by Eva Ashwood
But I’m not gonna let these rich, spoiled assholes drive me out of this school. Ms. Neilson had to talk me into coming here, but now that I’ve made the decision, I’m not about to back down.
Call me a contrary bitch, but these people wanting me gone only makes me more determined to stay.
No matter how fucking hard it is.
I make it through another week of constant bombardment, but on Thursday morning, Max greets me outside my dorm. We’ve started meeting up to walk to classes together, so it’s not strange to see her here.
What is surprising is the look on her face. She looks furious, her weight shifting from side to side in agitation as she stares down at her school-issued tablet. She glances up as I walk out of the building, her hazel eyes flashing.
“Have you seen this?” she demands.
I shrug. “Depends on what ‘this’ is.”
Her lips press into a line as she hands over her tablet. I take it and glance down at the screen, which is alight with vibrant colors and gaudy text. It’s a website of some sort, one that I sure as fuck have never seen before.
But the images plastered all over it are familiar.
They’re of me.
All of me.
Shots of me coming out of the showers in the gym, shots of my tits, of my ass—shots that have been edited to make it look like my cleavage or my thighs are dripping in cum.
My grip on the tablet tightens, a wave of anger threatening to destroy the carefully constructed numbness I hold in my chest.
It doesn’t fucking matter.
I look up at Max, who’s seething silently as she watches me.
“Someone has way too much time on their hands,” I say, forcing my tone to stay bland. “It’s just a bunch of fucking pictures. So what?”
“It’s not just pictures.” She shakes her head. “And it’s not just one person.”
She takes the tablet back and presses the screen a few times, then holds it up so I can look at it again.
I see what she means immediately. Unlike the scrolling gallery of the main page, this is a submissions page, calling for all Hawthorne students to upload photos and videos of me, showing as much skin as possible. The person who snags the picture or video with the most skin exposed will win a ten thousand dollar cash prize from the contests sponsors.
And who might the brilliant sponsors of this wonderful little contest be?
The motherfucking Sinners of Hawthorne University.
I stare down at the tablet, my gaze locked on the little emblem in the corner bearing the word Sinners.
“You okay?” Max murmurs, but her voice sounds like it’s coming from far away.
Fuck. I don’t know.
Am I okay?
It doesn’t fucking matter.
It doesn’t fucking matter.
It doesn’t fucking matter.
But it does.
It does, because no matter how little sense Gray’s reaction to Caitlin’s video made, I at least didn’t expect him to turn around and actively encourage others to pull the same shit she did.
I was careful not to let myself believe he was protecting me when he smashed her phone… but maybe a part of me thought he was anyway.
And now I’m staring at tangible evidence to the contrary. He didn’t give a shit that Caitlin uploaded a video of me naked in the locker room onto social media. He was probably just pissed that she got the idea first. That she stole his damn thunder.
“How did you even find this?” I ask Max, pulling my gaze from the submission page to look at her. I never answered her question, but I still don’t have an answer to give, so I just ignore it.
“I overheard some guys talking about it. Managed to get them to tell me about it by convincing them that I was totally into them.” She rolls her eyes. “Morons. Then I found the website and saw what this was. I wanted to make sure you knew. God, it’s such fucking bullshit.”
“Yeah. It is.”
“What are you gonna do about it?” She turns off the tablet’s screen and tucks it into the crook of her arm. Then her face lights up. “Oh, I heard about a school in SoCal where some girl slept with a guy and filmed it or something, then posted it all over the campus. Clearwater U, I think it was.” She grimaces. “But then you’d have to sleep with Gray again.”
I don’t mention that sleeping with Gray wouldn’t be a hardship. Whatever other bad blood might exist between us, sexual chemistry has never been our problem. But it would be a dangerous road to go down, feeding an addiction I shouldn’t have in the first place.
Besides, he already announced to the entire student body that he fucked me. So getting it on tape would probably only feed his over-inflated ego and play right into my reputation as a trashy slut.
“Yeah.” I huff a laugh. “Not gonna happen.” My gaze drifts back to the now-dark screen of the tablet, memories of the images I saw on the screen flashing through my head.
Ten thousand dollars cash prize.
A monetary value, a prize, attached to every inch of my skin. Paid for by the man who’s done nothing but fuck with my emotions since the very first day I got here.
“I’m done,” I say shortly, looking back up at Max. Her eyes flicker with fierce excitement as she takes in the expression on my face. “You’re right. This is fucking bullshit. And I’m gonna shut it down.”
Gray Eastwood wants to play? Fine, we’ll play.
13
My opportunity comes sooner than I even hoped for.
On Saturday, there’s a massive party off-campus. It’s supposedly the highlight of the early school year, according to what I’ve learned from eavesdropping in on other peoples’ conversations. Someone from one of the most influential families is always meant to host it, and this year, the gracious host is none other than Gray ‘Motherfucking’ Eastwood.
Max comes over to my dorm on Saturday evening and we get ready together. I don’t own any expensive or super fancy outfits, but I guess it doesn’t really matter. What I’m wearing won’t be the point.
I pick out a hip-hugging short skirt and a tank top, layering them over a lacy black bra and panty set before slipping on a pair of heels. My blue-streaked blonde hair gets pulled up into a ponytail, with a few loose tendrils framing my face, and I take a little extra time with my makeup, applying eyeshadow and mascara like armor.
“You know, this could backfire on you,” Max warns as we climb into her beat-up Toyota. “I still don’t know what the fuck Gray’s problem is with you, but as bad as things are now, he and his friends could probably make them worse. You sure you want to poke that bear with a stick?”
I shoot her a reckless grin. The numbness in my chest has been replaced by a buzzing sort of energy, my heart beating a little faster as my fingers drum lightly over my thighs. “Fuck yes. Sometimes you gotta fight fire with fire. Or a bear with a stick.”
She laughs, shaking her head at me before cranking the key in the ignition. The car sputters to life with a reluctant rumble before she pulls out of the school lot.
The ride over is actually nice. Max cranks up the music on the radio, singing along to Halsey’s “Bad at Love” as I lean my head against the window and watch the world slide by outside.
It’s not too long of a drive; we pull up to Gray’s family estate after about thirty minutes.
Max managed to get Gray’s address from one of his football buddies. With all the focus on bullying me, she’s actually escaped most of the hazing scholarship students usually get—something I know she feels guilty about. But it’s not her fucking fault; neither of us asked for the hands we were dealt. And it actually comes in handy for things like this. She’s got her finger a lot closer to the social pulse of the school than I do.
Staring out the window, I have to—begrudgingly—admit that Gray’s place is impressive, a sprawling bungalow nestled up in the hills and overlooking the city. The driveway is already lined with fancy cars, the street packed to the point that we have to pull up several blocks bey
ond the house to park.
“I hope none of these assholes are planning on driving home tonight,” Max mutters as we walk back toward the house. “My car is trash, but if one of them rams into it or something, my dad’s gonna pop a blood vessel.”
I laugh. “Don’t worry. I’m sure they all have fucking butlers on call who’ll come pick them up and pull over to let them barf on the way home.”
“Is that what butlers do?” She scrunches up her nose.
“I don’t know. Probably.”
The music was audible even from where we parked up the block, and it gets louder and louder as we walk up the perfectly paved drive.
It’s not even ten, but the party looks like it’s been in full swing for a while. Either that or it doesn’t take Hawthorne students long to completely lose their minds and get wasted.
Not like I can judge—I went to a few ragers with Jared before he left the McAlister’s place. But it kind of amuses me how much these drunk rich kids look like any other group of broke-ass, drunk-ass degenerates they ridicule and mock on a daily basis.
The name-brand clothes, opulent surroundings, and parents who can bail them out of trouble is really the only difference between these snobby assholes and the kind of people I grew up around.
Of course, no matter how drunk they are, no one forgets that they hate me. Max and I get vicious stares from a group of girls we pass as we walk in like we own the place, but I don’t even spare them a second glance.
There’s only one person I’m there for, and that’s Gray Eastwood himself.
We slip into the massive kitchen to get drinks, and I’ll admit that’s one glaring difference between the house parties I went to in high school and a Hawthorne party. The booze is a lot better quality here.
I don’t want to get wasted—hell, we’re not even planning on staying that long—but I need a little liquid courage for what’s gonna come next.
“You ready?” Max asks, leaning toward me to speak over the music.
I nod, taking a drink of my whiskey and letting it burn down my throat. “If we can fucking find him in this place.”
The house is massive. Instead of having one main living room, it seems to have several, and we pass through the network of open rooms filled with luxurious furniture. Students from Hawthorne are everywhere, some talking and laughing loudly, some dancing, others sprawled on the couches making out and—yeah, I think at least one guy is definitely getting a hand job.
We find Gray in a large room near the back of the house, settled on a couch with Declan and Elias as if they’re fucking kings ruling over their domain.
There are several beefy guys standing with drinks in hand nearby. I think they’re all on the football team with Gray. Caitlin and her crew are perched on another couch talking to Cliff, the redhead who introduced himself to me the day Gray stole my student ID card.
As if she’s got some kind of “Sophie Radar,” Caitlin looks up the second we walk into the room, and I revel in the anger that makes her cheeks flush red when she sees me. I’m sure she knows Max and I weren’t invited, and I hope she knows I don’t fucking care.
Max gives my elbow a squeeze, and even though I’m pretty sure it’s meant to be a gesture of encouragement, I can feel how nervous she is in the way her fingers dig into my skin.
Now that I’m here, I can admit I’m a little nervous too. There are a hell of a lot of ways this could backfire. But I’m sick and fucking tired of the Sinners holding power over me, and there’s only one way I can think of to get it back.
So I give Max one more look before stepping away from her and striding into the middle of the room. The music is blaring just as loud in here as it is everywhere else in the house, and most people aren’t paying attention to me—at least, not yet.
Caitlin’s still glaring at me, and I know Gray, Declan, and Elias noticed me the second I walked in too. So I’m positive none of them miss my first move.
Reaching down, I grab the hem of my tank with both hands and pull it smoothly over my head, dropping it on the floor beside me. The lacy black fabric of my bra clings to my breasts, and a few heads swivel in my direction, drawn by the movement. Like a cascading effect, more and more heads turn as conversations die out and people nudge their friends.
Well, here goes fucking nothing.
My heart slams harder in my chest as I reach for the zipper and clasp of my skirt, grateful for the drink I took earlier that keeps my hands from shaking.
The zipper slides down, and the skirt slides off, pooling at my feet.
Beside Caitlin, Cliff is staring at me with wide eyes, his mouth hanging open slightly. Caitlin and her crew look torn between being scandalized and pissed, but I barely register their glares.
My eyes are on only one person now.
Gray.
He sits up a little straighter on the couch where he’s been lounging like a king, a muscle in his cheek flickering as he clenches his jaw. His expression is unreadable, but every line of his body has gone rigid.
A wave of heat washes through me. I’ve fucked this man twice, but he’s never seen me completely naked. Not in person, anyway. And I feel his gaze on me now like a flame licking over my skin.
Deliberately, I reach behind me and unclasp my bra, drawing it slowly down my arms before dropping it alongside my tank top.
My breasts aren’t huge, but they’re high and full, and my whole body is on such high alert that my nipples peak instantly as dozens of gazes land on me.
Gray shifts on the couch, his fingers curling like his hands are itching to clench into fists. His nostrils flare, but he doesn’t move as I reach down and push my panties over the swell of my hips, then kick them off along with my skirt.
I’m completely naked now, wearing nothing but the heels I walked in on.
I draw in a deep breath, intensely conscious of the way it makes my chest rise and fall, and the ripple that seems to move through the gathered crowd in reaction. Then I step forward, letting my hips sway from side to side as I cross toward the couch Gray, Declan, and Elias have claimed.
When I’m less than two feet from them, close enough that they could just about reach out and touch me if they wanted to, I stop. Carefully, I toe off first one shoe, then the next until I’m standing barefoot in front of them.
My eyes find Gray’s, and I gaze into the churning blue-green of his irises as I let a small, sardonic smile tilt my lips.
“I win.”
Someone cut the music while I was putting on my little show, so even though my words aren’t loud, they seem to fill the room anyway.
“I guess you do.” His eyes narrow slightly, his face still as hard as stone. “I’m impressed, Sparrow. You put everyone else to shame.”
“Hey, that’s not fair!” Somebody raises their voice behind me. “She’s the bet. She can’t win the prize herself—”
Gray levels an unflinching look at the guy who spoke up, and he instantly shuts his mouth. The rest of the room stays silent, though I can hear the low buzz of whispers around me.
Gray’s gaze sweeps the crowd quickly, as if he just remembered all these people are here. Then his attention moves back to me.
“The competition is over,” he says, raising his voice to address the room.
Then he stands smoothly and steps closer to me, closing the small bit of space between us until I can feel the heat of his body radiating into my skin. It makes a shiver run down my spine, but I keep my gaze level on him as he looks down at me, a force too kinetic to pull away.
He’s standing so fucking close to me that I can barely take a breath without my chest brushing against his. It almost feels for a second like he’s trying to block me with his body, to use his larger form as a barricade to prevent anyone else from looking at me.
But that doesn’t make any fucking sense. He’s the one who started this stupid game. And isn’t this what he was after? More of me on display for the entire school?
“Put your fucking clothes back on, Sophie
,” Gray murmurs. This time his voice is low, a deep rumble that barely reaches my ears. “And get the fuck out. You’ll have your money on Monday.”
I don’t point out that he’s the one who forced my hand. I don’t point out that telling me to put my clothes on makes him a total hypocrite. I don’t need to, because I’ve won.
I’ve shown that I can dish out just as much as I take, and I’ve shown it in a way that will become infamous within the walls of Hawthorne University.
I’m not to be fucked with. If you think you can break me, think again.
“Fun party.” I lift a taunting eyebrow. “Although it seemed a little boring until I showed up.”
Gray’s eyes flash, and as I move to turn away, he grabs my upper arm in a tight grip, his fingers closing hard around the tattoos that grace my skin. His voice is still quiet as he dips his head, his breath caressing my ear. “I’m letting you get away with this once. Don’t ever pull this kind of shit again.”
Sparks erupt inside my body as if this physical connection has opened up an electric current between us. My pussy clenches, and I yank out of his grasp before he can realize how much his touch affected me.
“Don’t make me,” I say shortly.
Then I pick up my shoes and gather my clothes before striding back across the room to meet Max.
The low whispers in the crowd grows steadily louder as we leave the room. I’m pretty sure the only reason people aren’t yelling and catcalling is because none of them can get a read on Gray’s reaction, and nobody wants to risk misstepping and invoking his wrath.
It makes me wonder how many previous scholarship kids have fought back. How many of them simply chose to accept the bullshit because it was necessary to be here, and how many eventually broke and ended up skipping out on Hawthorne and the people within it.