Ruthless (The Privileged of Pembroke High #4)

by Ivy Fox

  He made sure I didn’t leave the room until I read every word of the article written about how I’ve been suffering from night terrors ever since my mom died. To his disgruntlement, the magazine also had pictures of my wet bed linens following one particularly bad nightmare. Leave it to my father to blame me for this embarrassment rather than taking some responsibility onto his shoulders for the bad publicity. It’s his own damn fault for not protecting us against greedy nannies that would turn on our family for an easy buck.

  Argh!

  If that rude start to the day wasn’t enough, then stupid Trevor Manning sure made the rest of it intolerable by bringing the magazine to school with the sole intent of humiliating me. But it was only when he called me a bed wetter in front of Saint that I felt real shame for what I’d done. I never wished so hard for the ground beneath me to just open up and swallow me whole. It’s bad enough the entire world found out about my accident, but knowing Saint, of all people, knew about it too, made me sick to my stomach. And then, to add insult to injury, he just had to step in like a knight in shining armor as if I were some kind of damsel in distress.

  “Argh!!!” I growl, punching the bench beside me.

  “Hey now, Elle. If you break it, I’m sure you’ll have to pay for it,” Ash teases me, waltzing in my direction.

  “Oh, bite me, Asher!” I roar back, not in the mood for my brother’s teasing.

  His goading smirk is still in place when he takes the seat beside me.

  “I thought Rome was picking me up,” I state, picking up my pink backpack from the floor and hugging it to my chest.

  “He has basketball practice today, remember?”

  “Oh, I must have forgotten.” I pout, remembering Rome did say something about just being able to drop me off today. I guess I was too in my head to pay attention to my older brother’s instructions.

  “What’s wrong, Elle? You’re in a prissier mood than normal. Is it about what Nanny Bitcharoony told the press?”

  “It wasn’t the highlight of my day. I can tell you that much.” I shrug in defeat.

  “But something tells me that’s not what has you upset, though. What’s up?” he questions, squeezing my knee playfully.

  “It’s nothing. I just want to go home, Ash.”

  “Not until you tell me what’s wrong,” he insists.

  I watch the next class of ballerinas walk past us, and it gives me an idea for an excuse I can offer my inquisitive brother that won’t do too much damage. I don’t want to admit to him that Trevor Manning was bullying me after school this afternoon. If Ash finds out, then he’ll get into a fight with Trevor for sure first thing tomorrow morning. And if my hothead of a brother gets detention—or, God forbid, is suspended from school for fighting—then who knows what my father will do to him. Things back home are tense as it is, now that Mom isn’t there to run interference between our father and us. I won’t give him the satisfaction of hurting Asher because I couldn’t deal with one stupid bully.

  “Why do I have to do ballet? It’s not like I’m going to be a professional dancer or anything. We both know I suck at it. And since Mom isn’t here to watch any of my recitals, I don’t see the point of doing it anymore.”

  Even though the excuse was made up on the fly, I realize there is some truth to my words. Now that Mom is gone, dancing just seems to reinforce the ugly truth of her absence in my life. I can pretend she didn’t leave us most of the time by pushing the cold reality that I’ll never see her again to the back of my mind. But the minute I slip on my ballet slippers, it all comes crashing down on me.

  She’s gone.

  And no amount of pirouettes will bring her back.

  “Then quit.” Asher shrugs nonchalantly, bringing me back from my melancholic reverie. “If you don’t like dancing in a tutu anymore, then don’t do it.”

  “And what do I tell our father? That I’m a quitter?” I slant my eyes at him like he should know better than what he’s suggesting.

  “Fuck him.”

  “That’s easy for you to say,” I mumble under my breath.

  Asher’s solution to every problem nowadays revolves around the word fuck. I’ve never heard him cuss this much in all my life, but his vocabulary is definitely more colorful ever since Mom died. It reminds me too much of Saint and his crass word choices. Not that mine are any better.

  “It’s only easy for me to say because I don’t give a rat’s ass about him, Elle. And neither should you,” Ash adds, bringing my attention back to him. “Is that why you’re in a mood today? Because you want to quit ballet and don’t know how to tell our prick of a father?”

  “No. Yes. I don’t know.” I slump my shoulders, leaning my head back on the wall. “You want to know the real reason why I’m upset? I hate that I’m small. It makes jerks think they can either bully me or treat me like I’m a princess in need of saving. I hate it.”

  “Is someone bullying you?” he snarls, his eyes wide with pent-up rage just dying to come out.

  “Will you stop and just listen to me for once?! That’s not what I said,” I shout, slapping him across the back of his head for good measure.

  He rubs his head, his brows so crumpled up together they almost reach the bridge of his nose.

  “So, what is it then? Is it because you want to quit ballet or that you’re pissed that you’re small? Your mood swings are giving me whiplash, Elle. And a fucking migraine. Geez, that hurt,” he grumbles as he continues to rub the area where I slapped him.

  “Humph.” I groan, closing my eyes and leaning back onto the wall. “Why did I have to be born a girl? If I were a boy, I could be doing something fun like basketball with Rome or taking swim lessons with you and Ollie. Instead, I have to put on a pink leotard and dance for total strangers on command. It’s not fair.”

  “Who says you have to do anything but what you want? You don’t want to do ballet anymore, then don’t do it. Life’s too short to do someone else’s bidding. Look how well it turned out for Mom.”

  I bite the corner of my lip and tilt my head toward my brother.

  “I want to learn how to fight.”

  “You? You want to learn how to fight?” He laughs.

  “I’m serious!” I jab him in the gut before standing up from my seat, walking toward the exit door.

  “Elle! Wait up!” he yells behind me.

  “No! You’re just as bad as the rest of them. Just because I’m small doesn’t mean I’m fragile.”

  I try to hurry up and get away from him, but my short legs are no match for my brother’s long ones. He stops me in my tracks, putting his hands on my shoulders to keep me still.

  “Hey now, hold on a second,” he says softly. “I’m sorry if I upset you. If it means that much to you, I can teach you how to fight.”

  “Really?” I ask suspiciously.

  “Yes, really. Although I have to be honest, I’m not sure if I’ll be able to teach you all that you want to know. I mean, you’re my baby sister. I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “I’m not a baby, nor am I some delicate flower, Ash,” I snap. “And I’m getting tired of everyone treating me like I am.”

  “I know you’re not. But you can’t be angry with me at the fact that I don’t want to hurt you by mistake. You get that right?”

  “I guess.”

  His eyes look at me in such a pitying way that it makes me wish I really did know how to fight just so I could wipe that look off his face. It’s the same god-awful expression I’ve been getting from everyone lately. I get it from my teachers. My friends. Everyone. The only ones who don’t look at me with pity in their eyes are Chad, Trevor, and I hate to admit it, Saint.

  “Wait, I’ve got an idea,” Ash says all of a sudden, grabbing my hand and walking over to a wall where the center’s classes are displayed. His finger trails down a list, but it’s just too high up for me to see what’s written on it.

  Being tiny sucks.

  “Bingo
!” he yells, grabbing my arm again and running in an entirely different direction.

  “What the hell, Ash?!” I shriek, almost tripping over my feet and falling on my face with how fast he’s going.

  “Just wait for it. Trust me, Elle. I got you.” He winks back over his shoulder, looking oddly pleased with himself.

  When my brother finally stops at one of the classrooms with an open door, I take a peek inside, excitement instantly warming my chest at the sight. In full Krav Maga gear, the room is packed with men and women kicking and punching the air. All of them look strong and confident as they mimic their instructor’s moves. Just like in ballet, the students here look like they are dancing gracefully, yet each move is carefully designed not to entertain but to defend.

  Attack.

  Ash waltzes into the classroom like he owns the place while I stay rooted to my spot outside the door, completely in awe of the lesson taking place inside. I watch as my brother talks to one of the teachers standing on the sidelines as my curiosity piques when one of the instructors in white tilts his head in my direction, taking a good hard look at me. I straighten my spine, praying it makes me look taller somehow, as Ash continues to animatedly talk to him, the man nodding every so often. Both of them walk to the back of the room, Ash’s smile beaming brightly once the instructor hands him a piece of paper. When Ash walks back to me, I’m on pins and needles in anticipation.

  “What was that all about?”

  “That, baby sister, was me having your back. I just signed you up for their kids’ class.”

  “Our father will never allow it.”

  “Who says he ever needs to know?” He arches a mischievous brow at me.

  I grab the paper out of his hand, and just as I figured, it’s an authorization form.

  “He will when I have to hand him this! He’ll never sign it.”

  “O ye of little faith. I’ve been a wiz at forging Dad’s signature since I got my first F. You’re golden, baby!”

  “I don’t know, Ash. What if he finds out? If I do this, it won’t only be me getting in trouble. He’ll figure out you had a hand in this, too.”

  “Like I care.” He rolls his eyes. “Do you want this or not, Elle?”

  I take another peek into the room.

  Women as slender and as petite as me are kicking ass in there. They look strong and fierce.

  Yes, that’s exactly what I want—to feel strong.

  Like she should have been.

  “Yes, I want it,” I finally reply, jumping into his embrace, happy for the first time in ages. “Thank you, Ash.”

  “What are big brothers for?” he whispers in my ear, hugging me tightly.

  I may have lost my mom, but my brothers will always be there for me. For a split second, I forgot that I’m not alone. Rome, Ollie, and Ash will always have my back.

  Chad, too.

  I think back to this afternoon’s drama, black eyes instantly piercing through my thoughts. I’ll never give Santiago a reason to play the white knight card on me again. I’ll be able to handle my own stuff. Even Trevor Manning won’t be able to pull a fast one on me. From here on out, I’ll make sure to always keep my guard up. And if either one of them ever tries any funny business, then I won’t hold back before putting them in their place.

  Right now, they think I’m helpless, but they are dead wrong.

  I’m a Grayson.

  And Graysons are ruthless.

  Chapter 8

  Chad

  Four Years Later

  “Do you think it’s such a good idea to leave Santiago and Elle unattended in your bedroom without supervision? It’s a pretty risky decision if you ask me. You might find yourself one friend short when you return,” my father teases before taking a big bite out of his apple.

  “I’m just grabbing a few sodas for us, Dad. I hardly think they’ll kill each other in the five minutes it takes for me to grab some out of the kitchen,” I explain lightheartedly, opening the refrigerator door in search of something cool to drink.

  “Oh, I wouldn’t be too sure about that. Elle is feisty when it comes to Santiago. And Santiago… well, he’s Santiago. I’ve seen that boy get in loads of trouble in less time than that,” Dad retorts with an impish laugh.

  “I’ll take my chances.”

  I continue to browse the refrigerator shelves, wondering if I should fix us a snack or not when I feel my father’s impenetrable gaze poking holes in the back of my head. I turn around and see him leaning against the kitchen island, staring at me with a grin so wide it almost splits his face in half.

  “You’re in an awfully good mood. Were you able to finish your chapter early today or something?”

  “I wish.” He chuckles. “No, that’s not why I’m in good spirits, son. It’s just that I like seeing you like this.”

  “Like what?”

  “Content.”

  My fixed gaze turns away from my father’s beaming smile and back to the open refrigerator’s contents. I try to keep still and not shift my weight from one foot to the other, unaccustomed to having his entire focus on me. It’s not like I’m used to having it from either of my parents.

  “It’s good that you’re taking advantage of the time you three have left. Things are bound to change once you start high school next month,” he adds somberly.

  “What do you mean?” I ask, confused.

  “Oh, you know. You and Elle will go off to Pembroke High and meet new people, while Santiago will do the same up in East Harlem in River Heights. In the next few years, you three will be exposed to so many new things. New environments. New experiences. New friends. It’s only natural that your dynamics with each other change, too. Life’s cruelly systematic that way. The friends you grow up with in your youth are rarely the ones you keep in contact with later on in life. That’s just the way it is, I’m afraid.”

  But I don’t want things to change.

  This summer has been the best of my life. With Elle coming home early from her vacation up in the Hamptons and Saint’s mom pulling double shifts at the diner, they’ve both spent most of their free time here with me. I’ve never been so happy, and the idea that everything is going to change when we start high school is suddenly making me nauseous.

  “Hey, are you okay? You’re looking pale there, Chadwick. I didn’t mean to upset you, son,” my father adds with concern, sensing his astute prediction just dampened my mood.

  “I’m fine.”

  I grab the three soda cans I came in here for and rush out of the kitchen before my killjoy of a father has a chance to say anything else that’s equally horrifying. I know he didn’t mean anything by the remark, but couldn’t he just let me have this moment without adding his input on my current happiness is fleeting? I’d expect that type of analytical thinking to come from my mother, not him. Dad’s usually the one with his head up in the clouds, so for him to make such an observant statement doesn’t sit well with me, especially because there might be some truth to his cautioning words.

  When I get back to my room, thoughts of any impending doom to our friendship instantly disappear. I lean against the door frame, just taking in the scenery of my two best friends talking trash to one another as they try to defeat the zombies on the TV screen.

  “I’ve got you now!”

  “What are you talking about?! I’m on your team, dickwad!”

  “Consider yourself a casualty of war, Princess.”

  Each of them repeatedly presses on the controller’s buttons, mashing away at them as if their very lives depended on it. But when Elle throws her controller to the floor with a glowing smile stitched to her lips, it’s obvious who came out the winner in the post-apocalyptic video game.

  “Yes! I won! I won!” she exclaims, getting up on her feet to do her little victory dance.

  “You cheated. Not exactly something I would brag about.” Saint snorts, throwing his controller to the floor in protest.

  “Tal
king like a true loser.” She continues to boast, going as far as placing her index and thumb to the top of her forehead in the shape of an L to drive the taunt home.

  “Why you little—” Saint exclaims before knocking Elle down and pinning her to the floor.

  He grabs her by both wrists on top of her head while his looming body tries to subdue her wiggling form.

  “Get off of me, you big jerk,” she shouts with little steam behind it.

  “Not happening, Princess. Not until you admit you cheated.”

  “You’re just being a sore loser. What? Can’t handle a girl beating you at your own game?” she mocks, wiggling her brows and sticking her tongue out at him.

  My mouth runs dry as I watch the two of them struggle for dominance on the beige carpet. I don’t know why but there is a part of me that instantly springs to attention. My cock jerks in my mesh shorts as I watch their bodies entwine with one another on the floor.

  “Yield, Princess. Admit what you did, and I’ll show you mercy.”

  “Never!” she yells in his face, her smile a mile wide.

  When Saint licks his lips, staring down at a flushed and out of breath Elle, I feel a pang in my chest. While my body seems to enjoy watching their impromptu wrestling match, my heart doesn’t like it one bit.

  “My dad was right. I can’t leave you two alone for a minute without you trying to kill each other,” I interject, making sure to put an end to whatever moment was happening between them.

  I place the Coke cans on my nightstand, shaking my head in disapproval at their bickering.

  “Don’t just stand there, Chad! Help get this big gorilla off of me.”

  “Not happening. Boy Scout doesn’t like cheaters, either. Instead, he’s going to help me teach you a lesson. Come here and help me out,” Saint beckons, the mischievous gleam in his eye making my cock twitch yet again, while my chest feels like a ton of bricks just fell on top of it.