by J Bree
“Yes, yes, you’re both so fucking amusing. I had to re-sit a test for history, because apparently Mr. Smithton gets hard over ruining my life. He called my dad, so now I’m truly fucked. Why can’t I just drop out and make music and fuck groupies and get fucking blind drunk every night? Why do I have to learn inane bullshit about dead people? Why?”
“Ah, good. The dramatics have started, Mounty, settle in. We’re going to be here for hours while he gets this out of his system.”
Blaise slumps into his chair theatrically, and I scoff at him. He looks like a poor little rock star, forced to be a scholar. He groans and tugs at his hair roughly, so it stands up everywhere. He has sex hair at the best of times, but now it’s bordering on obscene. I can’t tear my eyes away from it no matter how hard I try.
“I hate this place and I hate my dad’s business and I hate the expectations he has for me.”
Ash drops his hands and looks over at his friend with fake sympathy, nodding at him.
“Yes, so unfair to be the sole heir to a billion-dollar empire that your father sold his soul to be able to create. So sad. Do you want a drink, Mounty? May as well drown this tirade out while we have the chance.”
Ash starts snapping his fingers, like a bartender is going to appear out of nowhere. I smother a laugh in my blazer sleeve. My chest aches at being so close to their friendship and playful banter, my favorite blend of sarcasm and fondness. The world is a cruel place to put this so close to me, but so wildly out of my reach.
“You know what, fuck capitalism. If we could be happy with what we have instead of constantly striving to be at the top, I wouldn’t be in this mess. Let’s be fucking hippies instead. Let’s make music and throw away all of our worldly possessions and ask the moon what it thinks about our problems.”
That strikes a familiar chord in my chest. My mom used to get high and talk like that all the time. It’s how I got my name, for God’s sake.
“No, no, I won’t be growing a beard and smoking joints out of a van like a fucking pedophile. Get it all out, though. Bottling it up will only make it worse.”
I tune out their banter, as amusing as it is, to look over Blaise’s classwork. He’s started bringing in bigger and bigger piles, and it’s clear to me just how far behind he really is. How he managed to convince his parents and the faculty that he could afford to miss the first few weeks of the year is beyond me. I’m good, but I’m not sure even I can work this miracle, given how little time we actually interact.
I’m about to interrupt the pity party to suggest we start in on the mountain of work when I feel someone walk up behind me. I tense, expecting it to be Joey, and a dark, hidden part of my mind expects him to have a knife. Ash and Blaise fall silent as the chair next to mine pulls back and a student I don’t recognize sits down. He’s blond and broad, but with none of the grace or stunning features that Harley has.
“Can I help you?” I say, aiming for a light tone.
“Sure you can. I wanted to discuss the sweep Joey started.”
For fuck’s sake. I cut him an icy glare, but he just smiles in return. His teeth are too straight, a fake white row that makes him look like an android. Everything about him makes my teeth clench so hard my jaw aches.
“Look, it’s admirable that you’re taking a stand and refusing to fuck anyone for the sake of the money. It shows you have more integrity than the average Mounty. At some point, someone is going to fuck you and get the money. Why not give Joey a taste of his own medicine and let me fuck you for it? I’ll even give you a percentage of the sweep for your troubles.”
A percentage. For my troubles. I silently weigh up my options. There’re three librarians, and two are within eyesight of our table. If I slam his face into the desk and break his pompous nose, there’ll be too many witnesses. If I ignore him, he might go away, or maybe he’ll start stalking me instead. I could call the Jackal and have him murdered in his sleep.
The guy, who still hasn’t even told me his name, slings an arm over my shoulders and his hand ends up hovering over my chest. I have what can only be described as a full rage blackout.
One minute he’s laughing and touching me, and the next he’s howling and clutching his now-broken hand to his chest like it’s a baby bird. I’m much faster than he is, and while he’s flailing, I slap a hand over his mouth, so the librarians don’t assume he’s being murdered and come over here to stop me. He could push me off, but he’s too busy losing his shit over his mangled hand.
“What’s your name, asshole?” I whisper. He’s swearing and sweating too much to answer, so Blaise surprises me by doing it for him.
“Mounty, this is Samuel Hanson. He’s a sophomore and he’s at risk of being kicked out by his parents because he’s been caught gambling away his trust fund. Is that why you need the money, Sammy-boy? Run out of funds to feed your addiction?”
Samuel manages to stop screaming, so I let my hand drop away from his face. He’s panting and his eyes keep rolling back into his head. It’s pathetic.
“Your pain tolerance is worse than a child’s,” I hiss at him, and Ash snickers, but I don’t spare him a glance. I need to make a point with this guy. It’s been too long since I hurt someone for propositioning me, and they’ve forgotten what I can do.
“I won’t fuck you. I won’t fuck anyone at this school, not for a hundred grand.”
“The pot is sitting around the seven hundred grand mark now, Mounty,” Ash drawls. I don’t let the shock show on my face. These fucking wealthy bastards.
“Well, I won’t fuck you for that either, even if my percentage was a hundred percent. If you so much as look in my direction again, I will bury you. Do those rumors make their way up here about us Mounties too? About how easily I can and will kill you for insulting me?”
He’s managed to pull himself together enough to kick back into obnoxious rich-kid mode. “I will report you, and you’ll be out for this, you little cunt.”
I. Hate. That. Word.
My mom’s boyfriends all used to call her that, or me, or they’d tell me all about my mom’s gaping cunt. I was six the first time I realized what they were talking about. It still sends me to a crazy place in my head to hear it uttered.
“No, you’ll walk your ass out of here, and you’ll do exactly what she said,” Blaise says, and I’ve never heard him so angry. “See, you’re encroaching on my study time, and she’s the best tutor I’ve ever had, so if I have to beat you senseless myself to keep her here and teaching me, then I will, Hanson. Are you ready to bleed by me again?” Blaise cracks his knuckles to drive home the point, and Samuel stands. The chair falls as he lurches out of the room and out of my life.
“Is your crisis over now? Can we get started on the important stuff?” I say as I shake out my hand. The force required to break bones is less substantial when you know exactly where to strike, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t paying for it.
Blaise finally glances at me and nods like he didn’t just defend me.
None of us talk about how exactly it is that I know how to break someone's hand using only two fingers.
Chapter Twenty-One
Hannaford is a writhing snake pit of gossips.
I didn’t even make it to my room after my tutoring session with Ash and Blaise without being asked about Samuel. It was late by the time we finished up, and I’d been forced to skip dinner.
My stomach wakes me at 5 a.m. and I know for certain I can’t skip breakfast. Harley will be pissed if he has to listen to the grumbling of my stomach all through our classes. The dining hall opens at 5:30 a.m. and I reason with myself that I’ll be safe to eat at that time. What other students would be willing to eat that early?
I’m pissed to find that there are a heap of students waiting at the door for the dining hall to open. It turns out the swim team, track, and the row team all meet at 6 a.m. to torture themselves. It’s all elbows and swearing to get to the front of the line, so I hang back and survey the crowd. Harley is on the swim team
but he’s not here. The room he shares with Ash and Blaise probably has a fully-stocked kitchen and a personal chef, for all I know. Yes, I’ll admit I’m hungry and bitter. I need to come up with a better system to keep me from turning into a hangry bitch.
My mouth waters when I see the French toast, and I decide to risk a second roofie episode. I pile on the cream and strawberries, drizzle so much syrup it drips everywhere, and I’m a sticky mess.
I’m a happy, sticky mess.
When I’ve literally licked my plate clean, I dump my tray onto the pile by the door and start back toward the girls’ dorm for a quick shower before classes. My belly is full, and I even catch myself humming cheerfully under my breath. The perfect morning.
Rough hands grab me and pull me into an empty classroom.
I shove at them, but I have a six-foot guy on each side of me, neither of whom I have spoken to before. They’re upperclassmen for sure. I grunt and pull at their arms, only to have their hands tighten around my biceps. Avery isn’t the only person who is swift in their retribution. I’m sure this is Samuel’s doing. I’m convincing myself to stay still and meek when a third student steps into the classroom.
Spencer Hillsong.
He’s the guy who approached me after the naked photos of me were sent out. I’d forgotten he even exists, but he hasn’t forgotten me.
Now that I know how much money is on the line for having sex with me, I’m sure that’s what he’s here for. Even rich kids must be tempted by seven hundred thousand, especially those who don’t have unlimited access to their parents’ wallets.
“My sweet mother would be so disappointed,” he says as he steps toward me. He’s smiling cruelly, but he’s got nothing on Joey or Matteo. Still, he could rape me for the cash all the same.
“That you’d forced yourself on a girl? I should hope so.”
He laughs right in my face. I swear to myself that I’ll start carrying my knife with me from now on. It was stupid of me to believe I wasn’t in danger of this now that I’d dealt with Joey. I’d only really dealt with him, not all of his blind followers.
“I would never put my dick in trash. Lord knows what commoner diseases you have. No, I’m going to show you what happens to girls who don’t do what they’re told.”
The crack of his hand across my face leaves me dazed. He’s certainly not holding back on account of my gender. I weigh up my options while he looks at me with glee. I could attempt to fight them off. Three to one, not great odds but doable. They’re big guys, I can feel the muscular frames on the two holding me, so my chances of success aren’t great. I tug my arms a little to gauge the reaction and their grips tighten. So they’re both committed to playing their part, neither of them seeming to care about me suggesting they were here to sexually assault me.
Spencer seems to be the only one interested in actually hitting me. When he punches me in the stomach, I feel the guy on my left flinch even as my breakfast roils in my belly. So, if I stand there and take the beating, I’ll only be hit by one guy. If I pretended to be more hurt than I actually am, I might be able to minimize the damage.
I moan when he punches me again. It feels strange after having spent so much time learning how to stay silent, but I lay it on thick. When he lands another blow to my head, this time behind my ear, where my hair will cover the bruise because he’s a sneaky fuck, I see stars and swear roughly. I could vomit, and I swear under my breath at the thought of wasting that beautiful, fluffy toast.
“You should think twice about messing with Joey. He owns this school. If he says jump, then the whole damn building moves.”
How utterly pathetic. Spencer is just openly admitting he’s Joey bitch. And for what? Doesn’t he realize Joey doesn’t have the capacity to make friends? There’s no loyalty in him at all. Spencer is just another child playing a man's game.
I don’t have to fake the grunt that’s pushed out of me as I feel my ribs snap. It hurts like a bitch, and I’m forced to pant instead of taking deep breaths.
“Fuck, c’mon, Spence. The bitch is done. If you keep going, we’ll get caught for sure.”
Spencer is panting and sweating from using my body as a punching bag. I don’t know how many hits I’ve taken, only that I’ve got a concussion and broken ribs.
“Don’t be a pussy, Kyle, she can take a bit more. I’m sure she’s been slapped around before and fucking loves it.”
He pulls his arm back for one last hit, but the guy on my left drops me. I lurch to the ground, and the guy on my right gives up on holding me too. I manage to put my arms out to catch myself, but the intense roaring pain has them collapse, and I face plant onto the carpet.
Every breath feels like I’m drawing glass into my chest cavity and inviting it to shred my lungs to nothing. I think I have at least two broken ribs, and I have to remember to baby them a bit, so I don’t puncture a damn lung. I know the score, I’ve done this all before, but I dream about the day that I never have to worry about being beaten again.
It takes everything in me to get dressed for the day and then make it back down the stairs to start the school day. When I arrive at my history class, Harley is already present, and he watches me ease myself into my chair with knowing eyes. The rest of the class filters in behind me, and the teacher shuts the door firmly as she starts the class. I grunt as I lean down to empty my bag, but he doesn’t offer me any help. Only after I’ve completely set myself up does he speak to me.
“Who did that to you?” His voice is so soft, I know Avery hasn’t heard him. Whether he’s afraid to attract her attention or he thinks the answer is she’s responsible, I can’t even begin to guess.
“A junior. Joey’s getting desperate,” I murmur back. I don’t want his help, but I can’t afford to have him say anything to Avery and get me in the shit with her again. I physically could not fight her off right now.
“Which junior?” He’s still whispering, but the words are distorted, like he’s barely squeezing them out. I swivel in my chair to look at him, though it pains me. He’s not looking at me, he’s taking notes in his beautiful, even handwriting, and no one would guess that he was taking any notice of me. I shake my head at him and try to ignore the pain and focus on the teacher’s words.
The teacher announces a pop quiz in our next lesson, and the class erupts with groans and whining from the other students. Harley uses the distraction to lean in to me, to whisper into my ear. My body is still firmly in defensive mode, so I startle, grunting at the white-hot pain that threatens to take my vision, sucking air into my ravaged lungs too quickly. As I cough and hack into my palm, I can taste the coppery tang on my tongue, and I know the wet spot on my palm is blood. Harley’s hand wraps around my wrist carefully but firmly, like he knows I’ll try and pull away from his touch. Even with my whole body lit up with intense pain, my skin tingles underneath his touch as he looks down at the evidence of my internal bleeding.
“Tell me who the fuck did that to you, or I’ll tell the teacher you’re spreading Mounty diseases by leaking blood everywhere.”
Typical Harley. He can’t even be sympathetic about my beating without acting like an ass. I tilt my head back to meet his eyes. I don’t know what to do with what I see on his face.
He’s staring at me how he looks at Avery, like I’m something precious, and my mind scrambles to figure out why. I gape at him and try to find my voice.
“Why would you care who did this to me?” I croak.
His eyes quickly shutter and his jaw twitches. From the corner of my eye, I see Avery turn to stare at us both. Great. Now I’m going to be attacked on my way to the toilet at midnight and I’ll probably rack up some medical bills I can’t afford to sort out.
“Spencer Hillsong. He had a couple of friends, but I didn’t recognize them.”
Harley gives me a curt nod, and then I nearly fall off my damn chair as he stoops down to pick up my bag for me and starts to pack away my books. Avery is still watching us, and while she’s not outright glaring, I
wouldn’t call it a friendly sort of stare.
“Harley, you shouldn’t—“
He cuts her off with a sharp tone. “Shut it, Floss. Messing with her shit is one thing, beating her bloody is fucking disgusting. I’ll end that dickhead.”
I snort at him and take my now-full bag, slinging it gingerly over the shoulder that isn’t bruised. He gives me another look and then gently takes my elbow to steer me out of the class. I’m shocked enough to let him, and I can feel eyes following us both down the hall. Avery falls into step with him, but she doesn’t glance my way again.
We round the corner to get to our shared chemistry lab when we run right into Ash and Blaise. I cringe and try to pull away from Harley, but his grip only tightens. Blaise looks shocked to see me, but when he recovers, he is back to refusing to look at me. It’s like yesterday didn’t happen at all. That works for me. I’m doing my best to forget he exists. Ash is more curious about my appearance; his eyes take me in, inch by painstaking inch. It was possibly the worst time to start coughing up blood again. It becomes clear to me that if Harley wasn’t holding me up, I would collapse from the pain radiating around my chest, and my vision blurs threateningly again. Why did I even try to make it through today? I’m losing my edge at this school. At Mounts Bay, I always knew my limits. I need to regroup before it gets me killed.
“I told you to stay away from Joey. All of this is his doing. Honestly, you have no one but yourself to blame for this,” says Ash as he grabs my other arm. I grit my teeth, but I’m not sure if it’s because of his words or if I’m trying to take control of my body once again. The edges of my vision start to black out, and I can’t even choke out a retort.
“It wasn’t Joey, it was Hillsong, and he’s a fucking dead man walking,” snaps Harley.
I shut my eyes as we walk. There’s no point in fighting them, I barely have the energy to stay conscious. My mind is hazy. Not a great sign; I’m going to end up in the nurse's office.