Cruel Abandon: A Dark College Bully Romance (Fallen Royals Book 5)

by S. Massery

  You know what? Fuck him. I’m a great secret keeper. I’ve kept plenty of my own, and other people’s, too. No one asks me about them because they assume I don’t know. It’s the worst sort of agony to have a piece of information and be unable to tell anyone.

  I lift my cup to my mouth, take a large swallow, and try not to panic.

  The hot liquid scorches my throat on the way down, but I barely feel it. All my focus rests on one choice that I seem to keep paying for.

  “Let’s go,” he says. “We were only supposed to be gone for a half hour or so.”

  I nod sharply and follow him outside. I glance at the poster of Natalie on the way. They’ll pull it down soon enough, once word spreads.

  “Her parents haven’t made a press conference today,” I say quietly. “The first time they haven’t been on the morning news in… a while.”

  He sighs. “There’s no point anymore.”

  I shrug.

  “She’s dead—you said it yourself. You admitted it was Natalie, even though you’re apparently not allowed to tell anyone.”

  “I’m not.”

  “Because…?”

  I shiver and wrap my jacket tighter around myself. “The detectives told me not to. And another one told me it was because there was a third missing person.”

  He stops.

  It takes me a few steps to realize he isn’t behind me, and I circle back.

  He stares, head tilted. “Another girl?”

  “From just before school started,” I say. “Still missing.”

  “Masters tell you that? Obsessive bastard.”

  I cringe. “Dr. Penn insinuated something, ah, similar. That he couldn’t let an old case go.”

  Liam hesitates, then shakes his head. There’s something on the tip of his tongue that he won’t spit out, and I almost ask him.

  Almost.

  Instead, I say, “She’s probably already dead.”

  “You’re morbid.” He loops his arm around my shoulders, and we continue.

  While it’s weird being this close to Liam—and vaguely uncomfortable—I don’t pull away. His body is warm, and there’s security in his grip. As if nothing would make him let go. Not me, not a psycho murderer, not even…

  “Mom?”

  She’s holding the door open, directing uniformed movers carrying my bed.

  She glances over her shoulder. “We’re remedying the whole bed situation.”

  I squint, then horror washes over me. “You’re packing my room? What did you do with the plants? We can’t move them now, it’s too cold—”

  “Relax,” she says. “Breathe. They’re in a box upstairs, we’ll take them over with us.”

  I exhale. “Okay.”

  “Anything else we should be worried about?” Liam asks lightly. “A vibrator, maybe?”

  I elbow him. No use answering him there, because if they’re moving the bed, they’ve already found it.

  Mom rolls her eyes.

  Maybe she tucked it away to save me the embarrassment.

  We follow her back to the apartment. Whitney is still there, sitting on the couch. She stands when we enter.

  “Can I talk to you for a minute?” she asks me.

  I nod and follow her into her room. It’s practically bare, the closet empty. Just a few forgotten boxes. We only lived in this apartment for a few months, but we had made it home. I was happy—as happy as I could be, anyway.

  But maybe it was a bit stifling for Whitney. No friends ever came over. I doubt she told people who she lived with.

  “I’m sorry,” I offer. “For everything.”

  She nods, crossing her arms over her stomach. “I considered us friends. But you were a real bitch when Natalie went missing.”

  I glance away. That’s not how I see it, but whatever. I’m not going to waste energy on explaining it.

  “So I’m just going to repay the favor,” she adds.

  “What are you going to do?”

  “What did I do, you mean?” She smiles, but it isn’t nice. It isn’t an I’m saving you vibe. It’s an I’m holding your head underwater and enjoying it expression. “You had to have known that video didn’t come from your phone.”

  My stomach drops. “What are you talking about?”

  “You were a drunk idiot,” she informs me. “And honestly? It was a pity invite.”

  I narrow my eyes. “I was only drunk because you gave me a water bottle full of vodka.”

  “And Natalie and I certainly enjoyed the mess you made.”

  Focus. “So, what? You took the video of Liam and posted it on my account?”

  She pretends to focus on her nail. “I didn’t expect it to blow up.”

  “But you’ve been nice to me for the past two years.” The anger is slow-building, but my body is heating. I’ve lived with the fact that the video going viral was my fault. I didn’t remember taking it, certainly didn’t remember posting it, but none of that mattered. “Why start any of this?”

  Whitney sneers. “It’s how good you were after. You never suspected me, and I’ll admit… that made me feel a bit guilty about it.”

  “Not guilty enough to tell me,” I snap.

  “No.” She squares her shoulders and meets my glare. “So, this is the last time I hope to see your face. You’re only nice when it counted for you—not when I was suffering.”

  “Oh, fuck off.” I yank the door open and point. “And get out.”

  If I thought she might take a walk of shame, she doesn’t act like it. She sails past Mom and Liam, several workers, and out of the apartment.

  “What was that?” Mom asks. “Are you okay? Your face is red.”

  My damn face.

  I shake my head. “Fine. She was just saying goodbye.”

  And admitting her lying ways. I don’t know how to process it. I endured two years of torture for nothing? Because I was set up? And then I lived with her. She stayed with me because of guilt, and then when her best friend disappeared…

  Yeah, fine, I acted like an ass. Normal people move on and forgive each other.

  Someone knocks on the front door, and Mom throws up her hands. “How many visitors are you going to get?”

  I shrug and open it, half expecting Taryn. Instead, it’s Jeff.

  Natalie’s boyfriend.

  “Oh, um… Whitney left.” I keep the door mostly closed, shielding Liam and my nosy mother from seeing who’s on the other side.

  “Ah. Well, can you pass on a message to her?”

  I narrow my eyes. “No.”

  He’s an interesting guy. Long curly hair, often kept tied back with a piece of leather, a pretty face. He’s from California and gives off the stereotypical surfer vibe. He and Natalie weren’t that odd of a couple—I’m pretty sure he comes from money, and so did she. Their lifestyles gelled.

  But now he seems aimless, and he wanders away.

  “Hey,” I call, letting the door shut behind me. “How are you holding up?”

  He comes back and hesitates. I hate the way his eyes roam—from my eyes to the piercing in my nose, all around my hair. It’s fading slowly to silver. I could be an ice queen by winter.

  “The police questioned me all night,” he says slowly. “And finally told me she was dead. So… I’m doing fucking fantastic.”

  I flinch.

  “Honestly, though? It’s better that she’s gone. Some sicko probably had her locked up, doing god knows what. She’s at peace.”

  “Yeah.”

  He scowls. “You were so quick to say she was dead, and Whitney freaked out on you. But I think you were just trying to think of Nat as… happy. In Heaven. Right?”

  Oh boy. I mean, that’s sort of where I had been going with that.

  I find the doorknob at my back and twist. It opens too quickly, and Liam suddenly looms over my shoulder. His gaze goes from me to Jeff. The latter shakes his head quickly, retreating.

  “Take care, Skylar,” he calls.

  “What did he want?” L
iam demands.

  “To talk to Whitney. I wanted to see how he was doing.” I tilt my head and think back to what Jeff had just said about Whitney freaking out on me. He was asleep… but I guess he was pretending.

  “They’re all vipers,” he informs me.

  I look him up and down, then meet his gaze. “You’re one to talk.”

  “Skylar!” Mom calls. “We’re just grabbing the last of the boxes. Take your plants unless you want someone else to manhandle them.”

  I shake my head and duck under Liam’s arm. Mom meets me halfway and shoves the giant box into my arms.

  “I called a car,” she says. “Should be here in a minute. Got everything, guys?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Packing help on top of moving… this is going to cost a pretty penny.

  Liam follows me down the stairs. He doesn’t offer to carry the box—he’d probably say it would impair his ability to protect me. What a joke.

  “Is this how it’s going to be?” I snap, turning to face him. My hand, and the edge of the box, bumps his chest. “You’re just going to hulk around until the murderer is caught?”

  He shrugs. “Unless the guy is out on bail, then I suppose it would continue until the trial.”

  I frown. “It could take a year to get to that point.”

  “Better get used to me, then.”

  “You’ll have graduated.” I grimace and turn, but he grips the box.

  “Is that what you’re really worried about? Me graduating and moving away?”

  I narrow my eyes. “No.”

  His gaze drops down at the plants and smiles. He reaches in.

  Is he going to destroy my plant babies?

  Then I catch a flash of purple, and my stomach flips.

  “This is cute.” He holds my vibrator up. “You use this much?”

  “Put that down.”

  He hums, running his finger over the top of it. “No, I like it when you’re mad.”

  “Liam Morrison,” I whisper. “Stop it. My mom—”

  “She’s the one who probably put it there, angel.” He winks, then stows it back in the box. “Don’t worry, we’ll find somewhere to hide it.”

  The butterflies in my stomach sink lower, burning through my core. I try to ignore it, because of all people, Liam shouldn’t be the one giving me these feelings.

  I was going to wait for a nice person. That was my plan. Wait until I had escaped this college, and his influence, and…

  Clearly not.

  “Incoming,” Liam murmurs. He steps partially in front of me.

  Detective McAdams knocks on the glass pane of the front door. “Ms. Buckley, a word?”

  “Just ignore her,” Liam advises.

  “I already made eye contact,” I whisper.

  “Who is that?” Mom asks, coming down the stairs.

  The movers are behind her, carrying the last few boxes between them. All the big stuff has already been loaded into the truck out front, with the exception of the things Whitney bought: the couch and coffee table, television and stand. Everything from my room, half the kitchen supplies.

  It took Dad and me an entire afternoon to move me in, even with movers shuffling things up the stairs. And yet Mom has managed to do it in an hour.

  “A detective. She probably wants to speak to me about…” I can’t even say it.

  “Ah.” Mom nods and strides forward, pulling open the door. “Detective?”

  “McAdams, ma’am,” she answers.

  “Lovely. I’m Skylar’s mother. Please inform your department that if you have questions for Skylar, you can contact her lawyer.” She pulls out a business card and hands it over. “Now, if you’ll excuse us…”

  McAdams steps out of the way for the men. Her attention stays on me, though, as we walk outside and locate our car.

  I stow the box in the trunk and sit next to Mom in the back.

  “Have you spoken to her before?” Mom asks.

  “I went with Whitney to the police station after Natalie went missing. She tried to talk to me in the lobby, but her captain ordered her away. She’s tried again a few other times.”

  Liam grunts. “She thinks she knows what’s going on.”

  “I wish someone would fill me in.” I rub my eyes. “This is exhausting.”

  “Just avoid the police,” Mom advises. “They can’t do anything. They won’t.”

  Except, something is bugging McAdams, and I’m at the center of it.

  21

  Sky

  Mom leaves me with a half-unpacked room, her phone pressed to her ear. We’ve been in here so long it’s grown dark outside. The news broke a few minutes ago that the dead girl found at the reservoir was Natalie, and investigations are underway for her murder.

  Only a few minutes later, my phone buzzes.

  Mitch: Sorry about your friend.

  Me: Thanks.

  I don’t bother saying that she was never my friend. Hell, she was probably in on the video. Maybe it was her idea to post it from my account?

  Mitch: I’m nearby. Want to get a drink?

  I bite my lip and contemplate it.

  Honestly? It’s weird being here. I’m holed up in this room under the guise of unpacking, but I’m sitting on the bed Mom made for me before she left. There’s an empty dresser in the corner that could’ve come from Goodwill. The room itself is light blue. A gray patterned carpet. A big window, currently with the shades closed and sheer curtains pulled closed.

  It’s just… basic, and a little bit sterile.

  My stomach growls.

  I hop off the bed and crack my door, trying to see if Liam’s in the main room. His living room and kitchen are all one big space, which means there’s no hiding. The only saving grace is his bedroom is down the hall, on the other side of the bathroom.

  But luckily, it’s empty.

  Me: Sure. Meet me at Moe’s.

  I grab a sweatshirt and purse and hurry to the door.

  Liam doesn’t appear in time to stop me, and I’ll consider the consequences later. Right now, all I want to do is escape.

  I step out onto the street, and someone immediately knocks into me.

  “Sorry.” She flashes me a toothy smile. Blood runs down her chin from dark-red lips.

  I cringe back.

  There’s a furry man next to her, but when I don’t respond, they keep moving.

  My phone buzzes again.

  Mitch: Moe’s is having a costume party.

  Mitch: What are you wearing?

  Halloween isn’t until tomorrow—why the hell is a bar having a party on a Monday night?

  But this is Boston… nothing makes sense here.

  “Boo!” someone shrieks, running up the street.

  I can’t do this. The first person who tries to talk to me through a mask, I’ll be on the floor. I hate masks. It’s a deep-rooted terror that I can’t help.

  I turn around and grab the door handle, but it just jiggles in place—locked. My throat constricts, and I try again.

  There’s no way in hell I’m calling Liam to have him let me back in.

  So, there’s only one thing to do: I square my shoulders and march down the street toward Moe’s like this isn’t bothering me. There won’t be that many people in there, I reason. Not so close to… well, I can’t even blame it on finals.

  But I’d think Ashburn students would be more reserved in the wake of Natalie’s death.

  “There you are.” Mitch waves as he jogs across the street. “I was waiting in front of your apartment.”

  “You’d be waiting a long time,” I joke. “I moved out today.”

  He blinks. “What?”

  “Yeah, roommate’s parents took her home, and mine didn’t want me living alone. So they found me a new roommate.” I avoid saying Liam’s name, and I can tell the question is on the tip of Mitch’s tongue. His expression is open and curious.

  I try to push away the last time I saw him.

  It was a big misund
erstanding, anyway. Lots of people keep handcuffs in their nightstands…

  “This is just a friends thing,” I warn him. “I should’ve said it before accepting your invitation.”

  He sighs. “I get your trepidation. While I don’t really get why you’d go snooping through my stuff… Girls are curious. And you freaked out, understandably.”

  I narrow my eyes. “What do you mean by understandably?”

  “Well, you know. With what happened.”

  I pull him to a stop.

  “Sorry, Mitch, you’re gonna have to be a tad more specific.”

  He frowns. “Oh. You really don’t know what I’m talking about. I Googled your name, and some stuff came up from ten years ago. Old articles—”

  “Stop,” I say, holding up my hands. “You Googled me?” I can’t imagine I was in the local newspapers much. I barely scraped by honors, and they only published the names of the high honor students for a few years. I never won any medals… I was interviewed for the school paper once, but they only used my first name. Spelled wrong.

  Who spells Skylar as Schuylar, anyway?

  “Most people take it as a compliment.” Mitch rolls his eyes. “That’s not the point. The point is—”

  “Most people,” I interrupt. “Most people wouldn’t have had you know what happen to them.” If only I knew what that you know what was.

  This was a mistake, obviously.

  There are moments when people reveal who they are. It might not all come at once, but the new layers of Mitch are unappealing. On the surface, he’s the pretty rich boy with the charming smile. He was nice, even. Catching me snooping was the first sign of annoyance—it wasn’t enough to be considered anger—I’d seen cross his expression. He’d chased me out onto the street.

  I’d blocked it out. Letting myself feel that terror in those moments… overload. I can only handle so much emotionally before I shut down. I’ve learned this over the years, honed my responses.

  Right now, everything in me is shrieking to get away.

  “I’m going to leave.” I spin on my heel and go the only place I know I can go—school.

  I sign in at the guard booth, since they’re back to extra security measures, and grab a sandwich from the little cafe next to the dining hall. I go up the stairs to the second floor, where all the comfortable chairs are. It isn’t too hard to find one in the corner, semi-isolated, and hunker down.