Like You Care: A Dark High School Bully Romance (Devilbend Dynasty Book 1) Read online

  Copyright © 2020 by Katarina Smythe

  All rights reserved.

  This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without the express written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. The events described are fictitious; any similarities to actual events and persons are coincidental.

  Cover Design by Sara Eirew

  Editing by Kirstin Andrews

  Formatting by AB Formatting

  kaydencesnow.com

  For CoraLee June

  This book wouldn’t exist if it wasn’t for you

  Contents

  Prologue

  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

  Like You Hurt: Devilbend Dynasty (Book 2)

  Note from the Author

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by Kaydence Snow

  The cable tie around my wrists was so tight my fingers were going numb. The pole they’d tied me to dug into my back, the cold metal and the evening breeze making me shiver.

  Or maybe I was shivering from fear.

  They’d never gone this far before, never hurt me this badly.

  I sobbed, the flood of tears stinging my sore cheek.

  The knife was small—just a little switchblade thing—but it looked sharp. A shudder raced down my spine as the tip was dragged gently down my throat, the middle of my chest, my belly.

  For the first time, I wondered if I would actually survive this night. Were they really about to kill me? Did their hatred really run that deep?

  Movement in the distance caught my attention. Someone was sprinting toward us across the football field.

  My heart soared . . . then I recognized him, and it plummeted again.

  He stopped just a few feet away, breathing hard, his wide eyes taking in the whole fucked-up scene. He couldn’t hide his reaction; his beautiful face gave it all away—surprise, horror, disbelief, disgust . . . was that anger I saw next?

  I couldn’t be sure of anything anymore. My soul was being torn to shreds, and my mind was going with it. I had no idea what he’d do next.

  Would he join in and help them destroy me?

  Would he stand by and do nothing, let it happen?

  Would he walk away, like a coward, so he wouldn’t have to watch?

  Or would he defend me? Save me?

  Knowing what I’d just learned, what it would mean, what it would cost, did I even want him to?

  He took a step forward, and I braced myself to find out if the boy I loved would be my salvation . . . or if my heart would be torn to shreds right along with my mind and soul.

  The tennis ball thunked rhythmically as my cousins got into a lengthy rally. It wasn’t even midday yet, but the sun was already unbearable, reflecting brightly off the blue of the tennis court.

  Donna and Harlow were in pristine tennis whites right down to their shoes, their skirts swishing around their tanned thighs as they lunged for balls as though competing at a world-class tournament. I was in shorts and a tank top, my flip-flops abandoned under the chair—nothing pristine about any of it. I didn’t know the first thing about holding a tennis racket, let alone hitting the ball.

  My cousins lived on a property big enough to hold a tennis court and a pool. I lived in an apartment off a hallway that always smelled like curry. This was not my world, but these girls were the closest thing I had to friends.

  The rally broke, and Donna grunted a “yes” as she pumped her fist.

  “Are you two nearly done?” Amaya yelled from the chair next to me before taking a sip of her watermelon juice. She went to Fulton Academy with my cousins and lived on the next street. They’d been friends since preschool, so she was always around when I was around. Not that I minded. I liked her confidence—if only some of it would rub off on me . . .

  “Yeah, some of us would like to get in the pool,” I added.

  “We need to finish this,” Harlow ground out before crouching down, waiting for her sister to serve.

  Amaya and I both groaned and slumped down in our chairs. We were in the shade of a massive umbrella, but it felt as if the sun was beating right through it onto the top of my head. I drank the rest of my own watermelon juice, loudly slurping up the last dregs of the sweet liquid through my straw.

  Amaya finished hers too, dropped the empty glass on the table between us, and reached for her phone. She changed the song, the new beat thumping out of the little portable speaker, then stretched her arms up over her head. Her perfectly straight, almost black hair hung down the back of the chair, shining like silk. Her long brown legs were toned and perfect.

  I wished I had her beautiful skin. I wished I had anyone’s skin but my own, especially the skin on my face.

  “How was your summer, Mena?” Amaya asked, giving me a genuine, friendly smile. It was the question I’d been dreading all morning.

  The three of them had spent most of the summer at some camp with their other rich friends. I’d spent the summer on the cramped little balcony of my apartment, doing elaborate makeup looks and then wiping them off again—when I wasn’t working at the diner.

  “Pretty chill.” I shrugged and hoped she’d drop it.

  “Did you do anything fun with your friends?”

  Your friends. Not your other friends or your friends from school. Did she not consider me a friend?

  I pushed the choking feeling down and worked hard to keep my expression neutral. “Nothing worth mentioning.” Please drop it. “I can’t stand this heat anymore.” I groaned. “I don’t know how those two aren’t melting.”

  My cousins were still whacking the tennis ball, sprinting up and down the court.

  “Ugh, I know. They’re gonna get heatstroke.” Amaya took a cigarette out of her pack and lit it.

  Seizing the opportunity to avoid the topic of my nonexistent friends, I slipped into my flip-flops. “I’m gonna go get another drink and jump in the pool.”

  Amaya waved me away with the cigarette held between her elegant fingers. “Hey, you maniacs!” she yelled as I walked up the path toward the house. “We’ve had enough. You have until I finish this smoke, and then we’re getting in that motherfucking pool, or so help me . . .”

  My cousins started shouting back, but I could no longer discern what they were saying. I smiled to myself as my shoulders relaxed. I loved hanging out with these girls, but I really didn’t want to talk about my life. It was easier to just pretend.

  I walked through the Meads’ massive house, my flip-flops slapping on marble tile as the AC cooled my flushed skin. My aunt Emily was sitting at the island in the kitchen, flipping through an interior design magazine and sipping on a coffee made for her on the professional espresso machine in their butler’s pantry.

  She looked up at me and smiled. Donna and Harlow got their blonde hair and athletic bodies from her and their round eyes from their dad.

  “You girls having
fun?” She brushed my hair off my shoulder as I leaned on the counter next to her.

  “Yes.” My returning smile was genuine. My mother’s sister had never made me feel invisible. She’d also never made me feel awkward about my face or treated me differently because we didn’t have the kind of money she had.

  “Where are the others?” She glanced behind me, in the direction of the tennis court.

  “We’re all gonna jump in the pool soon. I just came in to get more watermelon juice.” I rolled my eyes and chuckled. “ After your daughters are done battling it out for the top spot in the Australian Open.”

  “In this heat?” She shook her head. “Do I need to go tell them to knock it off?”

  “No, no,” I rushed out. I didn’t want her to catch Amaya smoking. “They’re wrapping it up.”

  My aunt nodded and smoothed my hair again. “OK. Oh, by the way . . .” She hopped off the stool, her understated perfume wafting toward me as she breezed past in a tailored shirt and khaki shorts, not a hair out of place. She picked up a MacBook and coiled-up charger off the side table. “We got Donna and Harlow new laptops for school, so I wanted to give you this one. It’s been reset and all that jazz.”

  “Oh.” I took it reflexively, the sleek metal cool in my fingers. “Thank you . . .” I trailed off. I really was thankful, but I knew Mom didn’t like me taking things from my cousins. My dad would be fine with it. He knew my aunt’s gifts came from a good place, and he wasn’t too proud to accept the help. But my mom . . .

  My aunt saw the uncertainty on my face. “Don’t worry about your mom. I’ll talk to her. You need a good computer for school.”

  Her tone brooked no arguments, so I nodded. My current laptop was clunky and constantly crashing—often midsentence as I worked on an assignment. We couldn’t possibly afford a new one, so I hadn’t even mentioned it to my parents.

  Aunt Emily took the laptop out of my hands again and set it on the bench. “You go on out to the pool. I’ll have the drinks and a snack brought out to you before I head off to lunch.”

  “Thanks, Auntie Em.”

  I did as she said, making my way through the open-plan living area, out through the French doors, and down another manicured path toward the pool. I would much rather have just gone to the fridge and gotten the damn drinks myself than deal with the awkwardness of having a servant bring things, but there was no point arguing with my aunt.

  The pool was as ostentatious as the house, with curving edges, natural stone paving, and lush landscaping, complete with stunning views of California’s natural landscape. Umbrella-shaded loungers lined one side, towels already placed neatly on each one. I toed off my flip-flops and whipped my tank top off over my head as voices preceded the arrival of the others.

  The girls walked up before I could get my shorts off. Donna and Harlow spotted me, and matching evil grins pulled at their faces.

  “No,” I said as firmly as I could, throwing my arms out in front of me.

  They shared a look and sprinted directly for me. Neither one seemed to give a shit that they were still fully clothed in their tennis gear as they tackled me into the water. All three of us splashed into the pool in a tangle of limbs and hair.

  “Oh man, that’s refreshing,” Harlow yelled as we surfaced, spluttering and laughing. They waded to the edge of the pool and got out, removing their sodden tennis shoes.

  “You guys are such dicks!” I smacked the water on either side of me, but I couldn’t help the smile tugging at my face.

  “Hey, you wanted to get in the pool,” Donna teased, and I flipped her off. Somehow, her short, sleek haircut still looked neat and cute even plastered to her head.

  “You did want to get in the pool.” Perfectly dry and unruffled, Amaya flipped her shiny black hair over her shoulder, lit another cigarette, and unhurriedly lowered her perfect ass to one of the loungers.

  The sisters headed to the pool house to get their bathing suits, shedding wet white clothing as they went.

  “Whose side are you on?” I arched a brow at Amaya as I headed toward the ladder, the denim tight around my hips. The shorts would be a pain in the ass to get off.

  “Mine.” She shrugged. “Always mine.”

  Just as I reached the ladder, a servant in black shorts and a collared T-shirt came down the path, carrying a tray laden with drinks and snacks.

  I ducked my head and pushed off the ladder, diving back under the water. Better to deal with the wet denim for a few more minutes than deal with someone I didn’t know looking at my gross face.

  I surfaced at the deep end and took big gulps of air, facing the verdant plants on the other side of the pool.

  “He’s gone,” Amaya announced. She had stripped down to a white bikini that practically glowed against her smooth dark skin, her black hair gathered into a messy bun on top of her head.

  I sighed in relief and swam back to the ladder. She gave me a warm smile as she waded in at the shallow end. The girls knew how self-conscious I was of my face, but they also knew I didn’t like talking about it.

  Donna and Harlow came back out wearing swimsuits that probably cost more than my whole wardrobe, with geometric mesh cutouts, and joined us in the pool.

  “I wish you went to our school, Mena.” Harlow pouted.

  “Yeah, senior year would be epic with all of us together,” Donna agreed. Donna was born eleven months before Harlow, making them as close in age as sisters could be without being twins.

  I nodded before kicking my legs up to float on my back. “Me too.”

  I’d have given anything to go to their fancy private school, where I’d actually have friends. But I was stuck at my shitty public school, where I wished I didn’t exist—on a good day.

  We spent the rest of the day by the pool, listening to music and talking, the girls telling me about their time away. We had lunch brought to us and hardly left the loungers other than to cool off in the water.

  We all took photos on our phones, but when Amaya went to post one with all four of us squished into the frame, drinking watermelon juice through straws, I made her promise not to. I didn’t want anyone seeing the repulsive thing on my face, and I really didn’t want anything online that could be used against me. They argued with me, but I was pretty stubborn on this front, so Amaya ended up posting one with just the three of them. As usual, she added #DevilbendDynasty to the caption.

  They’d started using the phrase last year, after we found a stack of photo albums in the Meads’ attic—our moms and grandmothers, generations of Devilbend women, in social clubs, at charity functions, sticking together, supporting one another. I knew the girls wanted to include me in the sentiment, but I wasn’t dynasty material—I was just a poor, ugly girl with no future.

  My mom picked me up on her way home from work, coming inside to catch up with her sister while I squeezed in every last moment with the girls. I was pretty sure they argued about the laptop, but it came home with us, so my aunt must have won.

  The carefree, light feeling I’d had hanging out with the girls was pushed out of my chest with every mile that took me farther away from them. As the manicured lawns and immaculate, tall fences gave way to tightly packed concrete buildings on the fifteen-minute drive home, some of that concrete settled on my shoulders, my reality weighing me down.

  “Did you have fun with your cousins?” Mom asked as we parked in the lot behind our building. It was the first thing she’d said since we got in the car, both of us lost in our thoughts.

  I sighed. “Yeah.”

  “Well, don’t sound so enthusiastic about it.” She chuckled.

  I didn’t answer, and she was too tired to prod me any further. My mom had the same blonde hair as my aunt Em, but I got my thick, light brown hair from my dad. I also got his pale blue eyes. If only I had some of his height too. He towered over both my mom and me—but then, most people did.

  After dinner and a shower, I went out to the balcony to let my hair air-dry.

  The sun was be
ginning to set, casting everything in a warm yellow-orange hue. Even the shitty side of Devilbend—with the squat apartment buildings, the run-down park, and the shady area near the train station—looked kind of pretty in this light.

  But it was an illusion. Under the golden light and summer shadows was hard concrete and graffiti, people struggling to survive, and me. I’d had an amazing day, but it made the evening even more bitter by comparison. Back to reality. Tomorrow I’d have to go to work at the diner—I’d picked up as many shifts as I could during summer. Then on Monday, it was back to school.

  I rubbed the side of my nose and sighed, wishing for the millionth time I could scrub the ugly mark off. Wishing I could change just one thing about my life.

  That was impossible, so I decided to paint the pretty sunset onto my face in the form of a smoky but vibrant eye makeup.

  “Motherfucker!” My chair scraped against the balcony floor as I leapt up to avoid getting splatters of foundation on my white shorts. The bottle had just slipped out of my hand and smashed on the table. “Fucking fuck. God damn it!”

  I growled in frustration as more than fifty dollars’ worth of goop, perfectly matched to my skin tone, went oozing over the edge.

  “You all right over there?” A deep male voice came from the balcony next to ours, a shadow shifting behind the bamboo screen my mother had put up for privacy.

  “Shit.” I froze, heat spreading up my cheeks. That was all I needed—some asshole to tell me off over my potty mouth.

  “Yes. I’m fine. Just dropped something. Sorry about the cursing,” I scrambled to reply, hoping he wouldn’t demand to speak with my parents.

  He chuckled, sounding more amused now than concerned. “I don’t give a flying fuck about the cursing.” His voice was smooth—like the ocean on a calm day. Mellow and even on the surface, but underneath . . .