by Callie Rose
So I gathered the hurt low in my belly and let it marinate until it turned into anger. Then I unleashed that anger like bolts of lightning, an electric charge that practically jumped out of my body, making my hair stand on end from the force of it.
After Adena burned my books, I stole Finn’s homework and threw it in the Olympic-sized pool in the gym building. After two boys threw water balloons full of paint at me, I poured printer ink down the back of Finn’s neck.
But I couldn’t keep up with everything. And there were pranks I couldn’t even think about pulling without an accomplice, which I didn’t have. I was falling behind, and by the end of the week, I was an exhausted, strung out mess.
On Thursday, I sat in the little dance studio, stretching for a final few minutes before I had to face the world again, when my gaze fell on the heavy bags in the corner. On the chains that pooled around them like sleeping snakes.
Oh, fuck yes.
I’d been playing defense, responding to what the Princes threw at me and trying to match or top it. But maybe it was time I played a little offense. I still didn’t have enough dirt on them to use any of it yet—I didn’t want to show that hand until I knew I would win with it. But there were other ways to get to them.
All last semester, when the five of us had gone somewhere, it’d always been in Mason’s car—the dark red convertible that must’ve cost his parents a fortune.
Adrenaline surged through my veins, waking me up, making me feel more alive, as I rolled over one of the large bags and unclipped the chain that’d been used to hang it from the ceiling. The metal links were thick; the chain was at least five feet long and heavy as fuck. I ran downstairs to the locker room to change early, then headed back up to the studio and emptied out my backpack. When I left the building, I carried a stack of books in my arms, and the thick chain rested heavily in my bag.
The remainder of the day was a blur, and in the evening, I waited impatiently for the sun to set.
Then I waited some more.
At almost midnight, when I didn’t see anybody outside, I hefted my backpack over my shoulder and slipped into the darkness. Dim lights lit the paths that crisscrossed the campus, and I kept my distance from them, not wanting to be spotted by anyone who might be glancing out a window.
Mason’s car was in the student lot, parked in one of the few covered spaces. The walls and ceiling of the covered spots were tall and wide—probably in case some student with a tiny dick decided he wanted to park his Hummer there—and I glanced around the dark shelter assessingly as I stepped into it.
This’ll work.
Setting my backpack down, I drew out the length of chain. The links clanked together, the sound loud in the quiet stillness. I worked slowly, trying not to make too much noise. It’d get loud in a second, and I wasn’t sure how long I’d have before campus security or someone else came running, but I didn’t want to give them advance notice.
I slipped my arms back through the straps of my empty bag, keeping it with me so I wouldn’t lose it if I had to run in a hurry, and doubled up the thick chain, grasping one end of the shortened length in both hands.
Then I swung it at Mason’s tail light.
Red plastic cracked as the heavy metal slammed into it. His alarm blared loudly, a high-pitched keening sound, but I didn’t stop. Counting slowly in my head, I hit it again, and again, and again. Then I worked my way around the car, swinging the chain like a baseball bat. I caught the passenger window just right, and glass exploded inward, tinkling down onto the seat.
The windshield didn’t break, but spider web cracks formed all over the surface. The paint job was scratched to shit by the impact of the links, and I wanted to do more. But when I reached one hundred in my head, I took one last swing, shattering the driver’s side window, before dropping the chain and sprinting away.
I kept to the shadows, taking the long way back to Prentice Hall to avoid crossing through the center of the quad. When I was halfway there, I thought I heard raised voices near the student lot, but I didn’t look back.
From the Wastelands, it was impossible to see the student lot—the view was interrupted by Craydon Hall and Hammond Hall. But I peered out my window anyway, staring across the expanse of grass toward Clarendon, the dorm the Princes all lived in. I didn’t see any lights go on or catch sight of any figures emerging from the building. And from inside my dorm, I couldn’t hear the blare of Mason’s car alarm anymore. So in all likelihood, the boy himself had no idea his car had been wrecked yet.
My arms were sore, muscles in my back aching from swinging the heavy chain hard and fast. I was breathing heavily, but when I raised a hand to my face, I realized I was smiling.
It hadn’t been as satisfying as punching Mason, but that had been the next best thing.
By the time I stepped inside Craydon Hall the next morning, I knew Mason had found out about his car.
For one thing, an email had been sent out to all students early in the morning warning them to secure their valuables and report any suspicious activity on campus. For another, he was waiting for me just inside the door.
Cole, Elijah, and Finn were there too, but they hung back as he strode slowly toward me, his emerald eyes glittering.
“Late night, little dancer? You look tired.”
I stopped several feet from him, ignoring the other students who slowed their steps as they walked by, like sharks sensing blood in the water.
“Actually, I slept like a fucking baby. Thanks for asking.”
He grunted and stepped forward, forcing me to decide between giving ground or letting him invade the bubble of my space. I kept my feet planted, even as his cedar scent crept into my nostrils, teasing me with its painful familiarity.
“What happened to ‘you do what we do’?” he asked softly, his voice pitched low. “I never fucking touched your car. As I recall, you don’t have one anymore, do you? Didn’t your grandmother get rid of it when she disowned you?”
A twinge of pain twisted in my gut at that. The bubblegum pink Bentley Jacqueline had bought for me had been a fucking eyesore, but the reminder of why she’d sold it still hurt.
Keeping my face carefully neutral, I lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “No, you didn’t touch my car. But I let a few other things slide, so I figured this made us even. And since a sociopath like you obviously doesn’t care about people, I figured maybe breaking one of your favorite toys would actually get to you.”
His nostrils flared, a look of such intense pain flashing through his eyes that I almost did take a step back. It reminded me of the way he’d looked in the basement that day when the five of us had played truth or dare—when he’d talked about losing his mom.
For a split second, pity rose in my chest, but I shoved it back down like a dirty secret.
Of all the things the boy in front of me deserved, pity wasn’t one of them. I couldn’t think of a single hurt or loss in his past that could justify what he’d done to me.
“That’s what you think, Idaho?” Mason’s features were back under control, his voice dangerously smooth. “That I’m a sociopath? That I don’t care about people? What if I told you everything I’ve done is because I do care? Because I believe in making things right?”
I huffed a breath. “Then I’d tell you you really are a sociopath and that I don’t give a shit about whatever fucked up justification you invented for the fact that you hurt me.”
My lips closed around the last words, but not fast enough to stop them from coming out.
Fuck. I shouldn’t have said that.
I didn’t like to admit that what they’d done had hurt me, had destroyed me—far beyond the fact that my only remaining family had kicked me out of their lives. It’d hurt because I had actually believed the Princes cared. Because I had started to care for them too. Because even as I’d watched the video play on the screen in the gymnasium, I hadn’t expected the betrayal to come from these four boys.
Mason’s face twitched, a strange look
passing over his features as Cole, Elijah, and Finn stepped forward.
All four of them standing this close to me was too much. I couldn’t take it.
So I backed away, raising my voice to make our confrontation public again.
“Sorry about your car, Mason. I know she was the only girl you’ve ever been able to love.” I flicked my gaze to the crowd gathered around us, scanning for a familiar blonde head before I turned back to Mason. “Hell, maybe it was Adena. Maybe she got jealous and worried you’d fuck the tailpipe.”
Cole took half a step forward, his eyes narrowing. His hair was slowly growing out, but it was still short, the style almost military, which made him look more dangerous than ever.
Mason stopped him with a small gesture, and I clenched my teeth. I knew it. This is all because of him. Cole was pissed at me for embarrassing him—and for God only knew what else. Elijah and Finn had gone along with this whole thing because they were loyal to the other Princes, but if Mason hadn’t decided to wreck my life, I was positive none of this would’ve happened.
So why was he holding Cole back now? Was he worried the broad-shouldered boy would actually go after me with his fists like he did against boys in the ring? Somehow, I didn’t believe that. But I couldn’t figure out any other reason for Mason to stand down, especially after I’d just publicly accused him of wanting to have sex with his car.
I didn’t question it though, and I didn’t give him a chance to change his mind. I stepped neatly around all four of them and headed to my first class, my heart beating out a fast, uneven rhythm in my chest.
As I was leaving Johnson Hall later that day, I saw a tow truck pulling into the student lot, and a proud smile spread across my face. It was shitty to think what it said about his priorities, but I was pretty sure my little stunt had actually gotten to Mason.
Good.
But not good enough.
Never good enough.
He needed to lose something bigger than a car. He needed to lose his family. His place in the world. The privilege that allowed him to get away with being such a smug asshole.
I’d been slowly plugging away at my research of the Princes and their families. I’d found out that Cole’s little sister had Tourettes, but I hadn’t written that down in my notebook. I still refused to use her to get to him, and I actually grudgingly respected the fact that he’d stood up for her last year when Preston had mocked her.
The information available about Element Investments was sparse, but I had found a picture of the founding members, which included one man I couldn’t place. My mom and all the Princes’ parents were accounted for, but there was one guy left over. I wished I could go back to my grandparents’ mansion and look at the picture on the third floor again, to see if he was in that one too.
Between dancing, trying to keep up with the harassment and bullying, and digging through pages of internet search results, my classwork was taking a serious hit. After all this effort, I didn’t want to get kicked out of Oak Park for bad grades.
I almost canceled my date with Oliver on Saturday to study, I’d spent all day cooped up in my dorm room, and I needed to get out. Even if I’d tried to study more, no new information would’ve penetrated my exhausted brain.
He met me outside Prentice Hall, and we walked together toward his car. His gaze slid over to me, running up and down my body before he realized I’d caught him staring.
He chuckled. “You look nice.”
“Oh. Thanks.” I was just wearing a t-shirt and dark denim skirt—I’d thrown both on at the last minute. It seemed like he was making an effort, and I kept trying to make one too, but my heart wasn’t really in it.
He drove us to a restaurant near the water, and we ate seafood pasta as we watched the sun set and listened to gulls call in the distance. I found out Oliver was from the Bay Area originally, but his family had moved down here after the housing market crashed. I’d been right that he was lower tier in the social hierarchy of Oak Park and Roseland in general. Probably about the same level as Leah was, although unlike Leah, Oliver didn’t seem to have a sense of humor about it.
“My family used to be richer than the fucking Prescotts,” he muttered at one point, and I wondered if that was part of his beef with the Princes—the fact that he should’ve been higher ranked than them.
But I let the comment slide right by. The last thing I wanted to do was talk or even think about the Princes. I had thought coming back here, seeing them all face-to-face, would make the memories of last year fade away like bitter dreams. But it hadn’t.
Vivid memories still overtook me like flashbacks, still popped into my head while I was asleep, taunting me with beautiful lies.
After we finished dinner, Oliver and I walked along the beach for a while. He put his arm around my waist, and I leaned my head against his shoulder, willing myself to fall in love with a nice boy for once. When he dropped me back off at my dorm, he threaded his fingers through the back of my hair and kissed me.
His tongue swept inside my mouth, and I grabbed fistfuls of his shirt as I pressed myself against him, trying to feel… anything.
Oliver wasn’t a bad kisser. His cologne was too strong but not terrible. And he’d taken me on the nicest date I’d been on in years.
So why don’t I feel anything?
The answer to that sat in my heart like a poisoned blade, twisting and twisting until it shredded the fragile organ.
My body—and even my shredded heart—still craved four awful, evil, irredeemable boys.
When I had kissed each of them, heat had bloomed inside me like a lick of fire. Every nerve ending in my body had come alive. It had been consuming.
Overwhelming.
Perfect.
And even though I would never kiss any of them again, they had ruined me for anyone else.
Chapter 7
Another week passed, and I started to seriously doubt the sanity of my plan. Of my decision to come back to Oak Park at all.
I hadn’t been able to get close enough to the Princes to get any dirt on them I couldn’t find on the internet, and nothing I found on the internet was good enough to bring them down.
So why the fuck was I here?
What kind of delusions of grandeur had made me think I could stand up as a one-woman army against the Princes and all their minions at the school?
It was a numbers game, and the math wasn’t on my side.
Still, I saw little signs of victory. I walked in on a couple students describing the Cole hair-cutting incident—and away from his threatening presence, they were laughing uproariously about it. Several students, including Sable, had stopped taunting me or interacting with me much at all, and a couple people besides Oliver had stepped up to defend me once or twice.
They were small things, but they represented exactly what I wanted to see. A crack in the Princes’ iron grip on this school, a crumbling pillar in the foundation of their power. If I kept standing up to them, weakening them in the eyes of the student body, making them look like assholes and fools, maybe more kids would defect from their camp.
The Princes were terrifying, and the power they wielded was real. But at some level, they only had power because enough people had agreed to give it to them. If enough people decided to stop… well, there were only so many battles the Princes could fight at a time.
I found myself oddly grateful I had no family left who cared about me—in a way, it made me invincible. The Princes had already done the worst to me. They couldn’t do it again. They couldn’t leverage my family against me or threaten them to coerce me or any of the fucked up shit I knew they were capable of.
I existed as a lone entity. It was just me against them, and I knew that threw them off.
But holy fucking goddamn, it was exhausting.
Maybe that was why my guard was down as I walked out of Craydon Hall on Friday. I’d had it up like a shield all week, fighting back against my tormenters in the hallways and classrooms.
But I
had made it to Friday. I was free. For two whole days, I was free.
Shoving open the doors of the school building, I tipped my face up toward the sun—it was late September, but the weather was still warm. My backpack was slung over one shoulder, stuffed full of books for a marathon study session over the weekend.
Just as I was about to start down the steps, Adena’s voice called from just behind me.
“Hey, Idaho slut!”
I turned to face her, some choice words about her mother already on the tip of my tongue, but before I could say anything, she shot both hands out and shoved at my chest.
My feet stumbled backward, catching the lip of the top step leading up to Craydon.
There weren’t that many steps. Just four.
But it didn’t matter.
A deep, overwhelming panic flooded my body like poison as my mind skipped back in time five years, putting me at the top of the stairs in the old apartment complex my dad and I had lived in.
He’d pushed me just like that. Two hands, right below my clavicles.
Not even a hard push.
He had punched me and slapped me so much harder than that. The push hadn’t even been meant to hurt me, really, and that had made it so much worse.
I stumbled back one too many steps, and my feet caught the edge of the stairs. Then I was falling through open space.
Too much open space.
My back hit the steps hard, and I rolled awkwardly, the momentum of my body too powerful to stop. My legs contorted painfully, and I heard a snapping sound, like wood cracking, as they broke.
That had been two full flights.
There were only four steps up to Craydon Hall.
But it didn’t matter.
Not my legs! Not my legs!
It was the only half-formed thought that penetrated the pure terror filling my mind, and I contorted my body, trying to land on my side—to keep my legs safe.
My arms reached out to try to brace for impact as I fell too far through space.