Feisty: A High School Bully Romance (Midpark High Book 1)

by Candace Wondrak

  “Okay, well if you change your mind, just let me know!” My mom’s jubilant voice faded as she walked away in the hall, and I let my shoulders relax.

  “Does your mom normally have conversations with you while you’re inside someone else?” Jaz asked, her breath hitching as I withdrew my hips from her. Such a bold, blatant question…it only served to make me work harder.

  The next time I filled her up, I did it a little bit rougher, a little harder, and it shut her up just as well.

  Her eyelids slammed shut, and she let out a low moan, dragging her fingernails down my back—so hard they’d surely leave marks. Right now I couldn’t care less. I wanted those nails, I wanted every single moan she’d give me, the expression on her face as I pumped into her.

  Watching her squirm underneath me was too much. The orgasm that had been building ever since I pulled her ass to my lap exploded in a wave of hot bliss, forcing me to close my eyes and groan. My thrusting became erratic, quick and successive movements of my hips, the cum shooting from my tip and being held back by the thin rubber around it.

  What I’d give to be able to cum inside of her…

  Not a thought I should be having.

  I pulled out, still breathing hard, slowly opening my eyes to meet her dark stare. Sometime during my orgasm, she’d opened her eyes and watched.

  Collapsing beside her on my bed, I whispered, “Would you believe me if I said I really did invite you over here just to study?” A grin grew on my face; I couldn’t stop it. I felt like the Cheshire Cat, like I’d just gotten a peek at my presents before Christmas. Giddy. I felt fucking giddy.

  Jaz thought on this, comfortable with her nakedness beside me. She rolled to her side, propped her head up, her hair cascading over her shoulders and to the bed. Posing her own question, she asked, “Would you believe me if I told you that the last thing I planned on doing today was sleeping with you?”

  We were both liars to ourselves, it would seem.

  We lay there for a few moments before getting up, cleaning up, and dressing, acting as if nothing at all had happened. Personally, I couldn’t get the feeling of her tight pussy out of my mind, but I knew I’d have to.

  That was a mistake—but it wasn’t like I could confess and tell Jaz everything. There were things in Midpark she didn’t need to know, secrets and lies I wished I could keep her from.

  I should’ve known it was only a matter of time until it all came crumbling down.

  Chapter Eight – Jaz

  Saturday came, and other staff arrived. Ollie had one of the biggest mansions in Midpark—the thing had a freaking ballroom on its lower level in the back, where dozens of tables were set up, draped with nice white cloths and golden accessories. Okay, it wasn’t really a ballroom, but it sure looked like one.

  My mom would be one of the waitresses, or whatever the fuck they were called. You know, the people who walked around during fancy events like this and carried trays of champagne and other finger foods before the actual meal. The food was being brought in from a restaurant; Ollie’s kitchen was huge, but it could not feed fifty people in one night.

  Mom and Ollie were busy with the early morning preparations, gaggles of people constantly walking in and out of the house. I was supposed to keep to myself—which I planned to, later—but I did use the chaos of the morning to spend a little extra time in the living room, where pictures were hung and even more sat on the mantle.

  I had homework to catch up on, a history test to study for, but after what happened with Archer…

  No. I wouldn’t think about it.

  To keep my head buried beneath the sand, I would focus on the mystery plaguing my mind. What happened to Ollie’s family? What happened to Celeste and her mother? I’d Googled both, found no obituaries. For all intents and purposes, they just vanished.

  Which couldn’t be right. People didn’t just disappear. They didn’t simply go away. And especially after everything Celeste had been through…

  The house full of noise, of people bringing in the folded-up tables and decorations, was enough of a distraction for my mom and Ollie himself. No one would bother me here in the living room. No one would watch me study the photographs as if they held onto some clue about what had happened here.

  If my mom and I weren’t safe here, I had to know. If Ollie was some kind of rich serial killer, there was no way we’d stay in this house. I wouldn’t let my mom put herself in danger, even if she claimed it was all for me. For me to go to a good school, for me to get connections or whatever other bullshit excuse she used. We left our old life completely, changed our numbers and left without telling anyone in our own town goodbye—hell, it was enough to make me wonder if Mom was also hiding something from me.

  Could no one tell the truth anymore? Could no one simply just let things be?

  My eyes roamed across the pictures. I saw none of his wife—either of them, actually—but there were plenty of his kid. Or were they kids, as in plural? Each face looked the same, and yet, as I roamed from picture to picture, I was able to pick up on some subtle differences. In almost half, the cute boy was grinning, and in the other half, he wore a serious expression…but that wasn’t what set them apart for me. It was the eyes.

  You could tell a lot about a person from the look in their eyes. A face could lie, but the eyes couldn’t. A smile could lie to you, but if you stared into the eyes attached, if you knew what signs to pick up on, you could see through the facade.

  The bad thing was, I felt like almost everyone around here was a liar.

  Or maybe that was just me, feeling insecure after hooking up with Archer.

  It wasn’t like that had been my first time. I’d done it before, behind my mom’s back, since she didn’t want me dating or seeing anyone of the male gender. No, it wasn’t like I’d tossed my virginity to the wind with Archer, but a part of me did feel uneasy about it.

  What if I wasn’t as good at reading people as I thought? What if it was some kind of game to him: how fast can I bang the new girl? I’d be pissed, and I didn’t get pissed often.

  I was seconds from picking up one of the frames on the mantle when I heard my mom’s voice, “Jaz, I told you you needed to stay upstairs today.”

  Restraining myself from touching the frame—this one of a particularly sullen, black-haired boy frowning, I turned to my mom and gave her a look. “Staying up there all day seems a little extreme, don’t you think? What am I supposed to do for lunch? And dinner?” Now that I was thinking about it, complaining about food while I was in the living room, obviously not scrounging for something to eat, was probably not the best defense to use.

  Mom wore her blonde hair in a high bun, wearing all black like most of the other hired staff. Not a speck of jewelry sat on her body, nor an ounce of makeup on her face. Not that she needed it. She was gorgeous.

  “I will bring food up to you when I can, honey. Ollie just doesn’t want you getting in the way, and since he is both our boss and the reason we have a roof over our heads, I have to side with him.”

  I resisted my urge to roll my eyes and remind her that we had a roof over our heads before we moved here, before she took this weird job as a live-in maid for some lonely rich guy whose previous families had vanished.

  Instead, I said, “Okay, fine. I’ll go back upstairs.”

  My mom let out a sigh, as if I was saving the day by getting myself out of the way. “Thank you.” She waited to leave, apparently needing to see me go up the stairs with her own eyes.

  Dragging my feet through the living room, I headed to the spacious staircase, heaved a sigh, and went up the damn stairs.

  I had no desire to see rich, hoity-toity people. I didn’t want to be down there when the guests started coming, but locking myself away in my room wasn’t what I wanted, either. God darn it, I wanted to snoop. Was that so bad?

  Okay, don’t answer that. Snooping was probably bad, especially when it could get my mom fired and us thrown out onto the streets.

  I ma
de like a good little girl and went to my room. Closing my door, I bit my lower lip as I moved to sit at my desk. I really should drown myself in studying, but looking at these notecards made me think of Archer.

  I was not the kind of girl who got crushes so fast, not usually, but it was hard to deny those dimples, the easy air about him, how he made me chuckle with his witty comments. He seemed nice, which was more than I could say for a lot of kids at Midpark High.

  And his body…oh, his body was something special, too. Not to mention the way he could move, and those hips…

  I really should stop my thoughts right there, because anything that came after the thought of his hips was definitely not something I should be thinking about.

  Letting out a groan, I rested my head on the desk, closing my eyes. Things couldn’t be easy here, could they?

  Time passed almost ridiculously slowly. I eventually decided to just turn on the TV that rested on the wall near the bed and drown out my thoughts in the mindless noise. Mom, for her part, did bring me up lunch, but once the early afternoon hit, I knew that’d be all I’d see of her for a long while. From what she’d told me, donors would start to arrive in the late afternoon. It was a fundraiser for some charity, which was great, but even my mom didn’t know what charity that was.

  I couldn’t help but wonder, of course, if it was all a front for something else. If, just maybe, there was no charity—but that was my wandering mind getting the better of me.

  When evening fell—which it did early, because in wintertime it was practically nighttime at five o’clock—I went through my closet and changed, dressing in all black. I wasn’t stupid enough to want to interrupt the charity dinner, but I couldn’t just sit here and twiddle my thumbs all night.

  Mom didn’t want me downstairs? I wouldn’t go downstairs. I’d stay up here, but keeping to myself in my bedroom all night wouldn’t happen.

  The house was big. I’d kept to myself ever since moving here frankly, and with my mind racing at a thousand miles per minute, I had to snoop, even if snooping was bad. If tonight I came out with nothing, then I would forget about it. Simple, easy.

  That’s what I thought, anyway.

  I changed into black leggings, dark socks, and a black shirt. Blend in with the shadows or something, right? In the movies and TV shows, people always wear black when they’re sneaking around. It was pretty much an unspoken law. My dark hair was pulled back in a low ponytail, and as I passed my reflection in the mirror, I had to stop and check myself out.

  Some people couldn’t pull off wearing all black, but I was pretty sure I was one of them. The dark color made my tan skin look even darker, blending in with my hair and my eyes. It wasn’t often that I wasn’t jealous of my mom’s complexion, but right now, tonight, I didn’t look too shabby.

  I moved to the door, slowly opening it and poking my head out. I heard nothing, except the faint sounds of laughter down the hall and down the stairs.

  Time to snoop, and hopefully put my mind at rest.

  This house had countless other bedrooms, most of them furnished but unused. I had no idea why Ollie needed so much space, especially if it was just himself here. My mom and I each took up one room, but that still left so much empty space.

  It wasn’t the bedrooms that sat wide open and mostly empty that were my focus. My focus were the rooms whose doors were permanently closed, as if wordlessly forbidding me to enter. To that, I’d say fuck it, I’m going in, anyway.

  Once I reached the first locked door, I gripped the handle and turned it. Tried to.

  The damned thing was locked.

  Okay, that was a little weird, wasn’t it? This wasn’t my mind making up a story—there really was a locked door, and there shouldn’t be.

  My eyes studied the doorknob, and I wondered if I’d be able to open it with a butter knife. The locks at our place were like that, and although these doorknobs seemed fancier and with a shinier finish, they looked much the same.

  Problem was, the butter knives were all downstairs in the kitchen, which meant I’d have to go down there to get one.

  Was it worth it? Was possibly being able to go inside this locked room worth me getting in trouble—and in the worst-case scenario, possibly getting my mom fired? Who could say. The only person who could answer that question would be someone who knew what that room held.

  I wouldn’t get caught. I’d be careful.

  Creeping down the hallway, I left the locked room. My socks were noiseless on the steps as I took them one at a time, focusing on what I was hearing. Music, now. This charity event was in full swing, and I knew the hall in the back of the house was full of people in suits and women in fancy dresses.

  So not my thing. I didn’t do dress-up.

  As I came upon the first floor of the house, my pace down the steps slowed. I peeked around the banister. The stairs let out into a wide hallway between the living room and the dining room, and beyond that was the kitchen.

  My nerves were on fire as I rushed through the corner of the dining room, rounding into the kitchen. It wasn’t the kitchen I was used to, so it took me a bit too long to find the drawer with the silverware. Once I had a butter knife, I stuck it in the side of my leggings, covering it with my shirt.

  The last thing I needed was someone walking in on me and asking why the hell I was bringing up a knife to my room.

  My steps quick, I hurried back to the stairs and took two at a time to get back up there. My heart thudded in my chest, not happy with the whole sneaking around thing. Stealth was really not my forte…then again, I wasn’t quite sure what my forte was, exactly.

  Once I reached the locked door, I tossed a look over my shoulders, making sure I was alone before retrieving the butter knife from my side and sticking its flat, semi-sharp tip in the outside of the doorknob. It took me a few tries, but I was able to unlock the door from the outside.

  Score one for Jaz, zero to Ollie.

  It was ridiculous how excited I was my plan worked, and I slipped inside the room, hurriedly closing the door behind me as I stuck the butter knife back into the waistband of my leggings. I turned around to view the room that had been locked off, and for a moment, I couldn’t breathe.

  The room…was pink.

  Like, pink pink.

  The bedding, stuffed animals—everything screamed feminine. Even the pictures on the wall were ones of cartoon animals and things a younger girl might find cute. I moved in front of the dresser, running a hand over the top of its wood.

  Dust. Thick dust.

  A layer of dust like that didn’t just appear in a week. No, if I had to guess, this room had been closed-off and untouched for months, maybe even years.

  Was this—I suddenly grew horrified—Celeste’s room?

  Something didn’t feel right here. I pulled open one of the dresser drawers, finding a neatly-folded pile of panties. Frilly and lacy, they were not the panties a young girl would wear. Those were pairs an older teenager would wear.

  And they were still here.

  If Celeste and her mom left…wouldn’t she have packed the essentials?

  Then again, she was rich. She came from money—it was obvious the rich didn’t care about the same things poorer people did. Whereas I packed everything I owned, someone like Celeste might not.

  After pushing the drawer closed, I checked the others—and then I checked the big closet in the far side of the room. Call me crazy, but it looked like all of her clothes were still here. I saw no empty hangers or half-filled drawers.

  Somehow, it didn’t sit right with me.

  I was about to head out, to do some more snooping—because the more and more I thought about it, the stranger it was—but as my hand touched the knob, my ears heard voices in the hall. I instantly froze, my spine growing rigid.

  I could hardly hear what they were saying…but it sounded like Ollie’s voice.

  Ollie’s…and someone else’s. Another man.

  God, I really wanted to poke my head out and see who Ol
lie was talking to—wasn’t it weird to be up here while his charity gala thing was going on downstairs? Unless…unless he needed to talk about something he didn’t want anyone else to hear. Unless it was a private matter.

  Once their voices faded down the hall, I quietly reached for the doorknob, twisting it slowly and pulling it open just enough to stick my head out and peek. I didn’t see Ollie or whoever was with him; they must’ve disappeared in one of the rooms further down the hall.

  I stepped out of the room, closing it behind me. I practically tiptoed down the hall, and the voices grew louder with each step I took. I shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t listen—whatever it was was their business, not mine, but that pit in my gut told me something was off, so I had to listen. I had to hear.

  After a while, I realized the room they were in was Ollie’s office, and I stopped just beside the door opening, leaning my ear toward the wall as if it would help me hear better. I didn’t get a good look at the man Ollie was with, but judging the sound of his voice, he was a very dark and dangerous man.

  Something here was wrong.

  Chapter Nine – Vaughn

  The last thing I wanted to do on a Saturday night was play dress up and accompany my brother to the Fitzpatrick’s house. Oliver’s house, really, since it seemed the other Fitzpatricks were simply gone, vanished into thin air.

  I felt awkward in a suit, my black hair combed back and styled with gel. This, I knew, would be one boring night. Talking to the socialites, acting polite, smiling when necessary. I was not nearly as good at it as I should be, but that was mostly because I didn’t care. Once I was out of Midpark High, it wasn’t like I’d have a job that required me to be polite. I’d just be a beast they’d uncage every once in a while.

  I sat in the front seat of my brother’s car—a shiny, sleek black vehicle that did anything but blend in.

  Well, the car blended in well around here, anyways.

  We were on our way to Oliver’s house, and I shifted my weight, tossing my brother a glance. I had many brothers, some full-blooded and others half, but he was the one who was in charge of most. He was our father’s right-hand man, the one who’d take over the entire operation once our father died.