The Resurrection of Us: A High School Bully Romance (Albany Nightingale Duet Book 2)

by Rachel M Raithby

  The list is an odd accumulation of stuff, from property, to china and art. “Why would my mother want a painting?”

  “Because my father loves it. It took him years to acquire it.” Grayson must note my uncertainly. “Ashton, I know my father. He’s insanely rich and taking money off him isn’t going to change that. Sure, he’ll be pissed if you take the penthouse and the Hamptons cottage, but if you really want to make him hurt, you’ll take the things money can’t fix.”

  “I didn’t think your father cared for such things.”

  “He doesn’t in a way, but the painting is one of a kind. If you have it, he can’t buy another.”

  “I get your point, but this tea set and eighteenth-century plates… does he really care about them?” I can’t picture it.

  “No, but my mother did, and when she left, she wanted to take them with her, but he refused, just to spite her. You’ve got the video, Ashton. Imagine his face when he realizes you’re taking things off him he’s gone to a great effort to acquire, and there’s not a damn thing he can do about it.”

  Doubt still lingers in the back of my mind. I’d expected the bastard to go down for sleeping with a minor, and he somehow managed to keep it out of the papers and have Sophia’s parents agree to deal with the situation quietly.

  “I’m not sure the video is enough, Grayson. It played for the whole school to see and doesn’t seem to have done a damn thing.”

  “Oh, it has. He’s lost sway over his company’s board members, and clients have walked away, but the difference is, we have the file and we’ll give it to a source that won’t be silenced if he doesn’t corporate.”

  “Who’s that?”

  “My aunt.”

  “Didn’t know you had one.”

  “She’s my mother’s sister. Not spoken to her in forever. She kind of disappeared after my mom… left the scene, but she’s a reporter, and she hates my father more than you do.”

  “What makes you think she’ll help me?”

  “She’s helping me, Ashton, her nephew.”

  “Who hasn’t spoken to you in years.” The last thing I want to do is go up against the king of hell and find my ammunition isn’t what was guaranteed.

  Grayson’s expression turns unexpectedly somber. “Have you ever wondered where my mother is, Ashton?”

  “Never liked to ask to be honest,” I admit. The question was stronger in our first months together, but after a while, I just became used to the concept of it just being Arthur and Grayson.

  “They split when I was five and my mother wanted to take me to Orange County, near her family and be my full-time parent. My father, of course, wasn’t having any of that. I am, after all, an asset, and we all know he doesn’t like to give them up. It would be much better for his image to be the single father going it alone than the divorcé who hardly sees his kid,” Grayson explains matter-of-factly.

  “He won full custody then?”

  “Not at first, no. For a while, I lived month to month in different states with private tutors who’d travel with me, but my father doesn’t like losing, and there is more than one way to win a fight. He made it impossible for my mother, ensured her fresh start was met with obstacle after obstacle, until her son wasn’t worth the battle and she gave me up.”

  As I listen to his words, a coldness seeps into my bones. Grayson retells his story as if reading off a shopping list. There’s no emotion, no pain or anger or hate. Nothing. And I finally understand why Grayson is willing to go up against Arthur and stand with me. His own father destroyed his mother’s life and in doing so, stole his son’s childhood and set him on a path he doesn’t deserve.

  “I’m really sorry, Gray, I can’t imagine what it must have been like having your mother leave you.” I’m angry at mine for picking alcohol over her sons, but she’s still here, still trying to fight the addiction Arthur has fueled again.

  Shrugging, Grayson lets out a long breath, the sound the only indicator of sadness I’ve heard. “She fought for years, would come see me when she could, but in the end, it was easier to forget each other than live the repeated pain of being torn apart.”

  Silence hangs between us for a moment, as if the tragedy of Grayson’s life has erased the words on our tongues. Yet as I search his face, I see a deeper pain even Grayson’s pristine mask cannot hide, and I dread to think what caused it. Averting my eyes, I look over the list Grayson made me one last time and can’t help but laugh when I find his name listed last.

  “You’re on here?”

  Grayson’s eyes harden, fury lighting his dark brown eyes for the first time. “He ruined my own mother to keep me. I’d say that makes me a pretty valuable asset for your list.”

  But while Grayson’s story has lit a fire in my belly in solidity for a brother I’ve not really acknowledged or cared about up until now, it’s also made me realize how powerful his father is and made me think that maybe I should fear taking Arthur Bishop on.

  “I hate to say this, Gray, but if he did that to your mom, what makes you think he’s not going to do it to mine? And she isn’t nearly as strong as it seems yours was.”

  “Because all the money in the world won’t shut down a story told by a source who has lost all hope, and when it’s out there for the world to see, the only road he’ll be taking is the one that leads behind steel bars.”

  “Your aunt really hates him that much?”

  “My—” Pain like I’ve never seen washes over his face. It’s there between one breath and gone the next. I can’t be certain it was ever real, but as his next words leave his mouth, our pact becomes more than revenge; it becomes a fight for justice, for what is right. It becomes a war fought by brothers, side by side. “My mother’s dead, Ash. She killed herself when I was nine.”

  I swallow the emotions urging forward, look Grayson square in the eyes, understanding him better than I ever have before. “There’s a meeting between mine and his lawyers next week. Are you coming?”

  He smiles, the act not quite his normal self. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

  “We’ll need to make sure my mother’s ready. Get her to a point she isn’t needing to drink.”

  His lips thin as he nods. “It’s not much time. I think we’ll need to get Mary to help.”

  “I’ll skip school. She’s on your father’s payroll.”

  “He might pay her wages, brother, but she’s been in my life since I was a baby. She’s with us, not him.”

  “Okay. If you say she can be trusted, then I believe you.” And though we don’t register the significance of my words, it passes between us in a silent agreement. Our emotions hardening, becoming darker, vengeful. Arthur Bishop is going to pay for everything he’s done.

  When I woke this morning, Grayson was a reluctant helper I wasn’t sure I could trust, but he ends this day as my brother bonded by more than marriage. We’ve both experienced the pain of losing a parent, both have reason to want to hurt his father, and we’re both driven by the flames of our vengeance.

  “I’m home,” Josh calls from somewhere in the penthouse, breaking through the tension and emotion binding Grayson and me.

  “Best pick up this discussion later. I don’t want Josh knowing any more than he does,” I say.

  “Agreed,” Grayson answers, following me out of the office as I go in search of my little brother.

  His phone chimes as he trails behind me, and I hear Grayson groan. Pausing, I looked back.

  “Everything all right?”

  He lifts his head from his phone, looking more like the Grayson I know, the lift of his lips more sinful than sad. “No. What the hell possessed you to confront Rose for sleeping with me?”

  I grimace. “Yeah about that.”

  “Forget it, Ashton, whatever excuse you have, I don’t want to hear it. Fucking dipshit. Surprised she didn’t claw out your eyes.”

  Went for my heart instead.

  His phone pings again, and Grayson lets out a bark of laughter, meeting my g
aze with amusement. “You forcibly kissed her? Are you trying to drive her into my bed?”

  Clenching my jaw, I glare at the annoying smirk on his lips. And just like that, we’re back to our old dynamics, and if I’m honest, it’s a relief.

  “I didn’t force her. She kissed me back,” I defend. The fact she’s complaining to Grayson about me isn’t clashing very well with the recent connection I’ve made with Grayson. I can’t decide which emotion I should feel about the whole scenario.

  “Just because the emotion is there, doesn’t mean she wanted it, bro,” Grayson points out. I’m not sure when he became the wise one, but I do not like it.

  “Oh, shut up,” I mutter, beginning the search of my brother again. “And you best not sleep with her again,” I throw over my shoulder.

  “Cock blocker,” Grayson calls back as his phone sounds again.

  And maybe I am, but honestly, I don’t care. Rose and I aren’t together, we aren’t even talking, but I sure as hell can’t stand to see her with Grayson and keep a clear enough head to tackle the shitstorm that is about to hit us after we deliver our first blow to Arthur. I’ve made so many mistakes lately, hurt those I love and broken bridges I don’t know how to fix, but the divorce, this battle with my stepfather, this is one task I can’t fuck up. Mom’s depending on me. My little brother is depending on me, and now there’s Grayson too. And I get the feeling Gray’s been sitting on his rage for years, waiting for the right opportunity to take his father down.

  It’s more than a divorce. It’s retribution. It’s a coup d’état.

  Chapter 17

  Rose

  “Rose. Rose?”

  Ignoring my mother as I walk into our home, I avoid eye contact and head straight for my room.

  I’ve been in a bad mood since Ashton kissed me, so much so that it was seeping out from under my mask and Penelope confronted me before the end of school after I’d snapped at one too many of our friends. I’d brushed her off with an excuse of being tired and my mother on my case for being out all the time, and then decided to cancel my nights plans with her and the others, in exchange for a hot bath and early night.

  “Rose!”

  On the third yell of my name, I decide to stop, letting my breath out in a loud rush so she’ll know how much I don’t want to talk.

  “Not out tonight?” she asks once I’ve paused in the doorway to my room, my back to her.

  Turning to face her, I reply, “No. I needed a night to relax.”

  Instead of asking me why I need to relax, in true Violet Devenport fashion, she changes the subject to something completely different and pretends she doesn’t see the stress lining my face.

  “Declan Moor.”

  “What about him?” I ask, having no idea where this conversation is going but knowing I’ll hate it anyway.

  “Tell me about him.”

  Rolling my eyes, I do as she asks, recalling Declan in my mind. He’s good-looking, in a plain, all-round American way. Blond hair, blue eyes, athletic build, but he isn’t the type of person you’d remember. His smile, the look in his eyes, it won’t lodge itself inside you until he’s all you’ll see.

  “Not much to tell. He’s on the football team, linebacker, I think. Why?”

  “His mother holds a charity masquerade ball every year and I want to plan it.” I know the event, the girls have already been planning what they’ll wear, even though it’s weeks away.

  I smile tightly, dreading where this is going. “Good luck with that.” But she only lets me get one step before she’s barking orders at me.

  “Befriend him, Rose. Make him feel important.”

  “And what makes you think she’ll care what her son has to say anyway? Plus, surely this event is already in the planning stages?”

  She smiles, the act as plastic as her words. “Rumor is they’ve had a creative difference, and it’s caused Elizabeth Moor to need a new event planner. You’ll make him care, Rose. You’ll do this for me, because we need this event. I need this event. I can’t carry on living stuck under your grandpa’s control.”

  The emptiness, the cold hollow ache I’ve been running from hits me at full force. “When did it become okay to whore out your own daughter, Mother?”

  She scoffs, waving away my words as if I’m a dramatic child. “I’m not asking you to sleep with him. Just get to know him, pull him further into the fold. It will be good for you, provide a distraction from that boy. Heaven knows I’m sick of seeing you pining after him.”

  It shouldn’t amaze me, but it does. She’s managed to turn this from a favor for her, into a benefit for me. As if getting to know Declan Moor isn’t a twisted command but a helpful suggestion.

  “Can I go now?” I ask sharply.

  “Yes, yes,” she answers, smiling. I grit my teeth. “I’m only trying to help.”

  What a load of bull. “Whatever you say, Mother.”

  “It will benefit both of us,” she calls as I slam my bedroom door. “So we don’t have to rely on anyone but ourselves.”

  I don’t answer. She doesn’t deserve it, because she knows as well as me that bringing Declan further into the fold means only one thing; she wants me to win his trust, his attention. She wants a favor and there’s only one way I’m going to be able to do that, and the thought of it makes me sick.

  Running a bath, I lower myself into the hot water, wishing the heat would burn away all the darkness inside me, but the truth is, I need the hate, the anger, the betrayal. I need every drop of destructive emotion I can muster, because it’s the only way I can fashion a mask strong enough to get me through the coming days.

  And as much as I want to ignore my mother, I won’t. She’s all I have left, and sometimes a queen must make sacrifices to keep her crown. Sometimes she has no choice but to walk the path others have pushed her down.

  And my mother, she pushed me down this path long ago.

  ***

  When I first started at Albany Nightingale, my walks through the school halls were a lonely affair, with only Isla as company until I didn’t even have her. I’m not alone anymore though. I’m surrounded by the wealthiest students Albany has to offer. The children of the most rich and powerful, but while we all pretend to be friends, it’s not really what we are. Friends wouldn’t stab you in the back the second you stumble. Friends wouldn’t twist and use your weaknesses against you.

  Friends… have I ever had one?

  “Hey, beautiful,” Grayson purrs, slinging his arm around my shoulder and pulling me close. Shrugging him off, I glare his way as we make our way from class to the courtyard for lunch, noticing he has a few bruises on his face. “That time of month?” he asks, smirking.

  “You’re a pig, Grayson, and I’m still mad at you for telling Ash we had sex,” I mutter.

  He laughs. “Sexiest pig in this school.” And from the way most of the girls lust after him, he’s telling the truth, but I can’t walk down that road again. I actually like Grayson and caring about someone always leads to pain. His voice lowers, growing serious, “And I’ve said I’m sorry about the whole Ash thing. Please forgive me.”

  I roll my eyes. “I’ll think about it.” He grins, but I refuse to smile back. I do, however, have a question for him that’s been bothering me all morning. “I was told you arrived at school with Ashton this morning. Has he let you back into the penthouse?”

  “Yeah.”

  We enter the courtyard together, and both our gazes find Ashton at once, sat away from our table, a couple of his teammates with him. Ashton looks our way, his eyes skating over me, but when he takes in Grayson, something unreadable passes between them that has me studying Ashton and Grayson curiously.

  “What was that?” I ask, nudging him in the side.

  “What was what?” he answers, hooking his arm around me again.

  I give up pushing him off and let his arm pull me close as I question him further. “Ashton hated you and now you’re living together again, and I don’t know. That look… s
omething’s happened.”

  Sitting beside each other, our bodies touching, Grayson smiles knowingly. “We had it out, found common ground.”

  “Had it out?” I roll my eyes. Boys are so annoying.

  He laughs softly. “I told him I’d slept with you, he punched me a few times, now we’re all good.”

  My stomach drops. Ashton and I aren’t even talking, yet the thought of him knowing I slept with his stepbrother fills me with guilt. “So that’s who gave you the shiner. Bloody deserve it too. I’d rather you not tell anyone else about what we’ve been doing, thanks,” I say harshly, eyeing the dark purple bruise covering his eye.

  But I get the sense there’s more to this story. Surely they haven’t bonded over punching each other. Boys tend to be stupid… but that stupid? “There’s more. Tell me.”

  “That an order from my queen?” he mocks, gaze darkening.

  “Gray,” I warn.

  Shrugging, Grayson puts space between us, closing down before my eyes. “Maybe I’ll tell you if you play nice.” Whenever I feel like I’m getting somewhere with him, like we actually might be friends, he becomes the person everyone expects him to be.

  “The fun and games are over, Gray,” I reply coldly. If he wants to shut me out, then I can play that game too. Turning away, I spot Declan walking into the courtyard, heading for Ashton. “Declan,” I call out, my voice like honey.

  Pausing, Declan looks my way, surprise on his face. Smiling sweetly, I draw him in with my eyes before I crook my finger beckoning him to me.

  “What are you doing?” Grayson whispers beside me.

  Declan glances at Ashton, who is watching our exchange with a scowl, before giving him a “what can a guy do” expression and walks to me. As Declan comes to a stop in front of me, I nudge Grayson in the side.

  “Scoot along, Grayson. Declan wants to sit beside me.”

  There’s a moment when I think Grayson’s going to protest. I almost want him to step out of line, to be the wicked dark prince I met when I first stepped foot in this school. It would be easier that way. It would make shunning him and bringing Declan in far easier on my conscience, but Grayson doesn’t. He schools his features and does as I ask, all while welcoming Declan with a convincing smile.