Glass Heart Broken: A Dark High School Bully Romance (Glass Heart Academy Book 2)

by Lindsey Iler

  I swipe on a dark maroon lip stain and check my handiwork in the mirror. Everything is flawless from my hair to my makeup. What tonight has in store for any of us, I’m not sure. Just as The Festival of Beginnings felt like I was being escorted to my slaughter, this is no different.

  I stop at the top of the landing and look down to see the backside of four black tuxedoes. Breaker turns first, and I notice the tilt of his smile as he takes me in, offering me a wink as he nudges Marek.

  As if he knows exactly where I stand, Marek turns. His eyes start at my feet and slowly move up my body, taking in every inch. It’s as if he’ll never get the chance to devour me as I look in this moment ever again. Once his eyes connect with mine, everything melts away. He moves forward, matching each step I take down the stairs until he’s in front of me.

  “You’ll kill me looking this gorgeous,” he says. A shockwave of happiness shoots through me when his lips land tenderly on my temple. “You’re a piece of art, Palmer Weston,” he whispers into my hair.

  I lean back and grandly wrap my fingers around his bow tie, adjusting it to perfection. “You’re not so bad yourself, handsome.”

  Hand in hand, Marek leads us into the living room. Each of the boys look my way. Breaker leans forward and kisses my cheek, while Dixon offers me a simple nod. Byron’s face is unmoved as he takes in me and his brother.

  That’s what the four of these guys are. They are family. The question is, where do I fit in? Some days I’m not sure if I want to.

  “Are we ready?” Marek asks, glancing down at me before checking with the rest of them.

  “Yeah, let’s go,” I offer, heading towards the front door.

  “Damn!” Marek says with appreciation, earning boy-like giggles from his friends.

  I glance over my shoulder to find his eyes plastered on the details of my dress. I stretch to see the features that made me want to buy it in the first place.

  “You like?” I smirk, happy with the way it dips especially low and the delicate silver beads snaking across the top.

  “I didn’t think you could get any sexier than when you’re naked”— his chest hits my spine, heating my body with us flush together— “but here you stand like a fucking dream come true.” He kisses my temple, before opening the door for me to walk through.

  The drive to the library isn’t far, but there’s enough time for my mind to wander. I’ve been going to events here since I was a little girl. Often, I would hide behind my dad’s leg while my sister reminded me to stand up straight. Looking out for me was a job she took seriously. The memory drags me down until the boys’ conversation about my safety breaks through the fog.

  “No one leaves her side tonight,” Marek demands. “Do you understand me? Eyes on her at all times.”

  “What do you think is going to happen?” I laugh, amused by his protectiveness. “Also, can we please find the irony in my safety being in the hands of you four?” It’s a sick joke, and with the long pause, I start to worry I may have offended them.

  “Very clever.” Breaker breaks the silence.

  “I thought it was funny.” I shrug, smiling at him before turning my attention to the front window. Marek’s expression is unmoved.

  “Are we at the point that it’s a joke now?” Dixon asks from the rear seat.

  “No,” Marek says sternly. His fingers clench the wheel, and I reach over, covering his hand with mine. As if he can sense my need, he leans over, and I place a kiss on his cheek.

  “You good?” I ask. Our destination is in sight.

  “Not even a little bit,” he whispers. The small but strong smile tells me everything I need to know. He’s not ready to put what happened behind us, whether it’s a lighthearted joke or not. To him, he finds no humor in it.

  The library screams of old money and privilege. Countless charity events are held here. Dressed in beautiful golden lighting, it’s truly a sight as we drive up. Old architecture. Stone as far as the eye can see. Being in the presence of the antique features inside is like using a time machine.

  “You ready?” Marek offers me his arm, once he opens my door.

  I step out, bombarded by the sound of lenses opening and closing. Flashes from the cameras blind me for a second, and when my eyes adjust, Marek is standing there, smiling and easing my nerves.

  After Henry dropped off our invitations, this event has consumed my thoughts. Breaker’s done a decent job of trying to ease my mind, but I can’t help but feel distrust towards that man. Marek seems as on edge as I am.

  I wrap my arm through his, and he escorts me inside. As soon as we hit the entrance, the boys go their own ways. Marek and I find our table assignment card and head for lucky number twelve. Once we hit our mark, we look up to find we are sitting at a table with Dillon Johnson and Quinn Herrington.

  Of course, these assholes are among the few selected to attend tonight.

  “I’ll be right back. Don’t move from this seat,” Marek says, scanning the room like he’s on patrol instead of being a guest.

  “Does he always demand things of you like that?” Dillon quips.

  Little does he know, I have no intention of humoring his bullshit.

  “What I remember from being with Marek is he likes to be a bit forceful,” Quinn adds, plastering a shit-eating grin on her painted face. “Isn’t that right, Palmer?”

  I lean over, whispering just loud enough for those sitting at our table to hear. “The thing is, I like when he’s a little rough.”

  “Whore.” Quinn stands to storm off, and I grab her wrist in a tight hold.

  “Don’t ever make it seem like he made you do something you weren’t perfectly willing to do on your own.” I shove her away from me. “Do you understand me?”

  Quinn wraps her hand around her wrist, attempting to eliminate the pain. Unbeknownst to her, the physical pain is nothing compared to the mental knife I’ve slipped into her. Girls like Quinn aren’t happy unless they get what they want. Most would call them spoiled brats. Her insisting on tearing me down, while holding onto her infatuation for Marek, makes her far more superior to a girl throwing a tantrum.

  Once she stomps off, I lean forward on my elbows, taking in the beautifully decorated room. They’ve spared no expense. Dillon glares at me across the table, forcing me to pin my spine to the chair. Ever since he cornered me against the building, I’ve managed to avoid him. There’s some sort of evil in his eyes I can’t place.

  “You okay?” Byron comes up behind me, placing his hands on my chair. His fingers dangle close to my skin. I can’t find an ounce of fear inside of me for the man behind me when my worry is directed at the man across from me.

  “I’m fine, but get Marek, please,” I beg, not allowing my stare to slip from the horror show in front of me.

  Byron’s warmth disappears, and I’m immediately aware of the crowded room. On the opposite side of the dance floor, Marek heads our way, pushing through the crowd, with Breaker behind him.

  “Johnson, don’t you have something better to do than be an asshole to a girl like Palmer?” Breaker says when he’s next to the table.

  “A girl like Palmer? You mean a low rent whore?” Dillon pushes out his chair and stands.

  “No, I mean a girl who’s so above you, she’s practically untouchable.” Breaker’s clenched fist hits the table, rattling the glasses.

  A crackling of the sound system draws everyone’s attention to the dance floor.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome. Please take your seats.” Henry stands with the microphone in his hand, watching as the crowd follows his commands. His sharp stare lands on our table, and he mouths sit at us.

  When none of us move to take our seats, he smiles.

  “Marek Hawthorne, please have your guests take a seat and come stand beside me. This is your event, after all.”

  “Your event?” I whisper to Marek.

  Marek shrugs, confusion etched over his face as he pulls out my chair, silently telling me to listen to Henry. H
e moves through the crowd like he owns the space, unaffected by those doting over him as he passes their tables. He’s a king here like he is on campus.

  “There’s my boy,” Henry says with open arms, playing the part of a supportive and attentive godfather. “We’re gathered here tonight to celebrate an addition to Glass Heart Academy’s campus. A brand new, state-of-the-art gymnasium.” Henry looks at Marek. “As an athlete at the academy, Marek has spent a great deal of time training, and as his legacy as a stellar student athlete, he wants to assure that the classes that follow him have even more of an advantage than he was given. When he came to me, expressing his desire to give back, to make his mark on the campus we all love, I couldn’t have been prouder.”

  “What the hell?” I whisper, grossed out by Henry’s ability to schmooze a crowd. It’s disgusting.

  “He’s using him, Palmer,” Breaker whispers in my ear. “Don’t let this man put any doubt in your heart of who Marek is.”

  Marek’s mother takes the stage beside Marek. The resemblance between the two of them and the audience, draped in money and prestige, is uncanny. Everyone applauds Mrs. Hawthorne as she takes a microphone from the podium.

  “I couldn’t be prouder of my son, Marek. He’s worked hard on this campus, not only to win championships, but also mainly to further his education. Without the support of staff and administrators, he would not have the future that he holds so dearly,” Mrs. Hawthorne says, moving her gaze throughout the room.

  The entire school board is here, along with Dean Eberstark, and every major donor on campus. That’s when it hits me. They’re showboating Marek as an example. He’s been accused of horrific crimes, but by being here tonight, he’s proving none of that matters when there are enough zeros on a check.

  “Before we embark on the remainder of the evening, I want to remind you that the auction is set to begin in less than an hour. Grab a beverage and be ready to be mesmerized by the items generously donated in hopes to further Marek’s efforts to make G.H.A. the best campus it can be,” Henry announces, handing the microphone to the DJ behind him.

  I glance around the room, checking to see if everyone is as astounded as I am with the bullshit Henry Lexington is force-feeding them.

  The three of them stand together while photographers swarm the stage for a photo op. Henry holds on tight to Marek’s hand despite his struggles to put distance between them. Henry wants the crowd to believe they’re a tight-knit network. Marek’s body language tells a completely different story.

  After a minute of flashes from the hungry cameras, Marek holds his hand up, excusing himself. Mrs. Hawthorne’s face is pained with disappointment as she calls out to him. Henry drops the stoic act and shows his true colors. He’s pissed at Marek’s clear dismissal of his words and actions.

  Marek shakes hands with several people as he races back to our table, pushing through the attention Henry and his mother have placed on his back.

  “What the hell, Marek?” I shift to stare at him as he takes the seat beside me. It’s just Dixon, Breaker, Marek, and me, giving me the chance to be candid. “Are you part of this? Because my gut’s telling me something isn’t right, and if my gut is right, then you’d be marked as a willing participant”– I ghost my hand in the air– “to whatever twilight zone, hell hole we’re currently in.”

  “They blindsided him, Palmer. Gave him no choice but to play along,” Breaker explains.

  “Do you honestly think I would mix and mingle with the likes of Henry, after everything I’ve told you about my past?” Marek grabs a champagne flute, downing the crystal bubbles. “Do you think that little of me?”

  “You’ve done things in the past.” I immediately regret my choice of words, clutching at my handbag and wishing I could crawl inside it. “I’m sorry. I’m frazzled.” Marek lifts my chin, forcing me to look him in the eyes. My heart nearly leaps out of my chest. “I don’t know what’s happening to me.”

  “Palmer, listen to me.” Dixon pries my attention from Marek. I twirl in my seat, looking in the eyes of someone I’m only beginning to trust. There’s no harshness in them. “It’s your intuition putting you on high alert. That’s all. Don’t be led away from him, from us. I promise you we are in no way a part of this.”

  “Do we just leave then?” Not truly knowing what other option we have, I stand, and without question, the three of them follow me towards the exit. “We’ll catch Byron on the way out.”

  “Not so fast, you four.” Henry slides in between us and the door. “The auction’s going to begin soon. It’s unforgettable, and Breaker”– he smacks him on the chest– “there may be something in particular in there you’re interested in.”

  Henry leads us back inside, though it feels more like our slaughter. There’s no other way to describe when a man like him is involved. Every spoken word and touch is calculated.

  Marek catches me wiggling my spine, trying to force Henry’s hand off the small of my back, and he glowers at his uncle.

  Dillon and Quinn are across the room, busy chatting with a few alumni, so our table is still vacant.

  “Any ideas?” Breaker says.

  “They want us here. They know we’re aware that it’s a set up to have Marek here, and they don’t seem to care, but why?” I ask the obvious concern.

  Under the table, Marek grabs my hand, squeezing it. The small gesture instantly slows my beating heart. The four of us scan the area, hoping to better understand what’s happening right under our noses, and why we are none the wiser.

  I catch Dean Eberstark commanding the room, flitting between tables, stopping to shake hands with mostly young alumni, none of whom I recognize.

  Until a waiter stops at a nearby table, and I’m greeted with a gritted, unkind smile.

  “Declan Dumas,” I whisper. His name is like venom and his face a nightmare.

  “What?” Marek nudges his chair closer to mine.

  “Declan Dumas is here.” Not wanting to lose sight of Declan, I draw Marek into a hug, exposing a clear shot of Declan. “The piece of shit doesn’t deserve to be standing on two good legs after attacking Delaney.”

  Marek pulls away and kisses my forehead before turning around to stand watch. Did he hear the worry and pain in my voice?

  Declan grins wider when he notices Marek glaring at him.

  “Don’t worry about him, Palmer. He’s not worth your thoughts,” he says without looking back at me.

  Breaker and Dixon motion for Byron to join our table. When he sits, Dixon whispers something into his ear. His eyes widen, and he searches the room. When he doesn’t find who he’s looking for, he grabs a glass, guzzling down the contents.

  “Please take your seats,” Henry says to the audience. “On your tables, you’ll find paddles. These are for bidding.”

  As he talks about the auction, the crowd disperses to the tables scattered around the room. As events like this go, everything appears to be normal. Tables with lavish floral arrangements. Expensive linens. Gilded, decorative place setting. Gold flatware. Each thing has been chosen to give the guest the impression that they are surrounded by the best money can buy.

  You can practically hear the awe in the air as they inspect their gold-plated paddles.

  “Our first item up for bid is a trip to Paris, France. All expenses paid,” Henry announces. A girl wearing a short black skirt, white blouse, and matching beret staggers onto the stage, her legs wobbling as she crosses to the framed photo revealing what the winner will receive.

  The bidding goes quick, ending at the ridiculous sum of three hundred thousand. These people could travel to Paris six times for that amount.

  “All the money goes to the school. This is a drop in the hat for some of these people,” Byron explains. He must have read my face. Knowing he can interpret my mood from a single look, unnerves me.

  Before the girl, who I realize is a freshman, makes it off the stage, her ankle seems to give out on her. Henry clutches her forearm, tugging her flush against him.
He whispers in her ear, a twist in his demeanor that no one seems to notice. With little to no help, he ushers her off the stage to an attendant who sends her to the back of the room where the exits are.

  “Our second item will have any island goer’s heart racing,” Henry announces, swaying his arm towards the right. A girl I recognize as a junior at Glass Heart sashays onto the stage. She wears a grass skirt and a coconut bra. Her head is cast to the floor, but she puts on a good show, running her hand over a board that resembles the first one. “The starting bid will be twenty-five thousand.”

  The girl lifts her head high, and I’m struck by the glossy, bloodshot condition of her eyes.

  “What the fuck,” I say to myself.

  Marek checks over his shoulder, a confused expression on his face. “You all right?”

  I clench my eyes shut. Unsure I’m seeing what I think I am, I wave my hand, dismissing his worry. There’s no reason to make assumptions if there’s not more proof.

  “Sold for two hundred thousand dollars to the gentleman in the back!” Henry shouts, pointing the microphone at the table beside us. I don’t recognize the winner.

  “He graduated with me. He’s some big shot financier in New York. I’m surprised he came back for this,” Byron explains.

  Two more girls are paraded out, each of them wearing outfits to match the prize being auctioned. To a normal person, everything is as it should be. Nothing is out of place. But for a girl who has learned trust is hard to earn, nothing is in place. Each girl is in some form of altered state.

  “We’ve saved the best for last.” Henry crosses the stage, stopping at the stairs the other girls have used to enter. He holds out his hand, and a dainty, pale hand is placed in his.

  “Declan hasn’t bid on a single item tonight, but he’s awfully excited about whatever’s next,” Marek states, not glancing back once, his focus on the person he seems most worried about. This leaves him completely unaware of my terror.