Sparrowood Academy (Book 3): Bully Romance

by Angel Lawson

  The irony is that we both took different paths into the Brats' world. Both out of desperation. Both with our hands tied. Both ending in abuse and suffering.

  Only one of us ended up dead.

  Does that make me stronger or luckier?

  “We need to decide where you want to go from here,” Mrs. Banks says. The police are gone. Evidence has been collected. I’m scrubbed clean and sitting in her office. Alone. The boys have already made it clear what happens next is my decision.

  “Your school isn’t safe,” I tell her. “I’ve been harassed, bullied and hazed. Nearly drowned and sexually assaulted, twice. You brought me here to help change the toxic environment at this school, but it’s impossible. You keep allowing the poison through the front door, and as long as that’s happening, it will never change.”

  “It’s a very complicated situation, Ms. Warren—”

  “No,” I tell her, “It’s not. It’s about money and power.”

  “You’re right. It is, and that’s never going to change.” She sits back in her chair, small diamond studs twinkling in her ears. “Like I said, we need to decide what you want to do next.”

  I’m not thinking about the Brats at this school. Not the Trips or Lukes or Camilles. I’m thinking about myself. The K-Boys. Dorian. The future. I consider my own power. What I know about this hellhole. What I can tell the world. What a diploma will look like in my hand.

  Because that’s the truth in this situation. Doors will open because of a slip of paper. Money will be earned. Power will be earned.

  I’m not going to waste the opportunity.

  35

  Eden

  “Tell me you’re not wearing anything under that robe. Promise me.”

  Gray’s smirk reflects back at me in the mirror. I bend over and swipe on a layer of mascara.

  My first reaction is to roll my eyes. This boy and his dick. Insatiable. But I catch his eye again, and the cheekiness is gone. Just the dark pulse of want. It ignites the tiny flutter that I feel every time he looks at me like that. Which is almost all the time. Sometimes there’s food around. Or video games.

  “I’d love to give you a chance to find out but, we have to be downstairs in twenty minutes.”

  His own robe is open down the front, revealing a crisp white shirt and his school tie. He looks like perfection as he takes a step closer and lifts my hair off my neck. Rochelle used her curling iron to make gentle waves. She’ll notice if a piece is out of place. Gray’s lips feel like a salve against my overheated skin. I ignore him, reaching for my lipstick. Deep red—to go against the stark black of the graduation cap and gown.

  “We leave right after the ceremony,” he says, resting his hands on the sink. He gives it a shake. “If we don’t take this opportunity, we may never get the chance to christen this bathroom.” I open my mouth to speak but he continues. “Which, would be a terrible letdown since we’ve managed to defile nearly every room in the school.”

  “You make a compelling argument,” I say, holding his eye in the mirror.

  “That’s why they’ve accepted me pre-law.”

  He has been accepted pre-law, at Asherville State. It makes him smug, proud, and I love to see him embrace his intellect. Lawyers don’t need math, but a quick tongue and sharp wit go a long way.

  It’s how he always wins me over. That and the continued want that blooms in my belly, just by being near him. He knows this, pushing his hips into my backside. The feel of him sends a shiver up my spine. He raises an eyebrow, quirked in question. Consent—it’s always confirmed with these boys, even if they don’t have to ask.

  “If you mess up my hair or makeup,” I warn. His hands are already bunching up the gown and thin cotton dress, pushing them up to my waist.

  “I’ll do my best,” he kisses my neck again and mutters a quiet curse when he sees the black lace panties. “Are these new?”

  “Rochelle thought they should match.”

  “God bless Rochelle,” he declares, yanking them down. Cool air strikes between my legs and I start to face him, but he holds me in place. Again, we look at one another in the mirror, this position, it’s new territory. A fresh wave of excitement rolls through me.

  Without a word I hear the metal of his buckle unlatch and his pants slide down. His fingers wrap around my waist and his thumbs press into my lower back, encouraging me lean over the sink.

  I comply, nose inching toward the mirror. I keep my eyes trained on his reflection, the cut of his jaw and the way his tongue slips out, licking his lips. His cock slides between my legs, hard meeting wet. He glides slowly between us a few times, excruciatingly so.

  He’s on the verge of something here. Something I didn’t realize I wanted, but now it’s shockingly true. Gray—all the K-Boys--had treated me with kid gloves after that night with Trip. Any sort of sex had been a slow rebuild, gentle and sweet. They were hyperaware of what I’d been through, and I was appreciative. Until now.

  Now that Gray’s standing behind me, full and erect between my legs, I realize I want more. I’ve never been afraid to go after what I want. Now shouldn’t be any different. I swallow and ask, “Can you, uh, pick up the pace?”

  The green in his eyes flare. “Don’t ask for what you’re not ready for, Princess.”

  I rest my elbows on the sink, lifting my ass in the process. “Don’t underestimate what I can take, Mathers.”

  I watch as his mind melts at the prospect, his body instantly shifting into gear. He runs one hand down my back and another between my legs, then he guides himself to my entrance. In a quick, fluid motion he pushes in, filling me in an instant. There’s no chance for me to get used to the angle, the newness, before he pulls back out, then slams into me again. My body lurches forward, every particle on fire. His hands brace me, holding me tight.

  I gasp, then pant, then moan, unable to keep quiet. My perfectly curled hair shivers in time. My eyes transfixed on Gray’s face. I feel him. Deep, steady, hard. I take him. Deep, steady, hard.

  My eyes flutter shut, and I hear his voice in my ear, “Look at me, Princess,” and my eyes flick to his, his expression loving, and filled with desire. I know the second right before he comes, when his nose scrunches up and his jaw clenches so tight it could snap. And he knows right when I’m going to come, one hand moving between my legs as he coaxes the euphoria from the front and back, inside and out.

  My knees buckle and his arms hold me up, still bound together, still staring at one another. Still surviving and, undoubtedly, thriving. It’s there, like this, that he says, “I love you, you know, that right?”

  We clean up and dress quickly. I finger comb my waves and he zips up his gown and places his cap askew on this head. I walk over and adjust it, kissing him on the mouth, not caring if Ro gives me hell for my lipstick smudging.

  “I love you, too. So much.”

  He grins, adorable as ever. On the way out the door, his hand grazes my lower back and he asks, “If we get to keep the gowns, maybe we can play judge and lawyer later.”

  I shake my head at his cheekiness and follow him down the hall. He knows I’m game. That’s the only kind we play now, the ones that will bring us happiness.

  Never in my life had I imagined a day like today. If someone had told me I’d be dressed uniformly, like seventy-five other students, sitting in perfectly aligned rows underneath shady branches of oak trees, I probably would have said they were deranged. If asked to guess where I’d be, I probably would have said detention—sent there after castrating my mother’s boyfriend or after a brawl with a Brat in The Park. Not once would I say a graduation ceremony from an elite boarding school. Not once would I say it would be my last day in a place like Sparrowood.

  Even sitting here with a kernel of pride in my chest, it’s hard to admit that I’m going to miss it.

  I sort through these feelings as the rows stand and each of my classmates cross the stage. There’s the survivors, like Rochelle, who dyed her hair bright blue in a gesture of irony
. I’m just glad she didn’t paste photos of a Cohen cock on the top of her board. My girl has come a looooong way, but she’s still true to herself. She strides across the stage with a wide grin.

  I beam at Morgan and Stella, two girls willing to step up and be my friend when doing that was a risk. They’re going Ivy League, ready to take on the world.

  There’s the missing—the gaps in the crowd.

  The Fenways.

  The Cohens.

  Their minions, all fallen in the clean out of this school. Some are in other prep schools, some at military academies, some out on bail, hanging around mansions, with ankle monitors strapped to their legs.

  They’ve left their scars, but if we’re lucky we can leave those memories behind the iron gates, only taking what we use for strength with us.

  The Ws are finally told to stand, and I fall in like a sheep, standing, following, and lining up in the warm spring morning. I pass the rows, catching glimpses of the three handsome boys I call my own. They each flash me a smile, a smirk, a dangerous, promising eye. They’re K-Boys under those black caps and gowns. I doubt they’ll fully be rid of their feral nature, not even when they earn their degrees, or secure gold medals, or take over the world.

  I just know we’ll do it together.

  Mrs. Banks stands behind a podium and calls out names. The headmaster stands in the middle of the stage, shaking hands and giving each student a rectangular diploma. Behind them is a line of faculty, sitting, watching.

  Dorian catches my eye. He winks and my heart flip flops.

  I don’t know what the future holds for the two of us, but I do know that once I cross this stage, the rules for us change.

  “Eden Warren.”

  The claps start on my first step, increasing as I move across the stage. I hear the boys, their shouts and whistles, but it’s more than that.

  “Ah, Ms. Warren,” the headmaster says, and I pause to glance into the crowd. There’s a ripple of movement, not just among my classmates, but out into the audience—in the student section. I start off and the headmaster holds back my diploma. “Can you wait one moment?”

  I stop, uncertain. Is there a mistake? Are they not giving me my diploma? A strange wave of disappointment rolls over me. I glance back at Dorian, but his dark eyes just twinkle, as if amused.

  I’m about to make a run for it when I see two girls walk up the stage steps. Emma and Marissa. They go straight to the podium and Mrs. Banks steps aside.

  “Sorry for the interruption,” Emma says, her voice small, “but before we continue we’d like to make an announcement.”

  Marissa leans toward the microphone. “As all incoming students learn, when Mr. And Mrs. Holmes built the academy, they chose the sparrow as their emblem. The sparrow is a small bird, one that symbolizes simplicity and community. For decades, these traits were admired at Sparrowood, and it was hailed as the goal for students at this academy. Over the years we all know that the school became bigger than these ideals.” Her eyes flit to the administrators. “Mrs. Holmes created a tradition that’s still upheld today. Each year the student body votes on one graduating senior to win the Sparrow Award. And we all know that award rarely goes to a deserving person. It’s usually the smartest, or the most popular, or the wealthiest at the school.”

  Emma takes over again. My chest pounds with each and every word. “But there’s another trait the sparrow symbolizes. Protection. It wasn’t until this year that the students at this school fully realized how much we needed our sparrow to fly through the gates, to watch over us and teach us how to defend ourselves. Our sparrow came to us in the form of a girl. Strong and determined. Fiercely protective.”

  I glance into the audience, and I see my friends and loves, all nodding in agreement. Marissa waves me over. I step toward the podium, and she holds up a silver charm on a chain. Leave it to Trip to try to destroy something meant for good.

  Emma reads my mind. “Just another thing you can take back.”

  “Thank you,” I say, completely overwhelmed. Both girls give me a hug and I hold back the flurry of tears. Who’s strong now?

  Mrs. Banks gestures back to the headmaster and he smiles, “Thank you for your efforts, Ms. Warren. You deserve this.”

  He shakes my hand and gives me the diploma. The room breaks into a standing ovation. It’s a bit much, embarrassingly so, but I’m feeling grateful.

  After, we all crowd together to get in that one last photo, Hawk’s arm around my waist and Theo’s cheek close to mine. Gray crouches in front, his back pressed into my legs. All of them giving me every bit of support I need.

  The kids from Kingston Park have one foot forward.

  Hopefully we don’t fuck it up.

  Epilogue

  “If you need us, we’ll be right outside.” Hawk’s forehead is pressed to mine. “If he starts acting like, well, you know, himself. Just leave.”

  “I know.”

  “I love you, you know, that right?”

  My heart thrums. “I do.”

  “We all love you,” he murmurs, quietly. The waiting area is crowded, filled with nosy, bored people.

  “I love you, too.”

  He squeezes my hand. Theo and Gray watch me carefully as I go through the security line and follow the guard down the hall.

  I break into a cold sweat as I’m ushered to a narrow room. It’s like in the movies, a row of chairs, each divided by partitions, a phone on each side. I’ve come to visit Trip Cohen in jail.

  He strolls in easily, as though he’s not in a bright orange jumpsuit, but something finer. His stride does skip a beat when he sees me. Caution flickers in his eyes, along with that never-ceasing want.

  He sits across from me and reaches for the phone. By the time he speaks he’s recovered from the surprise of my visit, his drawl thick over the line. “Eden Warren. Will wonders never cease.”

  “Trip,” I say, not sure how to even begin.

  He leans back in his chair. “As much as I’d love to have you down here for a social call, I assume you came here for a reason.”

  I sigh. “Answers.”

  “And you think I’ll give them to you?”

  “Your brother won’t take my calls and is avoiding me. On the other hand, I think you’re probably lonely and god knows you love to talk.”

  He smiles. “You do know me pretty well.” Even thinned out from jail and with dark circles under his eyes, he’s still alarmingly handsome. “So what kind of answers are you looking for?”

  “I have a few things I still want to know about Hope.”

  He doesn’t hesitate. “Go ahead.”

  “Why did Tyson leave her? Her letter says something about your father.”

  He cradles the phone to his ear. “My father wasn’t impressed with our business. Too many complaints from Sparrowood and the other schools we were working out of. Tyson got busted making Happy pills at the university and got expelled. It was the final straw. If dad was going to pay for his living expenses, he had to go legit.” He holds my eye. “That included Hope.”

  “So he just dumped her for money?”

  Trip shrugs. “He dumped her for a girl with money. That way he didn’t need Dad’s support.”

  “Do you think that’s really why Hope killed herself?”

  “I think that when you’re in the moment it’s easy to do a lot of things if you have someone in your corner telling you it’s okay.” He leans forward. “I know you think that you didn’t affect Hope, but you did. The things you said to her, the fact you walked away, that got in her head, Eden, like it or not.”

  “You’re trying to blame her death on me?” It’s not an unfamiliar guilt. It’s something I carry. It’s why I’m here.

  He shakes his head. “No. I’m saying your sister had a lot of problems that started before she hooked up with Tyson. I just think that she was able to justify her actions when she was around him.” He smiles. “You know we’re good at that, and we’re good at convincing people to play along,
but when the game is over, it’s over, and not everyone has the strength to carry on.”

  Once I would have argued that but, increasingly, I think it’s probably the truth. Hope carried her own baggage and betrayals. Her own ambition and regret. I’ve said all along that there’s a thin line between the K-Boys and the Brats. Sparrowood and the streets. Hope and I simply took different routes.

  And only one of us came out alive.

  “Thank you for being honest.”

  “With you? I’ve never hidden the truth.”

  I place the phone on the hook and stand, looking down at the boy that once held so much power over me. He’s locked behind bars and glass. Probably not for long. His family has too much money for that. It won’t be long before the scale balances back out and Trip will be back on the street looking for new prey to lure into his trap.

  I walk away, feeling the lingering heat of his eyes on me, back into the arms of the men that I love.

  “Where do you want this box?” Hawk asks, walking into the room. His muscles bulge and I’ll never regret making him use them.

  “Right there is good,” I stand in the doorway of the living room. “I think that’s the bookshelf.”

  We’re surrounded by boxes and furniture. It’s moving day. The scent of fresh paint and carpet fills the air.

  “Where are the guys?” Hawk walks up me and plants a kiss on my temple. “Don’t tell me they bailed.”

  I shake my head. “No, they’re in my room setting up my bed. They both seemed to think it was a priority.”

  He slips his arms around my waist. “They’re smart. I shouldn’t misjudge them.”

  I tilt my head up and look at him. “You shouldn’t, and you also shouldn’t assume there’s going to be any action in that bed.”

  He frowns. “What? Why would you say that?”

  “Because this is my mother’s house, not some kind of sex den. All physical activity like that will have to take place outside the house.”