My Stolen Life: a high school bully romance (Stonehurst Prep Book 1)

by Steffanie Holmes

  I suck in a breath. “It’s criminal what we’re about to do to such a beautiful vehicle.”

  “It’s criminal what Alec tried to do to you,” Noah growls.

  “Yes, but it’s not her fault.” I rest my hand on the hood. Big mistake. My mind flashes back to the desert, to Alec holding me against the burning metal, leering down at me, his fingers tugging my panties—

  I jerk my hand back.

  “You chickening out, Mac?” Gabriel reaches for me, but I jerk away.

  “Not on your life.” I stride forward, screwdriver in hand. I tug off my sweater and wrap it around my fist, then punch out the back window. Glass shatters on the seat. I reach inside and unlock the driver’s side door.

  Gabriel climbs into the passenger seat, watching as I unscrew the casing on the steering column and tug out the ignition wires. “How do you know how to steal a car?”

  “Remember our agreement – you don’t ask. I don’t tell.” I strip the insulation from the battery wires and twist them together.

  “But that’s about your disappearance, not about car-jacking—”

  “Gabriel, shut your beautiful mouth so I can concentrate.”

  In a few minutes I have the engine purring. Noah comes around to the driver’s side and motions for me to get out. I shake my head. “I’m driving.”

  He looks like he wants to argue, but he obeys. Eli uses my sweater to sweep the glass off the seat, then he and Noah slide in, their legs tangling together in the tiny space. I gun the engine and speed out of the parking lot. We have a specific destination in mind, but I turn onto the highway, picking up speed as I dart between cars.

  I’m driving a Shelby Mustang.

  This is fucking wild.

  I toss my phone to Gabriel. “Take my picture.”

  Gabriel leans back and snaps a few shots. I grin. “Text it to Antony. He’s in my contacts. He’s going to be pissed at me.”

  “Who’s Antony?” Gabriel asks. I shake my head at him and plant my foot hard against the floor.

  I take the off-ramp and tear up Santa Casilda Drive, taking the corners as fast as I damn well please. I laugh as the adrenaline surges in my veins, and Gabriel looks at me like I’m mad and he can’t decide if he’s terrified or turned on by it.

  I could drive around in this car all night, but we have a job to do. Reluctantly, I turn around and head back toward the city, toward Stonehurst Prep.

  We pull up into the school parking lot. There’s no one around, either. Noah paid off all the school security guards to make themselves scarce for the night. Eli and Noah go to the bushes where we hid the tools we need, and lay them out on the ground in front of the car.

  I pick up a wrench and grin at my conspirators. “Let’s get to work.”

  By the time I get home and crawl into bed, it’s nearly 3AM. Queen Boudica lifts her head from the pillow and shoots me a ‘what-time-do-you-call-this’ look. I cradle her against my chest and fall asleep listening to her steady purr. It reminds me of the purr of the Mustang’s engine.

  When my phone alarm rings, I throw it against the wall. But five minutes later I drag myself awake. No way do I want to miss school today.

  I pull on my uniform, cake on makeup to hide the dark circles around my eyes, and pour myself a thermos full of coffee. I walk down to the corner where Eli’s waiting for me in the Porsche. He looks as shit as I feel.

  “You brought coffee?” He holds out his hand.

  “Get your own.” I sip from the thermos as we cruise around Harrington Hills toward Stonehurst.

  Eli stops at a drive-thru and grabs a ridiculous coffee with whipped cream and caramel. It smells a hundred times better than mine. He slurps it happily as we drive into school.

  Dick.

  George, Gabriel, and Noah are waiting beside Eli’s parking spot. Noah has his hands in his pockets. He looks a little less put-together than usual, his dark hair rumpled, his shirt collar askew. The dark circles under his eyes only make him look more dangerous.

  Beside him, Gabriel bounces on the balls of his feet, his shirt open to reveal his butterfly tattoo swirling around his regal neck. George looks between us, confusion written across her features. I hope she likes our surprise.

  “We waited for you.” Gabriel throws open my door and tugs me out. “Hurry that sweet arse up, would you, Mac?”

  Gabriel links arms with me and George, dragging us toward the entrance. All around us, voices swirl with laughter, with shock and surprise, as the word of what we did spreads through the student body.

  We pass under the colonnade into the main courtyard. It’s so crowded with students craning for a look that it’s impossible to see a thing. Noah glares around us until people step aside and let us through.

  “Mackenzie, is this some kind of—” George’s eyes widen, and her hand flies to her mouth as she lets out a whoop. “Is that… Alec’s car?”

  “It sure is,” I beam.

  Alec LeMarque kneels on the cobbles, his head in his hands, while students toss spitballs at him and snap photographs of his shame. In front of him, in the middle of the quad, is his beloved car, taken to pieces and perfectly remade again – only now, there’s a statue of Leda and a swan growing right through the middle of it, so the swan appears to be driving with its beak.

  In her hands, Leda holds a picture. It’s a photograph taken by accident on my phone as it was flung into the sand, and then saved automatically to my cloud account. It shows Alec, his face carved in cruelty, as he leans over a girl held against the hood of a car. You can’t see her face, but she’s clearly not enjoying herself.

  Beneath the picture are the words, “Alec LeMarque hurts women. So we fucked up his shit.”

  38

  Mackenzie

  I hit reply on the video again, slowing down the speed to watch Alec’s face as a student captures his humiliation on their camera phone. Nothing ruins a self-centered fame-whore like Alec better than a public scandal.

  The images are plastered all over social media, and just as I suspected, stories have started to come out about his treatment of female co-stars and producers. There are rumors the police will open an investigation. Two major film projects dropped him from their cast, his agent fired him, and many say they’ll never work with Alec LeMarque again. Principal Foster sent around an emergency announcement declaring he’s been expelled from school and offering counseling services to anyone victimized by him. Even his own father has taken to Twitter to denounce his son and publicly cut him off.

  All this hours after we walked into school. The Stonehurst student body sensed Alec’s blood in the water, and they tore him to shreds.

  Thanks to us, Alec LeMarque is done in Emerald Beach.

  “Wow, Mac. You know how to bring a man down,” Gabriel whistles as he pulls up a particularly damning article on the large-screen for us all to see. “Remind me never to get on your bad side.”

  We’re back in Gabriel’s apartment, which seems to be ‘neutral territory’ for the guys. I’m not bringing them to Malloy Manor, and Eli and Noah never offer up their houses for reasons I’m sure have to do with Eli’s father being in jail and Noah’s family having their beef with the Malloys.

  I’m high on the sheer audacity of what we did. Who knows how many women we might’ve saved from Alec? Every loop of the video sends a thrill down my spine. My veins flush with heat, and I’m itching to do something… momentous to mark my triumph.

  George arrives from her shift at the vintage store, and she dumps an armload of clothing and shoes on my lap. “These look about your size,” she tells me. “I know you’ve probably got a whole wing of your house filled with clothes, but I wanted to do something to say thank you for your public service.”

  “You didn’t have to… but these are fucking beautiful.” I pull out a red halter top and high-waisted shorts set with rows of silver buttons. I hold them against myself. George digs out a pair of red stilettos with rhinestone straps that match perfectly. I got to the bathroom, t
oss my uniform on the floor, and pull on the outfit. Everything fits perfectly, including the shoes. George is a miracle. I fish around in my bag for a red lipstick and apply it in the mirror with an expert hand. Those YouTube makeup vloggers know their shit – I’m an expert at applying my armor now. I blot the lipstick and strut out into the room.

  Eli makes a choking sound, spitting his drink down the front of his shirt. Noah’s eyes narrow before he looks away. Gabriel wolf-whistles.

  “Fuck, Mac. I thought you were hot in that school uniform, but your ass is unreal in those shorts.” Gabriel holds his hands over his heart. I whack him with a pillow.

  “Ow, yeah, hurt me, baby,” Gabriel grins as I whack him again. “I’ll do anything you want, as long as you’re wearing that outfit.”

  I toss the pillow down on the sofa and glare at them all, hands on hips. I’m running this show. “Let’s go out. We should celebrate properly, with ridiculous cocktails and too-loud music.”

  “Not me.” Eli glances at his watch, then glares at Noah. “Someone’s making me do an early morning training session tomorrow, and I’m currently running on two-hours sleep.”

  Noah shakes his head. “I told Grace I’d be home early tonight.”

  He turns away so I can’t see his face. I know he cares a lot about his stepmother Grace, but I wonder if he’s declining for another reason.

  George looks from Gabriel to me. I suspect she feels the tension crackling in the air between us, because she quickly says, “I have to be home tonight, too, but I’d love to do something this weekend.”

  “It’s a date,” I grin. “I’ll text you.”

  Her whole face lights up. She leans forward and wraps her arms around me, squeezing me surprisingly hard for such a tiny human. “Thank you, Mackenzie. You don’t know what this means to me.”

  I can guess, but it’s George’s story to tell. I hug her back. George – my friend. I never had one of those before, and now that I do, I’m not going to let her forget it.

  “That just leaves us two for a night of debauchery.” Gabriel grabs my hand and hauls me to my feet. He fixes me with that devilish grin of his, and a bolt of fire hits me right between the legs. “Allow me to escort you on a night you’ll never forget. I know a place filled with wonders to impress even the Ice Queen herself.”

  39

  Noah

  I walk to my car in a daze. Every muscle aches, begging me to turn back around and join Gabe and Mackenzie for their ‘night of debauchery,’ to drive off this guilt and rage and hope with pounding music and the sweet oblivion of alcohol.

  But what will that achieve? I know where Gabriel will take her – the only place worthy of Mackenzie fucking Malloy. I can’t sit in that magical grotto drinking absinthe with Mackenzie looking tight as fuck in those shorts and heels of hers and not think about… and not consider…

  The more I hang around her, the more the hatred I’d held onto all these years weighs like a noose around my neck, dragging me down. But as soon as I contemplate casting it aside – like in the desert when we were eating our cakes – Felix’s face flashes in front of me, staring up at me from an open casket, and I remember. I remember.

  Every stirring inside me feels like a betrayal of his memory.

  I hurry to the car, my veins on fire. My fingers grip the wheel like it’s the only thing holding me upright. My body aches as it recalls the way she felt at the party – wet, naked flesh pressed against me.

  I need to get home.

  I need to remember.

  The drive is a blur. I don’t see the other cars on the road, only faces zooming past me at high speed. Felix with his glassy eyes peering from his coffin, Howard Malloy and my dad facing off across the courtroom, my mom’s serene expression as she floats in our pool, Gabriel with his come-to-bed smile, Mackenzie with her golden halo of hair, looking every bit as fearsome as she had four years ago… And then the two of them, lips locked under the floating lights of the Midnight Grotto.

  Why shouldn’t Mackenzie fuck Gabriel? He’s every girl’s wet dream. And it’s not as if you can have her. No matter how much you might…

  I hit the brakes as I nearly drive past my house. Fuck. I back up and stab the button for the garage door. I park up next to my brother’s car. The white cover flaps in the breeze swooping in under the garage door. I launch myself at the car.

  I tear at the cover, my nails scraping on the paint beneath, my fingers tight with rage, with a wanting that will never go away.

  I wish everything was different.

  I wish he never died.

  I wish she could be mine.

  But wishing is for losers, and nothing will ever be the way I want it.

  I fling the cover aside, revealing the gleaming beast beneath. The car my brother deserved. The car he dreamed of. I pick up a brick from a stack the groundskeeper left in the corner and throw it through the windscreen.

  Glass shatters everywhere, scattering across the concrete and ruining the leather seats. It’s going to be a bitch to clean up, but I don’t even care. My shoulders heave. My heart stutters in my chest.

  Something inside me is tearing open. I’m falling over the edge, and on the other side is only darkness and Mackenzie’s golden hair. I tear from the garage and fly through the house. My boots slam on cold tiles. Everything about this place is cold and dead to me now.

  I run my hand over a table in the hallway, sending Felix’s track trophies flying. They scatter across the tiles – metal surfaces scratching and denting, glass dedications shattering into pieces.

  “Noah?” Grace leans over the balcony, her face pinched with concern. I can’t bear to look at her. I storm down the hall, heading for the reception room where Dad’s voice booms. I hear a glass smash and someone swear.

  I come up short, hesitating on the threshold. Dad’s not alone. He’s not raging into the void. He stands in front of the fireplace, in the shadow of my brother’s portrait. He faces off against a wide set man with broad shoulders practically bursting the seams of his pinstriped suit.

  As I study the man’s face, another memory flashes in my mind. Dad had given his evidence at trial, sharing the toxicology report showing how Felix had died, and how the Malloys were responsible. It was the smoking gun that should have sent Howard Malloy to jail for his crime, but the judge dismissed it. We had the verdict – not guilty. Howard Malloy killed my brother and got away with it.

  Mom withdrew into herself, and Dad… Dad had a heavyset man in a pinstripe suit over for dinner. They talked all night in the reception room, and I wasn’t allowed anywhere near them.

  The next week, Mackenzie and her parents disappeared.

  My breath hitches. I press myself against the wall, listening hard. Dad gave no indication he was aware of my presence. He keeps on berating the man.

  “You fucked everything up last time, Brentwood. Now you’ll be able to put it right.”

  “I’m not doing it,” the man snaps back, his voice rising with every word. “I don’t care what you do to me. I’m not going near that house again, and I won’t send one of my boys, neither.”

  “You’re being ridiculous. This is a seventeen-year-old girl we’re talking about. How can she possibly—”

  “You can’t know what I saw.” The man – Brentwood – rasps his words, his voice tight with terror. “You find someone else, Mr. Marlowe. That’s no sweet-sixteen beauty queen you’re facing off against. She’s a cold-blooded killer.”

  40

  Mackenzie

  Gabriel has the Uber driver drop us off at the docks. Not the cool, hip docks on the south end of the boardwalk with all the restaurants and clubs, but the creepy, abandoned docks with the rotting boards and gross fish smell and spiders.

  “Where are we going?” My foot slips on the wet boards. I grab hold of Gabriel before I go flying. “I said I wanted to party, not get stoned in a smelly fish graveyard.”

  “You’ll see.” Gabriel leads me down a set of dingy steps. Waves lap at the pie
r on either side of us. I can see a weird light glowing beneath the water.

  Goosebumps rise on my arms. This is just the kind of spot a serial killer would take me before he cuts out my heart and turns my tits into a pompom hat.

  Gabriel gives three short raps on an enormous steel door. A small hatch slides open, and I can just make out a pair of glitter-soaked eyes beyond. Gabriel leans close and whispers, “Mermaid.” The door swings open, revealing a narrow, steep set of stairs heading down. The woman is nowhere to be seen.

  A prickle of excitement mixed with fear rattles in my chest. We clamber down the steps, down, down, down into the darkness, feeling our way, bumping into each other in our blindness. There’s an oppressiveness to this place. The walls feel heavy, the air damp. We must be under the waterline, although it’s impossible to tell as there’s no light, no indication of depth.

  Light pricks the gloom, and from somewhere in this strange space, a relentless thrum, like a heartbeat, trembles through the walls. My feet touch a floor that sways gently. Maybe I’m already drunk. Maybe I’m drunk on Gabriel Fallen.

  Gabriel leads me down another narrow hallway. The thrumming grows louder. He pushes aside a curtain, and I gasp.

  This is impossible.

  I stand in a room half the size of a football field, lit by hundreds of glowing lanterns that seem to float between the booths and tables, moving of their own accord. A girl in a glittering bird costume performs acrobatic feats from a crescent-moon-shaped swing in the center of the room. There’s not a smooth surface in the place – columns twist up into the blackness, supporting a ceiling so high I cannot see it. The walls are gnarled with rock formations and coral growth, revealing wide openings of glass that look out into the water beyond.