Reckless Rules: The Elites Of Weis-Jameson Prep Academy

by Hart, Rebel

  That’s how interested she is in that desk.

  Okay, what the fuck. I’ve been the new kid in school before – before Oklahoma, Mom and I had lived in Kansas. But maybe fourth-graders are different than seniors, because clearly nobody is interested in being my friend.

  Jason, those two girls last night... What vipers’ nest have I stumbled into?

  “What’s wrong with this place?” I ask, pulling my backpack out and readying my supplies.

  Her hazel-green eyes meet mine for the barest of seconds. “It’s just how it is.”

  “Well, it’s weird.”

  “You have no idea,” she says, and she suddenly comes to life, twisting in her seat and motioning me closer. “It’s basically hell.”

  “How so?”

  She seems to war within herself, looking up to the class to see if anyone else was paying attention. “You know how this town was founded?”

  “No.”

  “Well, okay.” She pulls out a notebook and starts scribbling. In a few seconds, a diagram appears with lines and names.

  The teacher walks in, and the girl’s eyes glaze over. Something about him sets her off. She starts rapidly firing information so quickly and so quietly that I nearly cut myself in half leaning over the desk to hear her.

  “Look, so the town is called Jameson. Basically they’re the founders. The Jamesons, you know, back in the 1800s. And then, one of the Jameson sons got together with a bunch of other sons of these families” – she points to the words written: Weis, Blackwater, Whitworth, Nikelson – “And they created the Jameson Automobile Corporation. You know, luxury cars. Like, for the ultra-rich. Now, though, only these three”– she points to Blackwater, Whitworth and Jameson– “are still in town. And they’ve founded this school, and their children think they’re God’s Gift to Humanity.”

  “You’re tripping.”

  She rips the piece of paper and hands it to me. “Don’t get on their bad side.”

  She’s circled many names and called them “The Elites”. I almost want to snort – this is absurd! – but the serious look on her face makes me pause. I scan the list.

  Emmett and Bernadette Jameson.

  Vivian Blackwater.

  Trey and Vincent Whitworth.

  Understanding lights up inside me. Vivian Blackwater. No wonder she had such an ego complex last night – she’s got a fancy little name and a fancy little history. But my bet is on Bernadette being the skinny bitch who almost run me over.

  Things start to piece together.

  “And where is Jason in all of this?” I ask.

  The girl frowns. “Jason?”

  “The guy with his stick up his ass.”

  Her lips wiggle wildly, as if she wants to smile but physically can’t. What is up with this girl? She grabs my paper and scribbles some more words on it, just as the teacher starts talking to the class. I hadn’t realized the tardy bell had rung.

  “Satellite Elites – think of them as wingmen,” she says, then turns in her seat and ignores me.

  I inspect the paper. More words. More names. My head is spinning. The girl next to me – I still don’t know her name – ignores me for the rest of class. I’m uneasy and on edge, and I can barely remember what the teacher has said. When the bell rings, I find Jason lounging outside the door, picking at his fingernails.

  “That’s a bad habit,” I say, because I want to rile him. He’s one of those Satellite Elites, and while I don’t know what it means, I’m betting it means he’s easily riled up.

  “Shut your whore mouth,” he says, “and follow me.”

  “Wow, good one,” I say sarcastically.

  But instead of getting angry, he smiles at me. And his smile is sinister, ominously spreading across his face.

  Suddenly, understanding knocks me on the head. The weird phone call last night. Obviously these people have money at their disposal. Finding out my name and identity and contact information is probably easy when you have a tech army at your side.

  The more I think on this, the more I realize I should probably delete my Facebook and Twitter accounts. I don’t use them, but if they can easily find out who I am, then they can probably hack into my accounts. Safety first... But my Instagram account – I can’t delete that. Probably should just change my password often.

  “You’re a good little whore,” Jason says, dropping me off at my next class. “You kept quiet the whole way.”

  I throw him the bird and stalk into my class. Jason is the least of my worries now. I need to think of ways to protect myself.

  I bury my head in my hands, and a little chuckle escapes my lips. What was I thinking? This is ridiculous. I was all wound up from that girl talking about a stupid hierarchy. The Elites. I chuckle again. What a fucking pretentious name. It wouldn’t even work as a band name.

  The morning passes quickly, and by the time it’s lunch, I’ve pushed out all thoughts of The Elites from my mind. This was probably just first-day harassing. Nothing more. And Jason can suck my dick for all I care.

  I stop by the girls’ bathroom, taking a quick look in the mirror. I tried to style my chocolate brown hair nicely this morning, but the waves are now poofy in reminiscent eighties style. I redo my hair into a bun, applying chapstick and wiping away smudges from my mascara.

  There’s a piercing scream. “No, no, I’m sorry!”

  My feet rush me into the hallway, and I’m met with a confusing scene. The girl from the morning is on the ground, covered in trash. One guy finishes dumping the trash-can over her, and I watch, horrified, and some nameless black sludge drips onto her head.

  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she blubbers. “I was just trying to help her.”

  There are three boys. More like men than boys, as each one of them is tall and muscular from what I can tell of their backs. The one who throws the trash-can across the hall, he’s the tallest, with dark blonde hair and a cruel glint to his eyes. Another one – a thick-shouldered guy, built like a footballer – grinds some sort of horrible concoction of trash, sludge and food into the girl’s thigh with his foot. The girl doesn’t do anything, whimpers escaping her mouth as she keeps her eyes closed.

  “Please, I was just trying to let her know.”

  My shock dissipates, and I feel my limbs slowly thaw to life. Rage flows through me like lava, and I nearly sprint to the group, shoving away a guy and standing in front of the girl. I am nearly quivering with fury, and I feel loose, like a cannonball.

  “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” I demand, giving them each a hard gaze.

  Until. . .

  Until I meet his eyes.

  “Emmett-Emmett?” I stutter, looking into his beautiful gray eyes. They’re as reckless and dangerous as a tornado storm. “Like Emmett from Arcadia?”

  “I’m glad you remember, Ophelia,” he says as his eyes rake over my body. Goosebumps pepper my skin as a hot coil of desire reaches low into my stomach. Fuck. “You haven’t changed one bit.”

  “Arcadia was a couple months ago,” I say, almost lost.

  How can Emmett be here? My thoughts are beating against my brain, and a firestorm of emotions fight for dominance.

  Emmett Jameson was one of these “Elites.”

  I’d tried to fuck him out of my system, but my hand didn’t do the intense need that thrummed through my body justice. Each time my fingers ventured down there, his face popped into my mind. And I was left wanting the real thing.

  And I hadn’t remembered him clearly. He’s as every bit as handsome, but his hair is now shorn on the sides and flipped to the right. I can feel my hormones taking over, quickening my blood at just the sight of his lips, wanting to tousle his hair with my fingers, feel him groan against me.

  No, Ophelia.

  There’s a small sound behind me, and I look at the girl struggling to stand up. I extend a hand, but she waves it off. I’m kinda glad – her hands look sticky and wet.

  “Lily,” says Emmett, his eyes never leaving mine
. “You’re free to go.”

  I open my mouth, but before I say anything, Emmett glares at me.

  “You say one word and you’ll end up like her.” He whips his head to the sodden, trash-riddled Lily. Her mousey brown hair has a gum wrapper in it. “Come with me.”

  Okay, so Emmett is a hot fucking jerk.

  “What the actual fuck,” I say quietly, looking at the two guys who’ve now circled around me. Emmett pauses about ten feet away. “You’re all fucking insane.”

  One of the guys, the footballer-built guy, cracks his neck. “You clearly don’t know what’s going on.”

  “Clearly,” I say sarcastically. “I do. You’re fucking bullies.”

  “Ophelia,” says Emmett loftily. “You’ll follow me, or Trey and Vincent will help you.”

  “I’m not going anywhere,” I growl, and when I say this, something glints happily in Emmett’s eyes. It is almost as if he was wanting me to deny him. “So fuck off.”

  Rough hands grab my shoulders, wrists, and suddenly I’m being pulled. My hurt wrist screams with pain. My feet dig into the tile but the two guys are too strong for me. With a yank, I’m jolted forward and only avoid falling on my face thanks to their death grip on my arms.

  “Fucking hell, stop!” I scream. Panic bubbles into my chest. I seriously cannot get out of their hold. I struggle, trying to bend my arms this way and that. They’re dragging me to a door, and a fresh burst of fear fuels me. I try to trip the one to my left, but he just laughs, grabbing my leg so I’m hopping on one. My skirt bunches against my hips and I’m certain I’m flashing Emmett, who waits inside with a smarmy grin.

  “Stop stop stop, what the fuck?” My voice is breathless and panicked. Teeth! Why didn’t I think of it before!

  As I struggle, I bite down on a forearm. There’s a yowl of pain, and suddenly I’m flying, weightless. Pain cracks my skull, and for a moment I’m dazed, feeling my body being dragged. Everything is fuzzy, and the dull click of a lock barely registers.

  “Oh fuck,” I say, touching my head gingerly. Before I can move, arms scoop under my armpits and haul my limp body up. My butt lands on papers and pens, but it’s nothing compared to the headache I have. “Ow.”

  Warm hands press down on my thighs. Emmett appears in front of my face.

  “Knock it off,” he says harshly. “You didn’t hit your head that hard.”

  “Fuck you,” I growl through the haze.

  I’m unprepared for the hand that grips my hair and yanks. Sharp pain radiates from my skull and I gasp as Emmett’s lips touch the shell of my ear.

  “We can do that, baby,” he murmurs darkly. “You just need to be a good little pet and do as you’re told.”

  “Get off!” I yell, placing my two hands on his chest and shoving. It’s enough to get him off me, stepping away. His two cronies watch with beady eyes and salivating mouths. I realize my skirt is up, my blue lace panties being shown off to these creeps. I tug it down, glaring daggers at them.

  “Who the fuck are you?” I say.

  “You know who I am,” Emmett says, sitting on a desk in front of me.

  “Who are your cronies?” I jerk my thumb to the idiots who dragged me into this room. My body aches from their manhandling.

  Emmett whistles softly. “You don’t know much about us, do you?”

  “I’m Vincent,” says the football-looking guy.

  “Trey,” the blonde guy adds.

  “They’re fraternal twins,” Emmett offers, carefully watching my face. I don’t know what he expects from me, but he’s disappointed I don’t react more. He sighs. “My, my Ophelia. What are we going to do with you?”

  “Let me go?” I grind out. I play with my hands like an idiot, struggling to maintain my composure. I can’t let them know they’ve got to me. Bullies thrive off fear. “Like, obviously?”

  “Oh, we can’t do that.” The ominous tone in his words... It’s down-right chilling. My heart rate spikes as he slowly stands up. “You’ve gone too far.”

  “I don’t see how,” I say.

  “Oh, you don’t, do you?” says Vincent, crowding in on my personal space. His legs brush my knees, and it’s all I can do to not wither into a ball. “I think you know exactly why you’re here.”

  We look at each other. He towers over me, and the sheer strength he exudes reminds me of Brendan’s. But far, far more menacing. Trey’s eyes are black, and they suck me in like a vortex. I have a feeling he hides many secrets behind them.

  He seems to be waiting for a response. “Uh.” My voice is tight. My tongue is dry, and I tumble around the words. “Lily?”

  Vincent and Emmett look at each other. Trey has taken up residence on a desk, looking bored.

  “Come on, you guys,” he says, “Let’s move on with it.”

  “You don’t belong here,” Emmett says slowly, as if he’s explaining something important to me. “You are a fucking cunt who doesn’t deserve to lick the bottoms of our shoes. But you’re here. And we need to make sure you understand just how things are around here.”

  His words don’t hurt. They fall upon deaf ears, because all I can hear, feel and see is a raging tidal wave of anger.

  I fucking hate him. I barely know anyone in this school, and they’re trying to make me miserable.

  “You interrupted our assertion of power. Lily was under strict orders not to talk to you. And you bust in, upsetting the balance of things. You don’t do that around here without expecting to pay.”

  “Pay what, an exorbitant tuition fee?”

  “You’ve got a fucking smart mouth for a charity case,” Trey sneers.

  “Your school wanted me,” I snap back. My temper is flaring, and I struggle to rein it back in. “I didn’t go seeking you guys out – you did me. A lowly, poorer than shit girl from buttfuck nowhere. And I’m who your preppy little entitled fucking school wants.” I pop off the desk, landing me chest to chest with Emmett. “So remember that when you jerk off to the mirror tonight.”

  I ram my shoulder into his, wanting to run for the door but not wanting to seem scared. I can feel knives being dug into my back, but I’m almost to the door, I’ve almost made it when-

  WHAM!

  The knob is jerked out of my hand. I feel a body press against mine, locking me against the wood. Emmett’s scent floods my nostrils as his hands grip my wrists and pull them above my head. I yelp in pain, but that causes him to grip harder, digging in a way that I know will leave a mark.

  “All it takes is one word from me,” he whispers in my ear. His breath tickles. “And you’re gone. You’ll walk these hallways alone, invisible. Your grades here will tank that precious GPA of yours. Your coach will turn a blind eye to the bruises you wear. The colleges you think you can go to? They’ll be warned away. Your life will become nothing if you displease me.”

  “Get off me,” I bite out, but he presses against me, securing me tight.

  “I can make your life hell, baby,” he murmurs, dragging his lips up my neck. His touch makes my skin crawl.

  “I won’t let you.” I try to move again, but it’s like he’s a boulder. I’m strong, but Emmett makes me feel helpless. “You can go ahead and fucking try.”

  A dark laugh curls out from his chest. “Oh, I’d love to, baby girl.”

  I stay silent, closing my eyes. Just wait it out. Emmett’s face nuzzles next to the sensitive hollow of my ear. A warm breath cascades down my throat, and suddenly his body softens against mine, pressing against me gently, bringing my wrists down, though still clasping them in his hands.

  “It seems she likes you,” remarks Vincent, and his tone is amused.

  “Maybe,” Emmett says, and his nose trails along the side of my face.

  Stay still. I must stay still. I cannot move. Maybe he’ll lose interest if I stop responding. Maybe he’ll just let me go. I squeeze my eyes and fiercely pray he’ll just move on.

  I can play dead like a fucking opossum.

  I won’t give them the satisfaction o
f a response. I’m done. Even though I feel violated and assaulted, I can still leave with the high ground.

  “Let me kiss you again,” he demands, and memories of that day flash back to me. Of the hot press of his lips, the warmth of his invading tongue, the press of his chest against mine. “Let me.”

  I can feel his hard length pressed against me, growing larger and harder. It scares me. How helpless I could be if he decided to... But he doesn’t grind into me. Thank god for small miracles.

  Ophelia, sit through it. Document it. I go into my head, taking stock of the situation, remembering all that has happened up until this point. Then I’ll report it.

  He reads my tense, still body as a no. I almost want to sag with relief when he lets go of my wrists.

  “Do you promise to be a good little pet?” he murmurs in my ear.

  I want to lash out at him, claw his eyes out, rake my nails through his skin, yank his dick off. A fresh swell of rage courses through me.

  I want to hurt him like I have never hurt someone before.

  He waits for an answer. I can feel his breath against my neck. Elevated. Quicker. The longer I wait, the more aroused he becomes. His dick is now full-on hard, and because of our position, it’s pressing into my back.

  What kind of fucking monster gets off on this?

  But I wait, tense, and ready to fight when he tries to pull something. I just want to leave. I almost cry out – please just let me go. I’m scared and I’m done with this fucking game.

  He bends his face and presses a kiss on my shoulder. I flinch, terror shooting me straight in the chest. What if I was wrong? What if this whole situation turned south? What if he and Trey and Vincent pinned me down and raped me?

  “You know, Ophelia,” Emmett says into my ear. His voice sounds tired. “You’ll be a good little pet.” He kisses my ear, and I try to think of anything, anything but the absolute need to turn around and punch him. “And I always treat my pets very, very nicely. I give them what their body wants. I never ever take.”

  His next words send a true shock of fear through my spine.