by J Bree
“I don’t fuck fans.”
They all howl with laughter, and even Avery manages a smug look in my direction. I turn back to the front of the class and ignore the comments all around me as the other students snicker and join in. Only Lauren, who’s still sitting as far away from me as she can to not be targeted by association, is silent.
I decide on the spot that I’m going to burn my Vanth Falling t-shirt and sleep in the nude from now on. I will never listen to his beautiful voice again. I’d rather die than admire this guy anymore.
After class, I go to the library and email in all my classwork for the week, my obsessive need to be ahead working in my favor once again. I tell each of my teachers I’m feeling unwell and will not be able to go to any classes in the foreseeable future. Then I go to the dining hall and grab a box of protein bars.
I don’t leave my room for a week.
Chapter Thirteen
After my self-imposed sabbatical from my classes, I make an important decision: I’m going to unleash the Wolf on these wealthy assholes and show them some real-life consequences for their terrible behavior. Things the rest of us had to learn as children, things I had learnt the hardest way imaginable.
Sneaking around the dorms during classes is not the easiest thing to do. Technically, all the guys who live here should be in classes but there’s the chance someone else is playing hooky or genuinely sick and hanging around. What I'm about to do cannot have any witnesses, so I’m extra cautious and I take my time.
The ballet flats I'm wearing are the softest soles I could find in shoes, and I’ve worn them enough to know exactly how to position my feet to go unnoticed. They are silent on the old oak floorboards. My black tights and tee are closely fitted and don't rustle either. There’re surgical gloves on my hands from my first-aid kit, and my hair is swept under my biggest knit cap. I’ve become the living shadow I’ve had to be hundreds of times before.
I remember the path to Joey’s room, and I slip through the unlocked door easily. This will teach him to lock the damn thing.
I wait until I'm sure he's not here, and then I begin the slow and careful process of checking for security cameras. There’re no obvious lenses, but I'm sure he’s more imaginative than that. The living areas and the bathroom are clear, but I find a small camera that faces the bed.
Typical. Fucking. Rapist.
Collecting trophies is the usual predator MO, but I’m still pissed to see it. Did he still have the footage of him trying to force himself on me? Was he planning on sharing around the video of the assault as proof he’d won the bet? He had told me that nudes were so common at this school that no one really cared about them, but what about sex tapes? Would the other students care about seeing a rape, or would someone be willing to report Joey? I already knew the answer to that.
I swipe it, tucking it into my bra. I'm sure I'll find something abhorrent on it that will come in handy later, but I'm here for one thing.
His stash.
I walk back to the front door and start a meticulous search for his drugs. He’s certainly not shy about all of the contraband in his room. There's alcohol everywhere, whiskey and rum mostly, and there's even glasses half-full still in the sink, like he was interrupted before classes this morning. I wonder if he's ever truly sober. He must be a high-functioning addict to be getting away with it. Hiding the scent alone is tricky, and to sit tests while buzzed must be an experience. I’ve never smelled it on his breath, but there’s ways around that.
The bathroom turns up dozens of bottles of prescription medications. I snap photos of all the labels in case there's anything of interest there. But still no drugs. They have to be here somewhere. I’m getting antsy and frustrated at how long it’s taking to find something worth finding. I should have hours before Joey is due back, but he doesn’t come across as someone who cares about the rules at Hannaford. I begin to pace the rooms as I think.
On my third trip around the living room, I finally hear it.
There's a loose floorboard in the sitting area in front of the luxurious leather couch. I drop down to my hands and knees to run my fingers along the edges of the wooden plank. The gap is razor-fine, just barely registering on my fingertips, but it’s there. I have to use a knife from the kitchen to pry it open, but when it does, I could crow with happiness.
Inside a small recess there's a tiny box, no bigger than the palm of my hand but a little longer. I open it carefully and find three bags of coke, a fake ID, and a stack of crisp hundred-dollar bills. I flick through the cash and make a quick estimate of ten grand. Pocket change to this guy, but enough to buy a lot of drugs for one person. I take a photo of the ID to check it later. I try not to touch the bags at all, but as I move the box, I hear the tinkling sort of rustle of something else sliding around. I use the flashlight on my phone to look for the culprit.
There's a small, heart-shaped locket. It's obviously pricey, I'd guess the stones on the front are real diamonds, but it's nothing special when you consider the Beaumonts are billionaires. My fingers catch on the raised edges of the back, and I flip it over. There’s a delicate, tiny inscription on the back.
You before my blood,
My soul, my life,
My heart. Iris Arbour.
Arbour. Joey has taken this from Harley, probably earlier in the year when Avery was in damage control and Ash told her to let them fight it out. I stare at the words. They are lover’s words, something private and sacred. I would guess that Iris was his mother. Had she died, and this was something he has left to remember her? Joey is the kind of heartless psychopath to enjoy taking something of that sort of value.
I slip the necklace around my neck. I don’t have any pockets, and I’m afraid I won’t feel it if it slips out of my bra. The metal feels cold against my skin.
I slip the box back into the gap and take photos of the placement. As I slip out of the room and head back to my room, the necklace swings against the hollow of my neck in an unfamiliar way. It feels like a win against Joey already.
When I arrive at the second-period class I share with Harley, he frowns at me as he moves his books from my desk. I know I’m radiating my smugness out for everyone to see. I’m using it as my armor for the day, so I don’t feel any of the barbs being thrown at me. I’ve already had two teachers pull me aside and offer counseling because of the 911 call. The students are less kind about it. I’ve had to watch a couple of juniors do a dramatic reenactment in the dining hall over my early breakfast. They both looked at me, baiting me to hit them and risk another run-in with the principal, but the Wolf doesn’t make rash decisions, and today I am the Wolf. I just watched them with a blank face and then gave them a slow, deeply ironic clap that echoed through the dining hall. Their bravado quickly dried up, and I got to watch them gulp and run away.
“Where were you this morning?” Harley says as he gives me a sidelong look. I watch him out of the corner of my eye, but I don’t give him any extra attention. My mind is on bigger things today. “Are you still in a bloodthirsty rage, or have you mellowed enough to talk to me?”
“I have nothing to say to you or your little friends,” I reply, and then I tune him out completely. He gives up trying pretty quickly.
The class drags, but only because I’m waiting for the big reveal I know is coming. When the bell finally goes, I shove everything into my bag as quickly as I can. Harley notices and does the same, his eyebrows drawn in tight as he stares at me.
“If you enjoy watching Joey get what he deserves, you should probably follow me,” I murmur, just to get to see the look on his face. It doesn't disappoint.
“What did you—fuck it, lead the way, Mounty.” He gestures with his arm, and I take the lead. He falls in step with me and he's got his phone out, texting with one hand. We get some looks as we walk together, the other students aware of the animosity between us.
“The twins might have a heart attack if they see this, so you might not want to tell them,” I say as we approach the crowd
that is slowly building in the front courtyard. Harley gives me this sort of dazed look, but he shakes his head and shoves his phone back in his pocket. I push through the crowd, and when I finally get to the front, I school my face into a blank look, so the shit-eating grin doesn't accidentally pop out.
Joseph Beaumont Jr. is in handcuffs.
The crowd is full of gasps and whispers already, and all the voices are laced with a reverent kind of fear. To see the self-appointed king of the school subjected to something so pedestrian, so scandalous, as being put in handcuffs. There’re three police officers, and while one holds Joey’s wrists, another is talking to him quietly. The third one, a tall imposing man, is talking to the principal in a heated discussion. I'm sure this is a first for Hannaford.
“What. The. Fuck,” I hear Blaise say behind me. I glance behind me and see he's standing with an arm slung casually over Ash’s shoulder. They’re both dressed for the gym, the track team if I remember correctly. Ash’s face is ghostly white, and his eyes are haunted as he takes in the scene. Harley nudges me and leans in to whisper in my ear, his breath dancing over my throat.
“Please explain to me what the fuck you did?”
“Did you know he's an addict? Cocaine was found in his room this morning. It seems the police were called in without Trevelen’s knowledge, what a shame Joey couldn’t talk his way out of it before law enforcement arrived.”
Harley swears under his breath and leans away from me quickly as Avery arrives, with Rory close behind her. Harley shoots him a dark look full of loathing, but he doesn’t say anything, and Avery doesn’t notice. She doesn't have the same haunted look Ash does. Instead, she stares at the police officers reading Joey his rights with calculating eyes. Joey doesn't struggle or make any sort of scene; he just nods along amicably. I suppose he knows his dad will bail him out the second his ass hits the bench at the station, so why bother putting up a fight? Avery looks over at me, and she really looks at me for the first time. She's trying to read me, get some insight on my involvement. I wonder how much Harley put in the text message to her.
“If this was your doing, you’d better hope he never finds out,” she says, and I shrug. I know they're all looking at me again, but this time I feel powerful. I've made my own move on the board, and now I have to wait to see what Joey does next.
Mr. Trevelen finally notices the huge crowd and starts to order us all to disperse. Avery tugs Harley away. He's hesitant to go, like he'd rather watch Joey be dragged away until the image is burned into his corneas for life. My eyes trace the tattoo that curves along his jaw: Honor before Blood. The necklace is in my pocket. I think about giving it to him now, but there are too many people watching. It feels wrong to keep it.
I wait until the crowd has thinned right down and Joey looks over to catch my eye. He doesn't look upset or surprised, he tips his head at me and grins. It's his maniac grin, the one that lets me know he will never be a good or kind person. I tip my own head back just a little and let him see the challenge I'm setting him. Let him come for me.
By dinner, the entire school knows about Joey’s arrest and subsequent suspension from Hannaford.
I fill my tray with all the meats and vegetables I can fit—I’m starving and a little worried about possible scurvy after my week of surviving on protein bars—and then I find a seat at the long table. No one spares me a second glance, which I’m smug about. I get to listen to the rumors already circulating about what Joey has done to land himself in handcuffs. My personal favorites were prostitution, money laundering from street fighting, and involvement in his family’s business.
Avery and the guys are also at the table, and Harley is staring my way. He’s not trying to be discreet, just openly glaring my way as he chews on his meal. Avery is chatting to Blaise and, though their tones are light, I can see the strain in her shoulders. Ash is scowling at his plate. No amount of cajoling by Avery will get him to talk. I’m busy observing them, so I miss Harlow arriving at the dining hall. She doesn’t miss me.
“Move, idiot,” she snaps at the guy sitting across from me. He startles and glances between us both. I get my first real look at the damage I’d done to her face as he scrambles up and away from us, leaving his tray behind. Both her eyes are black and swollen, her nose has been taped and braced, and her cheeks are mottled with bruises. None of her pretty features are visible anymore. She looks horrific, like she’s been the victim of a violent crime, and the smile I give her is all teeth.
“Is there something you want, Roqueford? I’m busy.” A hush falls over the dining hall. Even the teachers further down the table have stopped to watch our confrontation. I wonder if they’ve been warned off from me as well.
“You’re dead. The minute Joey gets back, he’s going to fucking kill you, Mounty scum.” She spits at me, literally spits; I feel it land on my cheek. I fight the urge to wipe it away.
“Why would he bother with me? He’s already extracted his revenge for me turning him down.” I laugh at her, and she flinches back at the icy sound.
“He’s not stupid. Obviously, it was you who snitched on him.” Her knuckles are white as she grips the chair. I let my eyes roam over her face again with pride. I really do feel proud of what I did to her. There’s only the strong and the weak in this world, and it didn’t matter what Joey and his fucked-up flunkies did to me. I’d always be stronger than them.
“How about you prove it?” I whisper and smile at her again. She curses at me again and turns on her heel to storm out. The room seems to hold its breath for a second, and then the conversations resume, quietly at first and then with some gusto.
I enjoy my dinner and I don’t waste another second thinking about Joey Beaumont.
He’s out of my hair for a few weeks.
Chapter Fourteen
I get a week’s reprieve from Avery and her minions. I don’t know if I’ve rattled her, or if she’s still recovering from whatever it was that happened between her and her siblings, but I enjoy the silence. I throw myself back into my studies and focus on my vocal work for choir. I have worked out that if I wear earplugs, I can go through the exercises Miss Umber has assigned us, but that means I have no idea how I sound. If the class didn’t directly affect my overall grade, I wouldn’t care whatsoever about it, but my scholarship required a near-perfect GPA to stay eligible. There was no way I was letting my PTSD lose my chances at a decent future.
During my training with the Jackal, I’d been subjected to torture. There was no other word for it, no pretty little name that changed what happened into a useful lesson. I’d been taught how to withstand extreme levels of pain without screaming. The side effect of that training was that now I couldn’t hear my own voice, screaming or singing, without the bone-deep fear of the consequences the Jackal had set for me. I had the scars to show for the punishment I was dealt, and the thought of going through that again made my brain switch firmly into fight-or-flight mode.
It was one of many reasons I had run away from Mounts Bay, and why I could never love Matteo the way he loved me.
Sometimes, when I didn’t keep myself busy or on high alert, those memories would creep into my mind unbidden and I’d find myself shaky and nervous, twitchy even.
I was in one of those moods when I sat in the library for my usual study session with Ash.
He’d blown off our other session for that week, so I had no real expectations for him showing up today. If anything, I hoped he wouldn’t show up. I didn’t want him questioning the tremor in my fingers as I answered the math equations in my workbook.
I get fifteen minutes of peace before Blaise arrives. He looks around the library as if he is looking for someone else to help him, and then sighs and sits down in the seat Ash usually uses. I don’t look up or acknowledge him as he empties his bag and gets settled in his seat. Once he’s set up, he clears his throat to get my attention. I look up and focus my eyes at the tip of his nose instead of staring into those gorgeous green eyes. He shifts in his seat, and I t
hink about feeling sorry for him. Then I remember his cold words when he’d publicly humiliated me on the worst day of my time at Hannaford so far—I don’t fuck fans—and I give him the tiniest glare instead. God, I am pathetic.
“I’m going to fail math if you can’t perform a miracle on me.”
I take the paper he slides across to me and see the mess he’s made of his own workbook. It’s bad. It’s not completely hopeless, but he’s definitely going to fail if he hands this in. I start to mark it and jot down observations in silence, trying to ignore the slight tremble of my fingers. I can help this arrogant, gorgeous, talented, swoon-worthy asshole without having to look or speak to him. I am just that good.
He squirms in his seat.
“Look, if you don’t want to help me, then I can find someone else.”
I snort at him derisively without stopping my methodical work. “Harley is on par with me in math. Why don’t you ask him to help you? Then you wouldn’t have to ever look at me. I could continue to stay as far away from you as possible, and you could forget I even go here.”
He clears his throat again and looks around the room. His tie is off, and his shirt is unbuttoned enough that I can see his tattoos peeking out. I try my best not to think about them and finish marking the page, sliding it back across the table to him. When I pick up my own work again, he finally answers me.
“Harley is really impatient. He used to try and help me, but we would end up at each other's throats. He doesn’t understand how I don’t get it. It’s all so easy to him that he’s removed from the work the rest of us have to do to understand.”