Cruel Intentions: Chapter 4

I‘ve always known Tia was a bitch. Growing up, I saw how she treated anyone she thought was beneath her. She had this way of looking down on people like they were nothing more than tools to boost her own fucked-up ego. Sure, we fucked once—no big deal—but it meant nothing. For me, it was just a way to kill time, to scratch an itch.

But for her? She thought it was something more. The next day, she flooded my phone with texts.

I wasn’t stupid enough to fall for that shit. I kept my distance after that, made sure she knew that I don’t do clingy. But it never stopped her. She’s the type of girl who thinks a quick fuck means you want to exchange vows with her. Fuck that.

Since Aubrey tore my heart apart and left it to wither, I stick to casual hook-ups. It’s easier that way—no strings, no emotional baggage, no worrying about anyone’s feelings. Just get in, get off, and get out. Simple.

After that shitshow with Tia, I learned my lesson. Now, I make it crystal clear to every girl who wants to hook up: it’s just that—a hook up—nothing more. No dates, no feelings, no fucking strings attached. I don’t have time for that. My heart’s been trashed once, I’m not doing that shit again.

I’m honestly shocked at how ruthless Tia’s being with Aubrey. They used to be friends—or at least, I thought they were. But Tia doesn’t know a damn thing about Aubrey’s life outside the parties and the bullshit at school. She never did.

Aubrey kept all that hidden, and the only person who ever got a glimpse of the mess inside her was me. I heard it all—the screaming matches between her parents, the shattered glass, the way they tore each other apart every day. But no one else knew. She trusted me with that pain. I was the only one she let into that fucked-up world of hers.

But now?

Now it’s like Tia’s made it her personal mission to tear into Aubrey, to break her down like she’s some kind of target. Tia’s jealous. I know it. She had a huge thing for me back when I was with Aubrey, and she still does. What else could explain why she’s so fixated on making sure Aubrey’s life is a living hell, tearing her down every chance she gets? Jealous, spiteful bitch.

Jace, Reece, and I slide into our usual spot in the back of the lunchroom, the one where we can see everything without anyone noticing us. It’s the perfect vantage point—keeps the bullshit at arm’s length.

Tia and her crew walk in, and she smiles at me. It’s wide, fake as hell, and those eyes… They practically gleam with interest. Like she thinks I’m gonna fall for that crap. Hell no. Not in a million fucking years.

She plops herself down at the table opposite me, her little followers trailing behind, hanging on to her every word like they’re starving dogs waiting for scraps. They’d kill for her approval—just a glance, a fucking crumb.

And then there’s Nicole, practically buzzing for attention, ready to spread her legs for anyone who’ll toss her a second of validation. She slides into the seat next to Tia, acting like they’re the untouchable queen bees of the universe.

“I can’t believe that bitch tried to stand up to me,” Tia sneers, her eyes darting around the table, looking for someone to back her up.

Approval—she needs it, always. The words hang in the air like they’re the only thing that keeps her going. My fingers itch to throw something, but I settle for grinding my teeth. There are bigger problems in the world than her fucking petty, childish vendettas.

“Did you see the condoms? I bet she opens her legs for anyone,” she adds with a pointed smirk, shooting a look at Nicole, who bobs her head in agreement like a damn puppet.

I zone out the second Aubrey steps into the lunchroom, her backpack hanging carelessly over one shoulder like she gives less of a shit about who is watching her.

But I’m watching. My eyes lock on her, narrowing as she walks beside Sam, her laughter carrying across the room like a dare. It’s impossible not to take her in—those waves of long, black hair cascading down her back, her tight, fuckable body demanding every ounce of attention in the room.

My tongue darts out to wet my bottom lip as my thoughts spiral into places they probably shouldn’t. The way those black fishnet stockings cling to her legs, the curve of that mini skirt riding high enough to tease but not quite enough to satisfy—fuck. It’s the vibe she throws off, that bad-girl, untouchable attitude that makes my blood heat and my cock stir to life. She’s dangerous in all the right ways, and it only makes me crave her more.

Aubrey doesn’t drape herself in designer labels like the rest of the girls, desperate to avoid being ripped apart by Tia’s bullshit. No, she’s here in her worn-out top that slips just enough off her shoulder to drive me fucking crazy. And those combat boots—scuffed, battered, the same brand she’s been wearing since she was thirteen. Tia used to sneer at them, mocking her for not following the crowd, but fuck that. Those boots are a statement, just like she is.

Aubrey doesn’t give a fuck about blending in. She doesn’t waste her time pretending to be something she’s not, doesn’t drown in the bullshit that drips off everyone else. She’s raw, unpolished, and unapologetically herself. And God, it’s fucking hot.

‘You’ve tapped that, right?’ Jace asks, his voice low but laced with his usual smugness.

My jaw clenches as I snap my head toward him, catching the way his eyes linger on Aubrey.

In an instant, a wave of protectiveness hits me, hot and unrelenting. My fists tighten at my sides, itching to silence him with a single punch to the throat. I know Jace too well—his games, his conquests—and there’s no way I’m letting him anywhere near her.

Yeah, Aubrey might drive me insane, always pushing my buttons and making me grind my teeth, but the thought of him sinking his claws—or worse, his cock—into her? Fuck that.

Tia’s grating voice, like nails on a chalkboard, falters mid-sentence; her attention shifting as she follows our line of sight.

When her eyes land on Aubrey, they narrow, her lips twisting in that familiar way that reeks of venom.

“Yeah,” I say, trying to sound casual, but the words taste like shit in my mouth. I barely recognize her anymore. The image of those condoms spilling out of Aubrey’s bag earlier keeps looping in my head, and the thought of other guys touching her makes my stomach churn.

The Aubrey I knew wasn’t like that—when we lost our virginity to each other, it was real. It meant something. But now? Now I can’t stop picturing her with every asshole who crosses her path, and it makes me want to punch something.

Tia spins around, her smirk sharp and dripping with malice. “I’d say get in line if you wanna fuck her, Jace,” she sneers. “Looks like she puts out. What a slut.” She glances around for validation, like her words are gospel, and her little pack of starving bitches nod along, feeding off her toxic cruelty.

“Cut the fucking shit, Tia,” I snap, my voice sharp and raw with frustration. “I’m done listening to your bullshit day in and day out.”

Tia’s silence hits like a slap, her eyes narrowing into sharp, deadly daggers aimed right at me. Her pride’s bruised, but I don’t care—not one bit. She glares at me like I’m the one in the wrong, but I’ll deal with her shit later. Right now, my focus shifts to Aubrey as she slides into a seat with Sam and the other girls.

When she looks up and our gazes lock, it’s like the ground tilts beneath me, knocking the air from my lungs.

Memories flood in, sharp and relentless. The sound of our laughter, the way we’d pass notes between classes like the rest of the world didn’t exist. The stolen moments. The kisses that felt like they meant everything. All the shit we shared, all the shit left unfinished.

But right now, I can’t afford to care.

Aubrey quickly looks away, diving into a conversation like nothing happened, but I can’t tear my gaze off her. And I swear to God, she knows it. Every so often, she sneaks a glance my way, like she’s trying to act oblivious, but I catch it—the way her eyes linger just a second too long.

Lucas Simpson saunters over to her table, and a surge of irritation flares through me.

The second Aubrey notices him and flashes that smile, I can feel my blood start to boil. But what pushes me over the edge is when I catch him blatantly checking out her tits, not even trying to hide it.

No fucking way in hell is he—or anyone else on the football team—getting anywhere near her. I need to make that crystal clear: Aubrey is off-limits. If Lucas or any of his buddies think they have a shot, they’re about to learn the hard way just how wrong they are.

‘Aubrey’s off-limits,’ I growl at Jace and Reece, my voice low and dangerous. ‘Make sure everyone knows.’

Jace raises an eyebrow, a smirk playing on his lips. ‘She’s that fucking good, huh?’ he mocks, then adds, ‘I knew that mouth could suck cock.’

Before I can even stop myself, I’m on him, every ounce of anger and possessiveness in my voice. ‘You fucking talk about her like that again, and I will end you.’

I lock eyes with him, and I know he gets it. He sees the rage burning in mine—the kind of rage that doesn’t give a damn about consequences.

I turn my head back towards Aubrey, and the second I spot Lucas Simpson still hanging around, I snap. I shove myself up from my seat, and the conversation around the table dies instantly. All eyes are on me, waiting, watching to see what the hell I’m about to do.

Jace and Reece follow without a word.

My fists clench, the rage building as I watch Lucas lean in to talk to Aubrey, his head dipping way too close. I know exactly what he’s doing—getting a good look at her tits. I see it the moment his eyes drop to her chest. But what really gets to me is when Aubrey leans back slightly, clearly uncomfortable with him crowding her space.

The sight of her leaning back calms me more than it should—knowing she can keep a guy like him at a distance.

But even still, I can’t shake the image of those condoms in her bag. It fucks with my head. I refuse to believe she’s turned into some easy slut just because of that.

As we get closer, heads start to turn, conversations stumble to a halt, and whispers trail behind us. The curiosity hangs thick in the air, like they’re all waiting to see what’s going to happen.

But Lucas, that oblivious dickhead, is still crouched over, chatting up Aubrey like he’s the only one in the world who matters. The sight of him blatantly checking her out pisses me off, and what makes it worse is that he’s too clueless to realize I’m coming for him.

He doesn’t even catch on when Aubrey glances my way, her eyes flashing like she knows exactly what’s about to go down.

Aubrey squirms in her seat, her eyes flicking nervously, and I fucking love it. I can see her trying to stay composed, but I’ve already thrown her off balance, and I’m not about to let her find her footing again.

I don’t waste a second. Grabbing Lucas by the collar, I yank him toward me, hearing the surprised grunt rumble in his chest. His wide eyes meet mine, pure fucking shock written all over his face. Good. He should be surprised.

“Hey, Red,” Reece’s voice calls out, that stupid nickname rolling off his tongue like it means something. He’s always had a thing for Sam—always calling her that dumb name. The fucker’s been obsessed with her for as long as I can remember.

I make sure my grip on Lucas tightens, forcing him to stumble with every step I take. I can’t let him near Aubrey, not now, not ever.

And it’s not just him. Any other asshole who thinks they have a shot with her better think again. I’ll make sure they know exactly where they stand—away from her, far the fuck away.

I drag his ass toward the large double doors that lead to the field outside, my grip tightening as I shove him through the doors.

‘What the fuck did I do, Noah?’ Lucas asks, his voice tight, but I can hear the panic creeping in.

I don’t give a shit about the curious eyes peeking through the windows. Let them watch. They’re all just waiting for something to blow up, and I’m more than happy to deliver.

‘Stay the fuck away from her,’ I growl, my words low and dangerous, making sure he gets the message loud and clear.

‘I was just saying hi,’ he mutters, like he’s trying to play the innocent little asshole, but I know him better than that.

‘Yeah, right,’ I snap, my teeth gritted. ‘I saw you fucking eyeing her tits.’ I make sure to throw the accusation in his face, watching his eyes flicker with guilt, his posture tightening up.

He swallows hard, looking down at his feet like he’s trying to avoid facing the truth.

Pathetic.

I step forward, shoulders squared, my gaze hard as steel. ‘You better tell every other prick on that football team to stay the fuck away from Aubrey Baxter. Got it?’ My voice is low, controlled, like a threat barely held back.

He looks up, his eyes wide, nodding like his life depends on it. ‘Got it.’

‘Now get the hell out of here and don’t come near her again, Asshole.’ I watch him scramble back into the lunchroom; no doubt eager to avoid my wrath.

I can’t go back in there—not with Tia’s bullshit hanging in the air, weighing me down.

“Hey, you guys wanna ditch this place, head over to Jace’s trailer, and talk some bullshit while we smoke a joint?”

Aubrey being back in my orbit has me completely fucked up, and I need to get the hell out of here before anyone picks up on it. My chest is tight, like I’m seconds away from falling apart, and I can’t let her see that—can’t let anyone see that. Not now. Not ever.

“Fuck yeah,” Reece says, with a smirk. “I’ve only got Chemistry and English left anyway. Fuck it.”

Jace nods, tapping his shirt pocket. “Joint’s ready to go.”

We cut through the lunchroom, the buzz of voices fading into a low hum as we navigate the maze of tables to grab our backpacks. My eyes lock onto Lucas, sitting with his little football crew, all smug grins and that overpowering cheap cologne.

He meets my gaze for half a second before looking away, his jaw clenching like he’s been caught red-handed. His teammates notice too, their laughter cutting off mid-sentence.

Good. Let them squirm. The last thing I need is those assholes thinking they’re untouchable.

Outside, we get into my car, and I floor it out of the school parking lot. My knuckles throb as I grip the steering wheel, trying to force Aubrey out of my head. But she clings, like a ghost I can’t shake, the kind that makes it hard to breathe, hard to focus on anything else.

We pull up to Jace’s trailer, hidden behind his aunt’s house.

The trailer is falling apart—dented siding, a window patched with duct tape, and the yard’s overrun with weeds. It’s not a home, just a constant reminder that Jace doesn’t belong anywhere. His aunt keeps him locked away back here, out of sight, like he’s some stain she doesn’t want to taint her perfect suburban life, her glossy, picture-perfect kids. It’s as if he’s the dirt on her immaculate floor, a reminder of something ugly she’d rather pretend doesn’t exist. Her own blood, and she treats him like shit.

“She still giving you shit?” Reece asks, his voice low as he watches Jace unlock the door.

Jace shrugs, like it’s nothing. “Every damn day. Ain’t like I’m new to it.” He steps inside, kicking some shit out of the way to make space.

I collapse onto the beat-up couch, the springs protesting under me. Jace pulls out the joint, lights it, and takes a long drag like it’s the only thing keeping him from losing his shit.

He passes it to me, and I inhale, feeling the smoke burning the way down my throat. The calm hits hard, like a veil over everything, and for a moment, Aubrey’s image fades, her face not clawing its way into my brain like it always does.

‘So, Aubrey,’ Reece says, slumping into the chair across from me, his eyes gleaming like he knows exactly what he’s doing. He takes a slow drag from the joint, savoring it, and then blows the smoke in my direction.

I glare at him, my jaw clenched so tight it’s like it might snap, every muscle in my body screaming to throw something—him, my damn fist, anything.

Without thinking, I snatch the joint from his hand, my fingers rough, too forceful, as I rip it away from him. I take a hit, a deep, burning drag, my lungs on fire, throat raw, like it’s the only thing keeping me from snapping.

‘We’re not fucking talking about her,’ I growl, my voice low but cutting.

Reece doesn’t back off, his smirk curling like he knows exactly what he’s doing. “Come on, man. You don’t want anyone fucking her. So that means you’re keeping her for yourself.”

I feel the weight of his words slam into me, twisting like a knife. I hate that he’s right—hate that I can’t stop thinking about her, that I care more than I want to. But I won’t let him see it.

“I’m not interested in that bitch,” I snap, forcing the truth back down, the lie I keep telling myself. I shove the joint back to Jace, praying they don’t see through the cracks in my armor.

But they will. They always do.

Reece’s phone pings, and he pulls it out like he’s been expecting it. His eyes scan the screen, a smirk slowly spreading across his face. He shoves the phone back into his pocket, standing up like he’s had enough.

“Guess I’m outta here,” he mutters, his voice oozing with that same smug arrogance. “Got a chick, Nicole. She wants to meet up and have a good time.” He’s already halfway out the door, not even bothering to look back. “Later,” he tosses over his shoulder.

The door slams behind him, and a twisted sense of relief settles deep in my chest. I’m glad he’s gone. Glad I don’t have to deal with any of his fucked-up questions anymore. Glad I don’t have to pretend his words don’t sting.

Jace leans forward, passing me the joint like it’s second nature. “I was talking to my cousin the other day,” he mutters, his voice distant, like his mind’s somewhere else. “He was out in the driveway, just riding his bike, you know? Just being a kid.” He takes a long drag, the smoke swirling around him.

I stay quiet, waiting for him to finish, but I can feel the weight of whatever’s coming next. He doesn’t talk about his aunt. Never.

“Fuck, man. She fucking lost it. Like, lost her goddamn mind. She was screaming at him, yelling for him to get inside, telling him to never talk to me again,” his voice cracks, but he doesn’t stop. “He’s just a kid, you know? Then she freaked out on me.” He spits the words out like they’re burning him. “I fucking hate it here,” he continues, his face twisted in something close to rage. “Fucking hate that cunt of a mother for leaving me with her.”

I can see it—the rawness in his eyes, the anger that’s been building up for God knows how long. His jaw tightens, his hand running over his face like he’s trying to scrub away the memory, but it’s there. Sticking to him, sinking into his skin, heavier than anything he can shake off.

I lean forward passing Jace the joint.

He lifts it to his lips, taking another hit, but this time, it’s like he’s doing it more out of habit than anything else, like he’s trying to cover the cracks he doesn’t want to show.

I watch him, the guy who’s usually so sure of himself, so fucking untouchable, slowly cracking in front of me.

I can feel the weight of the moment pressing down, like if I don’t say something—anything—I might choke on the silence. I’ve never been the talker between us, but right now, my throat’s tight, and I can’t stand it anymore. I need to break the tension before it swallows me whole.

“You know,” I begin, my voice steady but low, “it’s not all on you. It’s like you’re trapped in the middle of this fucked-up mess, thinking you’re the one who has to fix everything. But that shit with your aunt? That’s on her, not you.”

“Yeah, I know,” Jace mutters, his voice low and rough, running a hand through his hair. His face twists into that grimace I recognize too well. “I just can’t stand it.” His shoulders slump, the weight of everything pressing down on him, making him seem smaller, weaker than he ever lets anyone see. But I see it. It’s not just the aunt—it’s everything, piling up, drowning him, and I can see it in the way he’s holding himself, like he’s one step from breaking.

I don’t say anything. I’m not stupid enough to try and fix it. Instead, I lean back, staring out the window, letting him know he’s not alone. I’m here, and that’s enough.

Time drags on, but neither of us moves.

‘Shit, I gotta go,’ he says, like he’s just snapped out of whatever dark space he was in.

He’s got to head to the burger joint, the one he works at, just to scrape together enough cash for food. His aunt couldn’t care less if he eats, if he’s starving, or if he’s even alive. Doesn’t care if he withers away or ends up dead on the side of the road.

It’s moments like this that make me appreciate my dad. He’s never made me feel like I’m just some inconvenience to be tossed aside. He’s always there. He gives a shit. I’m lucky to have him, even if I take it for granted sometimes—because even though my mom walked out on me like I was nothing, at least I’ve got someone who actually gives a shit. Jace doesn’t have that.

After I drop Jace off at the burger joint, I head back home.

As I pull into the driveway, old habits kick in, pulling at me, telling me not to glance at the house next door. The one I can’t seem to ignore. But I force myself to keep my eyes straight, focusing on my front door instead. I need to get inside before I lose my edge and end up staring at her window again, like I’ve done too many times before.

Relief sets in when I step into the house, but something feels off.

The air’s wrong. There’s no scent of my dad’s cooking, no familiar comfort that usually tells me everything’s fine.

I freeze, something in my gut twisting. This isn’t right. I don’t know what the hell’s happening, but the hairs on the back of my neck stand up, telling me something’s broken, something’s changed. And it feels like it’s all crashing down around me.

‘Dad!’

The word bursts from my mouth as I rush into the kitchen, a tight knot of worry clawing at my insides. Stepping into the room, my eyes lock onto him—sitting there, swallowed by shadows.

For a second, my heart stops. I don’t know if it’s relief or panic, but the worry in my stomach eases, just enough to make me feel like I might breathe again. But something’s off. That gnawing unease lingers, refusing to let go.

The empty beer bottle on the table speaks for itself.

The man I know doesn’t drink like this. My stomach churns, but I force it down. I cross the room and sit on the opposite end of the couch, my eyes fixed on him. His face—hell, his whole fucking presence—feels like it belongs to someone else. His eyes don’t even move in my direction.

Did he hear me at all?

This isn’t the dad I know, the one who makes me laugh, the one who yells at the TV during a football game. That guy is gone.

“Dad,” I repeat, a shaky whisper barely audible, the tremor in my voice sending shivers down my spine.

The second it leaves my mouth; I see him snap out of whatever fog he’s been in. Noticing the empty beer bottle on the table, he reaches for it and stands up.

‘Hey, son,’ he says, forcing a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. His voice cracks, trying too hard to sound casual, but it’s all fake, and I can feel it. ‘How about we grab takeout for dinner?’ he suggests, acting like it’ll make everything better, like changing the subject will fix this.

But the way he tries to play it cool only makes it worse, tightening the tension between us, like he’s pretending nothing’s wrong when everything seems like it’s falling apart.

This awkward, desperate attempt to smooth over whatever just happened. It’s not working. Not by a long shot.

‘What’re you hungry for?’ he asks, moving to the drawer and pulling out the takeout menus like it’s just another damn night.

‘What’s up, Dad?’ I press, getting up from the couch and stepping over to the kitchen counter, closing the space between us.

He freezes, breath heavy, the silence between us suffocating. I can see the weight of whatever’s on his mind, but he won’t say it.

After what feels like forever, he looks at me, forcing another fake ass smile.

‘So, what’re we having tonight? Pizza, pasta—’ he starts, but I cut him off.

‘Dad, talk to me,’ I beg, my voice shaky, and I hate it. But I can’t stop it.

He meets my gaze, and I see the storm brewing behind his eyes, like he’s fighting with something dark and heavy.

I don’t look away. I can’t. My eyes are begging for the truth, urging him to break down whatever damn wall’s keeping him silent. It’s not like him to drink in the afternoon—hell, that’s usually reserved for special occasions, like football games or celebrations. He’s struggling, swallowing hard like the words are too much to bear.

After what feels like forever, he finally spits it out.

‘Your mother came by today.’

The instant he says it, something inside me hardens. My walls slam up, thick and impenetrable. I bury everything behind the silence, shutting it all down.

For years, her absence has been a silent, bleeding wound, a constant reminder of the love she promised but never bothered to deliver. No birthday cards, no calls—just an endless, suffocating void where a mother should’ve been. The thought of her showing up now seems impossible. I stand there, frozen, as his words hang in the air, heavy and thick, like they’re trying to drag me down into the depths.

‘She wants to see you,’ he says.

‘No,’ I snap, my voice ice-cold as I take a step back, needing space between us. ‘Absolutely fucking not. She couldn’t give a shit about me when I needed her, but now she wants to waltz back into my life like nothing happened. Fuck that.’

I glare at my father, my fists clenched tight at my sides. Why the hell is he even entertaining this bullshit? The resentment I’ve carried for years flares up, turning everything cold and sharp. There’s no way in hell I’m letting someone who ditched us waltz back into my life like it’s all forgotten.

‘That’s not all, son,’ he says, his voice low, like he’s bracing for impact. ‘She has a family.’

The words cut deep—too fucking deep—tearing through me like a blade. The pain hits harder than any physical wound ever could, dragging me back to that moment she chose to walk away. The bitter irony claws at me: She abandoned us, but somehow, she moved on, started over, while we were left to pick up the broken pieces she left behind.

‘Your mother has a son and a daughter,’ my father adds, each word another slap to my soul. ‘They want to meet you.’

‘I don’t give a shit what they want,’ I snap, bitterness crawling into my voice, laced with anger and all the years of resentment. ‘They’re not my family.’

I start to turn away, but my father’s voice stops me dead in my tracks.

‘Noah,’ he says, gentle but with an edge of something that makes me flinch. ‘I know she hurt you.’

I spin around, frustration bubbling over, ready to explode. “Dad, she hurt both of us. She walked away like we were nothing. And now, after all these years, she thinks she can just waltz back in like everything’s fine? Like I’m supposed to pretend I wasn’t worth sticking around for?’ The heat in my chest burns, but I can’t stay here, can’t keep talking about this. I storm down the hallway, needing to escape this conversation, this whole fucking mess.