain when he doesn’t speak. “I’ve been staying in a hotel with my family for a little while now, and it gets claustrophobic. I’m tired of breathing all that hotel air, you know? But the windows don’t open. I guess they don’t want people jumping.”

  Ouch. Maybe that wasn’t the best thing to say, since he sort of looked like he wanted to jump when I first found him. But he only snorts, shrugging a little. “Probably.”

  I sigh, looking out ov
er the water. “You know, mornings like this remind me of when I was little. It always felt kind of, I don’t know, special to be up this early. The sun is just coming up, and most people are still sleeping. Everything is so still. You can hear the birds waking up.”

  He responds grudgingly. “I guess so. I never really paid attention.”

  “I used to love when my dad would take me fishing. That’s when I would get up early, you know? We would head out, and it would still be dark when we left the house.” I swing my legs back and forth. I’m glad I wore tennis shoes this morning instead of my slides. I’d be too afraid one would fall off and drop into the water.

  “Did you used to go a lot?” he asks in a flat voice. I can’t tell if he’s interested or if he only wants a distraction. Either way, I don’t mind.

  “Only sometimes. Usually in the summer. He had more time for me in the summer. We’d go out and get in the little boat, and he would take us out to the middle of the lake.”

  “Which lake?”

  “I don’t remember. I don’t even think he ever told me the name of it. And I was too little to care. He always put the worm on the hook for me. I would sit there and hold my pole, and he’d, you know…” I mime reeling the little crank thingy to bring the fish in.

  “What kind of fish did you catch? Were you any good?”

  I bite my lip. “I don’t remember the names.”

  “Probably minnows. They’re easy to catch. Did you used to eat them?”