Step-Bully

STEP-BULLY WANTING WHAT’S WRONG DANI WYATT Copyright © 2023 by Dani Wyatt All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. www.daniwyatt.com DEDICATION A NOTE TO MY READERS: I appreciate every one of you. To the lovers of bad boys with Soft, squishy centers. Dedicated to Alice. Here’s to sticky tables and thongs. You never know where a lovestory begins. NEWSLETTER GET exclusive free books and other bonus epilogues and short stores by joining the reader’s group! NEWSLETTER CONTENTS Step-Bully 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 What’s Next Get this for f r e e Dani’s Other Books Let’s Stay Connected! About Dani STEP-BULLY CHAPTER 1 LULA I’ve been known to take the full 400mg dosage of Advil sometimes. I’m not proud of it, but desperate times and all that. Right now, I’m ready to take another dose and it hasn’t even been six hours. Turning to anti-inflammatories is not my usual coping mechanism, but today is special. So, so special. I’m meeting my mother’s new husband. At his strip club. One of three he owns. “Stop staring at your phone,” my mother chirps in that raspy, squeaky urgent tone she gets when she’s trying to impress people and she thinks I’m ruining the vibe. “Mingle. I’ll introduce you to Larry as soon as the time feels right. You and your social media. You singing on TikTok again? For what?” “It’s for work, mother. I’m posting on Facebook Marketplace for the scrapyard.” That only makes the sour twist of her lips more intense. “I mean, who cares about a scrapyard on Facebook?” She waves at someone across the room and gives me that nervous half smile she gets when she’s trying to cover something up. “Oh, I don’t know, maybe the hundred or more people that have found us because of Facebook. Scrapping’s a big thing on Facebook. Lots of scrappers out there and I want them coming to Z’s Scrap all day long.” I grew up helping my dad run the business. Z’s Scrap is a third generation venture. It’s ‘Z’s instead of Zdzinski’s since no one seems to be able to spell or pronounce my father’s family name. It’s messy and hard and hot in the summer and freezing in the winter, but it’s his baby. Well, his other baby besides me. And since Mom bailed on him and his blue-collar ambitions, she’s lost her baby status as well. Only problem is, running the yard includes long hours, lots of coffee, stress and junk food and my dad had a heart attack two months ago and I almost lost him. One quadruple bypass later, he’s on 24/7 oxygen and a crap ton of home health, meds and rehab, but he’s stable, thank God. I’ve had to take the helm at the yard and any ideas of jumping in my beige 1999 Buick and heading to Nashville to be the next Taylor Swift are on permanent hiatus. Instead, I’m working every strategy in my arsenal to try to save what I now know is a business on the downslope of solvency. Losing the yard would be the death nail for my father. That, and losing me. My singing dreams are secondary to keeping my father alive and that right now includes getting his business back in the black. Mom makes a raspberry sound. “Well, whatever you’re doing is only encouraging him. He should just sell that place. It was always trashy, barely paid the bills. It’s going to bring you down too. Get out as fast as you can, convince your dad to move on, for goodness’ sake.” I leave that subject on the sticky floor for now, just grateful my dad is getting stronger and I’m handling things the best I can. My mom can go pound rocks. When she left, I went back and forth for a year or so, but in the end, I think she wanted her space so when I made the decision to be with Dad full time, it went over better than I’d planned. She had one condition, which was she wanted me to change my name to Laurence, which is her maiden name, from my father’s Zdzinski. She always hated his last name and truth was, I sort of wanted the switch. Not because I didn’t like the name, but if I was going to be a star, well, Lula Zdzinski didn’t really have the same ring to it that Lula Laurence did. So, Dad agreed, wanting my dreams to come true and Mom did the paperwork and as far as the law is concerned, I’m Lula Laurence now. “Don’t worry, Diedre,” I say. She hates when I use her first name, but right now, I think she’s earned a little rebellion. “I’ll be waiting right here when my new Daddy is ready.” I jab my index finger to the tabletop and release a dramatic exhale, keeping my eyes pinned to my most recent TikTok of me singing Lovestory with my signature slower, sultry style which is already up to 40K views in just a few hours. “There’s no where else I’d rather be than right here.” “Stop that sarcasm. You know I hate that. It’s trashy.” I’m not sure my mother’s version of trashy and the world’s version are the same. She taps a crystal-encrusted white fingernail on her matching blazing white teeth. Her white-on-white cheetah print jumpsuit is clinging to her like desperation, but I will say, she’s got the body of