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

by Steffanie Holmes

  “Bloody hell.” Gabriel’s given up all presence of mixing drinks. He takes a swig straight from a vodka bottle, cradling it in his arms like a baby. A storm of conflict brews in his eyes, and I see a glimpse of that strange moment in the Midnight Grotto, when he said I remind him of his dead drummer. A glimpse of the true depth of his fractured soul.

  I wish I could feel like Gabriel feels, but someone has to sing the blood and the rain for those of us who live in the ice palaces. I’m the Ice Queen now, all the warmth Noah had stoked inside me frozen into hard, bitter truth.

  Antony looks unconvinced. “Did you overhear any of their conversation? I find it hard to believe someone with as much to lose as Senator Marlowe would want to get his hands dirty going after a seventeen-year-old girl.”

  Noah nods again. “My father said Brentwood had fucked something up, and he has a chance to put it right. Brentwood seemed… angry. But also scared. He said, “I’m not going near that house again. That’s no sweet-sixteen beauty queen you’re facing off against. She’s a cold-blooded killer.”

  “That’s what he said?” Antony sneers. “He never said Mackenzie’s name explicitly?”

  “No, but—”

  “And you believe if this Brentwood – the most highly trained expert in his field in all of Emerald Beach – refused a job from your father, his only remaining option would be to hire a shooter so incompetent he let off several rounds at relatively close range and managed to miss you both?”

  “I don’t know what I fucking believe, except that bullets sailed past my skull today and I need to know if my father’s behind it. There’s only one way to know for sure.” Noah meets my gaze, and the fire in his coal-eyes isn’t hate this time, but need. “Mackenzie, you have to tell us what happened four years ago.”

  46

  Eli

  Noah’s words hang in the air, like icicles formed under the porch railing at our family hunting cabin. I feel them now – the cold biting my flesh, a thousand needles piercing my heart.

  Cold-blooded killer.

  Killer.

  Killer.

  Mackenzie’s cheeks burn with color. I can’t decide if she looks furious or terrified. Maybe a little of both. She exchanges a look with that guy – her cousin, I can’t remember his name (since when did Mackenzie ever have cousins?) – but I can’t infer anything from it other than he knows whatever secret she’s hiding and he doesn’t think she should give it up.

  Killer.

  Killer.

  Killer.

  Mackenzie turns to me, and her eyes are pure ice and malice. The change in her is quick and so profound I gasp out loud. It’s like a magician snapped his fingers, and I’m looking at Mackenzie’s face – the same heart-shaped face and perfect nose I fell in love with as a kid – but behind her frosty eyes is a completely different person.

  “I told you my one condition,” she says, her words calm, measured. And all the more chilling because they no longer sounded like Mackenzie’s words. “I won’t dig into your secrets, and you wouldn’t ask about mine. If you don’t trust me, there’s nothing else to say. Get out of this house. All of you. I never want to see you again.”

  I open my mouth to protest, but Mackenzie spins on her heel and storms off.

  “You heard the lady.” Antony stands, reaching into the inside of his jacket. I see an outline of something beneath the fabric. A gun? The huge guy cracks his knuckles again.

  “Fuck this, and fuck you,” I spit.

  “Eli, wait.” Noah reaches for me. He smells like her, and I hate him, I hate him more than I ever thought it possible to hate, more than Gabriel because he at least never pretended to give a shit about my happiness. I duck under Noah’s grip. If that fucker touches me right now I’ll flatten him.

  I fly out the ballroom door, darting a look left and right. She’s disappeared into one of the endless rooms. I’ll never find her without a map and a summoning spell.

  I have to try. I need to know.

  Killer.

  I pick left. I’ve barely gone three steps when—

  CRUNCH. My foot lands on something, and I feel it snap under my heel. I bend down to examine the twinkling pieces of metal I’ve ground into the Persian rug.

  Mackenzie’s locket.

  The one she wears under her shirt. The one she never takes off.

  I let the pieces fall across my palm. The chain has snapped in two places, and there’s an ugly crack across the front of the locket. I notice it’s not gold, but gold-plated. Odd that Mackenzie Malloy would wear something so cheaply made. An inscription on the back reads, ‘To our daughter.’

  As I close my fingers, the cracked piece breaks away and the locket falls open, revealing two faded photographs cut to fit inside.

  I stare at the pictures.

  Wait.

  What?

  47

  Mackenzie

  I stand in the study, facing the wall of books. Tomes on ancient history, military achievements, economic theory, and traditional medicines of the world glare down at me, the spines rigid with silent accusation. I grip the edge of the desk and suck in a breath, fighting to bring air to my frozen lungs.

  The door to the panic room hangs open. I rub my thighs together – they ache from being wrapped around Noah. But it’s nothing compared to the ache in my chest.

  I have to send them away. It’s the only thing I can think to do. They were supposed to be a bit of fun for me – a chance to live out the teen movie fantasy life that was stolen from me the night I woke up in my own grave. But I can’t have them like this. I can’t keep them. They’re not mine to keep.

  I’m a fucking idiot. I let myself get attached to all of them – beautiful, broken Gabriel, kind, intense Eli, even sulky, bitter Noah – and that’s put everything in danger. Not just our plan, but their lives. If what Noah says is true, if his dad hired this Brentwood guy to take out—

  “Mackenzie.”

  I whirl around. Eli stands in the doorway, his back rigid, an unreadable expression on his usually warm face. He holds out his hand in a fist, palm facing up.

  “Your locket fell off. That’s what happens when you wear cheap chains like this – they snap when you least want them to.”

  Shit. Shit.

  “Eli—”

  Eli opens his hand. My locket tumbles from his fingers and bounces on the rug. The pieces fall apart, revealing the photographs of my parents I keep inside.

  Of my real parents.

  Eli turns to me, and I read my betrayal in his features.

  He told me that he can’t handle being lied to, not after losing me the first time. I knew that, and I’ve done it all the same.

  “Eli, I can explain.”

  But I can’t. Not in a way that he’d understand. And so I do what I always do around these guys, I go silent. I hide behind the mask I created.

  Except Eli has just ripped my mask away and stomped on it. The locket is broken, the life I stole on display for all to see. I can’t put the pieces of my lie back together again. And I didn’t want to.

  “That’s not Howard and Ainsley Malloy in these photographs. You’re not Mackenzie Malloy.” Eli’s face hardens to stone. “Who the fuck are you?”

  TO BE CONTINUED

  Three spoiled princes who own my heart of ice.

  Keeping them secret is the only way to save them.

  By my betrayal will drive them into my enemy’s hands.

  Find out what happens next in book 2,

  My Secret Heart.

  I should have kept my mouth shut.

  I should have let them win.

  Now the kings of the school are out for my blood,

  ... and they’re not the only ones.

  Need more dark, gothic, and delicious reverse harem bully romance in your life?

  HP Lovecraft meets Cruel Intentions in the paranormal reverse harem bully romance readers are calling, “The greatest mindfuck of 2019”. Warning: Not for the faint of heart – this story of three
broken bad boys and the girl who stood her ground contains dark themes, crazed cultists, books bound in human skin, high-school drama, swoon-worthy sex, and potential triggers. Grab book 1, Shunned, in KU now.

  Turn the page for a sizzling excerpt

  From the Author

  I wrote this book during the apocalypse.

  All over the world, countries locked down to halt the spread of COVID-19. In my tiny country of New Zealand, our Government committed to preserving the lives of our citizens by instituting a tough lockdown that, at the time of writing, has meant the virus is all-but-eliminated from our shores.

  And that’s a huge, amazing achievement, but it comes at a cost. And I know that we’ve been incredibly lucky here in Middle Earth and many other countries are dealing with a much higher cost – in terms of loss of life, loss of jobs, loss of the systems we thought kept us safe. In the middle of this, I wrote a story about a girl with a secret life and a darkness inside her that both terrifies and liberates her.

  Mackenzie came to me in a dream. She is… not like any other heroine I’ve ever written. Even though I’ve sworn up-and-down that I’d never write contemporary romance (imagine, romance without vampires? What even is that?) she wouldn’t shut up until I told her story.

  I wrote her for you. Because it’s scary out there, and I know when I’m scared I so often find myself in the pages of a book. Sometimes I even borrow a little strength and a little audacity from the characters I love. I think we all need as much of those as we can get right now.

  I’m in awe of the incredible health workers and other essential staff who’ve kept the world running and done their best in an impossible situation. If you’re one of them, there are no words I can say to thank you enough for your contribution.

  I’m just a teller of stories. I can’t save lives or keep food on tables or make sure businesses stay afloat. But if I can give you a new world and a new life and a strange mystery to lose yourself in for a few hours, then that’s some small way I can help you survive this wild and crazy world.

  Writing My Stolen Life has been a joy and a pleasure, but as always, it takes a village to bring a book to life. I’d like to thank my cantankerous drummer husband, for reading this manuscript and giving me so many ideas to make it better. And for being my lighthouse. And for making me so many bacon butties and keeping the house stocked with chocolate during lockdown.

  To Kit, Bri, Elaina, Katya, Emma, Jamie, Kim, Mila, and Jenna, for all the writerly encouragement and advice. To Meg and Eveis for the epically helpful editing job, and to CJ for the stunning covers. To Sam and Iris, for the daily Facebook shenanigans that help keep me sane while I spend my days stuck at home covered in cats.

  To you, the reader, for going on this journey with me, even though it’s led to some dark places. Warning: if you thought book 1 was tough, book 2 is a whopper. Get it here.

  If you’re enjoying Stonehurst Prep and want to read more from me, check out my dark reverse harem bully romance series, Kings of Miskatonic Prep. HP Lovecraft meets Cruel Intentions in this dark paranormal reverse harem bully romance that’s definitely not for the faint of heart. Hazel is the most badass FMC I’ve ever written, and I think you’ll love meeting her. Read Shunned now.

  You should also check out my new reverse harem academy series, Manderley Academy. Book 1 is Ghosted and it’s a classic gothic tale of ghosts and betrayal, creepy old houses and three beautifully haunted guys with dark secrets. Plus, a kickass curvy heroine. You will LOVE it – you’ll find a short preview on the next page.

  I’ve also got two other reverse harem series. The Nevermore Bookshop Mysteries is what you’d get if you crossed Agatha Christie with Black Books and added a harem of famous literary men. It’s my most popular series to date, and it’s a lot more light-hearted and fun (despite all the murder). Start book 1, A Dead and Stormy Night. If you turn the page, there’s a short excerpt from book 1.

  The Briarwood Witches series is about a science nerd heroine who inherits an honest-to-goodness English castle, complete with five hot British/Irish tenants, a fas problem, and some magic she can’t control. It’s a little bit dark and angsty and sexy, and complete at 5 books. You can grab the box set here.

  If you want to hang out and talk about all things Broken Muse, my readers are sharing their theories and discussing the book over in my Facebook group, Books That Bite. Come join the fun. And for updates and a free book of cut scenes and bonus stories, you can Join my newsletter here.

  I’m so happy you enjoyed this story! I’d love it if you wanted to leave a review on Amazon or Goodreads. It will help other readers to find their next read.

  Thank you, thank you! I love you heaps! Until next time.

  Steff

  Find out what happens next in My Secret Heart

  Now you know my secret.

  Bit of a doozy, isn’t it?

  Sorry 'bout that.

  The problem is, someone else knows too.

  Someone dangerous.

  Someone who’s already buried me once.

  This time, they’re determined to finish the job.

  Three broken princes stand between me and my doom:

  The fallen king with his thirst for vengeance.

  The rock god who sings of blood and stars.

  The sweet one who’s drowning in hate.

  Three spoiled princes who own my heart of ice.

  Keeping them secret is the only way to save them.

  By my betrayal will drive them into my enemy’s hands.

  Alea iacta est.

  Let the die be cast.

  Welcome to Stonehurst f**king Prep.

  Get it now

  Excerpt: Kings of Miskatonic Prep, book 1

  Read the first chapter of Shunned

  Read Shunned now

  Who the hell builds a school on top of an inaccessible cliff?

  Whoever built Derleth Academy, my new school. I answered my own question as the car’s wheel skidded over the rough gravel on the way up the steep peninsula. A scream escaped my lips as the car lurched toward the edge of the cliff, one wheel spinning completely free.

  Muttering under his breath, the driver for the school slammed the car into reverse and backed us onto the road before slamming on the gas again. We continued our wary climb along the narrow gravel path.

  Surely the Academy can’t be completely cut-off. The school had to bring up food and supplies. Parents must visit on the weekends. My driver was certainly giving it his all, tearing around the corners like he was on a Formula 1 racetrack and not a goat path hugging the side of a mountain. I gritted my teeth and gripped the back of the seat as rocks rolled from beneath the wheels and clattered over the sheer drop into the raging waters below. One wrong move, and we’d tumble down a two-hundred-foot cliff and be dashed against the cliffs so hard and fast that boats would mistake our remains for rock paintings.

  Not the way I ever imagined I’d go.

  We passed into thick vegetation, the cliff and ocean on one side giving way to looming trees that blocked out the grey sky. I let out the breath I’d been holding. Branches scraped the sides of the car, and my phone beeped with protest as we moved out of cell range. No contact with the outside world, the school brochure read. At Derleth Academy, we foster a competitive academic program requiring the full attention of our students. Distracting technology or personal items will not be tolerated.

  In other words, I couldn’t call for help. It was the opening sequence to every horror film, ever.

  Not that I had anyone to call. Not anymore.

  “Almost there,” the driver said, swinging the car around a hairpin corner and launching my stomach into my throat. It was the most words he’d spoken to me the entire trip. “You can see the school through the trees.”

  I squinted into the forest, trying to make out some kind of building that might pass as a school. But I couldn’t see a thing. We rounded another corner and—

  Well, that’s terrifying.

  We rolle
d between two towering stone pillars obscured by creeping vines, past an ornate sign that read DERLETH ACADEMY. A wide, pristine concrete drive flanked by an avenue of towering trees and wide, manicured lawns led up to an imposing stone building, stretching in all directions with narrow arched windows, spiky towers, and a row of leering gargoyles along the roof.

  What is this place? It looked more like Dracula’s castle than a prestigious preparatory school.

  I couldn’t believe the wealthiest people in the country sent their children up that winding road to get educated. Who’s the headmistress, Morticia Addams? But according to the brochure, that was exactly what they did. In droves. Derleth Academy had a waiting list a mile long, and you couldn’t even pay to get in. You had to be invited.

  Somehow, I, Hazel Waite – an overachieving orphan from the wrong side of Philly – ended up on their radar.

  I flashed back to the day two weeks ago, when a banging on the door of my dingy apartment dragged me from a deep slumber. A woman with coiffed hair and a designer suit that cost more than a car staggered backward in surprise when I glared at her through the chain wearing only my pajamas and what must have been a terrifying scowl. Well, she wasn’t the one being dragged from a pleasant Jason Momoa sex dream during the four-hour reprieve between night shift at the diner and cleaning rooms at a retirement home.

  “Are you Hazel Waite?” she asked, her brown eyes wide and curious.