Broken Empire: A Reverse Harem High School Bully Romance (Boys of Oak Park Prep Book 3)

by Callie Rose

  “Can I help you?”

  “Yeah.” I limped forward, feeling the Princes gather behind me like an honor guard. “I’m Talia Hildebrand. I have an appointment with Scott Bayless. My grandfather is renting space here so he can work with me.”

  “Ah, yes.” She smiled brightly. “Of course. We’ve got it all set up for you. Mr. Bayless called ahead and made arrangements, so you should have everything you need. He’s already here—I’ll take you back to meet him.”

  “Thanks.”

  I turned back to the Princes, reaching for my crutches. Cole handed them over, but none of the boys made a move to leave.

  “Um, I don’t know if you’re allowed to stay and watch,” I said, my brows pulling together.

  Mason shot me a look that clearly said he didn’t give a shit about what was “allowed” or not. But he shrugged lightly. “We won’t stay. We’ll just meet your trainer, and then we’ll come back when you’re done.”

  Holy Jesus.

  I wasn’t sure if I should roll my eyes or swoon. Even Philip, who had finally been starting to feel like a real grandparent, like true family, wasn’t as overbearing and overprotective as these four boys.

  Then again, it was hard to blame them. After the shit Adena had pulled on me, and considering we still didn’t know if she was the one who’d tampered with my brakes, it was hard not to be suspicious of everyone.

  “All right. Fine.” I glanced over at the receptionist, who was waiting for us with a somewhat bemused expression on her face, then turned back to the Princes. “But don’t scare him too bad. I don’t want him running for the hills before he has a chance to help me.”

  None of them agreed to that.

  Cole just grunted, and they all followed me as I trailed along after the front desk girl.

  There was a large private room at the back of the facility. I couldn’t tell what it was normally used for, but it had mirrors along one wall, and the hardwood floors had been covered with thick black mats and several massive pieces of equipment. Some looked like they’d be used for building strength, but others, I couldn’t even guess the purpose of. They looked a bit like Medieval torture devices, honestly, with straps and grips and handles everywhere.

  I must not’ve been the only one who thought so, because when the man standing by the mirrors saw us enter and stepped forward, the boys behind me practically growled, as if Scott Bayless was intending to tie me to one of those machines and interrogate me until I blurted my darkest secrets.

  Scott slowed his pace as he neared me, clearly picking up on the vibe the Princes were throwing out. He looked to be in his late thirties, and none of the Princes were over eighteen, but it hardly mattered. They were powerful boys who would grow up to be powerful men, and the strength and control that radiated from them already was enough to set anyone back on their heels.

  Especially when they all stood together like they were doing now, shoulder-to-shoulder with matching steely looks on their faces.

  “Uh, hello. You must be Talia.” Scott’s voice pulled my attention back to him, and after one more quick glance behind me, he stuck out his hand. “I’m Scott. I’ve spoken to your grandfather several times over the phone, and I’m really looking forward to working with you. Are these your…?”

  His voice trailed off, as if he wasn’t quite sure how to end that sentence. I saved him the trouble of having to come up with something by answering.

  “Yes. These are my friends. It’s nice to meet you; I’m excited to work with you too.”

  “Fantastic.” He nodded enthusiastically, then shot one more look at the Princes, seeming to decide against offering to shake any of their hands.

  Probably a wise move if he wanted to keep his own.

  “Are you ready to get started?” he asked me instead.

  “Yeah.” I dipped my head, then glanced around. “I just need to change first.”

  “We’ve got a locker room down the hall,” the receptionist threw in. She was still hovering in the doorway, and I wasn’t sure if she’d stuck around to see if we needed anything else or because she couldn’t walk away from the spectacle of the four puffed-up men standing behind me.

  “Great. Thanks,” I muttered, my cheeks burning. Fuck. This was way more embarrassing than getting dropped off by my grandfather. I turned to face the Princes. “So, I’ll see you guys in an hour?”

  They nodded, and Mason stepped forward, grasping my chin between his knuckle and thumb. “You have my number. You have all of ours. If you need anything, use it.”

  I nodded, unable to tear my gaze away from the intense green of his eyes as he stared at me as if he was trying to burrow into my brain. Worry burned bright behind his irises, and I didn’t understand it.

  What had him wound so tight when the others weren’t any more so than usual? Did he know something they didn’t?

  “I will,” I promised, pulling his hand away from my face and squeezing it hard for a second.

  He shot one more blistering glance at Scott before rejoining the rest of the Princes. The four of them turned and strode out, and the receptionist craned her neck to watch them go. Then she seemed to remember herself and straightened, clearing her throat before she looked at me and smiled. “If you’ll just follow me, I’ll show you to the lockers.”

  “Thanks.”

  She led me down a hallway to a large, luxurious locker room. I changed quickly into my athletic clothes before limping back to the room where Scott waited for me.

  He was fiddling with one of the pieces of equipment when I walked in, and he looked up, smiling broadly. “Ready to get started?”

  I nodded, stowing my crutches against the wall and walking toward him. His keen gaze tracked me as I moved, and I tried not to let it make me feel self-conscious about my gait. This was his job. To look and find what wasn’t working, where I was weak and imbalanced, and to help me fix it.

  When I finally reached him, he moved his gaze up to my face and nodded. “Okay. You look like you’re in pretty good shape, all things considered. And you just got your cast off a few days ago, is that right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Great. Well, we’ll get started on some assessments and general range of motion and strength-building exercises today. But I want to remind you, rest is still your friend here. It’s great to challenge yourself and push yourself, but without the rest in between, all you’ll be doing is breaking down your body more. Understood?”

  I nodded, wondering what it was about me that always made people feel the need to reiterate that point so strongly. Did I really look that stubborn?

  Even as I had the thought, I realized I could feel my jaw clenching, my shoulders drawing tight. I forced myself to take a breath and relax them both, and Scott gave me a lopsided smile, as if he knew exactly what I’d just done.

  He led me over to one of the pieces of equipment and started taking me through a few gentle exercises. I watched myself in the mirror as we worked, and Scott watched me too, making adjustments to my form as I went.

  “So, talk to me about your goals. Where would you like to be at the end of all of this? What are you hoping to achieve?” he asked.

  “I want to dance again,” I answered with no hesitation.

  He dipped his head, gaze still locked on me. “Doctor Garrett said you do ballet?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you’re hoping for a professional career?”

  “Yes.”

  My heart was thumping hard in my chest, and it wasn’t just from the exertion. I stopped what I was doing so I could turn to look at him, the plea probably obvious in my face.

  He pursed his lips. His eyebrows seemed to always be a little bit raised, and it’d given him premature wrinkles in his forehead. But now they drew together, and I could see in his expression that he didn’t know if it would ever happen. If I’d ever truly dance again.

  Then he stepped forward, adjusting my form a little and encouraging me to resume the exercise with a gentle hand on my sh
oulder.

  “I think that’s a great goal, Talia. You’re not shooting for less than what you want, and that’s good. Even if we don’t make that target, I admire your fighting spirit. Tell you what—I’ll do my part to get you there if you’ll do yours.”

  By the time we finished our session an hour later, my entire body felt like a wet noodle. I hadn’t realized how much I was compensating for my injured leg, and how much strain it was putting on the rest of my body. Scott even identified and pointed out holding patterns I had that were leftover from the first time I’d broken my legs, ways of moving that had become so habitual I never even thought about them anymore.

  He was way better than the first physical therapist I’d had. More knowledgeable, which allowed him to be tougher without risking me hurting myself.

  When the Princes barged into the room to collect me, the receptionist trailing in their wake again, Mason took one look at my limp, sweaty form and seemed about ready to kill Scott. I turned to the trainer quickly and stuck out my hand.

  “Thank you. That was so helpful. I’m really glad my grandpa found you.”

  He took my proffered hand and shook it, a somewhat amused expression crossing his face. “You’re very welcome, Talia. I’m happy to be working with you too. The most important part of recovery is the motivation, and I can tell you’ve got that part down already. See you in a few days?”

  “Sounds great. Thanks.”

  I turned back to the four boys, moving slower than usual as I approached them. Mason still seemed to vibrate like a taut bowstring, but his expression held something like relief.

  Cole slipped an arm around my waist as we left the training facility, and I leaned on him gratefully, letting him take some of my weight.

  I felt like a baby deer trying to walk for the first time, and I hated it. But I knew from my previous recovery and years of dance training that this was how it went.

  Improvement and recovery didn’t come quickly or easily.

  There had to be pain before there was progress.

  I had appointments scheduled with Scott every few days to start, and he’d said we would adjust as needed from there. But he’d given me some stretches and exercises to do at home on my own as well, so every night before bed for the rest of the week, I laid a yoga mat down in the living room and diligently went through each movement.

  The movements themselves were easy, and there were several stretches I had to hold for an extended period of time, so I’d taken to scrolling on my phone as I let my body relax into the pose. On Friday night, bored of trying to find some connection between Adena’s family’s company and Element Investments—there was none, as far as I could see—I switched back to a search I had given up a while ago.

  Adam Pierce.

  I knew he wasn’t from Roseland originally, so maybe that was why the right Adam Pierce never came up when I searched for his name in connection to the town.

  But I wasn’t sure what else to combine it with.

  A thought suddenly struck me, and when I changed poses, I picked up my phone and found the article that mentioned the dissolution of Element Investments—the one that had a picture of Adam Pierce. I swiped the screen to zoom in and took a screenshot of his face. It wasn’t the highest quality, so I had no idea if it would work, but I plugged the screenshot into a reverse image search and held my breath as the results loaded.

  There!

  Several obviously incorrect pictures had popped up—including one that appeared to be of a female porn star—but on the third row down, there was an image of a young man with rich brown hair and a handsome, angular face.

  It was him. The same guy. I was sure of it.

  I clicked the picture and was taken to the alumni page of a school called Stonewall Academy, which was located in Haven Falls, Georgia. The text that ran alongside the image wasn’t all that helpful, but I exited out and then typed in “Adam Pierce Haven Falls”. As the results loaded, I scanned them, my heart beating a little faster as I realized I’d finally found the right Adam Pierce. Haven Falls must’ve been his hometown, where he’d gone to school before meeting my mom and her friends in college.

  He must’ve had a generally unremarkable childhood, because I couldn’t find all that much information about him… except an obituary for his parents. They’d both died in a car wreck when he was nineteen years old, already away at college.

  I chewed my lip so hard it drew blood as I scanned the text quickly.

  His parents had died too?

  Just like my mom.

  Just like Mason’s mom.

  It didn’t mean anything. People died all the time—it was the price everyone paid for living. There was no reason to assume any connection between his parents’ death and either mine or Mason’s. But that didn’t stop my stomach from twisting into knots as I found another picture of Adam Pierce and squinted at my phone, staring hard at the image.

  There still wasn’t a lot of information available about him beyond these little snippets, and I didn’t know how or when he’d met the Princes’ parents.

  But a new thought began to trickle into my brain as I rolled over onto my stomach, still gazing at the screen as I abandoned my stretches.

  The dark hair, the straight nose, the angled jawline… they all looked so familiar.

  I’d always been able to see myself in pictures of my mother, to find my features in her face. But the longer I stared at the picture of Adam Pierce, the more I started to think I could see myself in his image too, though his eyes were a soft brown, not the green-flecked hazel I shared with my mom.

  And I knew she’d known him back then. I had photographic evidence that Adam Pierce had been in her life when I was just a little girl. There were no pictures of my dad from that time, although I’d assumed it was just because my mom had hidden her relationship with him. Jacqueline would never approve of blue-collar “trailer trash” like Leo Parker.

  But maybe there were no pictures of the man I’d called “Dad” my whole life because he hadn’t even known my mom back then.

  Maybe he hadn’t been in my life at all until she arrived in Sand Valley.

  I stared down at the picture of the dark-haired man’s handsome, smiling face for so long that my vision blurred and the image went fuzzy.

  Adam Pierce, who the fuck are you?

  Chapter 13

  Over the next two weeks, I worked as hard in my sessions with Scott as I did on my schoolwork. The final semester at an elite preparatory academy was no joke, and all the teachers were already ramping up the difficulty of the tests and assignments.

  Finn’s grades had been steadily improving—even in math, which I had nothing to do with. Nothing had happened between us since the day he’d found me in the dance studio, but our study sessions every weekend were infused with a heavy dose of sexual tension.

  He seemed… easier around me too, as if something had clicked into place between us and things just made sense now.

  Elijah was the same, but Cole and Mason were almost the complete opposite, and it made me seriously question Finn’s proclamation that the Princes were mine to claim if I wanted them.

  The raven-haired boy and the boy with the brown hair and aristocratic features were both such fucking mysteries to me sometimes. I wished I could crawl inside their heads and see their thoughts, because they both had a tendency to shut down when they were feeling strong emotions—which I knew they were almost all the time these days.

  Cole still had to go home every weekend, but he refused to talk about what it was like there. I never saw marks on him, and I knew he was happy to see Penny, but I hated that his dad was controlling him like that.

  And Mason?

  Fuck. I didn’t know what the hell his problem was.

  Something had been slowly building inside him, like pressure building in a closed pot, ever since I had punched Adena.

  The kids at school had finally gotten bored of her tired material, so she’d stopped dragging out the photocopied page
s of my notebook or the pictures I’d taken.

  But the damage had been done.

  She’d made the princes the butt of enough cruel jokes that the reputations they’d spent years cultivating at Oak Park were destroyed. They still had friends—or rather, there were still people who wanted something from them—but their standing as unequivocal rulers of campus had been torn down.

  Is that what’s bugging Mason? That he lost his place on the throne?

  Whatever was bugging him was bugging me, making it hard to breathe when he was around, as if the tension radiating from him devoured all the oxygen in the atmosphere.

  And at the end of the sixth week of classes, the pressure building in him finally snapped.

  I walked back toward Craydon from the gymnasium with Cole and Elijah, working on keeping my gait steady and even. Finn had gone ahead of us to talk to his seventh period teacher before class, and I’d lost track of Mason sometime during the middle of gym.

  As soon as we pushed through the large entry doors into Craydon, I realized why.

  He had Preston shoved up against a locker several yards down the hallway, with a small crowd gathered around them. I didn’t see Adena, but Sable was screaming at Mason to stop as he pummeled the other boy with his fist. We’d obviously missed part of the fight, because Preston’s lip was already split open and Mason’s knuckles were bloody.

  “Fuck,” Cole muttered under his breath, picking up his pace as we hurried toward the altercation. I knew the only reason he wasn’t running was because he didn’t want to leave me behind.

  As soon as we were close, he and Elijah darted forward, grabbing Mason’s arms and pulling him away from the blond-haired boy.

  “Dude. Not fucking here,” Cole muttered as I finally reached them.

  But Mason didn’t even seem to hear him. He strained against their hold, the veins in his neck popping as he fought to get within striking distance of Preston again.