Defiant Princess: A Reverse Harem High School Bully Romance (Boys of Oak Park Prep Book 2)

by Callie Rose

  The halls weren’t crowded yet, since a lot of kids slept in until the last minute and then raced to first period. But even without the entire student body present, I could tell something was different.

  Nobody hissed insults under their breath as I walked by.

  Nobody jostled me or shoved at me.

  Nobody called me trash.

  A few kids tentatively met my gaze, and the ones who’d been the loudest on the attack seemed to shrink into themselves a little as I passed, like they were afraid to even get too close to me.

  A writhing, twisting feeling filled my stomach as I stopped at my locker on the west side of the building.

  I knew what was happening. I’d gone through the exact same thing once before.

  The Princes had called off their attack.

  Maybe I should’ve felt relieved, but I really didn’t. Experience had taught me not to trust this seeming victory. It’d be easy to assume Mason had called off the dogs because he didn’t want to see me actually get hurt—but that would be giving him credit for feelings I honestly wasn’t sure he was capable of.

  I was wary and alert the rest of the day, but none of the Princes approached me. There was no offer of a fresh start, no invitation to join their royals club.

  At least they’re not dumb enough to think I’ll fall for that shit a second time.

  Adena and Sable ignored me in seventh period, although I caught the blonde girl casting me scathing looks every so often—as if I’d pushed her down the stairs instead of the other way around.

  I wondered if she really had been lying about being back together with Mason. I was starting to think she’d made the whole thing up just to try to fuck with me. Either way, I wasn’t sure the Princes could really rein her in. She hated me with a passion, and I doubted even a direct order from them would be enough to call her off.

  The next few days were the same—calm and almost peaceful. The kids who had seemed inclined to sit the whole thing out, the ones who had neither actively bullied me nor defended me, started talking to me in the halls and in class.

  The Princes ignored me.

  I had no idea what it meant, when the next shoe would drop, or what that shoe would be, but I did know one thing. I couldn’t waste this reprieve.

  Now that all my time and energy wasn’t devoted to defending myself or carrying out retaliatory strikes, I could do what I’d come here to do—start digging for real dirt on the Princes.

  There was probably more I could find on the internet, but my research was slow going, and I was sure the worst stuff was better hidden than that. To find the worst things, the things that would hurt them the most, I needed to look in person.

  And as it turned out, I got a chance to do that sooner than I would’ve expected. On Thursday, as I was passing by the admin offices in Johnson hall on my way to eighth period, I bumped into one of the maintenance guys. He didn’t even notice that the keycard clipped to his front pocket fell off and skittered down the hall, and I didn’t either until I was several feet past him. The card had slid toward a bank of lockers on one side of the hallway, and as the maintenance man walked away, I darted over and swooped down to pick it up.

  The girl whose locker I was crouching beneath shot me a skeptical look as she turned the dial on the lock, but I palmed the card and slipped it into my jacket pocket, then rose and hustled quickly away. My heart thudded hard in excitement, and I kept shooting glances at Cole all through our History class. His buzz cut was growing out, but it was still far from his usual style—all last year, he’d kept the top long and the sides short.

  He caught me looking at him once and narrowed his piercing blue eyes at me, and I fought the urge to cover up the little rectangular card sitting in my pocket. There was no way he could know what I had, what I planned to do. But nerves twisted in my gut anyway.

  After Mr. Baldree dismissed us all, I practically ran back to the Wastelands. I cast a furtive glance over my shoulder before sliding the key card I’d stolen from the maintenance man into the slot on the main entrance door. A mechanical whir and click sounded, and when I pushed on the door, it opened.

  So far, so good.

  My side ached as I took the stairs two at a time up to the second floor, but I barely registered the pain from the bruises. I hurried to my dorm and shoved the same key card into the lock with shaking hands.

  Whir.

  Click.

  I turned the handle and pushed, and the door swung open.

  Staring into my room, I felt a broad smile spread over my face. Just like I’d hoped—the handyman’s key card was universal, programmed to open any lock on campus. If it worked in my dorm, there was no reason to think it wouldn’t work in Clarendon Hall too.

  I stepped inside the room quickly, kicking the door shut and shedding my backpack. As I changed back into my street clothes and threw a baseball cap on, tugging my ponytail through the back slot, I kept my gaze locked on the swath of green grass outside the window.

  The Princes headed across campus as a group toward their dorms, and I watched them until they disappeared out of sight around the corner of Clarendon Hall.

  Good. I knew where they were. Now I just needed to wait for them to leave.

  I moved to the living room and dragged a chair around to face the large windows on the north wall. I cracked open my Trigonometry book and tried to do a little homework while I waited, but I didn’t get much done—every few seconds, my gaze lifted to the windows again. I didn’t want to miss my chance, and I had to be sure they were all gone before I tried anything.

  At six, I darted into the kitchen quickly and grabbed some cold leftovers I’d taken home from the cafeteria the other night. I ate as I kept watch, and just before seven p.m., my patience was rewarded.

  All four of the Princes strode across campus toward the student lot, walking in a straight row like they often did, like a multi-headed bulldozer.

  I gave it another twenty minutes before I moved, making sure they didn’t double back for any reason. Then I grabbed my little black notebook, my phone, and the universal key card, and slipped out of my building.

  Campus was quiet, the sun just starting to dip below the horizon, casting long shadows on the ground. I kept my pace measured and even, not wanting to draw attention or look suspicious. Lots of students would recognize me because of my clash with the Princes, but I hoped the ball cap would help a little with that. When I neared the entrance of Clarendon Hall, I hung back as three boys emerged from the building, laughing and shoving at each other. As soon as they were several yards away, I stepped forward, slipped the key into the lock, and slid inside.

  Ducking my head, I let the bill of the ball cap partially obscure my view as I crossed the common room area. A boy who was sprawled on the couch glanced up at me, but I turned my head away and kept moving. I took the elevator up to the third floor to avoid passing anyone on the stairs and walked quickly down the hall.

  I’d been in this dorm more times than I liked to think about. By the end of last semester, I’d been a regular fixture here, usually headed to Finn or Elijah’s room. My entire body seemed to vibrate as I approached, nervous energy making me feel like I’d chugged a dozen cups of coffee.

  The first door I reached was Elijah’s, and it took two tries to get the key card in the slot. I pushed the door open, anxiety filling me—half expecting to see all four of them standing on the other side waiting for me, like they’d known my plan all along.

  But the apartment was empty, dimly lit by the fading sunlight outside. Posters of rock bands decorated the walls, and clothes were draped haphazardly over the couch and chairs. It’d always struck me as strange how messy Elijah was, when everything about his appearance screamed of elegance and poise. I’d never met anyone in my life who seemed so made for a life of luxury than the brown-haired boy.

  But looking at his room, you’d never know it.

  This was the room of an artist, someone who didn’t give a fuck about “order” or “refineme
nt”.

  I let the door close with a soft click behind me and moved into the bedroom, darting glances out the window every few seconds. Across the quad, I could just make out part of the student lot and the admin buildings that fronted it. So if the Princes returned soon, I should have time to make a run for it before they reached the dorms.

  Elijah’s bedroom was messy like the living room, and I poked through the stacks of books and loose papers on his desk. I cracked open his laptop, but it was password protected—and my spy skills didn’t include hacking into computer software. So I put it back where I’d found it and went through his drawers instead.

  I didn’t find anything at first, but in his bottom desk drawer, I caught sight of a piece of paper with a fancy-looking letterhead.

  Tugging it out, I scanned the writing on the page. It was from a place called Clear Haven… a rehab facility.

  The date in the corner was from early September, and it was a four year follow-up on his release from rehab.

  Holy shit.

  He was in rehab before high school?

  I scanned the letter again, but couldn’t find out what he’d been in for—what substance he’d been addicted to.

  A sick feeling twisted my stomach, and I had a sudden urge to shove the letter back in the drawer and run. In our game of truth or dare and other late-night conversations, I’d learned more about each of the Princes and had revealed more about myself. But there had always been some things I’d kept close to the vest, things I hadn’t been ready to share. My dad’s abuse, the details of my leg injuries—those were the kinds of things it would take longer to open up about.

  This was one of those things too.

  A secret Elijah carried around that he obviously hadn’t been ready to share.

  But now I knew.

  Whether he wanted me to or not. And it made me feel dirty and wrong.

  But this was what I’d wanted. To dig until I found the secrets that could hurt them. And this was definitely one of those.

  Swallowing thickly, I laid the letter on the desk and pulled out my phone, sneaking another glance out the window before I opened my camera app and took a picture. Then I peeled open my little black book and wrote rehab at age fourteen under Elijah’s section.

  I placed the letter back in the drawer carefully, making sure it looked just like it had when I’d found it, and moved on to the rest of the room.

  There was nothing else as damning as that, although I did find an entire notebook full of lyrics and loose pieces of sheet music for guitar. I took pictures of those too, and that felt even more invasive than snapping a photo of his rehab letter.

  But he deserved it, didn’t he?

  He’d stood by Mason that night at the award ceremony. He’d helped record the videos and pictures of me. He’d pretended to care for me after Adena jumped me.

  I let those memories cycle through my head as I snapped picture after picture, stealing little pieces of Elijah’s life—of his soul—to use against him.

  When I was done taking pictures, I glanced at the clock on my phone’s screen.

  Fuck.

  I’d already been here for almost thirty minutes. I needed to move on if I wanted to get to all the rooms. Instead of becoming more relaxed the longer I was in Elijah’s dorm, I had become more jittery, with a rising sense of urgency infecting all my movements. Every minute that passed was one minute closer to the Princes’ return, and I felt like I was trying to outrace death.

  Cracking the door open, I peered out into the hall, and when I found it empty, I moved quickly to the next door over—Cole’s dorm.

  Unlike Elijah’s, this large apartment was exactly what you’d expect. Sparse and empty, barely decorated, like it was a place for him to sleep and nothing else. It made me doubtful I’d find much of anything worth digging up, but I couldn’t move on without at least looking. I started in the bedroom, but there wasn’t much to go through. He did have a photo of himself and a younger girl I recognized as Penny sitting on the desk, and I took a picture of that. He had a few handwritten letters from her in his desk too, telling him she missed him and reporting on what was new at her school.

  I went through the drawers in his desk, but it was getting harder to see—the light outside was fading, and I was too scared to turn any lights on in the room. It was getting harder to see across campus too, and I squinted toward the parking lot once more before turning to head into the living room. Cole’s computer was sitting on the coffee table, and I sat on the couch, flipping it open.

  Might as well see if he has a password on—

  The lock on the door whirred.

  Clicked.

  My heart lurched into my throat, and for a millisecond, every muscle in my body seized up. Then I pushed the laptop closed and dove to the floor, wedging myself under the couch. It was a tight fucking fit, and the feel of the frame pressing against my back as I expelled all the air from my lungs only made the panic in my system spike higher.

  The light flicked on, bathing the room in an orange-white glow, and two pairs of footsteps walked inside.

  “You left me waiting,” a deep voice said.

  My brows drew together, trying to place it. It wasn’t any of the Princes. It sounded rougher, older.

  “Sorry. If I’d known you were coming, I wouldn’t have.” That was Cole’s voice, and he didn’t sound sorry at all. He sounded blank, the way his voice got when he was trying to control his emotions.

  “If you stayed on campus, I wouldn’t have to,” the man with the heavy voice shot back, an edge of warning in his tone. “I don’t want you causing trouble, son. Charles Prescott told me you and the other boys were reprimanded by the dean for getting into an altercation with a girl on school grounds last week.”

  Altercation?

  Did he mean with Adena?

  He couldn’t be talking about me. I hadn’t spoken to any of the Princes since Monday.

  Moving slowly and quietly, I tugged my phone out of my back pocket and pulled up the photo app, switching to video and hitting record. There wasn’t much to see—I could barely make out the two pairs of feet standing at the far end of the living room—but it didn’t matter. The recording would pick up the audio, and maybe Cole or his dad would say something worth hearing.

  “It was nothing,” Cole responded, his voice still hollow. “The dean didn’t do anything to us. He just had to keep up appearances.”

  The older man scoffed. “That’s what I’m asking you to do, and I don’t know why it’s so goddamn difficult, Cole. To keep up appearances. Your grades have been slipping, and that fucking haircut—”

  “I’m growing it out.”

  There was a loud, heavy crack, and I jerked so hard I almost dropped my phone.

  I knew that sound. I knew it down to the very bottom of my soul. I recognized how it came out of nowhere, following a seemingly mundane statement, and I recognized the silence that followed.

  Cole’s dad had hit him.

  My heart beat slammed in my chest, beating against the floor on one side and the couch on the other, and I bit my lip to keep my breathing quiet.

  “That’s not the fucking point, Cole, and you know it.” His dad’s voice was cool and calm, tinged by a note of disappointment, like he hated that Cole was making him do this. “You look like white trash. I don’t understand why the hell you did this. Didn’t you get over your rebellious streak a long time ago?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Then knock off this bullshit. I swear to God, every time you come home, Penny’s out of control for a week after. You trying to pass your rebelliousness on to her? Is that it?”

  “No. Sir.” A flicker of emotion came into Cole’s voice, and his feet shuffled in agitation. “Of course not. She’s just a kid, she doesn’t—”

  Another crack sounded, and even though I’d been braced for it this time, I winced anyway.

  “Exactly. She’s a child, and she’s mentally disabled. So stop filling her head with bullshit.”r />
  “Don’t—” Cole broke off, and when he spoke again, his voice was completely devoid of feeling. “You’re right. It’s my fault. I’m sorry, sir.”

  “I don’t need you to be sorry, son. I need you to be better.” The older man heaved a sigh, then let out a low grunt. “If I have to come back here to set you straight again, I won’t be happy.”

  “You won’t. I’ll… bring my grades back up.”

  “Good.”

  “Anything else, sir?’

  The feet on the right had started to walk away, but they paused briefly, as if Cole’s dad was evaluating whether or not his son was sassing him. The edge was back in his voice when he said, “No. That’s all.”

  The polished black shoes headed for the door again, and even though I craned my neck, I lost sight of them quickly. The door opened and closed with a click, and I held my breath, wondering if both of them had left.

  A second later, I heard a small sound near the entryway.

  Cole was still in the apartment.

  My lungs were burning from the effort of keeping my breaths silent and even, and I felt like I was being slowly crushed to death by the weight of the couch. I’d never thought I was claustrophobic, but I had to fight back the panic that kept rising up my throat.

  Footsteps crossed slowly back to the living room, and when Cole sank onto the couch, I almost let out a yelp. Luckily, the furniture was good quality and sturdy, so his added weight didn’t make the frame press any harder on me than it already was.

  The video on my phone was still recording, capturing an expanse of floor and part of Cole’s leg. He was right above me, his feet so close I could’ve reached out and touched them, and I heard him drag in several rough, uneven breaths.

  I knew that sound too.

  Against my will, pity and understanding rose up in my chest, making the already compressed cavity feel even tighter. I could guess exactly what Cole was feeling right now, and a stupid part of me wanted to comfort him, even though I should feel nothing but hate for him. Even though maybe I should be rejoicing in his pain.

  “Fuck,” he muttered, and in that single utterance, I heard more emotion than he usually let slip in a dozen words.