Barbie B*tch: A Dark High School Bully Romance (Rejects Paradise Book 3)

by Sheridan Anne

  I turn on my heel and stalk back to his bedroom, taking his stupid little ring with me. He comes tearing down the hall after me. “Don’t fucking walk away from me,” he yells. “We’re not done with this conversation.”

  “Ha,” I scoff. “This conversation was done before it even started. There’s nothing more to say. Surely you had to have known what my answer was going to be? How could you ever think that I'd want that? How many times have I told you that I wanted out of Breakers Flats? How many times have I told you that I wanted more for myself? College? A home of my own? A proper life where I don’t have to be worried about drive-by shootings and gang violence?”

  “What do you want from me?” he demands. “I’m not leaving the Widows for you. That’s not an option.”

  “Fuck, Nic. Did I say that I wanted you to leave the Widows? When, over the last six months have I ever given you the impression that I wanted more from you than just friendship? I don’t want to be with you. I don’t give a shit that you’re the leader of the fucking Widows because it doesn’t affect my life. It has nothing to do with who I am or where I want to go. And for the record, why would I want to be with someone who wouldn't even consider leaving that life for me? The Widows are your priority, not me, and that says it all.”

  I walk around the side of his bed and tear open his bedside drawer before dropping the ring into it and slamming it closed harder than it's ever been slammed in its life, only as the little table rocks from the force something detaches from the back and I hear the familiar sound of a blade clattering against the cheap wooden floorboards.

  My brows furrow as Nic goes impossibly still.

  What the fuck was that?

  Anger courses through my body and I practically throw his bedside table out of the way and what stares back at me has my stomach sinking with dread.

  An old dagger with intricate carvings, the exact same one that not eight months ago was protruding from my father’s chest, only to then be stabbed through the back of Charles Carrington, ending both of their lives.

  I suck in a sharp gasp, my body instantly shaking with fear as I find it impossible to look away from the blade that has wreaked so much havoc in my life.

  Nic takes a step and I instantly back up.

  “Ocean,” he says, his voice low with a warning, coaxing me not to run. “Let me explain.”

  I look up at him, meeting the guilty expression on his face. “What the fuck is that?” I demand, my voice shaking as I feel a kind of terror that I've never experienced before. “Why do you have that knife?”

  He clenches his jaw and swallows hard, looking as though he’s working extra fucking hard to figure out what the hell he’s about to say to me.

  “FUCKING ANSWER ME, DOMINIC. WHY THE FUCK DO YOU HAVE THAT?”

  Nic raises both his hands, similar to the way Colton had done on Sunday night, only there’s something so much different here, something darker. I trusted that Colton wouldn’t hurt me, trusted that he was only showing me that he wanted to explain himself, but the way Nic looks at me with his hands raised is more like he’s trying to convince himself of the same damn thing.

  I back up another step, putting myself closer to the door and further away from Nic. “Ocean,” he starts. “Just listen to me. I had no choice …”

  “No choice? Had no choice about what? How did you get that knife? It was locked in Colton’s safe.”

  Nic clenches his jaw again. “You have to understand. I couldn’t let him have it.”

  Tears begin to well in my eyes. “You did it, didn’t you? You killed my father and then came to me, standing in my fucking home and holding me while I sobbed, vowing that you’d find whoever did it.”

  Nic doesn’t respond, just stares at me with that same guilt building in his eyes.

  The tears fall as I stand in his bedroom doorway, feeling as though I'm staring at a complete stranger. My hands shake and my chest rises with short rapid breaths, struggling to feel anything. Numbness shoots through me to the point of pain and I want nothing more than to run out the fucking door and never look back but I know that if I don’t stay and find the answers I need, I’ll never get them. “Answer me, Nic. Tell me it wasn’t you,” I cry. “Tell me that you didn’t come into my home and stab my father through the chest and then leave him there to die.”

  His jaw clenches and then finally he dips his head. “I’m so fucking sorry,” he murmurs, his voice filled with self-hate and guilt. “You have to believe me that I didn't want to do it. I had no choice. It was either me or Kian and I know my father would have made him suffer. He would have taken pleasure in killing your father.”

  I shake my head. “No. Kian promised me that the Black Widows had nothing to do with killing my dad. He … he told me—”

  “He lied.”

  “No … I.”

  Nic drops down to the edge of his bed and looks up at me with eyes so filled with pain and regret. “It was just after your father had officially sold you to Carrington. Even though your father thought the transaction was done, Carrington wasn’t. He paid my father to take Lou’s life. Dad was testing me, seeing if I had it in me to get the job done. I had to. It was either him or me so I did it.”

  I shake my head, staring at him in disgust. “I hate you,” I whisper, feeling the tears rushing down my face and dropping onto my borrowed shirt. I take a step back, more than ready to leave when his voice has me pulling up and looking back at him.

  “Stop, Ocean. There’s more.” His head falls and he looks at the ground. “The morning after you were attacked by Carter, I was at your place.”

  I nod. “You sat with me through the night.”

  He swallows hard. “I ran into Charles that night and he told me to stay away from you. He knew that I was the one who had taken out his job and didn’t want it coming back to him. He saw me as a loose end and threatened to hurt you if I didn’t comply, so I did what any other man would have done in my situation and fucking killed him too, but don’t be fooled, I made that one hurt.”

  I swallow past the lump in my throat and just as he stands and steps toward me, ready to start pleading his case, my phone rings in my jeans pocket. Desperately needing to hold Nic back, I hastily pull the phone out and hit accept on the private number then bring it to my ear.

  “What?” I breathe, unable to take my eyes off Nic.

  “Ocean,” Colton’s panicked tone comes rushing through the phone. “It’s Milo. He’s been hurt. You need to come home.”

  Chapter 32

  I race through the door of Bellevue Springs Private hospital in a panic, unsure of where I’m even going but just knowing that I have to get to him.

  “Jade,” I hear Colton’s panicked tone call through the Emergency Room. My head whips toward him and I race into his open arms. “Shhhh, baby,” he soothes. “Don’t cry. He's going to be alright.”

  I squish my face into his chest and wipe my eyes across his shirt, watching as it comes back wet. I didn’t even know I was still crying.

  I ran out the door of Nic’s apartment with him racing after me. The tears streamed down my face and haven't stopped, even now. Perhaps they never will. I didn’t realize it was possible to cry this much, but then, I’ve never quite felt pain like this.

  Dominic Garcia killed my father.

  He murdered the man who used to kiss my knees when I fell off my bike.

  He murdered the man who used to yell at me for taking too long in the shower.

  He murdered the man who held me when my heart broke for the very first time.

  Yes, my father wasn't a great man. He was a stone-cold killer for the West Side Wolves, but he was still the man who raised and loved me. He was my daddy. He was the first man I ever loved. Did he deserve to die? Probably. But did he deserve to die by Nic’s hand? No. Not in a million fucking years.

  How could Nic do that to me? He knew how much I loved my father. He knew how I looked up to him and saw him as the one man who was always going to be there for me thr
ough thick and thin. Nic stole that happiness from me. He stole my father’s life and then had the nerve to stand over me as I sobbed into his chest, rubbing his palm up and down my back and promising me that he was going to make it right.

  Dominic Garcia is a liar and a murderer and from now on, I am done.

  The question is; do the boys know about this? They already proved that they’re capable of lying to me without hesitation, but did they lie about this too? Did they also make empty promises about finding my father’s killers and ending his life or do they not know?

  No, I refuse to believe it. They wouldn’t do that to me.

  “Hey,” Colton says, taking my shoulders and pulling me back to see my face, looking relieved that I’m even allowing him to touch me after the last time he saw me. “What’s going on? Are you okay?”

  I wipe my eyes again, feeling like an absolute wreck. I shake my head and as I meet his eyes, everything inside of me crumbles. How am I supposed to tell him that Nic is the reason his father is dead?

  I just … I can’t. At least not right this very minute. I’m here for Milo and after I've made sure that he’s alright, then Colton and I can talk. We have a lot to discuss. I've made the mistake of being loyal to Nic once before when I didn’t tell Colton about the part that Nic played in the DeCarlos attack—but that loyalty is gone. I won't be holding back this time. I need to right these wrongs.

  I take hold of his hand and lace my fingers through his. “Just … no. I’m not but we can talk about it later,” I say over the lump in my throat. “How’s Milo? What happened to him?”

  Colton watches me for a long moment, trying to figure out if he’s going to push the topic when finally giving in and trusting my judgment. “We don’t really know yet,” he murmurs, making me realize that we’re standing in a room full of our friends and Milo’s family. “Spencer went by his place and found him out back. He was beaten and barely breathing.”

  “By who?” I demand, searching his eyes for some kind of answers.

  “I don’t know,” he says, anger flashing in his hazel eyes, telling me just how much he’s come to care for Milo over the last few months. “He’s still in surgery. He had a few broken bones that needed to be set and a collapsed lung. We’re hoping that once he comes out of this, he’ll be able to tell us who did it and if it was random or a planned attack.”

  “Planned attack?” I question. “Who would do that to him? Milo is—” I cut myself off, knowing exactly what kind of person would attack Milo. He was targeted because he’s gay, because he has the strength to love who he wants to love.

  Colton meets my eyes, understanding exactly what it is that I've just worked out, and nods, silently telling me that whoever did this will have hell coming his way. “Come on,” he tells me, pulling on my hand and leading me toward a row of chairs.

  Colton drops down between Charlie and Spencer and he pulls me into his lap. I curl into him and meet Spencer’s eyes. He looks completely broken and I find myself reaching out to him. “How long has he been in surgery?”

  Spencer shakes his head and lights up the screen on his phone, looking at the time. “I … I don’t know,” he says, appearing too lost to try and work it out.

  “Two hours,” Charlie murmurs from Colton’s other side. “At least, just coming up to it. Google tells me it could take anywhere up to six hours but add all his other injuries and he could be in there for a while.”

  I let out a heavy sigh, more than prepared to sit here for as long as it takes.

  The room falls into silence, everyone caught inside their own thoughts. Colton doesn’t move an inch, always keeping me in his arms as I silently cry while begging for my friend to be alright.

  The only reason Milo was so scared to come out to the world was because of this very reason. He was terrified of what it would mean for him, terrified of the horrendous people who would want to hurt him, terrified of the rejection he’d get from his family and friends.

  It’s a feeling no one would ever understand unless you’ve walked a mile in his shoes. I can’t even imagine the fear of being who you are, fearing falling in love with someone, and being judged because that person has the same body parts as you.

  Don't we live in the twenty-first century? Why is homophobia still a thing? How can people still be so cruel?

  The minutes turn into hours and then finally an exhausted doctor comes striding through the doors. “Rinaldi,” he calls, glancing around the massive room.

  We all sit up straighter, watching with wide eyes as Milo’s parents rise from their chairs and go to meet with the doctor. Their conversation is hushed for privacy but I can read the relief all over Milo’s mother's face.

  The doctor squeezes her shoulder and with a warm smile, walks away. I watch as Milo’s parents turn to each other and fold themselves into one another’s arms, their relief the loudest silence in the room.

  They soon pull away from each other and make their way over to our small group. We all stand, waiting to hear exactly what they have to say.

  Milo’s father gives us all a strained smile. “Milo is doing okay,” he finally says, glancing around to each of us. “The doctor says that he had some extensive injuries and needs to remain in the ICU for a few hours for observation. His surgery went well and they’re expecting a full recovery, however it will be a long road. He is just coming off the anesthesia so he’ll be sleeping for another few hours.”

  Milo’s mother takes over. “We’re going to go and sit with him while he wakes. You’re all welcome to stay and wait or you can go home and come back later.”

  “We’ll stay,” Spencer announces. “Can you let him know that we’re here once he wakes?”

  Mrs. Rinaldi reaches out and squeezes his shoulder. “Of course, sweet boy,” she says. “I know he’s really going to appreciate that you all stayed, so thank you for that.”

  All three of the boys nod and with that, Milo’s parents disappear through the big double doors of the hospital, leaving us all to settle back into our seats and wait the long agonizing hours before we finally get to check on him.

  The exhaustion of my wild emotions has me falling into a fitful sleep on Colton’s shoulder, which is only possible due to the safety net he gives me with his arms wrapped tightly around me.

  I’m woken three hours later to Colton’s soft murmuring, telling me that it’s time to go and see Milo. I peel myself off his shoulder, feeling as though I could still sleep for another ten hours. I’ve never felt so emotionally drained like this, but right now, there are more important things that I need to do.

  I climb off Colton’s lap and he gets up behind me, slipping his hand back into mine as the four of us start making our way to the big double doors his parents had only disappeared through a few hours ago.

  We walk down the hallway, studying the numbers on the door until Spencer stops in front of room 482. He steps into it and lightly raps on the door before pushing it open and peeking inside the room, either checking that this is the right room and if it is, that he’s good for visitors.

  After a moment that seems to last forever, Spencer pushes the door wider and we all trail in behind him. The room is filled with clinical light and has that clean hospital smell that reminds me of death, but I put it to the back of my mind the second I lay my eyes on my best friend.

  He looks like death.

  I’ve never seen Milo so down.

  He gives us all a small smile that doesn’t hit his eyes and as we finish pouring into the room, his parents walk out, giving us space to check on our friend.

  Spencer awkwardly hovers by his side, staring over his new boyfriend in horror while Charlie hovers in the back, not as close as the rest of us. Colton stands by my side as I walk right up to Milo and look over his injuries.

  His eye is black and nearly swollen shut while his usually beautiful face is covered in dark bruising of the deepest blues and blacks. His arm is in a cast and his neck scraped. The rest of his body is covered with blankets but
I don’t doubt that it’s just as bad under there.

  I gently lift his hand into mine, fighting back the tears. “Who did this?” I whisper, not sure if he can handle anything louder.

  He groans at the slight movement in his hand but doesn’t try to pull away from my touch. “I …” he starts then gently shakes his head. “I don’t know, but they called me a fag.”

  Everything inside of me shatters as he confirms exactly what we thought it was. Colton moves in a little closer to my side. “We’re going to catch the bastard,” he promises. “He won’t get away with it.”

  “Two,” he grumbles. “Two guys. They made jokes about double-teaming me.”

  Spencer growls, curling his hands into fists before dropping down to his knees beside Milo’s bed to be as close as physically possible. “I’m going to fucking kill them,” he declares, looking right into Milo’s eyes.

  Milo nods but the movement has him cringing in pain. “Don’t try to move,” I say, all but diving on him to get him to lay still. “It’ll get better soon. How are you feeling? Do you need more pain meds?”

  “I’m fine,” he grunts, his usual chirpiness a thing of the past. He looks to Colton and then to Charlie. “There’s security footage of that section of the property. My parents haven’t thought of it yet, but you could beat them to it before they find it and discover the reason why I was attacked.”

  Charlie nods and quickly glances at Colton, knowing he’d be able to somehow get access to those tapes. “We’ll handle it.”

  With that, the boys start to leave but Milo stops them as he looks up at Spencer. “You should go with them.”

  “What? No. I’m staying right here.”

  Milo cringes as he shakes his head. “Go,” he insists. “You’re not going to be able to think until this is handled. Go find the fuckers who did this, settle the score, and then come back to me. I'll be fine with Ocean until then. They weren’t wearing anything to cover their faces so you should find them pretty fucking fast.”