Broken Trust : Pacific Prep

by R. A. Smyth

  I can feel the rumble in his chest as he chuckles. “I should have known you wouldn’t just come out with a standard, generic color. That you’d actually have given it some thought...I like that.”

  I glance up at him through my eyelashes. His eyes are closed, and he’s got a small, peaceful smile on his face.

  “What about you?”

  “I've always been a fan of bluish gray shades, kind of like the color of your eyes.” I lift my head to catch him already watching me, enraptured, as I look down at him. “There’s something so…energetic but calming about it. The outward appearance of composure and determination, yet you get the impression there’s so much more going on beneath the surface.”

  I simply gape at him, unsure of how to respond. Probably sensing my internal panic, he leans up, giving me a quick, reassuring kiss.

  “What about your favorite ice cream?” he asks, moving the conversation along.

  With a grin, I settle back into my position on his chest. “Well, I’m slowly making my way through every flavor in the dining hall, but so far, my favorite is lemon and lime.”

  “What?!” he gasps. “Tell me it isn’t so! Lemon and lime? That has got to be one of the worst flavors. You could only top that by saying vanilla.”

  I chuckle at his dramatics, enjoying the easy banter.

  “Alright, Oh Wise Knower of Ice cream Flavors. What is your favorite?”

  “Chocolate fudge brownie, obviously,” he states, like there could be no other option.

  “I haven’t tried that one yet.”

  “You haven’t—?!” he sputters, shaking his head. “Well, we’ll have to rectify that as soon as possible.”

  The fact he doesn’t ask me why I’m working my way through the flavors in the dining hall, or how I’ve never had such a common flavor as chocolate fudge brownie, means more to me than he can ever realize. We spend the rest of the day just lying there, talking. There’s no awkwardness like I thought there would be, and any time he hits a sore spot, he quickly waves away the question and asks something different, never prying or asking for more than I’m willing to give.

  I’ve never felt so at ease around another person, so accepting of sharing a part of myself with them—even if what I’m sharing is light and superficial. It’s still more than I’ve shared with any one person before.

  Before I leave, we swap numbers and he pulls me into him, planting a heated, passionate kiss on my lips.

  “Just because I didn’t fuck you, doesn’t mean I didn’t spend all day thinking about bending you over that desk,” he murmurs against my lips, the deep gravel in his voice only making me wish he’d done exactly that.

  “Next time,” I whisper, sealing the promise with a kiss.

  I can't fight the smile from my lips as I make my way back to my room. Maybe being the only ones left on campus isn't so bad afterall.

  The rest of Christmas break goes by uneventfully. Beck and I text back and forth, and I even get a few messages from Mason and West. I don’t hear anything from Cam or Hawk, not that I’m surprised. Anything Hawk would have to say to me would only be more hateful words I don’t need right now; but it bothers me more than I’d like, not to hear anything from Cam. I even went so far as to pull up his details on the tablet and stare at the screen, re-reading the last few messages we sent to each other, not knowing what to say and eventually closing out of the app altogether. We’ve done too much damage to one another. We’ve both destroyed any trust there could have been between us—me with my deceit and him with his betrayal, assuming he was the one that told Hawk about my scars. If he didn’t, well, I guess it’s all my fault. I broke us. But how was I to know he would come to mean something more to me? That I’d actually give a damn about him. Hell, I came here to kill him, not develop a fucking crush on him. But standing over him that night, I couldn’t fucking do it. He might have been nothing more than a flirtatious idiot back then, but he wasn’t at all what I expected. He didn’t deserve what I had planned for him, so I came up with an alternative plan to exact my revenge. Of course, that kind of blew up in my face, too. God, I was never this sloppy or off my game before I got here. All these guys are messing with my head, preventing me from thinking straight and distracting me from my goals.

  On Christmas day, the kitchen staff put out a feast, even though it’s just me here, and I spend most of the day going back and forth, sampling a bit of everything. It’s all delicious, and I’m annoyed every time my stomach threatens to blow the button on my jeans, and I have to begrudgingly stop eating.

  All too quickly, the end of the holidays approaches and the day before classes commence again, with students starting to return to campus.

  A sharp rap on my door pulls me out of the book I was reading, and I swear I’m going to fucking murder whoever is disturbing me. Not only was I at a particularly juicy scene, but the book was doing wonders at making me forget about tomorrow.

  Unfolding myself from the bed, I don’t even care that I look like a hot mess in a baggy t-shirt and tight boxing shorts, with my hair scraped back in a messy bun, as I answer the door. I’ve barely gotten it open when someone shoves their way through it, storming past me.

  “What the hell?” I shriek, spinning around to glare at my intruder.

  Hawk.

  Of course, it’s fucking Hawk.

  My fucking brother, a fact I still can’t wrap my head around. I’ve gone back and forth all break, between fixating on the matter, and pretending West never stormed in here and turned my world upside-down.

  I wasn’t sure if he would be hell-bent on making my life even more miserable now that he knew exactly who I was, or if he was intent on forgetting the whole thing ever happened. I guess he’s decided he’s still pissed, based on the sneer he’s sporting and the still burning pits of hatred in his eyes. Clearly, two weeks wasn’t enough time for him to simmer down.

  Glaring back at him, he’s impossible to ignore in the confines of my room. He’s got such a demanding presence, his larger frame seemingly taking up all the space in my small room.

  “I don’t see it.” His head is tilted to one side as he scrutinizes me in much the same way I imagine I’m looking at him.

  “Yeah, well, neither do I,” I agree, standing taller and snapping my head up to glare at him.

  He continues to trail his eyes over me, taking his sweet fucking time, while I stand there awkwardly. Curiosity swirls with the ever present hatred in his eyes, his brows drawn together in confusion.

  “What do you want?” I snap out when I can’t stand his eyes on me anymore.

  He holds out a shoebox-sized box he was holding, not bothering to answer my question with actual words.

  “What is that?” I ask hesitantly, once again sensing I don’t want to know what’s in that box. While it might give me answers, I get the impression it’s only going to further solidify this whole ‘brother’ thing. I’ve been living quite a nice life of denial the last two weeks, and I’m not sure I’m ready to burst that bubble just yet.

  “Stuff I found at the house,” he grunts out, stretching his arm out further in another bid to get me to take the box. I still don’t move though, frozen in place as I stare at the unassuming item. How can something so small and innocent-looking hold all the answers to the questions I’d given up on asking?

  When it becomes clear I’m not going to take it, he closes the space between us, shoving the box against my chest until I have no other choice but to grasp it or risk the contents spilling out all over the floor.

  Once it’s in my hands, I can’t resist the curiosity brimming within me. Moving over to set the box on the desk, I hesitantly reach out, lifting off the lid and absently setting it on the table as my eyes settle on the first thing I see. A picture of a girl, a toddler. She’s got white blonde hair and chubby cheeks, a mischievous grin on her face. Her clothes are covered in dirt, soil smudged on her face. Standing beside her, clean as a whistle, is another white-haired toddler. This one’s a boy. His eyes a
re narrowed as he scowls at her, but there’s a slight curl at the corner of his lip, like he’s trying hard not to laugh.

  “This is...us?” I whisper, the words barely audible. It’s a redundant question though, of course that’s us. I’d recognize Hawk’s glower anywhere. I can’t tear my eyes away from the photo. We’re so young. I look so happy. I don’t ever remember being that happy before.

  Despite not needing to, he answers me anyway, “Yeah.” The word is barely a grunt, but the closeness of his voice catches me off guard, and I pull my gaze from the picture, looking up to find him standing right behind me, staring into the box. When did he move so close?

  Pulling out the photo, I carefully place it to one side. There are a couple of other photos of a baby that I’m guessing are of me as well. Not lingering on them, I move on to the page underneath them. Tugging it out, I’m still processing what I’m looking at, when Hawk states the obvious, “That’s your birth certificate. It’s got your real name on it, and the day you were born.”

  My eyes hover over the name on the page, the words feeling both foreign and familiar at the same time.

  Elizabeth Jane Davenport.

  Elizabeth? I don’t feel like an Elizabeth. Hadley is a much more suitable name for me. Elizabeth sounds like it belongs to a pampered princess, someone who’s lived a life of luxury, who’s never had to fight every day of her life, who hasn’t had to endure the pain and torture I’ve had to live through.

  Maybe I was an Elizabeth once, but I’m not that girl anymore.

  Not feeling comfortable with this new identity I’m trying to reconcile myself with, I swiftly move on, glancing further down the page until I find a date of birth.

  “I was born on January eighth?”

  “We were,” Hawk says over my shoulder.

  We? We’re twins? I guess that makes sense. I probably should have thought of that before.

  “That’s only a few days away,” I murmur absently, staring obliviously at the birth certificate until Hawk pulls out a brown envelope from his pocket, setting it down in front of me.

  “What is this?” I ask, wariness creeping through me.

  “Why don’t you open it and see.” His haughty tone immediately has my back straightening, and it’s with shaky hands that I reach out and break the seal, lifting out the folded pages inside.

  The first page is a photocopy of yet another birth certificate, however the name and date of birth are different.

  “I don’t…” My words trail off as I move on to the next page. This one is a photocopy of a passport, with the same name and date of birth as the certificate.

  Hadley Parker. Born August twenty-third.

  Except, the image on the passport isn’t of me. It’s a girl with long dark hair. She’s got a wide smile on her face which shows braces on her teeth. This Hadley looks nothing like me. She’s carefree and full of life.

  Looking at the next page, my heart thumps rapidly in my chest as I scan my eyes over the photocopy of a newspaper article.

  ‘Teenage girl dies in a tragic car accident’.

  Quickly skipping over the article to the next page, I can taste bile at the back of my throat as I once again see my name on another page. This one is a death certificate.

  Apparently, I died three years ago last month.

  “What is this?” I choke out. But it’s a futile question. I know what this is. I didn’t know this girl, I’ve never seen her picture. I didn’t know how she died, but I knew she was dead.

  “This was the real Hadley Parker,” Hawk growls from behind me, his voice regaining its harsh quality that he seems to reserve only for me.

  He reaches up, spinning me around and grabbing on tightly to my shoulders, his fingers digging painfully into the bones. He towers over me, standing so close there’s nowhere else for me to look, but into his menacing eyes that are overflowing with distrust and malice.

  “So the question is,” he sneers, “who the fuck are you?”

  Epilogue

  “I found her.”

  I finally fucking found her.

  “What do you want to do?”

  “I want her back,” I snarl down the phone. “She’s mine.”

  She thinks she can escape me? I’ve waited years to have her, and right when she was about to become mine, she disappears. Well, I won’t let that happen again. I searched fucking everywhere for her. I never thought I’d find her at a fucking prep school, of all places.

  Not that it matters, she’ll soon be back where she belongs, and I’ll do what I should have done years ago. I’ll make her mine—in every possible way. She won’t ever get away from me again. I’ll chain her to my fucking bed if that’s what it takes.

  “I’ll put in a call.”

  His blunt, professional tone settles some of the anger that’s been coursing through me recently, and I disconnect the call knowing he’ll get the job done. He doesn’t have a fucking choice.

  I won’t throw away years of hard work, years of plans in the making. I’ve been patiently playing the long game, but I’m fucking done. She might not realize it yet, but we belong together.

  I hope you’ve enjoyed your freedom, dove, because I’m coming for you.

  Brutal Lies (Pacific Prep #2)

  Read Chapter 1 of Brutal Lies (Pacific Prep #2) NOW by joining up to my newsletter

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  Acknowledgements

  There are so many people, without whom, this book wouldn’t be half as good. The biggest thanks goes to my PA, Nikki. Not only does she keep me in line, but she alpha’d the book, and made all the gorgeous teasers and the beautiful cover. She was there every step of the way, helping and supporting me and for putting up with me, she’s an absolute superstar!

  I also owe a huge thank you to my beta readers – Nikki, Shawna and Artemis. Thank you so much guys for making this book as good as it is. I’m so lucky with the top notch team I have around me!!

  A thanks to Zainab for taking on the book last minute and doing an amazing job with the editing!!

  A huge thanks to my street team and those who signed up with affinity to read and review Broken Trust. I appreciate all your hard work promoting every week and I’ve absolutely loved reading your reviews and seeing your edits.

  I should probably also thank my husband who is starting to realize I might actually be able to make a go out of this whole author thing (lol).

  Lastly, thank you to all of you for picking up this book and reading it. Without you none of this would be possible!! If you loved this book, please help me spread the word by leaving a quick review.

  Also By R.A. Smyth

  Crescentwood Series

  #1 Three Divisions

  https://books2read.com/threedivisions

  #2 Two Forces

  https://books2read.com/twoforces

  #3 One Family

  https://books2read.com/onefamily

  ***

  Pacific Prep

  #1 Broken Trust

  https://books2read.com/brokentrust

  #2 Brutal Lies (coming August 2021)

  https://books2read.com/Brutallies

  #3 Beyond Vengeance (coming 2021)

  #4 Break Free (coming 2021)

  ***

  Black Creek Series

  #1 Rebels & Rejects (coming early 2022)

  https://books2read.com/rebelsandrejects

  About the Author

  R.A. Smyth is an author of dark romance. She lives in the UK with her husband, although they frequently talk about moving to live abroad (so who knows).

  She has always been an avid reader, starting from the Harry Potter books as a kid. It’s an interest that has grown into an obsession over the years and becoming an author has been a secret life long dream of hers.

  When she’s not writing, Rachel enjoys spe
nding time with her family, drinking cups of tea (or glasses of wine or gin) with a good book and exploring the small island of Ireland with her family.

  Stalker Links

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  Three Divisions (Crescentwood #1)

  Chapter 1

  The clock on the wall behind the bar tells me it’s two a.m. as I run my cloth over-the-counter top one final time, before grabbing my bag and locking up behind me on my way out the door. I’m late leaving tonight, as most nights, because my boss knocked off early.

  Thankfully, the fresh air outside wakes me up a bit as I start the walk back home, pushing away the exhaustion that has been working its way through my body and making my eyelids gritty for the last few hours.

  Knowing I have to be at work in the café in four hours for the breakfast rush isn’t helping with the tiredness, but a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do, to get by. It’s not like working two jobs while going to school full time is anything new to me; you just never seem to adjust to the chronic feeling of fatigue. It’s on days like this, when I’m beyond exhausted, that I feel closer to forty than seventeen, but I have to do whatever I can to help my mum out, to ensure we can pay rent and bills, and feed ourselves.