Twisted Elites: A Dark Reverse Harem High School Bully Romance (Bully Boys of Brittas Academy Book 3)

by Sofia Daniel

  The phone rang. Sebastian pulled out of me and moved to the sofa where he placed the phone to his ear.

  “It’s Grandfather.” Sebastian’s voice shook.

  Leopold broke the kiss, and we both turned around.

  Sebastian’s face had turned the color of diluted milk. “He’s been taken to hospital with chest pains.”

  Chapter 21

  Sebastian stood at the sofa, the arm holding his phone slack. He bowed his head and breathed hard. I sat up on the double mattresses and glanced at Leopold, who flicked his head toward Sebastian, indicating for me to go to him. My chest tightened as I walked across the room. After the plane accident, Sebastian’s grandfather was the only family he had left. I didn’t get the impression that they were close, but this news still had to be a blow.

  I wrapped my arms around Sebastian, who pulled me into his chest. His body had turned cold and clammy with shock. The sofa was behind us, so I guided him to sit and pulled a cashmere throw from the backrest and draped it around Sebastian’s shoulders.

  “He’s going to die,” Sebastian whispered. “A second heart attack will certainly kill him.”

  “Where is he?” I tucked the throw around itself at the front and wrapped my arms around his broad frame.

  “Royal Sussex County Hospital. Brighton.”

  I frowned. That was over three-hundred-and-fifty miles away.

  “Well.” Leopold pulled up his boxer briefs then his pants. “It’s one-thirty-five. If we leave now, I can drive us to the other side of the country by seven.”

  Sebastian shook his head. “But Kash is—”

  “Kash isn’t going anywhere,” said Leopold. “And he wouldn’t want you to stay around up north when your grandfather is ill.”

  “He’s right.” I smoothed down Sebastian’s dark hair and pressed a kiss on his cheek. “Besides, the trial is on Monday. You have the weekend free.”

  Sebastian shook his head. “If he dies…”

  “If he dies and you don’t get a chance to say goodbye, you’ll never forgive yourself.” I squeezed him tight, hoping he would go.

  “We’ll come down with you.” Leopold buttoned his shirt. “Right, Wills?”

  I was about to say yes when my gaze fell on the blue-and-black, anti-bullying pin on my blazer. My shoulders deflated. “Sorry. Cormac’s getting married tomorrow in Gretna Green.”

  Leopold rolled his eyes. “He’s getting pigged. Doesn’t he know that?”

  “Didn’t you tell him?” Sebastian asked.

  A pulse jumped in my dry throat, and I gulped again and again. Cormac’s relationship with Geraldine had been a secret until I’d discovered them last term on the stairwell. I had brought up my suspicions several times, but Cormac had the perfect counter-argument. He truly believed the kings were playing me, and I’d trusted them, so why couldn’t I trust that he knew what he was doing with Geraldine?

  I exhaled a long sigh. There was no way I could explain this without distracting them from the issue of Sebastian’s grandfather.

  Instead, I said, “I’ve warned him, but he won’t listen.”

  Sebastian shook his head. “If this turns out like Ashley’s pigging, you’re going to need backup.”

  “No.” I drew back and stared into his wide, green eyes. Trying to sound truthful, I said, “I’ll stand on the sidelines and won’t interfere with anything. When the pigging has stopped, I’ll help him pick up the pieces.”

  Leopold opened his mouth to call me out on a lie, but I gave my head a sharp shake. His eyes widened in realization, and he said, “Get dressed, Garraway. We’re driving south.”

  “Are you sure you’ll be alright?” asked Sebastian.

  “Of course.” I pressed my lips on his cheek and gave him a tight squeeze. “Afterward, I’ll take the train down from Gretna Green.”

  Sebastian gave me a sharp nod. “Come as quickly as you can.”

  “Thanks for understanding.” I wrapped my arms around Sebastian and inhaled his sandalwood scent.

  The kings would be leaving me alone in the academy, allowing Miss Claymore to strike. If I managed a few hours of sleep between now and dinner, I’d be able to stay up all night to keep watch.

  Hours later, after Sebastian texted with an update on his grandfather’s emergency heart bypass, I huddled on his sofa, struggling to stay awake. Two wooden wedges sat at strategic points under the door, and a chair stood propped under the doorknob. Every sound in the hallway made me flinch, but I clutched Leopold’s cricket bat to my chest. If anyone breached my early warning system, I’d crack them over the head and deal with the consequences later.

  Eventually, my eyes drooped shut, and I dreamed of standing back-to-back with Cormac in an empty church. Each of us brandished a cricket bat at hoards of bullies who surrounded us like hungry zombies. Bruce Wilmington and the Riley twins tore at my wedding dress, with Ashley egging them on from the sidelines. Miss Claymore stood at the doorway with Leopold and Sebastian slung over her shoulders, and Mr. Byrd carried Prakash and swung him in the air like a besotted bridegroom.

  “Willow?” a heavy knock on the door broke me out of my nightmare.

  My eyes snapped open. It was still early, and pale wisps of sunlight streamed in through Sebastian’s tall windows, casting its yellowish light on the silver comforter. “What?”

  “We’re leaving in an hour,” said Cormac. “Give me a knock when you’re ready.”

  I stretched, yawned, and blinked. “Sure. Thanks for the wakeup call.”

  After a quick shower, I wore a fifties-style, pink dress Mom had bought me last year. It had a fitted bodice Mom said showed off my narrow waist and it flared at the hips. Since Ashley had burned most of my favorite clothes the day she raided my room, I put on a cashmere cardigan that cropped at the waist and hoped it looked okay for a wedding.

  As I headed for the door, my gaze caught the cricket bat I’d left on the sofa. I would love to smash it over Geraldine’s face when she and her sycophants pigged Cormac, but doing so would get me locked up for assault. Perhaps I really would offer Cormac tea and sympathy when things inevitably went wrong.

  Cormac stepped out of his room, dressed in a smart, charcoal-colored suit with a burgundy waistcoat. “Do you like it? I thought it could double up as something to wear for interviews.”

  “Wow.” I smoothed down his lapels. “You look so handsome!”

  His cheeks colored. “Thanks. It means so much that you agreed to be my best man.” He smirked. “You know what I mean.”

  I looped my arm around his, and we walked down the hallway. “Aren’t you going to wear a flower?”

  “Geraldine’s having them all delivered to Gretna Green,” he said. “We can pick them up at the blacksmith’s.”

  “Oh.” My brows drew together.

  I bit down on my bottom lip and stepped through the doors leading to the stairwell. Two things about what Cormac had said were disturbing. The first was the wedding venue. Historically, runaway couples from England would marry at the blacksmiths. It was world-famous and likely couldn’t accommodate last-minute bookings.

  We descended the stairs in silence. The second thing gnawing at me was the flowers. Which bride didn’t want her bouquet delivered to her directly?

  I glanced at Cormac, whose cheeks remained flushed with joy. “Are you sure about this?”

  He opened the door leading to the ground floor hallway and beamed. “Geraldine is spoiled, attention-seeking, and can be a little catty, but she’s a completely different girl with me. You’ll see.”

  Anxiety roiled in the pit of my gut. Cormac was walking into a trap. We both were, and every bit of common sense screamed at me to stop my best friend from hurting himself, but short from tackling him to the ground and holding him hostage, I didn’t know what else to do.

  Cormac pushed open the academy’s double doors, letting in a warm, dew-scented breeze. A vintage Aston Martin convertible waited at the bottom of the steps. He clapped his hands together and laughed
.

  “Whose is this?” I asked.

  “Geraldine must have hired it. She talked about driving off in the sunset in a 1970’s Aston Martin Volante, but I didn’t think she’d ever find one.”

  “Oh.” I marveled at the wooden steering wheel and vintage, leather interior. Maybe I was wrong. No one would go to such efforts for a pigging.

  After we got into our seats, Cormac started the engine and pulled the sports car out from the front of the academy. He launched into a dialogue, explaining that Geraldine had been training the two blonde fifth-years who accompanied her everywhere to walk in step down the aisle and that they would spend two nights in the blacksmith’s cottage before flying off to the Maldives.

  “Where are Brunswick and Garraway?” he asked as he steered the car through the academy gates and into the main road. “They follow you everywhere.”

  “They drove down to Brighton yesterday. Sebastian’s grandfather is having a heart bypass.”

  Cormac grimaced. “Sorry about that.”

  I pulled my phone out from my purse and checked for new messages. Nothing so far from either of them. It was six-thirty, and if they’d stayed up all night to hear from the surgeon, they’d probably still be sleeping. Slipping it back into my purse, I raised my head and gasped at the mist rolling in above distant, green mountains.

  “Lovely morning, isn’t it?” Cormac slowed the Aston Martin at a sharp, downward bend.

  Warm wind whooshed through my ears as he sped up. Clenching my teeth, I clutched at my stomach. This was the first time I’d been through the mountains in a convertible, and I was glad this would be the last.

  After a hair-raising drive through the mountains, we reached the highway. Cormac stuck to the slow lane, and I sat back and enjoyed the rolling, green hills of Cumbria. About ninety minutes later, a huge, blue road sign welcomed us to Scotland. Cormac took a right, turning off the highway toward Gretna Green. The signposts directed us through a village of low-rise buildings, some of them looking centuries-old.

  “You know the history of Gretna Green?” asked Cormac.

  “Only the part about the 1754 Marriage Act in England that stopped people under twenty-one from marrying without the consent of their parents,” I replied.

  “Back then, it was legal for girls as young as twelve to marry in Scotland.”

  “Twelve?” I blurted.

  “Ridiculous, isn’t it? Boys had to be fourteen to marry.” Cormac passed a one-story church with a tall tower. “The first stop over the border was a blacksmith’s shop, where a local priest would conduct the weddings. It’s still in use today.”

  “Is that where we’re going?” I glanced at a white, one-story building with a slate roof, situated behind a courtyard decorated by a statue of an embracing couple.

  Cormac pulled into its parking lot. “Here were are.”

  Despite everything he had said to reassure me of Geraldine’s willingness to marry, a boulder of dread rolled through my belly.

  Cormac reached for his door handle, but I clutched at his wrist. He turned around, brows drawn. “What’s wrong?”

  “I have a feeling that something bad will happen if you go through those doors.”

  He patted me on the hand. “If you’re worried about an ambush, don’t. This is a respectable institution, and nothing like what happened to Ashley will take place here.”

  “But what if—”

  “Willow.” Annoyance flickered across his face. “I’m sorry for giving you such a hard time at the start of term and for blaming Kashaayah for Corrine’s death, but Geraldine isn’t them. She’s not the type of person who will fabricate a relationship just to enjoy breaking a vulnerable person’s heart.”

  The words hit like a slap, and my mouth dropped open. I would have laid into him, but there was no point. The only way for Cormac to stop seeing Geraldine through rose-tinted glasses was for her to personally rip them off.

  I closed my mouth and blew out a long breath through my nostrils. “Let’s go.”

  Cormac turned, opened his door and stepped out. I followed after him with an apology on my lips, but I held my tongue. If Geraldine turned up at the venue and went through the wedding, I would eat a bowlful of humble pie and grovel. We walked together in silence into the building, where a blonde receptionist smiled at us from behind her desk.

  “Good morning, sir and madam,” she said in a soft, Scottish accent. “Where can I direct you this morning?”

  “I’m here for the Gibbons-Hill wedding. It’s in the Rennison room.”

  “Gibbons-Hill…” The receptionist flipped open a leather book and drew her fingers down the hand-written entries. “I don’t have anyone of that name for today.”

  Chest tightening, I turned to Cormac to hug him, but he scowled and lurched across the desk.

  “It’s at nine.” He turned the book around and scanned the appointments. When he wasn’t satisfied with what he saw on the double-page spread, he flipped to the one before and skipped two pages ahead, as though that might make a difference.

  The receptionist scraped back her chair and placed her hand over her heart. “You might have the wrong date, sir. Could you call—”

  “No!”

  She jumped out of her seat, but quickly composed herself. “Is the venue booked under another name?”

  Cormac drew back from the reception desk and smoothed down his suit. “Sorry.” He gave his head a quick shake, as though vesting himself of the temporary outburst. “That’s probably it. Could you try Byrd, please?”

  Inching forward, I placed a hand on Cormac’s arm. “Bianca wouldn’t have booked your wedding. She asked me to pig you at the start of last term, remember?”

  “There has to be another explanation,” he whispered.

  “Why don’t we take a walk and get some fresh air?” Wrapping my arm around Cormac’s slender bicep, I shot the woman an apologetic look.

  The smile she gave me was one part-worry and three-parts relief. As I pulled Cormac back to the entrance, she reached for her phone and dialed a number. Hopefully, it wasn’t to inform security or the police. Cormac was the victim here, not her.

  Outside the venue to the left stood an old-fashioned tea room with tables and chairs in front. Since it wasn’t quite yet nine o’clock, they hadn’t opened up the parasols in the middle of the tables.

  “Let’s have a sit-down and work things out,” I murmured.

  With an absent nod, Cormac followed me to the tea room and sat at one of the round, wooden tables. He bowed his head and stared into his shaking hands.

  “I couldn’t have been pigged,” he said between panting breaths. “It’s usually a public affair with evidence and camera phones.”

  Maybe after the incident with Ashley and her subsequent revenge, they had moved on from pigging to a jilting. I said nothing, not wanting to upset him further with useless speculations, and wrapped my arms around him in a hug.

  “Sorry,” I said.

  “You warned me time and time again,” he muttered. “But I was too love-struck to listen.”

  I swallowed. The ironic part was that when we’d first met, he had told me that the girls were bigger players of the game than the boys. But I kind of understood how he would cling to the belief that Geraldine’s affection was genuine. Those with beautiful exteriors seldom noticed ordinary-looking people, regardless of their intelligence or inner beauty.

  Cormac rested his head on my shoulder and held me around the middle. Quiet sobs shook his body, and a tight fist squeezed at my heart. This was so shitty. What was the point of hiring a fancy vintage sports car only to lead Cormac through a wild goose chase? It was just so petty.

  “They’ll be waiting for us,” he muttered into the juncture of my shoulder and neck.

  “Huh?”

  “The pigging. By the time we get back, a whole group of them will be at the entrance, waiting to humiliate me.”

  My stomach churned with disgust. He was right. This scenario almost mirrored wha
t happened to Ashley. Bruce had asked her to sleep with a bunch of boys to prove her love to him. Here, Geraldine got Cormac to give her ten-thousand pounds and drive all the way to Scotland for a bogus wedding. Two grand gestures followed by a brutal pigging.

  One of the workers bustled past and slapped two menus on the table, muttering something about needing to order inside if we wanted anything to drink.

  I drew back from Cormac and kissed him on the cheek. “Do you want a cup of tea?”

  He opened up the menu. The Garraway Tea logo filled nearly half a page. Slamming it shut, he pulled his face into a grimace. “No, thanks.”

  We both stood and walked back to the Aston Martin. Cormac got into the sports car and drove us out through the village and toward the highway. His face turned stony, which I supposed was him trying to lock up his emotions before we returned to the academy.

  We drove in silence back to the highway with the late morning sun shining overhead. I rubbed my temples, wondering if there was something I could have said or done to have avoided Cormac getting jilted. Since their relationship was already well established before I became aware of its existence, I wasn’t quite sure.

  I was about to ask what we should do about the inevitable ambush when my phone buzzed in my purse. My breath quickened as I thought about Sebastian sitting by his grandfather’s bedside. I pulled out my phone and read the message.

  This is Miss Claymore. Geraldine Hill was found sexually assaulted and beaten half to death in her room. If you are with Cormac Gibbons, please be careful. He is considered extremely dangerous.

  Chapter 22

  I stared at the message for several moments reading it over and over until the words blurred. Then my eyes darted to Cormac, who maintained his stony expression. This had to be a trick. A way for Geraldine to separate us so that I would leave Cormac before we reached the academy. So he would be alone and without support for his pigging.

  But was it?