Sworn Enemy: An MM Enemies-To-Lovers Book (Wild Heart Ranch 1)
Sworn Enemy: Chapter 7

“Sorry, y’all,” I say, walking over to Lynn. “I’ve got to go after him,” I explain.

“You sure about that?” she asks, touching my arm.

I nod and walk down the aisle between the chairs, ignoring the curious stares from the other attendees. I walk out into the parking lot, and he’s hard to spot in the fading light. I finally replace him under the oak between two big ranch trucks.

I jog over, grabbing his arm as I reach him. Charlie spins, landing an open-palm strike on my shoulder, causing my arm to go numb, which immediately releases my grip on him.

Fuck, that was fast.

Startled, I step back and am struck by the split on his upper lip and the bruising on his face made darker by the growing shadows.

“What happened to your face?” I ask, wincing when I attempt to reach out.

The feeling is already coming back into my arm, but I suspect it’ll be another minute before I can use it again. Damn, that’s a neat trick.

While I’m considering how impressive it is that he neutralized me without harming me, his expression is a kaleidoscope of anger and pain.

“What the fuck does it matter to you?” he spits out, gesturing at his banged-up face.

“I—it looks bad, is all. I’m…friends—sort of?—with the sheriff, and I’m sure he’d be happy to help you file a report if someone assaulted you.”

He rolls his eyes. “Don’t worry your pretty little head about it. Hazard of the job.” Turning back to his truck, he continues, “I’m leaving. Go back to your meeting.”

“No, Charlie—don’t go. I’m leaving,” I hurry to explain, hoping he’ll stop and listen. “Please take advantage of the meeting, Charlie. I think it’ll really help.”

“No, Justin,” he practically hisses over his shoulder. “There’s nothing here I can’t get online.”

“Charlie, please,” I say, pursuing the subject when I damn well know I should let it die. “We can work out a schedule. We don’t have to be at the same meeting ever again.”

He grabs the door handle and takes a deep breath, then another. Slowly, he lets go of the door. The sparse safety lights buzz to life, sending a pale yellow cast over the parking lot, deepening some shadows while illuminating others. He’s barely more than an outline, but even close up, Charlie’s a study in barely contained fury. He fists his hands, bringing me up short. His eyes reach mine, and he wrangles the anger behind a neutral look.

Despite—or maybe because of—his control, his stance looks more dangerous. I let out an even breath, knowing he’s not dangerous to me, even if he did land a blow that immediately put me out of the fight.

“Justin, stop. A meeting schedule is entirely unnecessary. I’m on the road all the time and have an unpredictable schedule. There are several online meetings I can take advantage of twenty-four seven. Please go back inside, and…congratulations on your anniversaries.”

Charlie’s congratulations sound like curses instead of benedictions, but he’s perfectly composed as he hits the button on his key fob.

I can’t let him leave like this.

“Please. I know it’s the anniversary of your suicide attempt,” I blurt out.

I don’t know what I thought I would get by saying that, but right away, it’s clear I’ve made a mistake. He shifts his jaw from side to side, his monk-like mask slipping just a little.

Rubbing his forehead, he asks, “Did you purposefully try to shoot yourself on the anniversary of my suicide attempt?” The incredulous words sound like venom in his mouth.

I look down, unsure how to get out of this without lying. I can’t, so I go with the truth.

“I’d been having a bad go of it, and when I realized what day it was…you have to understand that I was high off my ass, but it made sense to me.”

“I don’t have to understand anything, Justin,” he says, closing the distance between us. “I don’t have to understand jack shit about your motivations. That day was about me. My pain. The things that broke me. The things you broke in me.”

“Charlie, I—”

He bares his teeth at me, and I brace for his well-deserved anger.

“You irredeemable asshole. You’re still managing to make this about you,” he snarls out, getting in my face, “You fucking useless pile of shit.”

The words are bullets to my lungs. They take my breath away, and not because they’re randomly put together epithets, said only in rage. Those are the exact words I used the day he tried to kill himself. The very last thing I said to him before he drove home and picked up a knife.

Eight Years Ago

I switch out books and slam my locker shut, glad we’re heading to the last class of the day. Dad tore into me again last night, calling me every name in the book, accusing me of fucking around with the neighbor’s son.

He was right, of course, but I convinced him otherwise. It’s a good skill to have, lying. Hell, I manage to lie to myself pretty well most days.

In fact, I’ve been able to push down everything I’ve ever felt about boys, with one exception. Charlie Wills and his pretty eyes are going to be the death of me.

I might believe that shared hand jobs with the neighbor boy don’t make me gay, but the dreams about waking up in Charlie Wills’ arms? The ones about him making love to me? A little harder to deny, even to myself.

Thankfully, I’m smart about it. I figured out a long time ago that if I couldn’t stop feeling this way, I could at least make him hate me as much as I hate me.

Besides, Charlie’s out and proud, and anyone can see he’s head over heels for Trip Goodnight, his straight best friend. Pathetic. And if he’s gonna put such an easy target on his back, who can blame me for taking aim?

Worse for him, it looks like Charlie’s figured out what the rest of us have known for weeks. Trip is gone over that girl in our economics class and doesn’t have eyes for anyone else.

This morning Charlie’s eyes were dark and puffy like maybe he cried himself to sleep. I swear, it’s like he doesn’t know you’re supposed to hide that shit from other people.

Fucking loser.

He looks a little better after lunch, though he’s still sad. I ignore the twist of regret and make-it-better in my chest and try to stop imagining what it’d feel like to run my hands through his hair.

He looks up, and I snarl at him, the same way I have every day since middle school. Tightening his jaw, he turns on his heel, heading outside.

My hand-job buddy, Dickie, knows the score. I lift my chin toward the exit and raise a brow. He smiles broadly, and we pursue Charlie through the big double doors, letting them slam open.

“Why’re you running away, Charlie?” I shout out across the courtyard. “Dickie here has a big cock. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind sharing it.”

“Hey!” Dickie protests.

Which is hilarious because last night, I got him to agree to the next step: blowjobs.

In the meantime, Charlie crosses his arms and keeps walking, speeding up just a little, like he can actually get away from us.

“Fuck, dude, I would be so embarrassed to be your dad right now. Seriously, why haven’t you killed yourself yet?”

He rounds the corner past the big oak tree, but instead of heading back into the building, he beelines for the parking lot. He drives a ‘92 BMW 325i that he and his dad restored together over the summer.

So fucking precious.

“Are you running home to mommy? Are you going to cry?”

He shoots me the bird, but his hands are shaking. He’s still digging in his backpack for keys when I catch up to him. I press him against the car, hating how good it feels to do so.

He goes limp, not giving me anything to fight against.

“What? You’re going to ignore me? I don’t think so.”

I blanket my body against him, growling in his ear. “Seriously, kill yourself, you fucking useless pile of shit.”

Later that night, when my dad told me Charlie Wills had attempted suicide, I matched his self-satisfied grin, then ran to the bathroom and threw up.

I’d done that.

And nothing would ever be the same.

Distant laughter sounds out, snapping out of my walk down memory lane. I look into the eyes of a man struggling not to put me on the ground. Even in the dark, they shine.

I step back, knowing he’s right. I’ve been making it about me.

“I’m sorry, Charlie. I wanted to give you context, to help you understand it was never about you.”

“I know that, asshole,” he spits out, stepping closer.

I lower my head. “I was really fucked up, and knowing I’d caused you such harm when I was so fucking in love with you…I couldn’t forgive myself. Seeing how happy it made my dad that you nearly died really fucked with my head, dude.”

“What did you say?” Charlie growls, the vein appearing in the middle of his forehead.

“About my dad?”

“No, before that.”

“I said I was really fucked up.”

“No. After that. Before you couldn’t forgive yourself,” he demands, snarling at me.

Oh.

“That I was in love with you,” I admit, bile at the back of my throat. I cover my eyes with a hand, completely unable to look in his direction.

“You were in love with me,” he repeats, his voice shaking. He walks away, then turns back and pushes me up against the bed of his truck. “Justin, I can promise you were not in love with me.”

“I was, Charlie. I really was,” I say, infusing as much sincerity as I can in my voice.

It’s still true, though that’s a truth I’d rather take to my grave.

“That is such horseshit. You know how I know you couldn’t possibly have been in love with me, Justin? Love makes you brave. Love makes you kind. You were neither of those things.”

I look down, knowing he’s always been the brave one. I open my mouth to tell him so, but he cuts me off.

“We’ve known each other since we were little kids, Justin. You know you could’ve trusted me to keep your secret. I could’ve been your friend. I could’ve been a safe place for you, but instead, you took a fragile kid, and you fucked with him.”

“Charlie…”

“What were your dreams like, Justin? Your fantasies. Did you imagine me naked?”

I cough, choking on my own spit.

“Answer me, you fucking asshole.”

I draw back and nod, unable to come up with anything other than the truth.

“Did you imagine fucking me?”

I shake my head.

“Oh? Was I fucking you?”

My cheeks and neck are on fire as I lower my eyes and nod.

“Was I giving it to you good, Justin? Was I pounding into you with everything I had?”

I shake my head. “No. You were sweet.” I clear my throat. “In my dreams, I mean.”

That pulls him up short.

“Explain.”

Wanting to throw up, I inhale fresh air and his aftershave. Then go in again with the truth. “My mom and dad were hard people. Are hard people. And me and Jason, we never got hugged much as kids.”

Charlie snorts to himself, but he’s listening.

“I thought you would be sweet with how you touched me. That you would be gentle and patient. Because I saw how you handled your livestock, your friends. You always had this tenderness about you, even with everything we put you through.”

“Why are you telling me this?” he asks, his voice starting to crack as he pulls on his hair.

“Because you asked. Because I’ve been carrying it around so long, it’s like acid eating me up from the inside.”

Charlie’s standing so close that his body bumps into mine when he takes another step. His eyes are red, as is his nose, and his jaw is bunching and releasing. I suck in a breath when he pushes his forehead against my face, snorting like a bull.

Continuing to push against me, he grits out, “Fuck. You.”

Before I can respond, his lips are on mine. It’s a messy clash of teeth and tongues, and my brain can’t make sense of it. I draw back, and he chases my mouth, plastering his body against mine. It takes me a second to catch up, but when I do, I grab his shirt and pull him in closer, kissing him back just as hard.

Blindly undoing my belt as he plunders my mouth, he rucks up my T-shirt and unzips my pants. Sneering, he spins me against the truck as he whispers roughly into my ear, “Let’s make all your fucking teenage fantasies come true.”

I should stop this. I should walk away. I definitely shouldn’t let him fuck me like this. He clearly hates my guts, but…I can’t. I may never get another chance like this, and my body, wanting him for years, won’t let me make another choice.

I press back, pushing my bare ass against him.

“Fuck me raw,” I choke out.

He snorts. “Right, and end up with my dick rotting off. I think not.”

Stung by his words, I look behind me, and he’s taking out his wallet. Condom and a packet of lube at the ready, essentials of a hot gay man forever on the move. Of course.

“Face forward,” he grits out, pressing my chest against his truck, the paneling still hot even after the sun’s gone down.

Crossing my arms over the top railing of the truck bed, I bend my knees slightly and tilt my ass up, showing him how much I want this.

My breath hitches at the sounds of his zipper being lowered, the covering and slicking of his cock, everything done at an angry, fevered pace.

Strong hands part my ass cheeks and probing thumbs roughly open me.

“Just fuck me, Charlie. Don’t go easy.”

“You got it,” he says, branding my hips with a crushing grip as he thrusts into me hard.

I lean in and bite my arm, stifling the pained moans. God, he’s thick, and his silent, angry thrusts feel like fire. I push back against him, needing him deeper, wanting to feel it in the morning. I’m almost disappointed as the pain gives way to…oh God.

Oh…God.

He’s so goddamn strong, slamming me against the truck so hard and fast that…Jesus, that’s my prostate. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuuuck.

I stop trying to think and just grip my cock with my weakened hand, the pain and pleasure so perfect that…

Everything goes white, clenching and pulsing to the soundtrack of Charlie Wills coming inside me. I wince as he pulls out of me, greedy for that last painful bite of dessert. I blink a few times to clear my vision and replace my cum dripping down his tire onto the hot pavement.

“Fuck.”

I glance over my shoulder, and Charlie’s breathing heavy, looking at me in horror. I turn to reach out for him, and he startles at the gesture, pulling away. He covers his eyes for a beat, shaking his head.

Finally noticing his undone state, he rips off the condom and pulls up his jeans. Aching, I do the same, and we stand there for a few seconds, staring at each other. His jeans are still unzipped, and he’s holding the used condom, the cum-filled sack swinging in his tight grip.

Wordlessly, he turns to get in his truck.

“Charlie?”

He shakes his head again and slips inside before I can think of something to say. His engine roars to life, and I step out from the shadows underneath one of the old security lights, watching him quickly and carefully reverse out of the parking space, curving into the row.

He stops and unrolls the window, his face unreadable. “Go back inside, Justin.”

I nod, stuck in place. “Okay.”

He looks forward, his jaw working overtime. His inhale sounds like the weight of the world, and the resulting words are soft, nearly too quiet to hear.

“I’m sorry for what I said. And what I…did. I definitely shouldn’t have done that out of anger.”

I look down. “It’s okay. I wanted it.”

Shaking his head, he turns to me, his eyes locked on mine. “No, Justin. It’s not okay. It’s never okay to treat people like that.”

Something that looks an awful lot like sadness turns down the corners of his mouth as he faces forward again, shifting the truck into gear before taking off into the night.