Filthy Little Pretties
Copyright © 2020 Trilina Pucci
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
Cover Designer—Regina Wamba-Regina Wamba Design
Photographer—Andrew M. Gleason
Editor—One Love Editing and Fairest Reviews
Proofing—All Encompassing Books
Title Page
Copyright
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Epilogue
About the Author
Acknowledgements
Grey
Twelve years old
“GREY—”
My brows draw together as Donovan sits teary-eyed between Liam and me. “I can’t believe this is happening. I can’t believe they’re making me leave…and to Spain. I might never see you guys again. Why can’t my parents get a divorce without ruining my life? It’s already bad enough that they’re splitting up.”
Her sadness chokes her voice, and even though I want to make her feel better, all I seem to be able to do is nod as she speaks. All the words are stuck in the back of my throat, making the lump grow bigger. A lump that’s becoming impossible to swallow down each time she looks at me with those sad eyes.
I open my mouth to force out some reassurance when Liam voices what I wish I could but can’t. Because it’s a considerate lie. And I don’t lie to Donovan. Ever.
“We’re here for you, Van. We’ll figure shit out. Everything will be fine. Who cares if your parents want to get a divorce? They should let you live with who you want. It’s so messed up.”
I stupidly nod again, unable to speak, for fear I’d scream until I passed out. This is so unfair. Screw her parents. They can’t make her go. I won’t let them. I have to figure out a plan. Maybe hide her here…nobody gives a shit about what I’m doing. She could probably go unnoticed for months.
I close my eyes as I stare down at my lap because no matter how much I repeat those words in my head, I know it’s bullshit. They can make her go, and they will. We’re just kids, and they’re asshole adults.
They’ll take her away from us. From me.
When she goes, nothing will be the same. Our friendship is forged from status and birthright, but it’s held together by so much more.
I’ll never endure Liam’s stupid jokes—she’s the only one who laughs at them and forces me to laugh too. And there’s no way I’ll make it through middle school without being kicked out a dozen more times. Donovan’s the only person who can help me find a calm place inside myself. Without her, I’ll set it all ablaze.
But they’ll all deserve it for what they’re doing to her. To us. I’ll make sure they pay royally.
“Grey—”
Her teary eyes fix on my face as she reaches to hold my hand, doing the same to Liam. We’ve had her sandwiched between us since she got here, like the glue that binds the three of us together as best friends. Our fingers weave together as I go to work gnawing on my bottom lip, trying to ignore my real worry—who will love me?
Nobody. That’s who.
Liam’s like my brother, but we both carry the burden of our family’s names, already at twelve. He and I… We’ll survive together, but Donovan makes us daydream about living. She’ll wear off like the sweet fragrance of that perfume she just started wearing, and I’ll go back to believing I’m as unlovable as I’m told. I can’t help but drop my eyes to look at our hands when Donovan squeezes mine. It’s like she can read my mind.
Knocking her shoulder into mine, she smiles weakly. “Hey. Maybe you guys can steal your dad’s jet and run operation ‘rescue me.’”
Her joke makes Liam laugh, but all I feel is more anger. This feels like the worst day of my life. Because it is. I don’t want jokes; I want to hug her until she’s invisible to everyone but me and hide her away until we can both escape this version of our lives.
I pull my hand from hers and rub my palms down the rough fabric of my jeans.
“I swear I’ll find a way, Donovan. I promise. They can’t keep you away from us. First. Last. And only.”
She knows exactly what I mean by that. It’s something she came up with when we were ten. The “first” stands for being each other’s first friends. The “last” came when she’d sworn off loving boys forever because Tommy Parker told her she was skinny. We made a pact that Liam and I would be the last boys she’d ever love. And the “only” stands for our only family. In our world, you learn who you can count on at an early age, and servants aside, we’re all we have.
Liam blows out a long breath, falling back onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling.
“I’ll torture my parents until they tell me where you are, and then I’ll send you a present every day, Van.”
“Promise,” she demands, following suit and letting her head lie on his shoulder. “The chocolates with the cherries inside? You know those are my favorites.”
“Fuck yes,” he answers, waggling his eyebrows. “Deal.”
“Ugh. Stop cussing, Liam. You have to learn how to be a gentleman.”
“It’s part of my charm,” he laughs and tickles her side. “Plus, who cares, you’re the only girl I’m nice to.”
I roll my eyes, but it’s nice to hear her giggle. Liam’s the only person who could ever cheer her up in a shit situation. She squirms away from him, bumping into me, before landing a punch on his shoulder.
“Ow, Van.”
“You deserve it,” she snarks, sitting up cross-legged on the bed, patting it for us to do the same.
“Get serious. There’s something I need to say. For real, for real.”
“Okay.”
“Course.” We answer simultaneously, turning and maneuvering ourselves to mimic her position on the bed, as we stare at her expectantly.
“We have to make an oath.”
Our heads bob up and down before we look at each other and grin. Donovan’s never one for the dramatic. It’s why we like her so much. She’s cooler than every other girl, but when she has her moments, she goes all in. So, if the girl wants an oath, we’ll give
her one. No questions asked. Because I’m pretty sure there isn’t anything that we wouldn’t do for her.
Donovan surveys us then takes a deep breath before speaking with her eyes closed.
“Promise me. You promise me right now that we’ll always be best friends.”
“Duh.”
“Come on, Van.”
Liam and I glance at each other, confused because that’s not something that we need to promise, not now, not ever. She knows she’s it for us. She’s ours. And lately, more “it” for me than I can tell her. She holds up her hands as her dark lashes lift, exposing her blue eyes, like she needs to prepare herself for what she’s about to say.
“And no matter what”—her finger points between us accusatorially, making us both lean back—“you will never replace me with that bitchy Caroline.”
Liam snorts and covers his mouth, quickly killing his reaction as her eyes widen on him.
“Swear it, Liam Brooks! Or I will hate you forever. You’ll be dead to me. Dead.”
This time it’s my turn to laugh.
“I swear it,” he answers, holding up his hands in surrender, managing to say at least half of it before he breaks and joins my chuckling.
Her head spins to me.
“Swear it, Grey.”
Grinding my teeth, I shake my head at her. “Sworn. But I’m offended you’d need me to swear that. I hate who you hate. Caroline is a troll.”
She does a little victory dance with her shoulders, as we both beam at her, but it’s fleeting. Our smiles fade as the silence grows because that’s the thing about real life—it has a way of ruining everything. Grief bleeds out between us until we’re covered in it, all thinking each other’s thoughts.
We wouldn’t have to make this oath if she wasn’t leaving.
Liam clears his throat quietly, nudging my knee, and jerks his head to Donovan. She’s peering down at her small tan wrist, fiddling with one of the copious number of braided bracelets she wears. She makes them all the time; it’s her weirdo way of commemorating memories because she can’t just take a picture like a normal person.
I act like it’s dumb, but it’s one of the million things that makes her so uniquely her. I’ll miss getting them and then getting yelled at for tossing them away.
“I want you guys to keep one of these. You don’t have to wear them, but like, just to remember me by and maybe in case I never—”
“Shut up,” we both snap at her.
With a tug, she pulls one of the threads from her arm and hands it to Liam. Squeezing it in his fist, he lowers his head and wipes the back of his hand over his eyes.
Pussy. I could punch him for crying. We swore to each other that we wouldn’t. Donovan is the only one who gets to cry today. It’s only fair—we’re losing her, but she’s losing both of us.
“Here,” her voice calls to me, our forlorn faces meeting.
I hold out my wrist to her, and she smiles softly. Watching as she wraps the string around my wrist and ties it into a knot, I can’t help but remember when she made it.
Right before school started this year. It was the last day of summer. The three of us swam all day at her family’s lake house, and we were all waterlogged and pruned as we lay in the sun. I was playing with her bracelets when I saw the silver-gray strand amongst all the colorful ones.
“That one’s my favorite. Nobody else has one. I only made it for myself.” She smiles behind her arm.
“Why?”
“Because now I can say that ‘Grey’ is all mine.”
My stomach fills with butterflies remembering the moment and how she’d rolled over and ran back to the water, leaving me feeling lost and hot from the color my cheeks were turning. My fingers run over the bracelet, adjusting it on my arm. “Why this one?”
“To keep you to your promise. Now you’ll have to find me because you know what it means to me.”
Grey
Present Day
“There he is!” I hear a man say, sounding relieved as I walk into my family’s Manhattan home. Home isn’t the correct word. We own the block. It’s also a word that elicits a feeling of warmth. We aren’t that either.
The senior McCallister is a piece-of shit hedge fund master, who ignores his wife—as if she cares—and does more blow than hookers, or maybe it’s more hookers than blow. Either way, dearest Dad is quite a despicable mentor. Albeit one I’m never forced to deal with, seeing as he’s spent more time out of the country than in it.
A flustered event planner comes rushing my way. He’s trying to wave me down as I loosen my tie, purposefully ignoring his excitement. As he motions again for my attention, I keep walking toward the wide travertine stairs, wishing he’d eat shit before he gets to me.
The chandelier in the foyer catches some light and reflects a small spotlight for me to walk through as I give him my back to speak to. My black Berluti shoes touch the first step, a step adorned by black iron railings that lead to my wing of the house, when the fool catches up to me.
“Excuse me, Grey…if you would wait a moment.” The high pitch of his voice and roll of the r in my name irritates me.
I turn to level my stare, standing taller at six foot three than his small frame. Sneering, my tone authoritative, I deliver my words with precision, making the meaning clear.
“Grey is reserved for those who know me. Not people I employ.”
He takes a step back. Smarter than he looks. Good thing, because my bark is as big as my bite. I turn back dismissively, starting up the stairs, but he pushes his luck.
“Yes, I apologize, Mr. McCallister, but I’m hoping to have the linens approved by Miss Caroline. We’ve been waiting for some time now. We were hoping you could help us locate her.”
I guess I was wrong about his level of intelligence.
I don’t turn around, opting instead to continue up the staircase. “I have no interest in what my stepsister is doing. Consider yourself approved. Now stop fucking talking.”
My irritation is at an all-time high with the mention of Caroline’s birthday party. The last thing I want in my house is a bunch of assholes I couldn’t care less about, even if it’s tradition.
Caroline throws a bash every year. It’s less about celebrating her birthday and more about pretending there are people who want to. She needs the party. It fills the void—because pretend relationships are better than none at all, I suppose. If I were a better man, I’d care about that more. But I’m not, so I don’t.
The real reason I haven’t canceled Caroline’s little soiree is that there are still a few girls I haven’t fucked. I’m sure I can convince them to let me kill two birds with one cock.
I pull out my cell phone from the pocket of my black bespoke slacks, worn only because I had to dress for my meeting with the head of admissions at Yale. It seemed fitting to wear a suit worth as much as his shitty little car, to serve as a reminder of his irrelevance in my admission. Even if it makes me feel more like my father than I’d like. To be a villain, you have to dress the part.
He needed a reminder after calling this meeting and interrupting my Sunday. I saw through him. It was organized specifically to see if I’d fall in line with the school’s standards and expectations. It seems my reputation has preceded me. Or maybe it’s the fact that I was caught in a “situation” with his daughter during my first campus tour that isn’t sitting too well. Either way, he’s out of his league.
I’m a fucking McCallister. He should’ve offered to suck my dick, like his daughter, as a thank you for choosing his school. The dirty thoughts of my “Yalie” adventure remind me about my plans tonight. My fingers quickly type out a text to Liam, since he’s on pussy duty for the evening.
Me: Make sure you invite the ginger girls. One of them isn’t a real redhead. I want to find out which.
Liam: Done. Ethan’s called dibs on Eve. Said she has the best supply so hands off.
Fucking druggie. Ethan’s favored to become our valedictorian and also excels in the use of
Adderall. He’s been a member of our little group since the start of high school when he made the crew team. Not as a rower—he’s too small—but as our coxswain. The guy who tells us where to go and what’s happening as we race. His added chemical energy doesn’t hurt when it’s to hype everyone up either.
Me: Tell him to fuck off. I won’t fuck her but blowjobs and backdoor are fair play. And let the guys know to bring the alcohol.
I feel the buzz from my phone, but I’m done with the conversation, because something else has captured my attention. The further down the wainscoted hallway I walk, the louder the moans get.
Fucking Caroline. Literally. Someone is fucking Caroline. Always so needy for attention. She won’t be satisfied until the whole block hears all her little escapades. Pausing in front of her door, I put my ear to it. Jesus. Fucking. Christ.
Nothing but groans and raspy breaths come from the other side, and my eyebrows raise, realizing there’s a party of three inside. Caroline’s screwing God knows who, while leaving me to clean up her mess. Typical.
Grabbing the handles to her double doors, I open them wide with gusto and stalk inside the whore’s den.
“Sister,” I greet her, ironically.
Our families have known each other since before we were infants, and elitists only crossbreed, so it made sense that my father would marry her mother. Caroline became a McCallister three years ago, and as expected, all she wanted to do was fuck me to punish our parents for their union. I wasn’t flattered. I’ve never had any interest in sticking my dick where half the population of the Upper East Side has visited.
Now, however, despite my dislike for her, she’s become more of a real “pain in the ass” stepsister, albeit one with smudged boundaries.
“Grey,” she answers, moaning into Kai’s mouth.
Her head lolls back luxuriously as he pulls from her lips, dragging one between his teeth and moving to kiss down her exposed neck. My eyes catch movement, and I see what I assume is a person’s head moving between her legs under the covers.
My eyebrows rise in irritation only to be met by her arrogant reception.
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