by Sofia Daniel
After slipping on my loafers, I backed out of the room and let the door click shut. The hallway was dark, and the floorboards creaked under my feet, but I continued toward the staircase.
“Miss Hobson?” whispered a voice from behind.
I whirled around to find Mr. Jenkins striding toward me in his tartan dressing gown. A pained moan reverberated in my throat. Didn’t he have a lodge like Mr. Carbuncle or somewhere else to sleep? I was in no mood to speak to him, so I shook my head and padded down the stairs. The man followed me all the way to the first floor and halfway down the hallway leading to the room I shared with Rita.
“Miss Hobson!” His voice was a whip-crack.
I turned around. “Yes, sir?”
“What were you doing in Mr. Mercia’s room?”
“The usual, I suppose.” I rubbed the back of my neck and glanced in the direction of my room.
His nostrils flared. “Must I warn you of the dangers of premarital relations?”
“I would have thought all the bullying you allow here is a bigger issue than people over the British age of consent having consensual sex.”
His face turned red. “Now, look here—”
“No, you look,” I snapped. “You can’t just grow a backbone when it suits you. Mr. Carbuncle had a girl in his lodge, and you said nothing to him about premarital relations, or is it all right when an adult male preys on little girls?”
The man’s mouth opened and closed. “I will be writing to your mother about your conduct.”
“Good luck. Tell her to respond to my texts before I give her a litter of grandkids.” I turned around and headed for my room. Mom hadn’t bothered to contact me once since I left New York. I doubted that she would chew me out for spending the night with a boy. I unlocked the door and stepped in.
Rita’s head snapped up from her bed. “Emilia?”
I shushed her. “It’s me.”
“Oh.” She relaxed back onto her pillow. “Goodnight.”
With a smile, I pulled off my clothes and slid under my cool sheets. Her alarm would probably wake her in an hour and a half.
Hours later, the sun blazed through my window, and I grabbed my smartphone. It was eight-fucking-thirty. I groaned and pulled myself out of bed. How could I have slept through all the bells? I jumped into the shower, dried myself off, slipped on a clean uniform, and grabbed my satchel. If I hurried straight to the main teaching block, I might only get two demerits for being late to my first period.
I stepped out of the room, and my gaze caught a white piece of paper at the window end of the hallway. After casting a glance toward the stairs, I walked toward it. If someone had dropped a letter, I needed to place it in their mailbox in case one of the cleaners cleared it away by accident. It was a flyer on thick card stock, printed in gold leaf:
~ Spring Party ~
Saturday 3 June
Penthouse 16, Chelsea Heights
London, SW10 0XG
Doors close at 9:30pm
Dress for sex
RSVP: [email protected]
A palpitation reverberated in my chest. The party was in less than a week! Now, I knew why Charlotte had suddenly become popular with all the boys. The likes of Coates would follow any girl hosting a sex party.
My tongue darted out to lick my lips. This kind of scandal would bury her so deep, she would never resurface. With hands that trembled, I picked the invitation up and stuffed it in my pocket. First period could go hang. I rushed back into my room, turned on the burner phone, and sent Jackie a copy of the invitation.
She texted back immediately, saying she could fit me up with hidden cameras and could put together a team in a van to monitor the party. My mouth dried. Even though I’d told Rudolph my spying days were over, I had to make an exception for Charlotte.
Chapter 12
For the next few days, excitement brimmed in my belly, especially when the temperature rose, and Charlotte appeared in the dining hall without the neck brace, head-bandage, and crutches. Only the thinnest of strips adorned her unblemished nose, making me wonder if that had been for show, too. My glee at exposing Charlotte must have shown on my features because one evening after dinner, the boys cornered me in Edward’s study.
“You’re up to something,” said Blake. “I’ve been watching you.”
I lowered myself onto the Chesterfield sofa and folded my hands on my lap. “Whatever do you mean?”
Henry stood in front of me with his arms folded over his broad chest. “Did Bachmann return to the UK?”
I shook my head and stared into his green eyes. “He was in Vienna the last time I checked. Why?”
Blake sat at my side and placed his hand on my bare leg. “Someone’s gotten you excited, and it isn’t any of us.”
“Is this an intervention?” I asked.
“If you like.” Edward lowered himself into the leather seat next to mine and grabbed my hand. “You’re planning something, and I’m concerned.”
I glanced from Edward, up to Henry, and to Blake. Worry etched each of the boys’ brows. If their first thought went to Sergei, then they were probably concerned that I no longer wanted to be with them. Or that I might be planning to run away again. Even though I occasionally bickered with Henry and Blake, I wouldn’t up and leave them, and I certainly wouldn’t do that to Edward. Telling them that would be of no use, because I’d already proven myself a liar. With a sigh, I pulled out the invitation to the sex party.
Edward read over my shoulder. “Why on earth would you need to go?”
“What is it?” asked Henry.
“A bloody sex party.” Edward leaned back in his seat.
Blake’s hand slid around to my inner thigh. “If it’s sex you want. We can provide that. You only have to ask, Emilia, and you’ll get more than you can handle.”
“No.” I squeezed my thighs together. If I let Blake distract me, I’d never get to explain. “There’s no way Charlotte’s going to find enough girls to attend a party where they’ll have sex with her male supporters. I want to find out if she’s doing something newsworthy.”
With a huffed breath of frustration, Henry threw his hands up in the air. “Didn’t you learn anything from last time?”
“Yes.” I folded my arms. “Not to call the police if you’re trying to frame me for your own crimes.” My insides cringed. We were more than even. Why did I keep bringing it up?
Edward’s lips thinned. “The academy has already suffered enough scandals for a century.”
“And what about the collateral damage?” said Blake. “Everyone misbehaving in that party might be exposed.”
“Like Paul,” muttered Henry.
I scowled and pushed myself off the sofa. “Mr. Frost was a criminal who got what he deserved.”
“Anyway…” Blake stood and placed his hands on my shoulders. “You are hereby summoned to Edward’s office on Saturday after classes.”
“What for?”
“It’s been ages since we’ve put you in your place,” he said in a low, smoky voice. His gaze flickered to my lips. “You’re stepping out of line and clearly in need of…”
Heat tingled between my legs. “What?”
“A long, slow, and humiliating inspection.” His arms encircled my waist, and his hardness pressed against my ass. A bolt of arousal shot through my core. “With our tongues.”
I bit down hard on my lip and glanced at Edward, who gave me a wink and a smirk. It looked like my stint as Edward’s birthday present had given them an indication of what they had been missing.
Henry ran a finger down one of my nipples, sending jolts of pleasure sparking down between my legs. At my indrawn breath, his verdant eyes danced with excitement. “We’ll have you on the desk.”
“On your hands and knees,” said Blake.
Edward scooted forward and cupped my ass. “I’ll perform the internal inspections, of course.”
Heat flooded my body, and the muscles of my core pulsed with need. A horny
triumvirate was tempting, but I only had a single chance to deal with Charlotte. I still owed her for the gauntlet and for the countless other pranks she participated in during my first term.
Later, as I walked through the hallway to Creative Writing, I caught sight of one of Coates’ friends, a rugby player who stood five feet seven inches tall but had the bulk of someone much larger. The bridge of his nose twisted to the left like a parenthesis symbol and ended in a bulbous tip, and a few of his front teeth had been knocked out. I pursed my lips. Obviously, the team members weren’t doing so well without Henry.
The boy grabbed the arm of a younger girl, a fifth year who wore her hair in a blonde bob that framed her delicate features. She and her friends stopped to glare at the rugby player.
“What do you want?” she snapped.
He let go and stepped backward. “You haven’t replied to my texts.”
I stood close by and pretended to study the plaque beneath the painting of a serious-looking man clad in a gray wig. It curled past the collar of his burgundy velvet jacket down to his shoulders. Apparently, he was one of the headmasters during the seventeenth century.
“What do you expect?” she hissed. “I told you to stop damaging yourself with rugby. You’re no good at it, but you didn’t listen.”
The boy glared at the girl for several moments before saying, “You’ll change your tune at Underwood’s party.”
“What does that mean?” she replied.
I held my breath. What could he think to achieve in less than a week to impress her?
Instead of answering, he walked away with his hands in his pockets. I glared after him. Was he just trying to create a bit of intrigue for himself, or did Charlotte plan something nefarious?
The girl followed after him. “Patterson-Bourke?”
They disappeared into the crowds, and I sent my boys a silent apology. As much as I wanted to play their games, I needed to know what Charlotte had planned.
On Saturday after classes, I rushed back to my room and shimmied on a tank top, skinny jeans, and a leather jacket, then snuck out of the academy grounds in an Uber and took the train to London. It was still light by the time I arrived in Victoria, and I took the number eleven bus to Fleet Street. Not having any allowance since I’d told Rudolph I wouldn’t spy for him had taught me the virtues of being frugal.
Jackie waited for me at the Saturday Correspondent’s office with Tom, the tech guy, and a group of interns. She made me sit on a desk chair by to bank of computer screens while Tola, the black intern with chin-length braids from the Valentine’s Day Massacre, arranged my hair with cameras disguised as hairpins.
Tom watched the screens and instructed Tola to make adjustments to improve the sound quality. Once they were both satisfied with the cameras in my hair, Tom handed me a soda bottle, a watch, and a necklace then explained how each hidden camera worked.
Jackie sauntered back from a cigarette break, reeking of tobacco. I asked her, “Won’t anyone else be at the venue with me?”
“We’ll send a couple of girls five or ten minutes after we see that it’s not a group of brats playing spin the bottle.” Jackie smirked. “My interns won’t have any trouble gatecrashing if Charlotte Underwood is really holding a sex party.”
I blew out a long breath. “This is the last time.”
“Yes.” Jackie coughed into her fist. “Rudolph is grateful for any assistance you can provide.”
Yeah, sure. “Even if it turns out they’re only playing spin the bottle, this will still be the last time.”
Jackie ran a hand through her bleached hair and pursed her lined lips. “He knows.”
“I’m just checking. Last time, he didn’t honor our agreement.”
“The school is ticking along nicely with Carbuncle’s cameras in secret locations.” She raised her shoulders. “We only need you to infiltrate Charlotte underwood’s party and get the name of her older man.”
I narrowed my eyes. That wasn’t an answer, but then, no one could really speak for Rudolph.
A delivery guy brought some Chinese takeout, then at eight-thirty, I rode with Tola in the front of Tom’s screen-filled van, which she explained would receive footage from my cameras via the internet. A quartet of female interns, clad in party dresses, sat in the back. Tom took the scenic route around London and drove on the roads closest to the River Thames. The traffic wasn’t bad at this time of the evening, and I relaxed in the front seat and enjoyed the view. When we sped past Chelsea Bridge, near the mansion apartment Sergei rented, I said, “I thought the party was in Chelsea.”
Tola nodded. “It’s in Chelsea Harbour, on the other side.”
We stopped at an ultra-modern, marina development, complete with its own hotel and train station. As expected, Chelsea Heights was a high-rise block that boasted panoramic balconies that stretched around the entire exterior of the building. My breath caught. Did Charlotte’s benefactor live in the penthouse? I pictured Mr. Frost, who had probably made a fortune selling illicit items to wealthy school kids at horrific markups and shook my head. If it was him, he probably only rented the apartment for the sex party.
“Good luck.” Tom gave me a thumbs-up as I stepped out of his van. “If things don’t heat up after two hours, leave as many cameras lying about as you can and come down.”
“Right.” I walked toward the building and was about to buzz when a young man walked out from the foyer and opened the door. A breath of relief whooshed out of my lungs. It might have been difficult to explain to whoever was on the other end of the intercom that I was Emilia Hobson, Charlotte’s arch enemy, and soon-to-be destroyer. He probably should have asked if I was a resident or guest, but I wasn’t going to inform him of his security breach. “Thanks.”
The man gave me a nod and strolled out in the direction of Chelsea Harbour station, and I headed for the lift. It arrived as soon as I had called it, and I stepped inside and pressed the highest floor, which was twenty-five. That had to be the penthouse, right? When the elevator reached the top, I walked around the doors, but the numbers only went up to fifteen. I pulled out the invitation to check the address. It said number sixteen, as I had remembered, and the apartment name was correct.
“It was all a fucking hoax,” I snarled and headed back to the elevator.
Behind me, a door opened, and heavy footsteps approached.
Before I could turn around, a fist smashed against my temple, and I lost consciousness before I reached the ground.
Chapter 13
A throbbing on the left of my face forced me awake, only to find myself lying on my side. I stifled a groan. Déjà fucking vu, except tight ropes bound my ankles and wrists, and I wasn’t stuffed in a moving trunk with Henry.
Heavy footsteps, presumably belonging to the bastard who had punched me unconscious, dragged around a room. I would have cracked my eyes open if my head didn’t hurt so much. The one on the left was probably swollen shut from the way the flesh seemed to pound in time with my rapid pulse.
Everything ached. The back of my head, my shoulder blades, pelvis, hamstrings, even the backs of my calves. It was as though someone had turned me onto my front and beaten me with a club while I had lain unconscious.
The footsteps approached and stopped close to my head. I swallowed hard, trying not to let the man notice I’d regained consciousness. He crouched down, radiating a sickening warmth over my body and filling my nostrils with the scent of stale tobacco, strong coffee, and mint chewing gum. My nostrils twitched involuntarily.
“Awake are you?” asked a familiar voice.
My right eye opened, and the mustached face of Mr. Carbuncle stared down at me with pitiless, gray eyes. I flinched away, a scream catching in my throat. “What’s… Why are you here?”
A hand the size of a bunch of bananas jerked forward and grabbed me by the chin. He bared stained teeth and snarled, “You got me fired.”
My heart jumped into my throat and galloped at the speed of a runaway horse. “Th-that wasn�
��t me,” I said with my jaw pinned down by the man’s thick fingers. “Mr. Chaloner kicked the door down and brought the police. I only came to see what was happening.”
“Who else could have grassed but you?”
I exhaled a frustrated breath. Why was he out of prison already? “I…” Wriggling out of his grip was futile. The man was too strong. “I don’t know, but if you have a list of suspects, I might be able to help.”
Mr. Carbuncle’s features smoothed out into a blank expression I’d never seen on his miserable face. He released my chin, wrapped his arms around my neck and hoisted me up into a sitting position. A sharp pain, probably from a bruised hip, spread down my legs, making me wince. Dread rumbled through my insides, and I gulped. There was no one I could blame for his arrest but the former headmaster, but Mr. Carbuncle hadn’t found me convincing the first time I had mentioned Mr. Chaloner.
With a rage-filled snarl and an ugly twist of his mouth, he drew back his arm and backhanded me across the face. My head snapped to the side with the force of his blow, then my entire body swayed in the same direction. Pain radiated out from my nose and cheek. I stuck out my elbow, in an attempt to cushion my fall, but when it smacked against the parquet floor, a mix of pain and funny bone tingles shot up my arm.
I squeezed my eyes shut, and tears gathered behind my lids. Where were the interns? Surely they were on their way. Maybe they couldn’t find me and were waiting for me to gather some clues.
“Where am I?” I asked for the benefit of the cameras I hoped were still in my hair.
“Tucked away where no one will think to find you,” he said with a sneer.
“Mr. Carbuncle…” If the cameras were still running, I was sure they had recognized him by now, but I had to make sure his name was recorded in case I ever got out of this mess alive. “Why are you doing this? I’ve done nothing wrong.”
“That’s not what I heard.” He laced his fingers through my hair and yanked me back up by the roots. My scalp burned with the pull, and a whimper reverberated in my throat. He shook me so hard, my teeth rattled, and something thin and metallic bounced off my hair and onto the ground. “Now, tell me what you told the bloody cops, or I’ll lay into you!”