Hannaford Prep: The Complete Series

by J Bree

  “Do you really think he’s acting without Joey’s influence? Ash is right, she should have stayed away from him,” says Avery. She doesn’t sound happy at all.

  It takes me a minute for my mind to catch up with our movements and to realize we’re still walking. Our lab is only a few yards away, so it makes no sense. Panic claws up my spine, and I jerk my arms to try and get free. They’re dragging me somewhere secluded to finish the job, Harley hates me, there’s no way he would care about some junior beating me! I plant my feet and try to stop them from moving forward, but Harley and Ash are too strong for me.

  “Calm the fuck down, Mounty. We’re going to take you back to your room so you can die somewhere more comfortable than the lab,” says Ash, and I can hear the laughter in his voice.

  “Don’t be a dick, Ash. She’s probably suspicious we’re helping her. Twice in a week, I’d be suspicious too,” says Blaise, and I jerk my head around to see that he’s trailing behind us. He still won’t meet my eyes.

  “Why are we helping her, again?” drawls Avery, not even bothering to look up from her phone. Her arm is linked with Ash’s, and he’s directing her as much as he’s helping me.

  We arrive at my room, and it takes me three attempts to fumble the key out from around my neck and into the door. When I pause, Ash finally drops my arm and lets Avery tug him away from me. She’s probably scared he’s developing a soft spot for me, but I could set her straight about that. There’s no way the guy who snarls at me over the table in the library would ever feel anything but contempt for me. I have to admit, this rescue is pretty confusing for me. I’m struggling with my own feelings for all three of the guys, and their kind and gentle touches are just making this all the more difficult for me. It is not normal for a girl to be crushing on three guys this hard at the same damn time. I don’t want one of them, I want all three, even after everything they’ve done to me. I need to clear my head. I need some space, and I need it now.

  Harley won’t move. I attempt a pointed look at him, but he just raises his eyebrows at me in return. When it’s clear neither of us are willing to back down, Blaise groans at us both and then pushes between us to grab the key and open the door. When his arm brushes mine, I flinch away from him so hard I hit the doorframe and grunt in pain. My body is going to pay dearly for that move.

  “Why the fuck does she flinch like that when you touch her?” Harley snaps, and Blaise backs up quickly like his ass is on fire. I shuffle into the room and drop my bag on the floor.

  “How the fuck should I know? I’ve never touched her!”

  I flinch again. I know that if I ever do touch him, and if he touched me back, I’d be ruined for life. It doesn’t matter how angry I am at him, how badly he’s humiliated me, how much he loathes me. He could destroy me, and I would ask for more. I turn and grab the door, mostly to keep myself upright. I’m so pathetic. Thank God the Jackal can’t see me right now.

  “I don’t want him running off to your little shared fuck and telling her I’m stalking him or acting inappropriately. The last thing I need is that bitch starting a vendetta on me. I’d say thanks for the help up here, but I’m sure you’ll find a way to make me pay for it later.”

  I enjoy the twin looks of shock on their faces as I slam the door on them both.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  It takes two days to be able to go back to class.

  I still can’t breathe without being able to feel exactly which ribs are broken, but my concussion has eased. For those two days, I can’t sit up for longer than ten minutes without a migraine splitting open my skull and rummaging around in my brain matter. I’m once again saved by the fact that I’m so far ahead in all my classes.

  When I take my seat in math class and I see that I got a solid A for my workbook re-do, I’m so relieved I could slump in my chair. I remember at the last second that the action would hurt me dearly, and I smile instead. It feels strange on my face. I’ve only winced and grimaced for days.

  Only Harley beat me, a defeat I’ll take gracefully thanks to him carrying me back to my room. He’s smug about it, and I keep my mouth shut about Avery’s little pyromaniac episode. Another boon I’m granting. I’m practically a saint.

  At the end of our class, he waits for me to pack up. Avery doesn’t share our math class, so I don’t have to worry about the repercussions of Harley speaking to me. I look at him curiously, and when he gives me a slow smile, I fight the blush that’s creeping up my neck.

  “Let’s take a walk, Mounty,” he says with a voice full of honey, rich and thick.

  We walk in silence as I let him lead me through the school. I forget sometimes how big this place is when I’m sprinting from class to class. I get jostled a few times by passing students, and I push out my elbow to try and force them around me instead. Being so damn short is a pain in the ass sometimes.

  “Kyle and Nicky have both been expelled.”

  Harley doesn't look down at me as he says this. They must be the guys that held me while Spencer whaled on me. The pace he has set is brutal on my ribs, and I'm panting so hard to keep up with his ridiculously long legs. His sculpted, swimmer’s legs. Dammit, stop thinking about his legs!

  “What did you get them for?” I ask. I'm not sure if he'll give me a straight answer or not. I certainly didn't give him one when I'd led him out to watch Joey get arrested. Harley grins savagely.

  “Kyle got done for doping. He was on the track team, and there are students on the fast-track to the Olympics. They don’t take kindly to their teammates taking banned supplements. Nicky… well, little Nicky Bianchi has some strange sexual adventures, and he likes to take pictures of himself doing what it is he does. Half of the classrooms in the school are closed for cleaning today.”

  I wrinkle my nose. Guys are disgusting. If I've touched that guy’s DNA matter just because he's a fucking deviant, I'll be pissed.

  “So what do you have planned for Hillsong, then? What skeletons hide in his closet?”

  If anything, the grin on Harley's face gets even more savage. He looks imposing, vicious in the best possible way. The kind of darkness my heart reaches out for because it recognizes it. I swear to God my panties damn near disintegrate at the look of him right now.

  “No explosion for Spencer. I told you, I'm going to end him.”

  A shiver takes over me. This could get out of hand fast, but that only makes it more exciting. “Give me details. I need to know what I'm signing up for.”

  I'm running through lists in my head, equations and formulas on how I can help. Minimize the witnesses, something to transport the body, cleanup crew so no evidence is left behind, a deep grave somewhere remote and unrelated to either of us. It's a lot to figure out on the fly but fuck it. I'm all in. I didn’t become the Wolf because I’m afraid of getting my hands dirty.

  “I'm going to beat him bloody until he needs a tube to breathe. Anything less and he's getting away too lightly. It'll be hard, but I'll stop myself from taking him out. I'm not sure you'll be able to keep your scholarship if you're aiding and abetting a murderer.”

  “The Beaumonts want me out anyway, what a way to go,” I mutter. Harley either ignores me or he doesn't hear me as he steps into the rose-colored light streaming down in the chapel. A senior who is even bigger than Harley shuts the door behind us and slides the bolt into place. My hand slips into my pocket and grips my knife. I feel the urge to put my back against the wall. After everything that’s happened to me in this room, I guess it’s to be expected.

  Spencer Hillsong is already there, bare-chested, frowning over at us both.

  “Why the fuck did you bring the Mounty? You know the rules. No girls.”

  The rules. Harley has challenged him to one of their little fight club matches. Spencer has no clue what he’s in for. My heart surges in my chest as I watch them both circle each other.

  “Fuck the rules and fuck you, Hillsong. You've already shown everyone what a coward you really are. You need your friends to hold a gi
rl down while you hit her. That’s fucking pathetic.”

  Spencer scans the crowd, but he doesn't find what he's looking for. I'd bet it was Joey. He's hoping the puppet master would leap to his rescue. What a dumb ass. Joey only saves himself.

  Harley shrugs out of his blazer, and for a single heart-stopping second, I think he’s going to take his shirt off too. Disappointment burns me when he rolls up his sleeves instead. Shouldn’t he be worried about getting blood on his crisp white shirt? God, I’m such a pervert.

  Harley glances down at me and gestures to one of the pews, right at the front where I’ll get the perfect view of what’s about to go down. When I’m comfortable, he dumps his bag next to me and then surveys the room. There’re about fifteen guys all standing around, and the air is thick with their eager bloodlust. None of them spare me a glance as they watch Harley with greedy eyes.

  “Anyone touches her or asks her for sex from here on out will get the same as Hillsong. You can film it and spread it around, for all I fucking care, but that’s how it’s going to be. We clear?”

  There’re nods, grunting, and a few phones make an appearance. Spencer laughs and puts his hands on his hips like he’s preening under Harley’s judgment. It’s gross.

  “And what about your cousin? Joey is the whole reason this started, are you going to beat him up? I’m not afraid of you, Arbour. You think getting a face tat makes you so fucking tough? You’re just a pussy with a deadbeat dad and a fucked-up mom who’s riding on your cousins’ coattails.”

  Harley leans down to drop his blazer on his bag and I see the flames burning in his eyes. Spencer is a dead man.

  “I can organize a cleanup crew if you want to kill him,” I whisper, a smile playing at the corners of my mouth. Harley smirks at me and straightens.

  “We can talk about how you have access to one of those later, Mounty.”

  He turns and steps into the proverbial ring.

  I don’t know who calls the ambulance, but I do enjoy watching them wheel Spencer Hillsong away. Harley grabs his shit and leaves the chapel without looking at me, so I guess his charitable mood has up and left him. His hands are a mess and there’s blood all over him. Any teacher who comes across him would have to be on Avery’s books to not call the cops. It’s a good thing they all are.

  I manage to convince the kitchen staff I’m an overworked, flailing mess, and they scrape together a tub of roast pork and sides smothered in gravy for me to take to my room to eat. I don’t know why I didn’t think of trying it before, and I’m thrilled when I sit on my bed and dig in. I mess around on my phone and try to tell myself I’m googling Vanth Falling news to keep tabs on my bully, and because I’m bored.

  I didn’t burn the shirt.

  I did stuff it in the bottom of my bag to try and forget about it, but old habits, and devotion die hard, so I’m back to wearing it, and a tiny pair of sparkly booty shorts, when there’s a knock at my door.

  I panic.

  It’s embarrassing as fuck to think about any girl in this place seeing me wearing it after my tantrum at Blaise over it, so I scramble to find something else to throw on over it quickly.

  “Mounty, for fuck’s sake, I can hear you rummaging around in there. Open the door.”

  It’s Harley. Oh God, I cannot open this door wearing the shirt. I will lose any credibility I’ve managed to gain with Blaise if he tells him. “I’m- ah- naked. Give me a second.”

  I find one of the new sweaters I bought from the thrift store in Haven—it’s clearly a man’s sweater, and it’s three times the size of me—and I throw it over my head.

  When I’m sure he won’t be able to see the Vanth shirt, I throw open the door to his deep frown. His eyes trail down my body, and when they reach my bare legs, he starts to look around my room, his scowl deepening.

  “Can I help you?” I say, breathless. He curses at me under his breath and brushes past me into my room. Rude.

  “Please come in,” I say sweetly and shut the door behind him before I can think better of it. He may still have it out for me academically, but I’m not afraid of being around him. I snort at myself. I’ve just watched him pummel another student to the point the kid had to be intubated before he was scraped off the chapel floor by the EMT’s, and yet, that had proved to me that I had nothing to be afraid of. Funny old world.

  “Is there a guy in here?” he says as he peers into my closet. My jaw drops.

  “What—why would there be a guy in here?”

  “You said you were naked. It’s five o‘clock, you haven’t just showered, and you’re wearing someone else's clothes. Who did you let win the bet?” He’s damn near hissing at me. I look down at myself, sigh, and then rub at my face.

  “I lied. I wasn’t naked, I’m wearing a shirt and shorts under this. I just—it doesn’t matter. This is my sweater. I’m not a wannabe model like the other girls here, and I like being comfortable. No guy. Not interested in seeing any guys here at Hannaford naked, thanks.”

  Blatant lie. I’d be interested in him. Or either of his friends, really. I try not to think about the time I saw him come all over Annabelle’s face in the woods, but then it’s all I’m thinking of and my face heats up. Harley squints at me like he’s trying to decide if I’m lying. I roll my eyes at him.

  “This place is a literal closet. Check under my bed and see for yourself that there’s no one here.” He actually bends down and does check. My blood heats, and not with desire. “What exactly gives you the right to police who I fuck, anyway?”

  He smirks at me and shows me his knuckles. They’re a mess; he hasn’t cleaned them at all. From the look of him he’s just thrown different clothes on, no shower. I should feel grossed out by that, but I lick my lips at the thought of the sweat that’s still on him. He still smells fantastic—totally unfair, because I know for a fact that I smell putrid after that much exercise. I duck under my bed, pull out my first-aid kit, and grab out some antiseptic wipes. He drops onto my bed like he owns the place, and I start to clean up his wounds.

  “I’ve just cleared your social calendar for you, I wouldn’t want that to be for nothing.”

  I chuckle as I carefully wipe away the blood that’s already dried, and he doesn’t flinch. His knuckles are covered in raised white scars, crisscrossing and gouging into his skin. It looks more extreme than what a prep school fight club would warrant. I make yet another mental note to look into him and his past. He clears his throat to get my attention.

  “So, which cleanup crew would you have called? Manning’s?”

  I snort. “Only if I wanted to be blackmailed with it later. Amateurs call Manning.”

  He smiles at me, a real one, and I have to focus to breathe. He’s magnificent this close. I survive sitting next to him all day in our classes by not looking at him, but now I let myself just take him in. I tape some gauze over the parts of his hands that are still bleeding, and he lets me, watching me as much as I’m watching him.

  “So, who then? Who would a Mounty call to get rid of a body?”

  I can’t really answer him. It would give too much away. I’d call the Jackal or the Bear. I wouldn’t have to pay them a cent for their services, either. I’d call in a favor or make a deal with them on the spot, and then my problems would just vanish.

  “That should hold if you don’t shower until tomorrow. Or just get one of your friends to do it again for you. I’m assuming you have a kit of your own?”

  He nods and watches me pack everything away. I feel his eyes on my legs as I bend to shove the kit back under my bed, but when I stand and face him, he’s got his phone out. When he lifts it to his ear, I frown down at him.

  “Nothing is wrong, Floss. Can’t I call you to be social?”

  I cross my arms and take a step away from him. I guess this is where I pay for making him bleed for me. Nothing ever comes for free, not here at Hannaford and certainly not back home.

  “Okay, you’re right I do need something. I need you to leave Lips alone. Stop try
ing to get her kicked out… No, I’m not joking… I’m not telling you to be her friend, I’m saying stop fucking with her on my behalf. I’m over it. I’m done…I don’t like her, I owe her, and I hate owing people shit. Just drop it… if Joey wants her dead and she’s too stubborn to leave to save her skin, then that’s not our problem. You don’t owe him a cleanup, Aves.”

  My stomach hollows out as I listen to him negotiate a ceasefire with Avery for me. He said he owes me; what did I do for him? I think back, but I can’t remember anything I’ve done. Well, the necklace, but I haven’t even told him I have it yet. I wince guiltily.

  He hangs up and meets my eyes again. I wait for him to explain, to get up and leave, to tell me what I now owe him for this. I wait for him to tell me it's all a joke and I’m still trash to him. I guess he did tell Avery he doesn’t like me, but he’s not acting like that. When he just stares at me, nervousness bubbles up until I speak, just to break the intensity of his gaze.

  “Why do you owe me? I don’t remember helping you.”

  He grumbles and stands up. He looks almost bashful; it’s charming as fuck.

  “Joey set his eyes on you because of me. He heard me raging at Avery about you, and it caught his interest. Whatever, you should leave Hannaford. You’re stupid if you think you can take on Joey and survive.”

  I scoff at him. “Of course you do. What could a poor Mounty do against a billionaire sociopath?”

  He shrugs at me and flexes his fingers. I can't stop thinking about the damn necklace, until finally I sigh and walk over to where I’ve dropped my bag. I’ve been carrying it around for weeks, trying to pluck up the courage to give it back to him.

  “Don't ask me how I got this, and please don't start shit with me over it, just take it and forget this ever happened,” I ramble. He quirks an eyebrow, but he reaches for me. I drop the little gold chain into his outstretched hand, and he freezes. The look on his face breaks my heart. He's so reverent, so gentle as he cradles the little heart pendant in his big, bandaged palm. When he looks up at me, his eyes are red-rimmed and glassy. I feel like scum for carrying it around for so long.