Wretched: A Reverse Harem Bully Romance (Wicked Brotherhood Book 3)

by Eden Beck

  Neither one of them tries to stop me, even when I have to push through the two of them to finally make my retreat down the hall. The last thing I want is to be here when Jasper shows up.

  If he isn’t too busy with her.

  But it seems Beck and Heath aren’t going to let me go that easily. Not entirely, anyway.

  “Wait … Alex!”

  It’s Heath’s voice, but it’s two pairs of footsteps that follow me down the hall. “Alex, please … don’t be angry with us.”

  It’s the please that gives me pause. But it does nothing to soothe the roiling anger inside me. I whirl to face them, and whatever’s on my face makes both of them skid to a sudden halt.

  “Of course not,” I snap back, “if you’ll finally do what’s right.”

  Both of them swallow hard.

  “And what is it you want us to do, exactly?” Beck asks, but there’s none of the usual spite in his voice. “You know we’re powerless when it comes to Jasper.”

  “Powerless?”

  I narrow my eyes up at them. “You are the only ones who are convinced you’re powerless.”

  “But The Brotherhood …”

  “Once again,” I growl, “I don’t give a fuck about your little social club.”

  They look stricken for a moment. When Heath responds, there’s hurt in his eyes.

  “I thought of all people, you’d understand,” he says, quietly. “I know we’ve hurt you. I know I’ve hurt you. But The Brotherhood … it just can’t be abandoned so easily.”

  “Well then, that’s the thing, isn’t it?” I say, throwing up my arms in a motion that’s become all too frequent lately. “I guess until you’re ready to give up The Brotherhood, then you’re going to have to give up me.”

  The words hang heavy between us, spoken aloud for the first time.

  Not that it even matters anymore.

  Heath and Beck, even if they gave up The Brotherhood, will never give up Jasper.

  And I couldn’t ask them too. They are one and the same, parts of a whole, the three of them. I think I came to realize that a long time ago.

  But now one of them, one part of them, has gone and done the unforgivable.

  Now, all that’s left is to decide what that means for me.

  For my future.

  And for Bleakwood itself.

  Because, as they well know and remember from the looks on their faces when I storm away—the fate of this place does not hang with The Brotherhood as it once did.

  It now hangs with me.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  I do not attend the final practice. I’ll not give Jasper the satisfaction of seeing me seethe at the news of his betrayal.

  But it’s not Jasper who reaches out to me. It’s the dean.

  I receive the summons at breakfast on Saturday morning—or when I would normally be attending breakfast if I wasn’t still holed up in my room, staring at the riding uniform laid out untouched atop my bed.

  Such a shame. I guess I’ll just have to wait to put it on a little longer.

  I’ve barely stepped foot in the musty, enclosed dean’s office before he motions for me to shut the door behind me. For once, there is no investigator present. No Ms. Ada watching silently from the corner.

  Fine by me. I’m looking forward to a straightforward conversation for once. And straightforward is what I get.

  “I’d very much like to know why you didn’t attend practice yesterday,” the dean says as soon as the door clicks shut. He levels me with a glare. “I hope this isn’t a sign that you’re abandoning your duties as a representative of this school.”

  I let out a half-strangled scoff, which seems to surprise him.

  Good.

  I should work on surprising people more often.

  “Representative of this school, is that what you call getting trapped into working alongside The Brotherhood?”

  Without an investigator present, Dean Withers doesn’t so much as flinch at the sound of the school’s most scandalous longstanding tradition. He just folds his hands neatly in front of him.

  “Need I remind you what hangs in the balance? I don’t have time left for games. I’d very much like to know if you plan to participate today.”

  I know I’m being dumb, but I’m so tired of being pushed around.

  I lean closer to the dean, my arms reaching forward to press onto the front end of his desk.

  “And what if I don’t?”

  Dean Withers makes no indication that he even heard the tone in my voice.

  “Let me be frank with you here, Miss Trevellian,” he says, lips pursed. “I really don’t care whether or not you participate. But should you choose not to, then I must say that I simply don’t see the point of your continued education here at Bleakwood.”

  So, it’s really come to that?

  I blink at him in surprise for a moment, my lips parting slightly but no sound dropping from them.

  That, apparently, is enough for the dean.

  “Just as I thought.” He sits back, apparently satisfied. “Since it appears you’d still like to remain as a student here, I’d at least like your reassurance that you’ll not let this … setback … affect your performance today.”

  Now I find my voice again.

  My face burns red, but not from embarrassment. For once.

  “Well, maybe you should have thought about that before you made a bet with all of our lives,” I say. “Or maybe before you forced me to participate with the very boys you know have been bullying me ever since I set foot here.”

  I swallow, hard, as I summon the courage to continue. “I’ll participate in your last two stupid challenges. But I don’t take kindly to being threatened,” I say. “If you—or anyone else, for that matter—threatens me with expulsion again, I can promise you that expelling me will be the last thing you do as dean of his school.”

  I lean even closer, my eyes fixed on his. It seems it’s his turn to be without a response.

  “Or maybe you need to be reminded that it’s me—not you, or anyone else for that matter—that holds the power to shut Bleakwood down regardless of how these next two weeks pan out.”

  Dean Withers stares at me, dumbfounded.

  I, in turn, do not wait for a response.

  I’m too angry to even notice the crowds gathering outside the track until I’m already scrambling to hoist myself up into my saddle.

  Thanks to the dean’s little diversion, I’m late again. But this time, I don’t even pretend to be apologetic.

  I’m fully prepared to ride sloppily out of the makeshift stables on my own, but Heath somehow manages to slip up beside me and catch my horse by the bridle before I can. He draws his face close to my mare’s—the same one I practiced with earlier this week—until their hot breaths mingle together.

  When he looks up at me, there’s an apology there.

  “I’m glad you came,” he starts, but any authenticity I might have found there vanishes when his gaze lands on something over my shoulder and I turn to find Jasper striding in behind me.

  I take the opportunity to tug the reigns from Heath’s hands and urge my horse onward and out the door as planned. The coach tries to stop me, but admittedly … I’m not able to stop the mare in time, leaving Heath, Beck, and Jasper scrambling to mount their own steeds.

  This time when I burst out beneath the stands, I’m met with an open space marked out with a starting line and little else.

  But also this time, the crowd is not concealed from me.

  It’s even more than the last time this many eyes were on me, and the last time ended less than satisfactory—with my humiliation at the hands of Beck, if I’m remembering precisely.

  As if sensing my discomfort, the mare gives a dissatisfied shake of her head so violent that it takes every ouch of strength in my thighs to remain clinging to her.

  Of course, Olive’s watchful eye misses nothing.

  “If that’s the way Harrows can expect all Bleakwood’s boys
to ride, then I guess we don’t have much to worry about,” she calls out, just loud enough to make sure that I overhear but none of the spectators once again gathering in the VIP boxes will.

  She makes sure to see I’m looking before she throws a wicked grin over her shoulder at the three other girls sitting neatly in their saddles. It’s all I can do to try to straighten myself up in mine as my mare fights with me trying to get her to line up along the start with everyone else.

  I’d have likely made a fool of myself if the boys—Jasper, Heath, and Beck—didn’t finally ride out and pull up beside me, drawing attention away as I finally get my own mount into place.

  It isn’t until my mare has finally stilled beneath me that I get a good look at the track ahead, and am immediately surprised to see that the roped off area does not simply lead in a circle between the bleachers, but leads out towards the trails I’ve become all too familiar with over the last two years.

  “Looks like all that running back there is finally going to come to some use,” Heath says, from where he’s eventually settled by my side.

  I don’t look at him, but I can feel the weight of his gaze on me.

  He’s not wrong, of course.

  I sneak a glance over at Olive to see if she’s noticed yet, but from the easy way she sits in her saddle, I doubt a twisting trail will be much of a challenge for her. My knowledge of the trail will only serve to even out the disadvantage. And only by a little.

  Beck tries to settle on my other side, but Jasper—and his monster of a stallion—push their way between us at the last second. Our horses are so close that their flanks touch at the slightest sway. My mare makes a disconcerted snort that I have to agree with her on.

  “So, I’ve been told you heard about me and Olive.”

  He looks at me too, but it only makes my straight-ahead stare more determined.

  I grit my teeth. “So I have.”

  His horse paws the ground, its head dipping down as it lets out a dissatisfied snort. I glance down at it for just a second.

  Me too, me too.

  “It isn’t what you think,” Jasper says, carefully. Too carefully.

  I finally cut my eyes over to him and fix him with a glare. I know that tone of voice. I know that whatever was about to come out of his mouth was going to be a lie. Or if not a lie, a half-truth … and to me, at this point, it’s just the same.

  Jasper leans closer to hiss, “What would you have me do? Jilt her publicly a second time?”

  I pull my horse up for just a second.

  I pretend to think on it before saying, simply, “Yes.”

  He sits back up at that, his own face finally turning to face forward. “It’s past that point, anyway. You wouldn’t understand.”

  “You’re right,” I hiss back. “I wouldn’t.”

  Fortunately, Dean Withers and Headmistress Robin step up to the front of the VIP box with equally sour expressions on their faces before my neck begins to hurt from the exertion of staring so resolutely ahead.

  “As promised, the second event was chosen by the winners of last week’s event,” Dean Withers says, motioning downward at the running track converted into a horse track instead. “This week’s winner will be whoever manages to navigate the school trail loop and then return here, to the starting line first.”

  Headmistress Robin elbows her way up to the stand and brings her painted lips close to the microphone. “Simple enough, of course … at least for our experienced riders.”

  I swear I see her look straight at me, but I’m still trying to keep my face to the front.

  I guess she’s resorted to cheap jabs now that she’s realized I won’t do as she says; acting like she’s been betrayed when she’s actually the one who’s been doing the betraying.

  Seems to be a common theme here at Bleakwood.

  Both she and the dean go on for a bit, enjoying the sound of their own voices until the crowd goes restless, and there’s only one thing left to do.

  To either of my side, horses begin pawing the ground with their own restless energy until at long last the flag is dropped, the gun goes off, and despite my careful preparation—I still end up being the last person to leave the starting line.

  At the very least my mare chooses to run in a straight line instead of immediately bucking me off.

  By the time I’ve fully regained my position in the saddle, I and my mare are already passing between the bleachers and out towards the entrance to the trails … just as the last of those racing ahead of me disappear between the trees.

  I know they won’t get too far ahead, not with the narrowness of the path up ahead … but then the main problem will be finding a place to pass further up. I know there’s little hope of my somehow taking the lead, but maybe Heath.

  I slow my mare as the two of us pass beneath the branches and onto the first part of the trail. Up ahead, I hear the whinnies of horses and the sound of their footsteps muted by the soft earth and overbearing branches.

  I’ve only just begun to wonder how they plan to keep us from cheating when I happen to glance up and spot a brand new camera set between the branches of one of the larger trees.

  An uneasy feeling settles over me. I wonder where else they’ve set up cameras, and if this is all part of the investigation … or if this is the future here at Bleakwood. I’m all for the end of The Brotherhood and the other toxic traditions here, but I’d hate to see the students here become lab rats under a microscope.

  The moments I’ve cherished here at Bleakwood have, more often than not, been the ones that wouldn’t be possible with hidden cameras pointed everywhere.

  Not that that’ll be a problem if we lose today and Bleakwood ceases to exist altogether.

  And that is the only reason I lean forward a bit, set my gaze on the trail in front of me, and dig my knees into my mare’s side instead of turning around right away.

  It isn’t long before I draw close to the horse at the back of the other racers. It’s one of the other girls. It’s not Olive, but the sight of her still makes my temper flare.

  I know I shouldn’t hate her, but I can’t help but be jealous of her. All that’s at stake for her here is a silly trophy. Her whole career, her whole future, is going to be ruined if one of her teammates doesn’t get to the finish line first.

  But then … as she turns a corner and I lose sight of her again … maybe neither does mine.

  I’ve come to the break tree, but rather than continue onward, I bring my mare to a halt.

  Up above, cameras look on just as they do further on. From the look of the trodden earth, the riders have all continued up ahead on the main path … but what most of the riders here don’t know is that there is another path here that cuts across to join the main loop up ahead.

  I don’t dare get us disqualified, but I decide it won’t hurt to take a few steps up the trail and see if there’s a chance …

  And just as I hoped, as soon as my mare has stepped a few hesitating steps onto the trail, I look up and see another camera.

  No one ever said we had to stay on the main trail. This camera here, and the twinkle of light reflecting off the glass of another up ahead, is all the nudge I need.

  The path is a bit overgrown, but it’s a clear shot to where it reconnects to the trail up ahead. I nudge my horse to a pace that makes me slightly uncomfortable. A pace that carries me back onto the main trail only to find myself alone.

  The momentary excitement I felt ballooning in my chest immediately deflates. I ride on up to the end of the loop, and still find no other riders.

  I knew I wasn’t as experienced as the other riders, but I didn’t think I was so slow in comparison that even a shortcut wouldn’t help me.

  Right up until I hear the pounding of hooves … heading toward me.

  I barely have time to pull my mare slightly to the side of the path before Olive comes hurtling around the corner towards me, Jasper close at her heels.

  Both their horses nearly skid off the path whe
n they spot me.

  Surprise has never been so plain on either of their faces.

  My heartbeat immediately picks up.

  I wasn’t wrong after all. If I take the shortcut again … if I take it again …

  Just as quickly as they’ve hurtled into my sight, they’re out of it. They’ll reach the end of the loop soon and be back at my side.

  But right now, right here, I have an advantage. For the first time, I have an advantage.

  And I’m not going to waste it.

  Even when I come bursting through the trees and out by the courtyard on the return, my hair full of leaves and face and arms covered with cuts from snapping branches, I still don’t dare believe I still have a lead.

  That is, until I thunder through the channel between the stands and catch sight of the starting line.

  An empty starting line.

  Behind me, I hear the sound of hooves thundering out of the forest—at least two pairs. I dare a glance over my shoulder to see Olive at the lead, her hair streaming out behind her as Jasper follows close at her steed’s hooves.

  The moment his eyes meet mine, I see the fire therein.

  “Go, Alex! Don’t let her overtake you!”

  I don’t know if I subconsciously kick my mare again, or if the sound of his voice somehow spooks her into turbo mode, but the horse beneath me suddenly lurches into a furious pace.

  The starting line is drawing close. I see a flash of Headmistress Robin’s face as it falls. As she sees I’m about to win.

  But then I hear the sound of something whizzing overhead. I hear the moment that thing—whatever it is—hits my mare on the back of her rump.

  And then I feel myself slipping, see the stands turn to a jerky blur as I grasp for something—anything—that will keep me from falling off.

  Of course, the only thing I find is the mare’s mane.

  And she does. Not. Like. It.

  Even more than she didn’t like whatever it was that just spooked her to begin with.

  The moment I dig my fingers into her mane, I feel the horse beneath me just as quickly come to a complete, and sudden halt—and I am thrown from its back, over the finish line, where I land with a sickening crunch.