Ruthless (The Privileged of Pembroke High #4)

by Ivy Fox

  “We’re here because Maya needs a girl to help her out with her hair and shit, and you’re the only one I know who can pull off the goody-two-shoes look without making her look like a skank.”

  “Geez, thanks. What a compliment.” Elle rolls her eyes.

  “Just do your thing and tell the hairdresser what to do. I don’t want those rich pricks back at school giving her a hard time because of something as superficial as her hair.”

  Her brows crease at the last part of my statement, but she quickly wipes it away when a slim dark-haired man with a colorful silk scarf tied to his neck rushes toward us.

  He hasn’t even opened his mouth, and I already know he’s going to come up with a lame excuse to shoo us out. Hence the reason why I brought the big guns with me. Elle might be a tiny little thing, but he’s no match for her. After she’s done with him, he won’t even know what hit him. I almost feel sorry for him. ‘Almost’ being the operative word here since it’s Maya who I’m really concerned about.

  “I’m sorry. We’re not accepting drop-ins today,” he coos at Elle while not so discreetly slanting his eyes at Maya and me.

  Elle squares her shoulders, looking like the royal princess she was born to be, as she slowly puts herself between us and his uppity stare.

  “What’s your name?”

  “It’s Hugo, child. But as I’ve said before, we really don’t have any availability today. I’m sure there’s a Supercuts nearby that can sort you all out.”

  Elle’s toothpaste commercial smile only widens at his backhanded suggestion.

  “Oh, I don’t know about that, Hugo. I can see a few empty chairs from here.” She points at said chairs with a menacing finger to make her point. “I’m sure you’ll be able to fit my friend in,” she counters coolly, tilting her head back in Maya’s direction. “Unless, of course, you want me to call your boss and tell her that you just turned Eleanor Grayson away from her salon.”

  “Grayson?” he stutters, the disdain that once lived in his brown eyes being replaced by dollar signs. “As in Grayson Oil?”

  “As in your next client, honey,” Elle cajoles.

  I should be pissed that all it took was for Elle to say her last name to have this prick jump to attention and quickly usher us to the VIP section of the salon. But I have to admit, it actually fucking turned me on how well she played him right into her hands.

  As a mute Maya takes her seat, I pull Elle’s elbow to bring her close to me.

  “Remember, I want classy, not skanky.”

  “Yeah, yeah. I heard you the first time.”

  “Oh, and just so you know, Maya has lice, so you better give the heads up to the Vidal Sassoon over there.”

  Elle’s eyes go wide in alarm, snapping her neck back to Maya’s rigid form on the salon chair. When her amber eyes turn a soft golden color, my chest begins to tighten. She walks over to her and whispers something in her ear, making Maya relax and smile. She then turns to the hairdresser ordering him to treat Maya with the utmost care.

  “But of course, Miss Grayson.”

  “Good.” She then proceeds to take out her phone to take a selfie. “Now smile, Hugo. Your name, as well as the name of this salon, will be on the lips of my two million followers in about five seconds.”

  With the biggest smile on his face, he preens over her as if she just gave him the numbers to this week’s Powerball.

  “Oh, and Hugo… my friend has lice. Be a dear and fix that, won’t you?”

  Click.

  The wobbly grin on his face is priceless, but I have to give it to him—it never wavers as he returns to Maya, ready to put his scissors to work.

  Elle makes her way back to me, taking a seat on the lavish white leather couch. She picks up a magazine and flips each page over, pretending to give a shit about its contents.

  “You did good, Princess.”

  “Everyone plays the part they’ve been given, Santiago. You wanted a ruthless Grayson heiress to do your bidding, right? Well, you got one.”

  If only that were all Elle is. It would make it so much easier to hate her.

  And I do hate her.

  With every fiber of my being, I hate the girl sitting beside me.

  I hate her for the way she will always have a piece of his heart that I can never touch or claim as my own. No matter how hard I try.

  But sometimes…

  Just sometimes.

  She makes me forget my hate, exchanging it for a feeling I refuse to come to terms with.

  And those are the times I need to be more vigilant because, say what you will about her, to me she’ll always be dangerous—in more ways than one.

  Bored with her magazine, Elle places it back on the side table and takes stock of Hugo’s every movement, making sure he doesn’t fuck up.

  “You surprised me today.”

  “Just today? Then I must be slipping,” I joke.

  “I’m serious. This wasn’t what I thought you wanted when you pinned me to my locker this morning.”

  “Oh, no? Then what pray tell did you think I wanted?” I goad, mimicking her upper-crust tone while playing with the end of her ponytail.

  She seals her mouth shut, but as her cheeks flush a pretty shade of pink, I know exactly what she imagined I’d want as payback for her running her mouth.

  “Keep your V-card, Princess. I don’t need it or want the damn thing,” I counter cruelly, running my tongue over my front teeth.

  “Good. Because I wouldn’t sleep with you if you were the last man alive.”

  “Keep telling yourself that, Princess. Don’t think I missed how you were wet and willing to get on all fours this morning just to make up for what you did to me.”

  Her nostrils flare, and that all too familiar loathing begins to burn in her devil eyes, creating the first burst of oxygen to fill my lungs since I saw her waiting for me so obediently on the corner of the street.

  This.

  This I can handle.

  That’s it, Elle.

  Give me all of your hate. Loosen the knot in my chest and let me breathe it in.

  Because I’d rather my soul be polluted by your hate than whatever it’s feeling now.

  “How does it look? Honestly?” Maya asks once we step out of the fancy salon.

  “You look great, kid. I told you that inside already.”

  And she does.

  Her auburn hair is now cut short in the back but long in the front. It’s classy without being boring. It suits her.

  “You really think so?” She toys nervously with the long bang that covers most of her face.

  “I do. Now put this on,” I tell her, handing her my hoodie, “and cover it up.”

  “What? No! She looks amazing. Why are you telling her to hide it?” Elle bellows in outrage.

  “Just put it on, Maya. I’ll deal with this,” I order, grabbing Elle by the elbow and taking a few steps away from Maya so she won’t get self-conscious with what I’m about to say.

  “Because, Princess, not everyone lives on the Upper East Side. Maya needs to go home, and she can’t do that in peace if she looks like she just spent a grand on a haircut.”

  Which was exactly what Hugo charged Elle for the new do.

  “Then why do this?” Elle asks, confused, looking over my shoulder at Maya.

  “Because she needs to look minimally presentable so those rich pricks at Pembroke stop giving her a hard time.”

  “Wait. Someone is still bullying her?” Her golden eyes instantly take on that hellish shade I’m so used to. “Is it Trevor and Addison again? Who? Give me names!”

  “I’m not giving you shit, hellcat. Maya is my concern, not yours. Now, if we’re done with your twenty questions, I have to get her home.”

  I leave her there gawking at me in the middle of the street without uttering so much as a thank you for helping me out with Maya.

  On the subway ride over to East River, Maya’s curious g
aze on me is starting to grate on my nerves.

  “What, kid? If you have something to say, just say it.”

  “Elle seems nice.”

  “Don’t believe everything you see. She’s not nice. She’s the devil incarnate.”

  Maya twitches her nose, not buying what I’m selling.

  “I don’t think that’s true. Why did she help me then if she weren’t nice?”

  “Because I had something on her, kid. Remember, charity never comes without a cost. There are always strings attached, even if you can’t see ‘em.”

  “What about the Murphys then? Did you have something on them, too?”

  “No. Of course not,” I retort, offended.

  “So, they’re paying my tuition out of the kindness of their hearts?”

  “Yeah, something like that.”

  “Hmm. So, if the Murphys helped us out, without wanting anything in return, why is it so hard to believe that Elle was trying to be nice to me just for the sake of being nice?”

  “Because it is, okay?” I rebuke exasperatedly, running my fingers through my hair. “Elle Grayson is nothing like the Murphys. Not one bit.”

  Maya grows silent for a spell, her eyes falling to the floor.

  “She liked my poem,” she whispers after the silent pause.

  “Which one?” I ask with less heat in my tone.

  “The one about the wind. I read it in English class the other day, and she told me I was talented.”

  “Yeah, that was a good one. But you don’t need Elle’s validation to know you’re a good writer.”

  “I know. It was still nice to hear her say it, though. Are you sure she’s just like the rest of them? I kind of like her.”

  “Well, stop. She’s as bad as they come.”

  “If you say so.” She shrugs.

  “Trust me. I’ve known Elle for years now, and she’s nothing but another snake in the grass.”

  “Hmm. Maybe I’m not the only one who likes her.” Maya wiggles her brows at me.

  “Is that supposed to be some kind of joke?” I scoff.

  “No. Just an observation. I read once that there is a very fine line between love and hate. I’ve never heard you talk so passionately about someone before. I mean, the words you’re saying make it sound like you hate her, but maybe there is something deeper brewing beneath all that contempt.”

  “I told you to stop reading those stupid-ass romance books. They’re distorting your reality. Elle Grayson isn’t some princess in need of saving, and we both know I’m no Prince Charming.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. You have your qualities.” She laughs.

  “Now I know you’re fucking messing with me.” I chuckle.

  The way Maya’s eyes light up with happiness has me feeling good inside. Her smiles are few and far between, so to see it now on her lips, has me feeling a small sense of gratitude toward the bane of my existence. If it wasn’t for Elle, then I wouldn’t have been able to help Maya out and see her smile in such a way. I guess the hellcat has some use after all.

  But all the warm feelings quickly dissipate when we reach East River and are confronted with real life.

  “Saint.” I hear Maya’s quivering voice next to me as we take in the group of Latin Kings all hanging about on the stoop of our building.

  “Whatever you hear, don’t stop, and get inside. If your parents are home, just lock yourself in your bedroom. Understand?”

  She nods nervously as we approach the unruly and heavily armed bunch.

  “Then go!” I growl under my breath.

  Maya takes off in a mad dash in front of me, trying to zigzag her way into our building without having some asshole paw at her. Unfortunately, fucking Damasio Lopez stands in her way, not letting her pass. When I reach the stoop, most of his lackeys are whistling and encouraging Damasio’s sick and twisted mind with their crude words about how they would defile Maya if they got the chance.

  “Leave her alone, Damasio. She’s just a kid,” I order, squaring my shoulders.

  His brown eyes move away from a flustered Maya and onto me—their sinister hue finding a new target to play with. Plucking out the toothpick he always has stuck in the corner of his mouth, he points it at me.

  “Haven’t seen you in a while, Santo.”

  Maya takes advantage of his diverted attention and hurriedly slips into the building. Air returns to my lungs now that she’s gotten away from the sadistic prick.

  “Well, Santo. Wanna tell me and my boys why we hardly see you anymore?”

  It takes everything in me not to point out that these aren’t his boys. They’re his brother Hector’s peddlers—low life scum with no future prospects aside from prison bars and bodybags.

  “Been busy,” I reply stoically.

  “Too busy for your familia, cabrón?”

  I shrug nonchalantly, trying not to look intimidated by the fucker.

  Which is hard to do when faced with a guy who is basically my age, but has put more men in the ground than a caretaker at Marble Cemetery.

  “Hmph,” he scoffs, bridging the gap between us, while the rest of Hector’s crew keep drinking their forties, enjoying the show Damasio is putting on for them.

  “Word on the street is that fancy-ass school has you all confused and shit. Making you think you’re better than the barrio,” he says, poking his index on my temple. “I thought for sure they’d kick your ass out of there by now, but it seems you like being a lambe bolsa. Is that it, Santo? Do you like the taste of licking balls sacks, puta?” He laughs, cupping his own balls to drive the point home.

  Motherfucker.

  He’s baiting me into a fight.

  And while the thought of fucking jamming my fists in this asshole’s face seems like the way to go, I can’t touch him. Because while I only have my fists to demand respect, Damasio is known for packing a couple of guns and a few knives on him at all times, to guarantee people give him his due. I’d get one punch in, maybe two tops, before he’d put a hole in my head or a knife in my gut.

  And no way am I going to give this asshole the satisfaction of being the one to send me off to my maker.

  “Damasio!” a hard voice calls out, making the fucker all up in my face grimace as he turns around.

  “Come here!” Hector commands.

  Reluctantly, Damasio steps away from me and walks over to his brother, who instantly grabs him by the nape, his fingers digging into his neck.

  “What did I tell you about leaving Lazaro’s kid alone? Santo is one of us and is not to be touched. You understand, pendejo? Don’t fucking let me see this shit again.”

  Hector shoves his younger brother away, as if he can’t stand the very sight of him. His wrath then goes to the other men loitering around.

  “Get the fuck off this stoop and go to work. I’m not paying you cocksuckers to drink and get high on my dime,” he reprimands menacingly, his foot literally kicking some of them up off their asses. “Fucking pendejos! Move, cabróns!”

  Like cockroaches, they all scatter away, but I don’t miss how Damasio throws me yet another sinister look, payback written clear as day in his dark eyes.

  Hector sits down on one of the steps, pulling out a joint and lighting up.

  “Sorry about Damasio, Santo. I swear that kid is going to be the death of me,” he jokes lightheartedly, no longer looking like the man who put the fear of God in his crew.

  I don’t say anything in return, because I’m not stupid enough to bad mouth his kid brother. Everyone knows you get your tongue cut out if you do. But if I were Hector, I’d keep my eye on the fucker at all times, regardless if he were my brother or not.

  “So,” Hector begins, before puffing a cloud of gray smoke in the air and handing the joint to me. “I went to see your old man last weekend. Your pops looks even meaner than he did when he got pinched. Dude is bigger than me now.” He chuckles.

  I sit down beside him and take two puffs before pas
sing the joint back to its owner.

  “He’s got time on his hands to lift iron. You, on the other hand, have a business to run.”

  “Ain’t that the truth. And I only have that because your pops didn’t rat me out.”

  “Is that why you haven’t made a move to initiate me into the Kings?” I ask point-blank.

  “I gave your pops my word I wouldn’t.”

  “That’s what I thought,” I mumble, bowing my head.

  “What’s up, Santiago? Something’s troubling you, I can tell. You have the same look your pop did when he was about to kick some motherfucker’s teeth in. If it’s about Damasio, you don’t need to worry about him. He knows not to fuck with you.”

  “As funny as it sounds, your brother isn’t even one of my top five concerns.”

  “Oh? What is then?” he asks curiously.

  To my surprise—and probably Hector’s too—I end up telling him what’s been happening at Pembroke High. About the side-eyes, the threatening notes, and my recently fucked-up new car. To his credit, Hector stays silent and just listens to me vomit every dirty detail of my plan to seek out revenge on those pretentious rich pricks.

  “I like where your mind’s at, but I think we can get a little more creative with it.” He smiles, the wheels of sweet vengeance turning in his head.

  “Yeah? How creative?” I ask, excited at the prospect of whatever Hector is planning.

  “Very creative.” He laughs. “If they want a thug, how about we show them what a real one looks like? You in?”

  “Oh, I’m definitely in.”

  Chapter 20

  Chad

  “What fresh hell is this?” Elle mumbles bitterly beside me, slamming her locker door closed with all her might.

  I stare at her, confused with her sudden mood swing, but it doesn’t take me much time to realize why my girl has gone from being all bright and sunny this morning to downright miserable. Only one person can flip Elle’s disposition as easily as one does a light switch.

  Although it seems she’s not the only one Saint is making an impression on today. The loud gasps, animated whistles, and catcalling from the kids loitering in the hall behind me is another hint that I should prepare myself for what he’s gone and done now. I take a deep breath before turning around and seeing it for myself. Of course, no time in the world would have prepared me for what I find.