Revenge Games (Revenge Games Duet Book 1) Read online

  Revenge Games

  Sky Corgan

  Contents

  1. Willow

  2. Willow

  3. Caleb

  4. Willow

  5. Caleb

  6. Willow

  7. Caleb

  8. Willow

  9. Caleb

  10. Willow

  11. Caleb

  12. Willow

  13. Caleb

  14. Willow

  15. Caleb

  16. Willow

  17. Peter

  18. Caleb

  19. Peter

  20. Willow

  About the Author

  Also By Sky Corgan:

  Bonus Book: Wrong or Write

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Bonus Book: Write or Wrong

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4: Dominick

  Chapter 5: Kim

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8: Dominick

  Chapter 9: Kim

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14: Dominick

  Chapter 15: Kim

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17: Dominick

  Epilogue

  Bonus Excerpt

  Text copyright 2017 by Sky Corgan

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission of the author.

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  This series is dedicated to anyone who has ever struggled with their weight and their feelings of self-worth because of it.

  1

  Willow

  I'm finally free!

  I dance amidst the boxes and furniture strewn all over my new apartment.

  Free of my parents. Free of my annoying siblings. Free of the shitty little neighborhood I lived in. Free of my mother's hoarding. Free of my past—of the pathetic, hopeless girl that I used to be.

  Welcome to your new life, Willow Stroop, I tell myself as I take a flying leap onto my bed. The box springs creeks in defiance, and the putrid smells of mold and rotten food and dust from my previous living conditions waft up in an invisible cloud to attack my nostrils. I cringe away from it.

  “I am going to have to air you out,” I say to the mattress. “I'm going to have to air all of you out.” My gaze encompasses the boxes in the room. Hopefully, a few dozen candles will get rid of the stench of my previous life. The new paint smell in my apartment certainly helps.

  I hug myself, a huge smile plastered across my face as I roll around and bounce with excitement. I can't remember the last time I was this happy. It must have been ages ago, before I knew how cruel the world can be—before I realized that my childhood wasn't normal—that I wasn't normal.

  All of that is behind me now. I don't want to think about it anymore. That's why I moved here, to start over as if none of that ever existed. No one here knows the Willow Stroop who grew up in Marfa, Texas. San Antonio is such a big city that the odds of running into someone from my past are one in a million. People here are going to be able to see me for who I am, not who I was.

  Just thinking about the possibilities of new friendships, and most of all, new love interests, makes my chest feel like it's filled with bubbles I'm so damned excited. Oh my God, everything is so flippin' perfect. Life is amazing and wonderful and...I just can't contain myself.

  I let the happiness flow through me, a feeling that I'm not very accustomed to. Perhaps that's why it's so intense. My body is tingling from the overload of pleasant emotions.

  I practically launch myself off my bed to unpack my essentials. Then I start on the less than essentials. As I'm putting up my pots and pans, I get the brilliant idea to bake cookies for my neighbors. I know that it's an old tradition that has pretty much died out, and in the past, people would cook for the new person in the neighborhood, but I want to be on good terms with all of my neighbors. Even if we do live in an apartment complex, we'll have to see each other eventually. And besides, I really want to get started on making friends. I've seen so many shows where neighbors in apartments become friends. I want that. I want my life to be perfect, just like all of the TV shows and movies that I watched when I was younger.

  I run to the local Dollar General and pick up only what I need to make cookies. I'll do my major grocery shopping tomorrow. It will be a lot cheaper to go to one of the big grocery stores where I can use all of the coupons I've been clipping. But tonight, I don't really have the energy to walk down long aisles and wade through a sea of people.

  Not enough energy to do that, but enough energy to make cookies, I think to myself with a half-cocked grin. I'm still a little strange, I suppose. My priorities are all screwed up, but I'm just going to go with it for tonight.

  I return to my apartment and whip up a quick batch of homemade chocolate chip cookies. It's my mom's recipe, which means there is tons of butter and sugar. Hopefully, they're not too rich for my neighbors. Of course, I won't touch them. I'm on an incredibly strict diet, and I've already reached my calorie limit for the day. Besides, I purposely made my mom's recipe so that I wouldn't be tempted. I remember what eating these cookies did to me in the past, and I will not go there again.

  While I wait for the cookies to bake and cool, I unpack a few more boxes. There really isn't that much stuff. I took the bare minimum because I plan to slowly replace everything. I couldn't leave home without the basics, though, only because I can't afford to replace everything at once. Eventually, there will be no trace of who I was or where I came from. All of these things that I brought with me will be donated to charity, and I won't have any more nasty reminders around of my previous life.

  My mood dips slightly as I think about how hard I'm trying to escape. It makes sense, though. Anyone who came from the same background would do the exact same thing. Or maybe they wouldn't. My siblings seem content to stay at home and continue in squalor and filth and unhealthy habits. That's not me though. That will never be me again.

  I place a dozen cookies on a paper plate with a plastic plate holder beneath, frowning at how cheap it looks. Then my frown deepens at the realization that I might not get the plate holder back. I should have bought some thick, durable paper plates while I was at the Dollar General, but I wasn't thinking that far ahead. The fact that I'm fretting over it is a testament to how cheap I am—to how poor I am. Hopefully, it won't be this way for long.

  I inhale deeply, trying to convince myself that it's not important while I place plastic wrap over the cookies. Then I plaster on a smile as I head out to introduce myself to the neighbors on the right of my unit. I smooth down the front of the black dress I'm wearing before knocking on the door. I stand there for several minutes, listening for signs of life inside of the apartment. It doesn't take long for me to realize that there's no one home, so I move on to the apartment to the left of mine. This time, when I knock, I hear footsteps approaching. They stop at the door, and I shift my weight, trying to appear friendly. A few seconds later, I hear the footsteps receding. I stand there for a full three minutes before I realize that the people inside aren't going to ans
wer the door. The elation I was feeling quickly starts to drain away. Maybe making friends with my neighbors isn't going to be as easy as I thought.

  I glance at the apartment across from mine, wondering if I should even bother. I'm not sure why I'm so surprised by the outcome thus far. I'm in the big city now. Things aren't the same as they are in small towns. People are more cautious, or they don't want to be bothered. Maybe they even think I'm a salesperson. Briefly, I consider trying to knock again and announcing that I'm their new neighbor so that maybe they'll open the door, but that seems a bit desperate.

  With a sigh, I turn and approach the apartment right across from mine, not expecting much. I don't even wear a smile after knocking, staring down at the cookies and wondering what I'm going to do with them if no one is home or I get ignored again.

  Footsteps approach and I put on a smile, though it's nowhere near as vibrant as before. It's not until I hear the door opening that my face truly lights up. Yes! I'm going to meet my first new neighbor and maybe even my first friend.

  The door opens, and I silently pray it's going to be a woman around my age. The idea of finally having a close girlfriend shoots my excitement right back up to the rafters.

  It's not a woman though. It's a man. And when I look upon his face, every ounce of joy that I felt when I arrived at my new apartment falls away like a pane of shattered glass.

  You!

  My internal reaction to the man standing before me is so strong that the scathing word almost leaves my lips.

  I fight the urge to narrow my eyes, but the heat I'm feeling inside has certainly made it to my face.

  How in the hell could this have happened? In a city with over two million people, what are the odds that I'd move in next door to this asshole.

  Caleb Ryan smiles at me, though he also looks a bit startled. “Can I help you?” he asks me hesitantly before turning away from me for a moment to chastise his dog for trying to get past his legs.

  I know I must look like a largemouth bass. My mouth is open. My eyes are wide.

  Can I help you? Is that it? Really?

  It takes me a moment to regain my composure. The second I do, I avert my gaze. Just looking at him makes me feel all kinds of unpleasant things. “I just wanted to come tell you that I moved in next door.”

  He glances past me, pointing his finger around like a dowsing rod.

  “There.” I gesture to the apartment across from his.

  “Ah. Alright.” He nods, his eyes landing on the plate of cookies I'm holding. “Are those for me?”

  “No.” I jerk them away from him, holding them closely to my chest. “I just...happened to have them with me.” He gives me a queer look. Being under his gaze makes me feel hot in every way. “Well, I introduced myself. I should go.” I step away from him.

  He lets out a short laugh. “But you didn't introduce yourself.”

  It makes my eyes shoot up to his face again. That's when it hits me. He has no idea who I am. I'm not sure if that stings or makes me happy.

  “I'm Caleb.” He extends his hand to me.

  I shift the plate of cookies onto one arm, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear before gingerly shaking his hand. “Willow,” I mutter, knowing that recognition will come to him the second that I say my name.

  “What was that?” he asks.

  I clear my throat, mentally preparing myself for the awkwardness to come. “I'm Willow.”

  “Oh.” He quirks his head back. “Well, nice to meet you, Willow. Let me know if you ever need anything.”

  I stare at him blankly, feeling like my jaw is about to come unhinged. Does he really still not recognize me after I just told him my name?

  “Well, have a good afternoon.” I back away from him slowly, expecting him to decipher my identity at any moment. He doesn't, though, and I make it safely back to my apartment.

  Once inside, I press my back against the door and groan, feeling more miserable than I have in a long time. How can I possibly feel the happiest I've been and the most miserable I've been in the same day? It just doesn't seem fair.

  I set the cookies down on the kitchen island and throw my torso across it, letting out a whimper. Caleb Ryan. The only man I've ever loved. I haven't seen him in over four years, and now he lives next door to me.

  “Fate is cruel,” I bellow out. “It's worse than cruel. It's mocking me.”

  I inhale deeply, shooting up from the island. I can't let this ruin my new life. I have to get rid of him no matter what it takes. Surely, there's some way for me to make him move out. That, or get him kicked out.

  I go sit on my sofa to come up with ideas about how to make Caleb move out. All the while, memories of our time together in high school plague me. I was such a lovesick fool back then, so blind to who he really was.

  He hasn't changed much, I think. He's still handsome, though he's a bit more rugged-looking. When we were in high school, he kept his face smooth shaven. Now, it appears he's decided to grow a light beard and mustache. More like stubble than full facial hair. It makes him look more mature, less boyish. He was always fit, but he's definitely filled out a lot since I last saw him. His shirt was clinging to his broad chest, the muscles well-defined beneath, I'd bet. I think the worst part is that his eyes are still friendly. Those kind brown eyes that deceived me so many times. That twinkled when he laughed. That tricked me into thinking that he was honest—that we were really friends.

  I hate him now. I will always hate him for what he did to me. I will not suffer to live next door to him for the foreseeable future.

  I spend my night plotting my revenge. It's disturbing how quickly my happiness turned to hatred. How quickly my dream turned into a nightmare. Right now, I have the upper hand with him not knowing my identity, but who knows how long that will last. Hopefully, he never remembers who I am.

  With my mood completely ruined, I go to bed early, though I barely manage to get any sleep. My thoughts border on illogically murderous, everything from pushing Caleb down a flight of stairs to hitting him with my car. If he only knew how irreparably he scarred me. I won't give him the satisfaction of knowing though. I just wish I could do the same to him, but I know it's not possible. He's always been as close to perfect as a person can be. Popular in high school. Everyone loved him. All of the girls wanted to date him, myself included. He was the kind of guy who helped old ladies carry their groceries and volunteered to serve meals to the homeless. I'm sure that few people knew his true nature. Only his closest friends...and me by accident.

  When I do finally manage to get to sleep, I don't wake up until nearly noon. I groan as the rays of the sun cut through the blinds to burn into my retinas. If not for the fact that my stomach is rumbling angrily, I may have stayed in bed all day. As it is, I desperately need to go grocery shopping.

  I pull myself out of bed and get dressed, licking my lips as I look at the plate of cookies still sitting on the kitchen island. For as much as I hate what they did to me in the past, I know they're delicious, and that makes them even more tempting.

  “No.” I shake my head, taking the plate and sticking it in an empty cabinet so that they'll be out of sight. “I'll take you to work tomorrow to make a good impression.” What I really want to do is throw them away, but that would be too wasteful.

  I sling my purse over my shoulder and step out of my apartment, casting a glance at Caleb's front door. Hopefully, we never cross paths. The less I see him, the better.

  I've only taken a step down the hall towards the elevator when I notice a big steaming pile of dog shit just sitting there. A wicked grin crosses my lips, and I nod to myself. It's not big enough to belong to Caleb's husky, but that doesn't matter. I highly doubt that the apartment complex staff is going to take the time to come measure it.

  I take the elevator downstairs and then detour to the apartment office. When I get there, I angrily inform the leasing agent that a dog pooped in the hallway of my building, then lie and say that I saw who did it. Once I've report
ed Caleb and his mutt, I happily head off to the grocery store to do my shopping. I know that reporting him once isn't going to be enough to get him kicked out of the complex, but it will be an inconvenience to him to get the warning. I decide then that every time I see poop in the hallway, I'll report him. If he gets enough warnings, they should fine him. Then maybe they'll eventually threaten to evict him. He'll get upset and decide to move out on his own, not wanting to deal with it anymore. I'll just have to wait until his lease is up. If I can get him kicked out before then, even better.

  I finish my shopping and come home, feeling smug. Maybe life here will be okay after all.

  Starting a new job has never been as exciting as it is today. Probably because I connect starting a new job to starting my new life. Besides, this is where I'll likely make my first friend now that my dreams of being friends with my neighbors have been dashed. In every television series I've ever seen, people always have a friend at work. Why should I be any different?

  We're led into the training room, and I'm seated next to a gorgeous blonde who instantly introduces herself to me as Becky.

  “I'm so excited.” She's practically bouncing in her seat. Her energy is infectious, and I can't help but smile.

  “Me too.”

  “This is my first job since high school.”

  That admission makes me feel less joyous. I went to college to be a medical coder, yet here I am, working a data entry job with someone who doesn't even have any job experience. Boy, does that ever make me feel like a winner.

  “Congratulations,” I tell her halfheartedly.

  “Is this your first job, too?” Her blue eyes are wide and curious. It doesn't take me long to realize she's probably an airhead. The way she speaks is so sweet and innocent and bubbly. Her outfit isn't really work appropriate, but who am I to say anything. We're supposed to be wearing business casual, but her skirt screams look-at-my-legs.