Dirty Little Secret: A Dark High School Bully Romance (Reighton Preparatory Academy Book 3)

by Belladona Cunning

  But, then again, there’s something ominous about it, too. Like, it’s a glimpse into the future.

  I continue to stare straight ahead, and it isn’t until Dorran steps in my line of sight, that I break my gaze and peer up at him instead. His eyes are hard and lifeless, as if just being in this house is too much for him. I don’t blame him, per se, because being in this house feels like I’m back in that cage.

  His eyes peer into mine, searching for something. Then, just as quickly as he stopped, he turns toward the right and starts walking. He disappears down a hallway with very little lighting, and no matter what my nerves are screaming in my gut, I have no choice but to follow him.

  I want an explanation.

  About what he just said. Everything that happened at RPA, the party, and even up until now. Maybe he’ll be the one to give them to me.

  Just maybe.

  Goddammit, I hate that word. It gives too many false hopes.

  Then, when I think nothing could possibly get worse, he tosses over his shoulder, “If you think it was terrible before, Brat, then you obviously don’t know what true evil is. Just wait … it’s coming, and Joaquin is leading the way.”

  “What do you mean by that?” My eyes plead with his.

  Sighing, Dorran stops just before entering Joaquin’s study. Why he’s putting me in here and not my room, I’ll never know. But I’m not about to bite the hand giving me an olive branch to look around. This is my one chance to find shit on Joaquin, and I’m not about to pass it up.

  He uncharacteristically grabs my shoulders and pulls me into his chest. I’m silent as I try to sift through the shock thrashing through my bag of flesh. Everything Dorran is doing right now puts me on edge. He’s being nice, companionable.

  He’s acting like a man I could lose myself in gladly, without freaking out and trying to find a way out because I’ve burrowed myself so deep.

  Mussing my hair, he places his lips just below my ear. “Don’t trust anyone. Not even your brother.” My brother?

  “And you all—what about you three?”

  He breaks away, sadness marring his features. I want to hug him, hold him to my body and allow my soul to make him feel better. There is something clearly going on with him. I knew it back at school before they stole me away. He’s battling some … demon. A part of his past that’s now trying to resurface.

  Instead of answering, he bites his bottom lip, the action capturing my attention. “Remember when I said desperation wasn’t my thing?”

  He has to bring something up like this now? The fuck! His priorities are severely mixed up. Damn.

  “Yes,” I snap in a low whisper.

  He huffs, forcing a smile. “I only said that so you wouldn’t see how desperate I was for you.” He puts his forehead against mine, backing me up until my back hits the door. His tongue darts out, licking his teeth before he once more takes his lip between them. “It was always you, Ari. I loved her because she loved you. Just somewhere along the way, I lost myself. But I will tell you this now—being with her is nothing compared to what I feel when I’m around you.”

  “D-Dorran,” I gasp, tears breeching the surface of my eyes.

  “I’m seriously, Ari. You are a rare gift none of us deserve.”

  “Then why treat me like you have? Why bully me and torture me?”

  His eyes, shining so full of truth and promise, settle on mine. “To save your life. Now stay in here while we go deal with Joaquin and that heinous bitch. Do not, for the love of God, leave this room.”

  “But—”

  His eyes harden. “Don’t leave this room goddammit. Just fucking trust us.”

  CHAPTER 17

  The minute I get out of here, I’m going to kick his ass. It’s been hours since Dorran locked me up in here, and I’m absolutely livid. I even did exactly what I said I wouldn’t do and tried to get out. But, wouldn’t you know, the bastard locked me in.

  Fucking bullshit.

  And they’re doing this all for a guy that literally loathes the ground they walk on, especially his own son. No one thinks I notice, but that’s where they’re wrong.

  I notice everything.

  I see all.

  Hear all.

  Know all.

  Well, that last one, maybe not so much, but you get my drift. I can tell that Joaquin has no lost feelings when it comes to his son. Especially, not since he looks at him with nothing more than contempt. It’s like he blames Brett for something. Only, I don’t know what that could be because it’s not like Brett and he have any conversations unless forced.

  Brett tries to stay as far away from his father at all times, especially since that day in the foyer when Joaquin put his hands on me. I seriously thought he was going to rip his throat out, then mine for allowing it to happen. It’s like he hates me for making his father want me, only it’s not my fault.

  Now to have Dorran throw me into his father’s study and lock the goddamn door. He knows how much I loathe being tossed around as if I’m a ragdoll, yet he continues to do it. He continues to treat me as if I’m beneath him.

  It’s not even like he barricaded me in here for something important, either. I would understand if he didn’t want anyone to see me, connect the dots, then have them come after me. I’m supposed to be dead; a terrible car accident where no remains could be identified.

  However, with that all aside, he knows I won’t stand for him locking me in here because of her and him. They’re not worth my sanity, and I can’t bring myself to care about them. But Brett? I hate to say this … but I care about him.

  He should know by now that she won’t give up anything without being rewarded. She’s on Joaquin’s arm for God’s sake. She had to do something to get there, and I’m frothing at the mouth to find out what her true purpose here is.

  The DLG’s only know one thing, and that’s getting what they want, regardless if they have to debase themselves to achieve it.

  With heinous thoughts bouncing around inside my skull, I begin pacing the office. My eyes never leave the door, even as I count the seconds in my head. Thirty-Mississippi. Thirty-One-Mississippi … Thirty-Three …

  “This is bullshit,” I thunder, fisting my hands beside me as I try to reign in my anger.

  Stomping toward the door, I grab ahold of the handle and viciously turn. My body jerks from the momentum, almost causing me to trip and face plant into the door, when it doesn’t pull open.

  Nothing.

  “Fucking hell, I thought we were past this shit,” I hatefully murmur under my breath, raising my fisted hand to bang on the door.

  No matter how many times I pound on the thick wood, no one comes to fetch me. It’s like they’ve forgotten he locked me in here, all for the purpose of entertaining that smug bitch and Joaquin. From the second I spied her across the room, I knew she was here and up to no good.

  She probably just now found out I was ‘dead,’ and wanted to offer the boys her condolences. Or she’s here for more sinister means.

  It stinks of bullshit. But that’s nothing new—the stench seems to permeate from wherever Patricia and her cronies go.

  “Fuck that stupid cunt bag-gutter slut.” My face pinches in anger, and I hit the door one last time before turning away with a huff to face Joaquin’s office.

  There’s no way I’m allowed to be in here unsupervised, so that’s their mistake. I’m not even allowed to be in here at all. The guys even have to be in Joaquin’s presence before they’re allowed to step foot inside this room, and that’s saying something.

  Dorran just threw me in here like it didn’t mean anything, and that error is on him. There’s no way I’m not snooping.

  My eyes drift over the dark, menacing interior. All worn leather, dark-stained mahogany wood, and black wrought-iron embellishments. It looks more like a torture chamber rather than someone’s office. Considering who it belongs to, I can understand its sense of depravity.

  As thoughts pepper my mind, my eyes trek back and forth,
a shit-eating grin begins to morph at the corner of my lips. Whenever someone wants to find something, especially something an old millionaire is hiding, you always go to the room he’s in the most. The reason being is they need to be close to their secrets, making sure that no one gets a hold of them.

  My shoulders unhunch as the stress seems to melt away like warm chocolate. A sense of relief flits through my body as I come to a conclusion. I’ve been given the greatest gift, and I’d be a fool not to exploit it.

  There’s no way Joaquin will punish me for being in here, considering it’s initially his son’s fault I’m locked in here in the first place. Instead, he will turn that fury on Brett, maybe even Dorran too, and make them pay for going against the rules of the Manor, before he puts them all in their place. I try my best to keep away from Joaquin as much as possible, by staying in my room until he’s retired for the night or until I get word that he’s no longer on the property.

  For months, I’ve been waiting to gather information against all of them without so much as a chance to do so. It’s clear, besides the drugs and kidnapping, that they’re doing something so illegal, even the local law enforcement won’t be able to keep a lid on it if it were to get out.

  With newfound energy, I forget the door all together and race across the room. My bare feet slap against the hardwood floor; the only sound in what seems to be a soundproof room. These people really have more money than they know what to do with. It’s sickening to watch them sometimes, as they spend so frivolously, without regarding what it would actually be like if they were poor.

  Honestly, if they were impoverished, I don’t think they would know how to survive. It’s been ingrained in their DNA since they were born how to walk, talk, and act like a blueblood. In order for them to do that, they have to look the part.

  In their world, it seems to be all about checks and balances. With each box they check off—each person they take down—it balances another part of their life, marks another off their list to defeat.

  I wouldn’t be able to live like this. Not with having to look over my shoulder, making sure that no one is about to plunge a dagger into my back. I know they all grew up in this, being able to spot a snake in the grass from a mile away, but I’m not like them. I can’t pretend that what they’re doing isn’t deplorable, because it is. They hold so much power over people, and they think all they have to do is point a finger and people will do whatever they want. While that may be true, it doesn’t mean that it isn’t wrong.

  Tiptoeing around the desk, my fingers trail along the smooth edge, before coming to a stop on the open-face calendar resting in the middle. It would remind you of one of those desks you see in a lawyer’s office, or teacher’s classroom. But this couldn’t be further from either one of those things. The best I can put it, this is the desk of a Drug Lord.

  Exactly that. I don’t know how far his reach extends, but I do know it ranges all over the continental US. My eyes roam over the surface, seeing dings and marks in the, otherwise, spectacular wood. There is one pen lying sideways, a lamp I quickly flick on in the right upper corner—the type you’d see in an old library where kids study. A flickering light casts the room in a dull glow, chasing the shadows that were beginning to make their way throughout the room, away from me and back into the corners.

  Without wasting a moment, I search through the papers on the right side of his desk. If there was anything in this room that could lead me in the right direction, it’d be either on or inside this goddamn desk. I don’t know why I didn’t think of that until now, but I’m inherently glad Brett locked me up in here.

  The second I get something I can use, is the moment I’m going to run. I’m tired of their tricks. Tired of the way they seem to be able to play me like a fiddle, and the moment I start believing them—believing their lies—that’s when they allow the bomb to fall.

  When are they ever going to get it through their minds that everyone isn’t like them? I have feelings, aspirations, dreams—everything you can think of for a future. I couldn’t possibly bring myself to care about their physical property. I was never a very material person to begin with.

  But they are. People like the Kingston family, Mikaels family, and Ivy family pride themselves on physically property—including evidence that can be used against them.

  “Come on, you have to be here somewhere.” My fingers continue to sift through the papers on the side of Joaquin’s desk, frantically searching for the one piece of evidence that will get me out of this house forever.

  I hate the fact that they have everyone in this house shackled to them, like we’re dogs put here to protect their owner. Fuck them. For all I care they can rot in hell.

  Brett’s father isn’t the type of person not to have a backup plan. A person doesn’t build their way up in the business world without having a few key pieces of evidence to blackmail someone with. I don’t know where to go from, or who he has under his time, but I’m determined to find out who that is before Brett comes to get me.

  It’s already been a little bit, and if Patricia has anything to say for it, and be indisposed for a lot longer than a few minutes. Now is not the time to think about, Ariyal. I can’t stop my face from scrunching up in disgust. It was bad enough having to hear what I did back in Brett’s dorm room, completely believing that everything that was happening was true.

  That’s when I got my first clue that the Kingston family is a bunch of tricksters. When everything is all fun and games. However, the second the tide turns, that’s when shit hits the fan. I have never seen someone as vicious as Brett’s father was the night I got away from the guys. Fire practically leapt from his eyes, searing my flesh until it was nothing more than just char.

  But, then again, deep inside his gaze, where no one thought to look, I saw Joaquin’s vulnerability. Something, I’m sure, no one has ever seen before.

  Fear. He was afraid of something, and I think that something had to do with me.

  Picking at the tip of his calendar, my breath stalls in my lungs when I see the tip of an old Victorian key and the tip of a vintage polaroid. Well at least that’s what I think it would look like back in that era and the picture is a given. The design is whimsical, with intricate attention to detail. But it isn’t your ordinary key, I think. I can see the exact same design embedded in the middle of its intricate design; the same design as the brand is above my mons.

  Now that is not surprising. They are the type of people that flaunt their shit. But why the crown? It seems more symbolic than anything.

  Slipping them out from under the calendar, I hold it underneath the light. It looks old; now that I look at it, much older than my original guess. It’s scratched from wear and tear, just normal things that you want to keep from using it a little too much. Then, I take the photograph and hold it out in front of me.

  My entire world seems to slip away as I scan the contents of the photo. It’s old, weathered, and seems to have been looked at so many times it’s nearly falling apart. But what I can see with perfect clarity, is the tombstone, surrounded by a very familiar forest, I’ve traveled along the edge of.

  But the name I see causes my blood to congeal in my veins.

  There’s absolutely no possible way.

  “Where the fuck does this go?” My eyes trek all over Joaquin’s study. There can be so many different things this can go to, but only one thing it opens.

  “What the hell is he up to? And why the hell does he have a picture of that name on a tombstone?”

  The sound of someone shuffling in a shadowed corner from behind me reaches my ears, stopping me in my tracks. A cold sweat instantly covers my skin at the thought of being caught pilfering. My internal radar starts freaking out, because there isn’t supposed to be anyone in here with me. Brett locked me up in here by myself when that bitch came to the door.

  A tiny, delicate hand lands on my shoulder. Even though the touch feels familiar in a way I can’t explain, I freeze under the weight of it. “Ask you
rself this question, baby girl … what isn’t he up to?”

  Gasping, my body thaws in complete disbelief. It’s too good to be true. She’s supposed to be dead; I buried her.

  I twist around, coming face to face with a living, breathing ghost. “Momma?”

  TO BE CONTINUED …

  Please, if you enjoyed this novel, would you consider

  leaving a review?

  Thank you!

  B.

  QUICK NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR

  Ekk! You guys, these four started speaking to me months, upon months ago. But until now, I didn’t have the courage to write them. Their story isn’t fluffy and romantic, but harsh, unyielding, and sometimes, quite damaging. They’re beautiful broken, and along the way all four created something tragically amazing.

  Their story I ALL I could think about. Even when I was writing the Silver Creek High trilogy, I was thinking of these guys—their lives, their love, loss, and pain.

  And I know when this story comes to an end, it will completely engulf me.

  Thank you so very much for reading! I sincerely hope the next novel, which will be revealed SOON-ish, that you loved Ariyal, Brett, Dorran, and Chaz as much as I have!

  To be the FIRST in the know about titles, blurbs, release dates, and more, sign up for my Newsletter: Belladona Cunning Newsletter

  WAYS TO STAY CONNECTED

  Never miss a beat!! Follow or find me on any of the platforms below!

  Newsletter

  Amazon

  Facebook Author Page

  Instagram

  Twitter

  Goodreads