Gorgeous Nasty Luxe (Blood and Diamonds Book 2)

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Gorgeous Nasty Luxe (Blood and Diamonds Book 2) Page 4

by L. A. Sable


  Without a complete understanding of what drives me, I abruptly stand and follow Asher out into the hallway. All I know is that it’s in moments like this, when the rage and pain driving him is overwhelming, that Asher is at his easiest to manipulate.

  “Wait,” I command when he’s already halfway down the hallway. To my surprise he freezes, shoulders tense as he halts while I slowly catch up. He doesn’t bother to turn around, resistance written into every line of his body. “Well, that was rude.”

  He turns slowly to glare down at me, eyes a blaze of green fire in the darkened hallway. “What the fuck do you want?”

  As I drink him in, it strikes me once again just how beautiful he is, like some angel fallen to earth to tempt the righteous. I have to remind myself that he’s just another guy, no matter how pretty the packaging. “What is wrong with you?”

  His expression is sullen. “Nothing.”

  “That was rude. Trish has been planning this for weeks.”

  He collapses against the paneled wall and crosses his arms over his chest. “Life is full of little disappointments. I’m sure she can console herself with another round at the plastic surgeon’s office. Maybe you two can go together.”

  “Watch your mouth.”

  “Or what?” Asher pushes off of the wall, coming a step closer so he looms over me, forcing me to crane my neck back to look at him. “Speaking of, this is the first time I’ve had a close look since you came back. Dr. Stein does good work.”

  Any display of emotion is giving into weakness. If I let him know how easy it still is for him to get under my skin, then the game is already lost.

  “Four broken ribs, cracked pelvis, shattered jaw, internal bleeding into the abdominal cavity. Not to mention, the nose that popped like a tomato and all the stitches to reattach my scalp to the right part of my skull.” I deliver the litany of injuries in a voice without inflection, as if I’m describing what happened to someone else. And to a certain extent, I am. The old me died in that bus crash. “Look closely, can you see the scars?”

  I sense him study my face, even as I stare at the wall just behind his shoulder. The weakening in him is small but palpable as he takes me in, forced to contemplate what it is that I truly suffered.

  But he’s not wrong, Dr. Stein does wonderful work. Now, all of my scars are on the inside.

  “What do you want?” he asks finally, voice barely more than a whisper.

  “Tell me what’s going on with you and Carter.”

  “Nobody said anything is going on.”

  “I’ve never seen the two of you act like that before. Carter never speaks to you that way, and you showed up to dinner drunk.”

  His jaw tightens, the only sign of the tension that must sing through him. “You’ve been here for a few months. You know nothing about what we’re like. Maybe you should just stay out of it.”

  “I have to live here remember, so I can’t just stay out of it. Especially when Trish is having her feelings hurt.”

  A blonde eyebrow shifts up as his gaze turns sardonic. “And we all know what you’re willing to do for her.”

  My fingers clench into a fist, nails digging sharply in my palms. That small amount of pain is grounding, a reminder of what I’m trying to accomplish here. In this moment, anger is counterproductive. “Don’t be a dick.”

  Asher rolls his eyes, but there’s no heat behind it. “The best way to get my grandfather riled is to remind him of my father. Makes things hard for me when just seeing my face is enough to accomplish that feat.”

  It isn’t precisely sympathy that moves me, but there’s no fun in smashing a toy that’s already broken into pieces. Reaching out, I gently touch the back of his hand.

  Heat flares between us, the same spark that has been there from nearly the first moment we met. He stares down at me, emotion flaring in his gaze before I recognize the rising tide of his anger.

  And I realize that I’ve made a mistake, pushed him just that touch too far.

  “Mind your own business.” Asher snatches his arm away and glares down at me. “Just because we fucked that doesn’t make us friends.”

  My hand is already flying before I’ve had the chance to process any conscious intent. The sound of my palm striking him fully across the cheek echoes off the walls, loud enough that I’m surprised no one comes running to see what’s going on.

  For his part, Asher seems to accept the slap as his due, but turns back to face me with a gaze like steel. There’s no evidence of the sloppy drunk left, as if my hitting him was enough to knock him back into cold reality. “Are you done?”

  “Not even close.” I force myself to calm down before I hit him again. He deserves it, but physical suffering isn’t the way to make him really hurt. And there’s little satisfaction in him standing there and letting me pummel him. “Fuck you, Asher.”

  “Been there done that. I’m not really up for a repeat right now, but ask me again later after I’ve had a few more drinks.”

  And I remember what I’ve learned about Kyra Evans and the other unnamed girl, both involved with him when something terrible happened to them. It can’t be a coincidence. “I know what you’ve done.”

  His expression changes, a new intensity burning in his eyes. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “Secrets are like a cancer,” I bite out, maneuvering away as he tries to back me toward the wall. “They mutate and grow until they’ve taken over everything else. Eventually they consume anything they touch until it dies.”

  His nostrils flare with each sharp inhalation of breath as he stares down at me. “You don’t know anything about me.”

  “But, I will.” And that’s a promise.

  Chapter 4

  Asher would be the prime suspect for who pushed me in front of that bus, except he had been sitting next to Trish at the exact moment of the crash. I’ve asked Trish about it in as oblique of terms as I can manage and she always repeats that she, Carter and Asher left the auditorium together after hearing the screams for help from the poor driver.

  As much as I want him to be the one, it simply isn’t possible.

  But he’s guilty of other things, even if I don’t know exactly what they might be.

  Assuming anyone’s innocence is a luxury that I can ill afford. Although, I can’t help but wonder how my return to Black Lake is going to play out. Chloe won’t simply forget that she hates me because of a slap on the wrist for her prank. And the dynamic between me and the male Diamonds has fundamentally changed in a way that’s difficult to predict. They are still Asher’s friends, after all.

  And Asher is the one I’ll have to work hardest to fool because he’s most likely to see past what’s sitting on the surface. I can only hope he’s too wrapped up in his own bullshit to see me coming.

  One interesting thing to come out of my accident is that I’ve been allowed to bring a car to Black Lake because I still need physical therapy twice a week and follow-up appointments with the surgical team. Per Dean Felton, I’m allowed to drive myself so long as I don’t “abuse the privilege.” Whatever the hell that means.

  It puts me in an advantageous position as the only third year with a car.

  Trish went all out when she chose the vehicle that I would have. She bought me a pearl white Aston Martin convertible with black leather seats that came fully equipped. Any qualms I had about letting her spend Carter’s money on me have gone out the window, I’ve already repaid the gift of him in her life with crushed bones and fresh blood spilled on the road at Black Lake Prep.

  There isn’t a single student at Black Lake who feels bad about winning the genetic lottery and being born into a family with extreme wealth. I refuse to indulge in misplaced guilt just because my golden ticket got pulled later in life.

  I feel a stab of regret when I pull out the driveway and see Trish’s sad reflection in my rearview mirror as she waves goodbye. I’m leaving her alone in the house. Carter is off on another business trip and Asher left for Black Lake th
is morning, driven in one of the town cars, not that he’s exactly good company. I know it’s getting to her to be in that rambling place all by herself, loneliness something she’s never been able to tolerate, but I don’t have the mental space to focus on her needs right now.

  I just hope she’s not talking to Frank Bellamy anymore, given Carter’s reaction to just hearing his son referenced in conversation.

  It’s impossible not to wonder if Frank is hoping taking advantage of Trish, if just to wheedle his way back into Carter’s good graces or if there might be true remorse there. I’ve never met the man, but if he’s anything like his son, then I have to assume there’s an ulterior motive for reaching out.

  My phone buzzes from the Fendi clutch that’s tossed casually in the passenger seat. From the sound, I know it’s a notification from the Inner Circle app. My fingers itch and I have to clamp them down on the steering wheel to keep myself from fishing the phone out. There isn’t a good place to pull over and I don’t need another accident involving a motor vehicle. I have to remind myself of the dangers of checking my phone while driving, despite my raging curiosity.

  Like always when I hear that characteristic little ding of the app, I wonder if the latest post is about me. It’s very possible now, especially if anyone has seen me on the road. My hair has been temporarily straightened, and I spent hours finding the right combination of window heights to make it fly behind me instead of create a cyclone around my face while I ride down the road with the top down. It’s only a matter of time before a picture of me ends up on Inner Circle.

  My return will already be the biggest news of the term, and no one expects me to return like this. But the app can wait, I remind myself. I can pore over all the posts and responses at my leisure tonight, gauging the reactions so I know how best to modulate my image over the next few weeks.

  My memory has been a little spotty since the accident, the doctors say it’s normal after a serious head trauma. I haven’t forgotten anything important, but sometimes the details get fuzzy when I try to remember things, even now. I’ve had to keep coded notes for myself so I don’t forget details.

  But Black Lake is seared into my memory like an image of the campus is burned into my retinas, and I see it even when I close my eyes. That place is where this began and I’m certain it will be where it all ends.

  I’m not prepared for the emotion that rises in me as I catch my first glimpse of the imposing gates and the brick facade of Bellamy Hall just past the first rise of the hill leading up to campus. It isn’t fear or worry that consumes me as I speed down the narrow road, going almost double the posted speed limit, but another sensation entirely.

  Anticipation.

  Because I can’t fucking wait for what’s coming next.

  The Aston Martin swerves into the parking lot next to Bellamy Hall with a screech of tires and the stench of burning rubber. Heads are already turning in my direction from the students milling around outside the double doors of the building as I slide into a handicapped space. The little blue placard with the familiar wheelchair figure hanging from my rearview is temporary but I’ll worry about that later. Technically, this lot is reserved for faculty only, but Trish had sold Dean Felton on my sob story about being easily tired out if I have to walk long distances. I get a reserved space right in front of the doors until my placard expires.

  There’s no hint of physical weakness as I glide out of my seat, limbs long, graceful and toned from months of working my ass off. Well, I didn’t exactly work my ass off. The dozens of squats I did on leg day were meant to accomplish the exact opposite. But I know my body looks lithe and strong like a dancer on stage in their prime.

  And really, from the moment I arrived on campus, I’ve been under a spotlight. Everything I do is being watched, evaluated and judged.

  It’s quiet as I pause for a moment to survey the building. At least a dozen people are gathered out front and all of their gazes are on me. As soon as I meet those curious and unfriendly faces, they have the grace to look away but I know that I still have their attention.

  Chloe’s back is turned as I mount the tall steps but it’s obvious from the tense set of her shoulders she saw me coming. Ocean, Grace and Maisie are with her and facing me, equally weary expressions on their faces.

  This next interaction will set the tone for everything that’s coming next. It has to be perfect.

  “Hey, ladies,” I say, voice practically a purr. “How was your break?”

  Chloe turns slowly, likely in the hopes she can school her expression before I see it. The smile on her face is all artifice, but her gaze shifts to the large overnight bag hanging from my arm and her eyes widen. “Oh my God, is that a limited edition Birkin bag? Those have been sold out for months.”

  “Thanks,” I say, even though nothing in her words is a compliment. I hold the bag a little higher, letting the light catch on its shiny leather surface. “It was a get well gift from my mom. Gorgeous, right?”

  Ocean takes a step closer, doll eyes wide. “That dress looks like Prada.”

  None of them are wearing their uniforms yet. It’s a sign of a social retardation to put that thing on before it’s absolutely necessary. The halls of Black Lake will look like the runways of a fashion show until tomorrow morning at the earliest.

  And I’m counting on their love of showing off to be their ultimate downfall.

  “Good catch. That’s because it is.”

  Grace crosses slim arms over her chest and leans back against the stone wall at the side of the steps. “You practically look like a whole new person.”

  “I am a new person.” The words are a warning, but they have no reason to know that yet. “Practically rebuilt from the ground up.”

  Just like I hoped it would, Chloe’s gaze flicks to the convertible parked a few yards away. “Is that yours?”

  “It is.”

  “Another gift, I assume.”

  “I suppose you could say that.”

  Grace eyes the car and I can practically see the calculations running through her mind as she tallies up the value based on the make and visible options. “Third years aren’t allowed to drive, and that’s not even the student lot. How in the hell did you make it happen?”

  “I have physical therapy once a week in town so Dean Felton gave me special permission to have a car on campus.”

  “Lucky,” Ocean says, practically drooling as she stares at the car. “I wish I could get off campus whenever I wanted. There’s a great boutique in New Haven that I’ve been dying to go to.”

  “I could give you a ride into town, if you want.” My voice is casual as if the thought literally just occurred to me in that very moment. “I’m heading out this afternoon, actually.”

  “Seriously?” Ocean’s squeal is loud enough to pierce eardrums as she hops up and down. If I hadn’t already thought of her as a total ditz, this moment would be enough to convince me. She has no capacity for artifice. “That would be so awesome.”

  “You can’t give rides to other students,” Chloe breaks in, voice cool. “It’s against the rules.”

  “But I wouldn’t be giving rides. I’m taking helpers with me, in case I’m too weak to make it back on my own.” The explanation is so reasonable that I almost believe it myself. “I did just get out of the hospital, after all.”

  A calculating smile touches Maisie’s lips and she can’t hide the eagerness in her eyes. “Smart.”

  Chloe is more hesitant. She knows damn well that we aren’t friends, but she also won’t let me take her posse out on the town without her there. “Did you clear that with Dean Felton?”

  “He never told me I couldn’t,” I say with a careless shrug. “I think it’s better to beg forgiveness than ask permission, don’t you?”

  “Felton isn’t going to do anything,” Maisie scoffs, buffing her nails against her linen blouse. “He’s like a paper tiger, or whatever. Everyone knows that.”

  Chloe’s eyes narrow, but she doesn’t say anyt
hing. As someone who has used Dean Felton’s lack of true control over the student body as a weapon, she doesn’t have a leg to stand on and she knows it. “I’d just hate to see anybody get into trouble this early in the term.”

  “Don’t be such a stick,” Grace murmurs, a note of challenge in her voice. “Felton won’t even know we’re gone.”

  “I want to pick up some new panties,” Maisie adds. “My stupid step-mother had the maid throw out all the ones that weren’t white and made of cotton. She is such a prude.”

  Ocean doesn’t need any additional convincing. “C’mon Chloe, let’s just go.”

  The social calculation is a difficult one. By giving in, Chloe is elevating my social status because it would be an admission that I have something they want. If she refuses, she risks being left out which would be completely unacceptable.

  I don’t wait for her decision, making a point of preempting her. “Well, anybody who wants a ride can meet me here after dinner. I have to go let the staff know I’m here so somebody can bring a cart for my bags. I’m not supposed to do any heavy lifting.”

  The other girls head up the stairs, murmuring excitedly to each other. I have to keep the satisfaction off my face at how easy it was to get them to take the bait.

  Chloe is the last one to leave, making a point of letting the others get out of earshot before speaking again. “I assume you got my apology note.”

  The one you were forced to write me, I want to say. Instead, I smile and infuse my voice with something that almost sounds genuine. “Of course, thank you for that.”

  “It was just supposed to be a prank.” There isn’t even the smallest hint of remorse in her voice. She’s practically shrugging off all the ways she put my life in danger. “The new girl always gets put through the ringer. You know how it is.”

  A hot flash of anger clenches my hands into fists, but I tamp down on it with an effort that makes my eye twitch. When I answer her, my tone is as even as I can make it. “I get it. But it’s a new year and a new me. What happened is in the past and I think we should focus on moving forward.”

 

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