Ruthless (The Privileged of Pembroke High #4)

by Ivy Fox

  “Maybe it’s because you’re here,” Ash replies on my behalf with a smug grin.

  “I’m not in the mood for your lip, Asher. I’m talking with your sister. I asked you a question, Eleanor.”

  “Funny, I didn’t hear one,” Rome retorts, always coming to my aid.

  This time it’s me who places a comforting hand on his knee, silencing him from saying another word. Our father has always been a menacing force in our lives, but he takes pleasure in hurting Rome in any way he sees possible. Even if that means he has to use the rest of us to do it.

  “I was just telling Rome about the tennis tournament and how I got Kimmy Sullivan as my challenger.”

  “I see. Yes, I’ve heard she has a mean backhand.”

  “She does.”

  “Do you think she’s better than you?”

  “She’s practiced more. Her parents have hired a Wimbledon champion to train her during the year.”

  “That wasn’t my question. Do you think she’s better?” he snarls, unhappy with my response.

  “No,” I answer firmly, squaring my shoulders.

  “Then she isn’t a problem.”

  “A lot can happen on a tennis court. It isn’t that cut and dry.”

  “I disagree. Tennis is like any other game in life. Learn your opponent’s weaknesses and exploit them to your advantage. I would have thought you had learned that by now.”

  “I guess Elle isn’t as cold-hearted as you.”

  He points a threatening finger at Rome and then back at me. “This has nothing to do with heart and everything to do with unrivaled tenacity. If you think your sister doesn’t have that killer instinct in her, then you’re a bigger fool than I gave you credit for. Tell him, Elle. What do we do with our enemies?”

  I feel all my brothers’ eyes on me as I chew on my inner cheek. My insides burn with hatred at being put on the spot like this, knowing he won’t be satisfied until I say what he wants to hear.

  “Tell them!” He slams his fist on the table, making everything shake. “What do we Graysons do with those who dare to stand in our way?”

  “We break them,” I whisper under my breath.

  “I didn’t hear you!”

  “We break them,” I repeat with the same vile loathing I have for him.

  “You think talking softly like that will get you any respect? Talk louder, girl!”

  “I said we break them!” I yell at him, feeling my face heat up with rage.

  “And what do you do after they have been broken?”

  “Destroy whatever is left. Make sure they can’t pick themselves up off the floor, no matter how hard they try.”

  “Do we even give them that luxury? To try?”

  I dig my nails into my palms, shaking my head.

  “No. We keep our foot on their necks to remind them they can’t.”

  “Good,” he praises, leaning back in his chair, relaxed and satisfied. “You see, Roman? At least she’s learning how to be a true Grayson. A pity you should be taking lessons from one so young.”

  Content for making his point, he gets out of his seat, throwing a displeased look at the twins as he leaves. Ash just flips him off, not even waiting for his back to be turned.

  “Don’t listen to him. He’s a dick and thinks he can mold you into a version of himself. Don’t fall for the bait,” Rome utters the minute we hear the front door close.

  “I’m not,” I mumble, poking holes into my bagel with a fork.

  “Good. We already have one tyrant in the family. We sure as fuck don’t need two,” Ash interjects, disdain polluting his words.

  “Don’t you have somewhere to go?” I roll my eyes at him.

  “Matter of fact, we do. Ollie found himself a girlfriend.”

  “What?” I question excitedly, the first good news I’ve heard in ages.

  Ollie’s cheeks blush crimson as he pushes his glasses up to the bridge of his nose.

  “Ash is exaggerating. It’s still early days. I’m not even sure she likes Ash or me.”

  “I’m willing to share if you are.” Ash winks at him.

  “Ew, gross.” I pretend to barf. “I’m eating here.”

  “No, you’re not. You haven’t touched your food since you sat down,” Rome counters worriedly. “But Elle is right. How about you two talk about your sexcapades when we’re not having a meal?”

  “First, there is no hanky-panky going on. Snow is a good girl. She’s not one of those Pembroke skanks that goes down on you just because of our last name. Shit. She doesn’t even know we’re Graysons.”

  “Don’t you think that starts the relationship off on the wrong foot, Ollie?” I ask my brother after Asher’s boastful statement. “How can she truly like you if she doesn’t know everything about you?”

  “Do you know everything about Chad?” Ollie retorts.

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Are you sure? Because there has been some talk around school about him and his new bestie.”

  “Rumors told by girls who don’t have a chance with him. I wouldn’t pay much attention to them.”

  “You know what they say about gossip? Where there is smoke, there is usually a fire that caused it.”

  “Your point?”

  “I’m just saying that you don’t have to know every little detail about a person to have feelings for them. Sometimes the heart wants what it wants.”

  I thin my lips, bowing my head to my plate and away from Ollie’s soft hazel eyes.

  “Okay. Enough chit-chat, Ollie. Let’s go and see our girl.”

  “Our girl?” Ollie questions with an amused grin.

  “Your girl. My girl. Our girl. We’ll figure this shit out.” Ash winks at him.

  Ollie just chuckles, getting up from his seat and following Asher’s lead.

  “See ya, losers.”

  “Those two should be neutered,” I tease once the twins have left.

  “Asher definitely. I wouldn’t mind having little Ollies in the family, though.”

  “True, but with our luck, they would all end up being like Asher,” I joke.

  “Bite your tongue, rugrat.”

  We both laugh hysterically, the dark cloud our father descended upon us no longer anywhere in sight.

  “Come on, Elle. Eat your breakfast. You need your strength if you want to beat Kimmy Sullivan on the tennis court today.”

  With a new sense of resolve washing over me, I do just that. I bury the lingering rage my father provoked earlier this morning and harness it to use on the court. At the end of the tennis match, when the chair umpire calls me the winner, I’m not one bit surprised.

  I wipe my brow with a towel, unable to enjoy the win with my father’s words still persistently whispering in my ear.

  “Hey, Elle. Good game.” Kimmy congratulates, shaking my hand over the net. Her smile is as fake as the boob job she got over Christmas. But I don’t take it personally since it must suck balls to lose to someone who only plays tennis over summer break.

  “Thanks. You, too,” I respond politely.

  “Do you want to grab some lemonade and talk shop?”

  I shrug. Why the hell not? At least while I’m talking about tennis, my head isn’t back in the city, wondering what Chad is doing at this precise moment.

  Or worse—if he’s doing it with Saint.

  Argh!

  Enough.

  Let it go, Elle, or you’ll go mental.

  Which is dangerously close to happening, between obsessing over Chad and Saint to dreading in fear of the new ways my father will torment us.

  Kimmy talks on and on about how excited she is to travel to Europe once the Fourth of July parties end. I mostly just nod and smile, feeling a little guilty that I’m not paying much attention to her ramblings. It’s only when she brings the conversation back stateside that I begin to take interest.

  “Elle, you know I’m not one for gossip.” She begins, runnin
g a finger along the rim of her glass.

  “Okay…”

  “But is it true that a felon goes to your school?”

  “What are you talking about, Kimmy?”

  “Well.” She flips her ponytail for dramatic effect. “You know my sister Khloe is dating one of the guys on your school’s lacrosse team, right? Benjamin Kyle.”

  I repeatedly nod just to shut her up.

  What can I tell her? That I couldn’t care less who her sister is dating, or who Benjamin Kyle is for that matter? Right now, all I care about is where she is going with this since my gut feeling tells me she’s talking about Saint.

  “Well, Khloe told me that when Benji took her to his prom this year, there was a guy there that she recognized from when she did an outreach program over at East Harlem.”

  Of course, Saint got invited to prom even though he was a freshman.

  Sigh.

  “Khloe is sure she saw him there dealing drugs and thinks that he’s part of a gang.”

  The hell?!

  “You know what, Kimmy? Your sister should get her eyes checked. No one at my school is a gangbanger.”

  Why am I defending him?

  “I think you’re wrong, Elle.” She tsks, looking at her nails. “Khloe is positive he’s the same guy, and Benji’s dad is going to write a strongly worded letter to the school board to tell them as much. Our parents were pretty upset to hear about it, too. I mean, Pembroke High didn’t have room for my sister or me, but they let in the likes of him? We’re stuck going to an all-girl Catholic school like St. Mary’s while a thug gets to go to Pembroke. It’s so unfair.” She rolls her eyes in disgust.

  Jesus.

  My knee-jerk reaction is to put this bitter skank in her place, but if I do that, then it will only cause more trouble for Saint. I’ll have to use the diplomatic approach.

  “Look, Kimmy. Saint is not in a gang, okay? Yes, he lives in the East River houses, but that’s completely out of his control. And yes, his dad is in prison for being a member of the Latin Kings, but that doesn’t mean he is following in his father’s footsteps. He’s a straight-A student and doing everything by the book to earn his way at Pembroke. So just tell your asshole of a future brother-in-law, Benji, to quit his yapping and just leave Saint alone.”

  Damn it.

  I was doing so good, then I completely botched the tactful approach at the end.

  “So, it is true?” Her wide eyes sparkle. “He is a gangbanger. OMG, Elle! I have got to text my sister. She is going to freak when she finds out she danced with someone from the ghetto.”

  Wait up? Khloe danced with him?!

  Not the point, Elle!

  But before I can get a word in edgewise, Kimmy is already out of her seat, texting away furiously.

  What do we Graysons do with those who dare to stand in our way?

  We break them.

  Why do I feel I might have just done that to Saint by opening my big mouth?

  Chapter 18

  Saint

  Sophomore Year

  “Where are we going?” Chad asks excitedly, attempting to keep up with my long strides.

  “Just hurry up, Boy Scout, and prepare to have your mind blown.”

  “Whatever this surprise is, I like it already. I’ve never seen you so excited about anything before.”

  I’m more than excited.

  I’m fucking ecstatic.

  I spent the whole summer working on this car. By happenstance, one of my mom’s clients at the diner was selling his broken-down, beat-up, nineteen-seventy Chevrolet Camaro for a steal. It was still more money than I could afford, but after some hard negotiating, I was able to get him to agree on a payment plan that wouldn’t suck the life out of me.

  Endless hours were spent fixing this baby up over the summer. Not to mention going to the junkyard every other day so I could grab the best cheap parts to have it purring back to life. But after all the grueling hours, sweat and sacrifices put into it, I finally had some wheels of my own. The cherry on top was when my boss said he had plenty of space in his garage for me to keep it there. As long as I kept working for him on the weekends once school started back up, then he wouldn’t even charge me for it. My baby might not be as impressive as the convertible Chad’s parents got him for his sixteenth birthday a few months back, but it will do.

  Of course, living in New York, no one really needs a car to get around. Not when a metro pass will do the job just fine. Plus, it’s fucking expensive as shit just to park the damn thing. The only reason I got it was because I wanted to visit my pops up at Rikers without having to take that awful fucking family bus. Between the loud baby mommas, screaming toddlers, and thirsty chicks ready for their conjugal, that bus was a sure reminder of why I had to do everything in my power to never get locked up.

  I also wanted to show Boy Scout the real reason behind not being able to spend much time with him over the summer. He doesn’t have to say it, but I know that, in his head, I was up to no good—fucking everything that moved and whatnot. Hopefully, once he sees the car, it will erase his doubts. And if I’m being honest, I’m anxious to see that look of pride on his face.

  For him to turn to me and tell me I did good.

  Yeah. Maybe that’s the real reason why I’m all amped up.

  But all those thoughts vanish from my mind the minute we get to the school’s parking lot. Fury like I’ve never felt before assaults me as we both stare at the wreckage before us. Right where my new pride and joy should be, is Pembroke High’s new graffiti experiment. Not only did these rich pricks slash my tires and break my windshield, but they also sprayed words like thief, thug, and ghetto trash in large red letters all over my baby.

  How fucking original of them.

  “Saint,” Chad stammers nervously behind me.

  He squeezes my shoulder, but I just snap it away from his grasp, my rage a living, breathing thing.

  “I’m fucking fine! It was a stupid idea anyway,” I bark, taking inventory of every little thing they did to my car.

  “No, it wasn’t. You worked hard on it. I can tell. You didn’t deserve for this to happen.” Chad tries to comfort me, unable to hide how pissed he is at what these dicks did to my car.

  Ever since I started at this fucking school, I’ve had to deal with two different kinds of rich idiots. Those who got all starry-eyed at the prospect of a dangerous rebel roaming their halls, wanting to walk on the wild side with me, and those who turned their noses up in the air whenever I passed them by, indicating how beneath them they thought me to be. You don’t have to be a rocket scientist to guess which group got creative with my car. I might not have deserved them fucking up my wheels, but the assholes who had a hand in it will sure as fuck deserve what’s coming to them.

  As I stare at the block letters, I get even more pissed at one precise phrase they chose to defile my car with.

  “Did you tell anyone about my pops?” I accuse my best friend, pointing at the ‘Latin King Scum’ graffiti on the hood of my car.

  “No, of course not!” he replies in outrage.

  “Are you sure? Cause it kind of looks like someone told these pricks my dad’s business.”

  “I swear I didn’t tell anyone.”

  “Not even Elle?”

  When his brows pinch together, it takes everything in me not to punch him.

  “She isn’t behind this,” he quickly defends.

  “That’s not what I asked. Did you or did you not tell her that my pops is locked up?”

  When it takes him even longer to respond, I’ve got my answer.

  Loud and fucking clear.

  “That’s what I thought.” I brush past him, but he grabs hold of my shoulder to stop me.

  “She’s not behind this, Saint. You have to believe me. Elle is incapable of such a thing.”

  I turn around to face him, unlatching his fingers from me.

  “Jesus. You really do have blinders on
when it comes to that girl. This shit is right up her alley. If you think your girl doesn’t get her hands dirty, you’re fucking delusional. Open your eyes, Blondie, and smell the fucking coffee. Elle is as vindictive as they come. And it’s about time you saw her for who she really is.”

  “I know exactly who she is. Just as I know who you are. Are you saying you’re not vindictive? Aren’t you going to seek out vengeance for this?”

  “You best believe I will.” I snort.

  “Then how are you any different than her?” he retorts unimpressed, crossing his arms over his chest to make his point.

  “You know what? Forget about it. Good to know you’ve got my back.”

  “That’s not fucking fair, Saint. I do have your back.”

  “Oh, do you? Then why the fuck did you tell her about my personal shit? Nah, Boy Scout. The only back you’ve got is hers. Thanks for the lesson. It was fucking eye-opening.”

  Not wanting to hear another word come from his mouth, I turn my back on him and head into the same school that houses the assholes who fucked with me.

  And I know precisely who to pay a visit to first.

  With images of Elle on my mind, I’m so distracted that I don’t even see where I’m going until some kid bawling their eyes out bumps into me.

  The fuck?

  Maya?

  I’m about to ask her why the hell she’s running in the hall crying when she speeds away from me, never once looking back. If I was pissed before, now I’m fucking livid. An all too familiar crowd is snickering away next to some lockers, their eyes fixed on a fleeing Maya.

  Lace and Kim continue to laugh while Reid stands by with a blank expression on his face. I walk up to him first since those two fucking laughing hyenas will be useless for info.

  “The fuck did your girlfriends do to Maya?!” I threaten, pulling him up by his collar.

  “Let go of him!” Lace shrieks.

  “You’re hurting him!” Kim wails.

  But Reid doesn’t even bat an eye, not moving an inch to pull me off of him. It’s only his deep, midnight-blue eyes laced with hate that tells me he’s close to his breaking point.