Glass Heart Savage: A Dark High School Bully Romance (Glass Heart Academy Book 1)

by Lindsey Iler

With a huff, I start for the door, but not before he winks at me.

  Entitled bastard.

  I slam my palms on the door, swinging it open for my escape. I turn in time to catch Byron leaning forward, his eyes dead set on Marek. He holds a single finger to his lips, then points directly at Marek. My stare breaks to the front row, and Marek mirrors the gesture.

  What kind of band of brothers shit is going on?

  “Miss Weston, why are you standing in the hallway? Don’t you have a class to be at?” Miss Hughes slides her glasses to the crown of her head.

  She’s one of the younger teachers who’s always trying to connect with us. I applaud her effort, but she’s ill-equipped to crack these rich kids. A quick internet search is all it took to learn she’d grown up in a trailer park, with an abusive father and drunk mother. The kids at Glass Heart Academy have no idea what it’s like to walk in Miss Hughes’ shoes.

  My trust issues are what drove me to search her background. After my sister vanished without a trace, Miss Hughes had tried to grow close to me. My mom calls them daddy issues. Maybe she’s right. Regardless, I don’t allow people I don’t know to get close to me. It’s a simple system that keeps me protected.

  “I got kicked out of Byron” — I cringe at my slip-up— “Mr. Decatur’s class.”

  “May I ask what for?” She slips off her dark-rimmed glasses and cleans the lenses.

  “I told Marek to shut the fuck up.” No point in sugar coating my indiscretions.

  “Oh, boy.” She shakes her head. “And let me guess, it was well deserved?”

  “You can say that.” I nod, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot.

  “Come with me.” Miss Hughes grabs my arm and drags me back into Mr. Decatur’s room. I cringe, a deep burn shifting into place on my cheeks. “Go take a seat, Miss Weston.”

  Is she kidding? And yet, I listen to her. Hidden under the bubblegum pink cardigan, something about Miss Hughes screams business. There’s no way she gets pushed around in this life. A pit bull in stilettos, she can hold her ground with the best of them.

  Miss Hughes leans over Mr. Decatur’s desk. Nothing but a low whisper can be heard, making it impossible to hear any of the words they’re exchanging.

  “Got Miss Hughes to fight your battles for you, huh, Palmer?” Marek pulls his bottom lip with his teeth, luring me in like a damn fish on a hook. “You can pretend like you didn’t like my hands on you, but we both know that’s a lie. You’re curious.”

  “Do you get off on tormenting people?” I sit down and face the front of the classroom.

  Miss Hughes is already gone. Byron’s dark brown eyes burn into my skin, heating every exposed inch. With an angry glare, he grabs a stack of paper and begins handing them out.

  “I only enjoy tormenting you.” Marek clenches his jaw, drawing my attention to the sharp edges of his stupid, perfect face.

  “Because we all know you secretly love it,” Byron chimes in like he and Marek share a brain. He continues to the front of the class, standing with poise and a presence that is undeniable. He belongs here, and this is his playground.

  “Better watch your back or else you just may become the teacher’s pet,” Marek whispers.

  The remainder of class, Byron yammers on about this semester’s syllabus. Every so often, he checks my seat. There’s a fire inside him, and I have no choice to look away, breaking the spell he has me under. He knows he’s won, and I hate that.

  “Miss Weston, please hang back for a second,” Byron calls out as the class comes to an end.

  “What did I say?” Marek wiggles his eyebrows and slips on his aviator sunglasses. “Teacher’s pet.” His words come out like a gleeful song.

  I lean back in my desk, acting natural when I’m anything but. A teacher shouldn’t look at a student like he is me right now. Byron waits for all the students to pass and only then does he push off his desk. He saunters over and sits on the edge of mine, crossing his leg over his knee. I start to stand, fight or flight taking over my body, only to be shoved back into my chair.

  “I’m a student.” I gulp back the growing lump in my throat. “You can’t—”

  Byron holds his hand up. “The exact opposite, Palmer. It’s because I’m a teacher, I can do whatever I want.” He rises, a pleased and domineering sway to his walk. He turns halfway to the chalkboard. “It would be better for you to remember that. Don’t ever undermine me in front of other staff members.”

  What the hell is this guy trying to get at? I didn’t undermine him. Miss Hughes stepped in, not at my request. I would have been perfectly happy spending this past hour in the dean’s office.

  “Afraid they’ll see you for what you really are?” I stand, holding my books close to my chest.

  “And what is it you think I am?” He spins, his head tilting from side to side.

  I’m not his student right now. I’m his prey, and he’s famished.

  “You know what you are, Mr. Decatur, and don’t think for a single second, I’m not privy to information you try so damn hard to keep tucked away.” I bare my teeth, but the strength is a hoax. In front of someone like Byron, survival is my only option. He’ll chew the strongest up and spew them at the feet of their loved ones if it means he’s victorious.

  I’ve heard the stories, folklore, passed between classes. He’s unapologetically cruel with zero regard for anyone else except himself.

  “Reed had quite the imagination, Palmer. It’s best to not listen to the words of a dead girl.” He turns his back. His blunt dismissal doesn’t make him seem strong. The opposite is actually true.

  “Hit a nerve, huh?” I whisper over his shoulder as I pass to the door.

  A cool hand wraps tightly around my wrist. I’m spun around and slammed into the white brick wall next to the door.

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” The vein in his neck throbs. If I could read minds, I’d say he’s plotting a way to dispose of my body without being noticed, or he’s imagining what it would be like to kiss me. There’s a thin line dividing the two sometimes. His closed hand slams against the wall beside my head. “So shut the fuck up.”

  “Or what, Mr. Decatur?” I reach up, running my fingers over his short, brown hair. “You going to shut me up yourself? I hear that’s your thing after all.” I reach between our bodies and wrap my hand around my own throat, applying enough pressure for him to notice.

  Byron’s pupils dilate, and if that isn’t proof enough, his tongue peeps out of his mouth and runs along his bottom lip. He’s hungry to replace my hand with his own.

  “Sick fuck!” I groan, slamming my palms against his chest. He stumbles, and I race out of the classroom.

  The moment my sister disappeared, my senior year became more complicated. She was the strong one, my own personal barrier from things that could harm me, and with her gone, there’s nothing and no one here to protect me.

  I’m a girl, alone, at a school full of savages.

  Chapter Two

  Marek

  “We have to get rid of her,” Byron announces the moment he walks in the front door. He throws his expensive-as-hell bag on the tiled entryway and stomps into the room.

  I pop my head around the corner, wondering what the hell he’s going on about.

  “And do explain why that is?” Breaker jumps from the ceiling rafter, appearing out of nowhere. He lands on his feet like a damn cheetah. He rests on the arm of the couch, spinning the ring on his finger, ready to hear Byron’s explanation.

  That fucking makes two of us. We had been surprised at the way Palmer brought out a side of Byron none of us ever expected. He took chances today in the classroom. Where he’s typically calm, her clear disdain for us had him on edge.

  “This wouldn’t have anything to do with your little run-in after class, would it?” Dixon joins us in the living room.

  “What do you know about it, little brother?” Byron glares at him.

  He holds a finger to his lips, telling us to shu
t the fuck up for a second. A blonde passes behind him, wiping the corners of her mouth and grinning at him like he’s done her some sort of favor. He whispers in her ear, and she’s gone like she was never here, just how he prefers them.

  “Wouldn’t want to have this conversation in mixed company, now would we?” He laughs, falling to the couch.

  Dixon is a quiet deviant. We know what he’s into, how he prefers to treat girls. Most people would be disgusted. The girls are more than happy to get the Dixon Decatur Treatment.

  “How’d you know a damn thing about what went down after class?” Byron stalks to the floor-to-ceiling glass windows, glaring down at the campus.

  “You mean the”— Dixon holds his hand to his throat, pretending he’s about to come in his pants, and making us all laugh— “choking thing?”

  “Fuck off!” Byron spins on his loafers and rushes towards Dixon.

  “Seems Reed didn’t know how to keep a secret, huh, brother?” Dixon stands, forcing them chest-to-chest. “I fucking warned you, and you didn’t listen.”

  “Were you watching us?” Byron paces back and forth, proving Dixon has struck a nerve.

  “I have better shit to do than follow your goofy ass around campus.” Dixon laughs. “Now, I do have time to watch the cameras, though.” He grabs one of the remotes and lifts it. The screens in front of me showcase the entire security set-up at Glass Heart Academy.

  There’s Byron’s classroom. The camera is pointed straight at the door. Byron shuffles, reaching down and adjusting himself. Palmer must have gotten under his skin good. Nothing rattles Byron Decatur.

  “You sure you want to get rid of her, Byron?” I grin, my gaze flitting from Byron’s face to the straining zipper of his slacks. “Looks more like you have different plans for her.”

  The three of us watch Byron for a sign, something we can use against him. We may be a unit, but we’re also ruthless, willing to rip each other apart for our own entertainment.

  “Quit acting like fucking saints.” He smacks the back of my head as he passes by me. “Our tastes aren’t that much different.”

  “Maybe not, but we all know she’s off limits, remember? It is your rule, after all.” I shrug.

  “Then I suggest you three get her tight little ass under control, because I can only be pushed so far before . . .”

  “Before what, Byron?” Breaker grins, goading him. “Oh, come on, tell us. What is Byron Decatur going to do to Palmer Weston?” He claps his hands, bouncing up and down on the couch cushion as if it’s Christmas morning, and he knows the toy he’s been dying to play with is under the tree.

  “Like I said, get her under control before she ruins everything for us.” He turns his back on us. “We all have something to lose here. Let’s not forget that.” Byron’s threat echoes through the stone hallway.

  We stare at each other, knowing damn well that Byron is right. Each of us has something to lose. Something on the camera changes, catching my attention. I squint, wondering if I’m really seeing what I think I’m seeing.

  “Is that . . .” I point to the top left screen.

  “Sure is.” Dixon steps up beside me.

  “How did you . . .”

  Dixon’s laughter turns manic before I finish the question.

  “Seems like big bro isn’t the only one crushing on Palmer Weston.” He pats me on the back, pulling me sideways into a half-hug. “Don’t even think about it, you got me?”

  I shove him off and stare at the monitor. Palmer is changing from her uniform, slipping the skirt to the floor, and kicking it at a hamper in the corner of her room. She pulls on a pair of jeans and boots. Then in the time it takes to blink, her room is empty. Her bag is gone, which can only mean one thing.

  “We see the way you are with her. How you’ve been with her since last year. Don’t think it doesn’t go unnoticed how you lurk around her like a guard dog.” Breaker stands from his post on the chair. He circles the ring on his finger some more, a habit I’ve noticed shows up when he’s nervous.

  “You can’t save her,” Dixon adds. “Her time is up.”

  “Who said I was trying to save her?” I snatch my backpack from the table and head for the door. “Maybe I’m a little bored, is all.”

  “We all know what it means if Marek is bored,” Breaker singsongs. “Should we pull out the tarps, or is this not going to be as messy as the last time?”

  “Fuck off.” I sling my bag over my shoulder. “That was only once, and the girl asked for it.”

  “Going to the library to study, huh?” Dixon calls out, freezing me at the door. “We’ll be watching you.” He points at the screens, his ominous grin shining at me.

  “Whatever gets you off, Dixon.” I wink and open the door.

  The drive down the hill is quick. My windows are open, and the wind whips around the interior of my Escalade. Music thumps through the speakers. This is a birthday present from my godfather. Henry Lexington is the only reason I have the privilege to be in the presence of the kids at this damn school.

  I’m not poor by any human standard, but entering these coveted gates requires a certain kind of reputation. The Hawthorne family can buy anyone’s love, but not Glass Heart Academy’s, apparently.

  I’m a hidden legacy, not to be confused by an actual legacy. That Henry never knocked up one of his hundreds of whores is my good luck. He had the decency to allocate his bid to me. It’s the least the son of a bitch could have done after everything that went down years ago.

  The library parking lot is damn near empty. With my leather bag over my shoulder, I push through the doors and find every table unoccupied. A quick inspection proves my coming here has been a waste of my time. I’m leaving when I hear it.

  Her laughter. Like damn musical notes to my ears.

  I take a seat at one of the many tables, pull out my books, and pretend to be busy. The test coming up in biology is the furthest thing from my mind, not when she’s so close.

  Forced attention on my note cards is the worst, but I push through. That is, until a chair nearby scrapes across the tiled floor. I resist the urge to look, finishing my chapter of vocabulary words first. When I write the final definition, I give in and peek at the only other person in the library.

  A curtain of deep brown hair cascades down the back of a chair. Long and shiny, it begs to have fingers running through it and tugging tight. I shake my head, breaking myself from my own dark thoughts.

  “Do you need something?” The familiar annoyed tone tells me everything I need to know.

  Slow and calculating, I lift my head to find Palmer with her eyebrows raised like they’re pleading to ask me something.

  “Just working on my note cards. Did I commit a crime or something? Or is this your library?” I sit up a little straighter and wave a hand at the doors. “Is that your name up there? I must have missed it.”

  “No, but—”

  “But it does say Decatur.” I tap my temple.

  “Is that meant to be some kind of threat, Marek?” She fidgets in her seat. Good, she should know better than that. “I’m allowed to be here.”

  I push back my chair and stalk towards her. My steps are slow, purposeful, giving me a chance to watch her swallow hard. Once in front of her, I bend down, resting a hand on the back of her chair and the other on the table. She leans back, silently begging for distance I’m never going to give her. I plan on consuming every breath she takes.

  “It isn’t a threat, Palmer. I don’t make threats.” I run my finger through the hair surrounding her face. “Boys like me don’t have to.”

  “You four may think you run this place, but you don’t.”

  Game on, sweet thing.

  “What are the odds I can get the librarian to leave us alone?” I poke my tongue against the inside of my cheek to stop from giving myself away. “I can clear this library out and do with you what I want, and no one would bat an eyelash because of who I am.”

  Palmer runs her hand over her collarb
one, shakes her head, and stands, forcing me to take a step back. “You have a deal. What do I win if you can’t?”

  “You get your freedom.” I skim my finger under her chin. A freedom she hasn’t quite learned she has already lost.

  “And if you win?” she calls out as I’m walking towards Mrs. Valentine, one of the school librarians.

  I stop and look over my shoulder, piercing her with my stare. “The only thing I want, of course. You.”

  Palmer is about to learn I never make a bet I can’t win. Behind the desk, Mrs. Valentine glances up from her book.

  “How can I help you, Mr. Hawthorne?” she asks. Her gaze shifts behind me, no doubt watching Palmer fuss with herself in the spot where I left her.

  “I’m going to need you to leave,” I demand. “Now.”

  “And if I don’t?” She’s brave for an old lady.

  “Would it help if I say please?” I smile sweetly at her.

  There’s no world where she’d tell me no. Last year, the school was prepared to fire Mrs. Valentine. She’d missed too many days of work while helping her daughter through her cancer treatments. That is, until her six-foot-three savior stepped in and made sure that wouldn’t happen.

  The boys didn’t understand why I did what I did for her, rightfully questioning my motives. Honestly, when the student body heard I had been the one to start the fuss over saving her job, most of them looked at me in disbelief. Everybody jumped in line behind me, though, solidifying the power I had on campus.

  What they didn’t see was a boy who owed a debt to someone.

  Freshman year, Mrs. Valentine caught Henry cornering me in the library. He wanted me to attend an alumni event, so he could tote me around like an obedient lap dog. The menacing hand wrapped around my bicep had me wincing from the pressure, stuck between my godfather and a metal door. Mrs. Valentine saw him and told him if he ever put his hands on me again, she’d make sure everyone knew who he truly was.

  She had my back that day, and I had hers when she needed me.

  “Don’t hurt that girl, Mr. Hawthorne.” She gathers her belongings and slings her bag over her shoulder.