Not Your Pawn: A Dark Bully High School Romance (Roman Academy Rules Book 2)

by L V Chase

  In the mirror, every movement Grayson makes irritates me. He sweeps the floor like he’s an Olympic curler. His face is indecipherable, but I have no doubt he doesn’t regret his half-assed effort just like he doesn’t regret beating my friends.

  “You’re doing a shitty job,” I call out. “If any dirt particles are left on the floor, they’ll scratch the floor when we mop.”

  He looks over at me. “It’s fine.”

  “No, it’s not. I’m also going to get in trouble if the floor is fucked up. Your daddy can bail you out of trouble, but I could lose my scholarship.”

  He gazes at me like I’m an uppity child. I don’t care anymore.

  “Don’t start acting clever now, Cin,” he says. “You’re not upset about the floor. Get your rant out.”

  I hurl the broom to the floor and storm over to him. A tornado in my head demolishes all of my self-restraint.

  “It’s about the fucking floor,” I bite out. “Don’t fucking shrink me, and don’t fucking tell me about ranting. But this is how it goes, isn’t it? You get me involved in some dumb shit—like so-called obedience lessons—then we start fucking, and the next thing I know my reputation, which was doing real shitty to begin with, is in the gutter. But nobody is calling you names. Nobody is grabbing your ass. Even if everyone knew it was you, I bet they’d just worship you more. The great Grayson Voss, deigning to fuck that poor girl like it’s a charity job.”

  His expression darkens. “Who was grabbing you?”

  I shove him. He teeters, a flash of surprise brightening his face, but he quickly regains his balance.

  “That’s not the point,” I snarl.

  “The floor is fine,” he says.

  “What?”

  “You said the point was the floor.” He presses down hard enough on the broom that the bristles bend. I shove him again, but he doesn’t fall back. He rests his chin on top of the hand holding the broom, gazing at me with infuriating composure.

  “I did what I could,” he says. “I stopped the tape as soon as I saw what it was.”

  “What it was? It was us, fucking. If you’re willing to do so much, why haven’t you come forward and said it was you? I’ve heard lots of rumors swirling, and I don’t think you’re winning that poll. It’s a tie between the quarterback, the gym teacher, and a local drug dealer. And two of those aren’t very flattering about your body.”

  “People knowing it was me isn’t going to make anything better for you.”

  I snort. “Of course, that’s your excuse. You refuse to tell everyone the truth for my benefit, like always.”

  “Cin, it is for your benefit,” he says, a splinter of urgency breaking into his voice. “You might not want to believe it, but there’s more happening on this campus than you know. If people knew I cared about you like that…you’d get a lot worse attention.”

  “It can’t get worse!” I yell, my voice cracking on the last word. Tears are threatening to fall, but I’m too close to the edge to backpedal now. “God, you are so goddamn arrogant and pretentious. You honestly think you’re saving me from something, don’t you? You think you’re a savior. But you’re just a coward and a pig, and I hate you, and I fucking hate that I ever looked at you and thought I cared about you.”

  Tears escape, warm fugitives running down my face. I spin around and rush to the door. I nearly reach it before Grayson grabs me around the waist, yanking me back. I fight, hitting and scraping him. We spiral against each other, thrashing and grasping, as we fall to the floor. He pins me down, his hands on my wrists and his knees straddling my hips.

  “Cinnamon,” he says.

  I try to bring my knees up to hit him, but I can’t get enough momentum.

  “I know it’s not enough,” he says. “I know it’s hard, I know it’s a shitty hand you’ve been given, but I swear I wouldn’t let you go through this unless I thought the alternative was worse.”

  “You’re full of shit,” I say, but the words are bumbled over tears.

  “When this is all over, after you graduate, none of this will matter.”

  His words cut me deeper than they should. None of this will matter. So, they won’t matter to him, either.

  He releases one of my wrists, tucking a strand of my hair behind my ear, and strokes my hair. His fingertips rest near the middle of my ribcage, where my hair ends. He continues talking, the words rolling over me.

  “You see me as the devil, and that’s true,” he says. “But I’d rather be the devil now if that’s what it takes to keep you safe…”

  His thumb brushes a tear off my cheek. I grab his wrist. His hand spreads out on my cheek, cupping it. It wasn’t my intention, but the warmth and rough texture are therapeutic.

  “You don’t want what you think you want. I could never be the person who brings you what you want. I can’t be the man who brings you peace of mind and a normal life. I ruin people. You saw it with Diana. You dodged a bullet.”

  As my breathing evens, he slowly releases my wrist and gets off me. I sit up, rubbing my wrists. We stare at each other, my cheeks damp with tears and my snot likely making me look like an emotional wreck. He rests his hand on my knee and gives me a quick kiss on my cheek. I wonder if he can taste the salt.

  “I’ll finish up tonight,” he says. “Just go back to your room.”

  I slowly rise. I walk to the door. His words echo in my head, but one part is louder than everything else. The alternative was worse. He sounded so certain.

  What could be worse than this?

  20

  Grayson

  The yellow streaks from the middle of the street are blurring past me. Whenever I wanted to clear my mind, I used to hit the road, but these days, it doesn't do anything for me. I've just spent another half-hour racing up and down the hills, but all of that quiet driving out here, all alone with nothing to distract me, doesn't bring me peace. It just fills me with a void that's too quickly filled by thoughts of Cin.

  After everything that's happened, I'm still obsessed with her. I'll admit it to myself, if not to anyone else.

  I turn and head back to school. This time, I turned my phone off while driving, since I didn't want to be bothered by the constant buzzes. It seems like whenever I'm driving to get away, someone's always trying to reel me back. I wait until I've parked, then sit in the lot for a good three minutes, closing my eyes and trying to calm myself before grabbing my phone.

  I turn my phone on and find five missed calls, which is no surprise. They're all from Dad. He sent a text, too. I grit my teeth and read what he wrote.

  You failed. Again. With the Crocker kid. Your fault for getting into the fight.

  It's rather brief, but it covers everything. He blames me for failing on his project a second time. He's right. This one was supposed to be a softball, nothing like the project with Brady and the girls. All I had to do was make Hayden feel special. I can't help but feel that ever since I met Cin, nothing's been working like it's supposed to, that I've been steadily losing control.

  I realize that Dad sent another text a few minutes after the first. I scroll down and read that one.

  I'm going to beat your ass again.

  I delete the texts. I'm not scared of Dad. I wonder how far I could go. I could put him in the hospital, like Eric did to Jay, but that'd raise too many questions and cast us all in a bad light. A broken arm? A black eye? I held back last time, but I'm not sure if I can do that again. I'm not his whipping boy.

  And fuck, can't he even fend off the company shit on his own? He's the one who built the empire. Why can't he deal with a shitty little upstart like Writing on the Wall? Is he getting too old? Losing his edge? Does he have his own problems?

  We barely talk these days. I don't care. I have little sympathy if something's going on with him, not when Cin's gone through so much shit, directly or not, because of Dad's pet projects. I never liked his whole deal with Brady and the girls. It was a necessary evil, a price that had to be paid. But once Cin came around...no,
that shit wasn't for me.

  If all hell breaks loose, Dad will have earned whatever happens to him. Maybe me, too. But not, Cin. She's the only innocent one.

  I open my door and step outside. I stop when I see her. Not Cin. Cin's mother. Kat. A flash of hot anger washes over me.

  Kat is wearing a long tan jacket, but it's completely unbuttoned so I can see the yellow dress she has on underneath. As usual, she's showing more skin than most of the girls half her age at this school. She in off-white heels with one foot leaning on the toes, shaking back and forth as she waits for someone.

  I consider going in another direction, but Kat spots me, and from the way she smiles, she makes it clear that she's waiting for me. I'm not afraid of her. Wary, yes, but not afraid. I grimace and plow ahead, ready to brush off her bullshit, hoping that I don't lose control and do something that I'd regret. Or that Cin would.

  Honestly, I can't believe that she has the nerve to show up here after what she did. She's a special kind of idiot, or just a pure psychopath. Anyone sane would go running after crossing me or Dad. Then again, Cin's the same. She's not afraid of me, either, but that's because she has a spine, not because she's a crazy bitch.

  And doesn't Kat care about her own daughter? She knew, at least, that there was something going on between me and Cin. Pulling the shit she did with the phone, trying to take me for herself—it's beyond disgusting or stupid. She's trash, pure trash, beyond anything even my Dad would have warned about.

  I'm walking in her direction because that's where the sidewalk starts, not because I have any interest in talking to her. But Kat's smile widens as I get closer to her.

  "Grayson," she coos as I approach.

  "Get out of my school," I snarl before stopping. "Go. Now!"

  "Oh, Grayson. You don't really mean that. I can see the way you look at me—"

  "Go!" I shout.

  I lunge for her, my hands moving with a mind of their own for her neck. I want to strangle her, crush her throat, snap her neck. For once, she has the sense to be scared. She shrinks back from me.

  "I don't want to see you again here," I whisper in a low voice. "I'm warning you."

  She's been cowering, but something makes her stand taller all of a sudden. She juts her fat tits out at me, making it clear that she's not wearing a bra underneath her dress. She smacks her lips loudly.

  "I don't think so, honey," she says.

  She pulls something out of her jacket's side pocket. It's a joint. She reaches into her other side and withdraws a lighter. Before she can light her joint, I snatch both the joint and lighter out of her hands and throw them across the parking lot. The lighter clatters across the black asphalt.

  "Who the hell do you think you are?" I ask her. "I'm not asking again. Get the fuck out of here."

  She tilts her head at me, giving me a stern look like she's my mother about to lecture me.

  "Grayson, Grayson," Kat says. "You know, I was just having another drink with Eric."

  Something about her voice is off. She's strangely confident. I don't like where this is going.

  "You and Eric?" I shrug. "Big fat deal. He'll use you like the slut you are, then toss you out once he gets bored."

  Kat makes a fake, pained expression. "You don't mean that."

  "I do."

  Kat pouts. "Well, once he had a few drinks and a few lines of coke, he got quite chatty. I'm telling you, very chatty."

  I scowl. I don't like her bringing coke over to the villa, not with all the shit going on, Walsh clamping down, and the whole shitshow with Damian. Eric should know better, too. I'm not afraid of Kat snagging Eric or anything like that. He gets bored too quickly to ever let someone get to him. No, his weakness is that he doesn't know how to shut things down, how to ever turn down a good time.

  I make a fist with both hands, then clench and unclench hard enough to crack my knuckles. "What did Eric say?" I slowly ask.

  Kat giggles and pulls out her phone. "Why don't I let you hear for yourself." She presses something on the phone, and the recorded audio plays. I recognize Eric's voice.

  "It's his fault," Eric says on the recording. "Grayson. He thinks he's untouchable, that he can do whatever he wants. But things are falling apart..."

  I'm annoyed by what Eric's saying, but I force myself to keep my face blank. Eric and I have had our ups and downs recently, but he's still been there to back me up. Unless he gets drunk or coked up, that is.

  A woman's voice, Kat's I assume, starts speaking, but Kat fast forwards through it.

  "...since he replaced Cinnamon with Diana," Eric's voice continues. "It was supposed to be Cinnamon. I'm sure of that. He sent Diana..."

  I don't need to hear more of this shit. I reach for Kat's phone, but she holds up a finger. "You don't want to do that."

  I ignore her and grab the phone out of her hand.

  Kat sighs. "I have copies," she says.

  I immediately grab her by her coat and pull her towards me. I begin patting her down, checking the insides of her coat pockets. Kat laughs and shimmies her ass.

  "Oh, you can do as much of that as you want," Kat says.

  When I stop and glare, she licks her lips and reaches down with her hand between her legs. "You sure you don't need to check more carefully, officer?" she says in a mocking tone.

  I step back from her, disgusted. She clearly has copies elsewhere. I look down at her phone in my hand. I could delete the file here, at least. Destroy her phone. It would be a petty, useless gesture, though. Instead, I press play on the paused audio file and listen further.

  The recording is a fucking hour long. There are long breaks, the sound of snorting, glasses clinking. I speed it up, fast forwarding like Kat did before, but I can get the general gist of it. Kat pumped Eric for all that he was worth. He goes on and on about other tangents, about how he sees girls, who his favorite fucks are, why redheads are better. Kat always steers him back towards me and Cin somehow. And Eric, knowingly or not, lets it all out.

  He even talks about Dad's setup, how I'm supposed to get girls ready for Dad's business dealings. I had never told Eric explicitly about the project with Diana and the other scholarship girls, really just telling him what he needed to know. But he's managed to piece together far more than I gave him credit for. He might be stoned or crazy half the time, but he's not stupid.

  When I finish listening to as much as I need, I toss the phone back to Kat. I'm done with this and her. I step to move past her, but she hangs onto my left arm. I drag her for several steps, and she shrieks as she leans against me, trying not to fall off her heels. I finally shake her hard enough so that she lets go.

  "We're done," I say.

  "No, no, no," Kat says in a rushed voice. "See, if you don't do what I like, I’ll send this to the police."

  I turn and face her, staring silently at her for several moments. I've heard this shit already from Damian, even Aurora, and there's no way in hell I'm going to take the same thing from a crazy bitch like her. She's nobody. She's nothing. She has no idea who's she's talking to.

  "No," I say slowly and deliberately.

  Kat shakes her head. "You're not getting it, if you don't—"

  I can't hold back any longer. One hand snaps forward. I grab her blonde hair and yank her head down at an awkward angle. My other hand grabs her by the throat. I press into it, making her choke for a second before I let go.

  "You're the one not getting it," I say. "So, tell me, Kat. Why shouldn't I strangle you now?"

  This isn't me. This is beyond what even I would do, but she's pushed me to my limits. She dared to threaten me, and by extension, her own daughter.

  Kat blubbers something incomprehensible. Then, she starts speaking rapidly. "I'll send it to the police. I swear I will. I will!"

  It takes everything I have not to close my hand and make her really hurt. All the rage and pain churning inside me is desperate for a release point, and this stupid bitch insists on goading me on. I take a deep breath before I speak.<
br />
  "What do you want, then?" I ask.

  When Kat doesn't answer right away, I grab a larger clump of her hair in my fist and jerk it sharply down so that she cries out.

  "Don't waste my time," I say. "Come on. Out with it."

  "Money," Kat says. "I'll keep quiet if you pay me."

  "Money?" I ask.

  I don't like it, but money's nothing to me. If that's all she wants, I'd gladly pay to get her the fuck out of my and Cin's life forever.

  But she's a greedy bitch. When she sees that I might be willing to agree, she regains some of her confidence.

  "And some favors," Kat says. "Some other things, you know." She smiles up at me invitingly, this time tilting her head back even further so that she's stretching her pale neck out towards me.

  I throw her onto the asphalt roughly, and she gives out a short scream.

  "I'll think about it," I reply as I walk away.

  21

  Cin

  I set my plate of tortellini down, pulling my drawing pad out from my bag. It feels wrong to work on my art piece for the competition while Jay is in the hospital, but I need to pour myself into something.

  I flip to a new page and start squirting paints onto the palette.

  I shouldn’t think of mustard every time I look at yellow paint, but the night of the talent show taunts me as the yellow glob sits in the middle of the palette.

  I’ll paint something without yellow—a fucking primary color.

  I set the palette down and stare at my drawing pad’s blank sheet.

  I can’t discard yellow. I need my art piece to be more than a reflection of anger, of sadness, of humiliation. I need it to be a tiny piece of light. I need something like Van Gogh’s Sunflowers.

  The art room door swings open. Damian steps in, carrying a plate covered in foil.

  “Looks like we had the same idea for dinner,” he says, gesturing to my plate. He walks around the long table to sit down next to me. “The pasta here is so good. Two reasons to stay here.”