“No. Piss off.” I glowered, slamming the door in her face. She was probably from CPS, trying to force me into foster care. Fuck that. I only had seven more months to survive before I turned eighteen. No way was I going to spend it in the hell that had killed Dante.
The woman didn’t go away. She sat out on the road in her sports car and waited me out. I had to leave for work or I’d lose my job, and it wasn’t easy to find work when you were underage and using an obviously fake ID. As soon as I left the house, she ambushed me.
“I’m not here to hand you over to the authorities,” she said hurriedly, shoving a thick envelope into your hands. “I’m a scholarship administrator from Derleth Academy in Arkham, Massachusetts. Your current school put you forward for one of our four senior scholarship positions – a fully funded year at a first-class prep school, where our students go on to attend the top colleges in the world. I know the first quarter has already started, but it’s taken me this long to track you down. You’ve only missed a week so far.”
I stared at the envelope in my hands, at the red, black and gold school crest – a crooked five-pointed star inside a shield with some kind of Latin phrase beneath it. This has got to be a joke.
“I know what you’re thinking,” the woman said. “It’s not a joke or a trick. I promise you that it’s not. If you come to Derleth, we will assume guardianship duties until you turn eighteen. You’ll be housed, clothed, and have all your schoolbooks and other needs met, as well as receiving a first-class education. You’re a promising student, Hazel, and I know you’ve been dealt a cruel lot in life. This could be where you turn everything around. Don’t answer me now. Read over the paperwork, and I’ll return tomorrow for your decision.”
And now, just ten days after I signed my soul over to this school in exchange for paid tuition, room, and board, I stared up at the imposing facade and wondered if I’d made a terrible mistake.
Sure, my life was miserable. I was drowning in grief, and even working two jobs I could barely pull in enough money to survive. College was out of the question, because I couldn’t finish high school without going into foster care. But at least all that was familiar territory. That was the world I’d grown up in – the world of pain and struggle and loss. Derleth Academy was the exact opposite. Every element of this building screamed wealth and privilege and you don’t belong here.
The driver pulled to a stop on the wide circular drive beside a towering stone fountain. A black woman in a drab grey smock darted out of the shadows of the porch and approached the car. I held my hand out to her. “Hello, I’m Hazel Waite—”
The woman ducked her head, avoiding me. She popped open the trunk, hauled out my heavy suitcase and bookbag, and hurried off to the house with them before I could offer to help.
Weird much? I swiped a dreadlock off my face. My friend Dante’s foster sister had done them for me last year, back when things were perfect and the most I had to worry about was whether my mom would ground me for getting dreadlocks.
An awful feeling twisted in my gut. I wished Mom was here, hating my loss, right now. But she was gone, gone, gone, and so was Dante, and it was just me and this terrifying school and no other options.
Three figures descended the grand stone steps toward me: A woman with translucent skin and a flowing black dress, flanked on either side by two students wearing the Derleth uniform. Fallen leaves skittered away from the woman’s hem, and she moved with such poise that she appeared to float over the steps. With her severe features and a gauzy black ribbon pinned in her hair, she looked more like she was attending a funeral. Behind her, the two students – a guy and a girl – glared at me, distrust emanating from their every pore.
The woman stopped on the second-to-last step, peering down her nose at me as if I were a bug that wasn’t even worth squashing. “You’ll have to do something about that hair. We enforce a strict dress code in my school, Ms. Waite. I’ll not have you flouting it on your very first day.”
This must be the principal, Hermia West. My Morticia Addams guess wasn’t far off. This woman looked like she drank the blood of students to sustain her beauty. The way her grey eyes stabbed right through me sent a cold shiver through my body.
There was nothing in the student handbook about dreadlocks. Although, of course, I’d only skim-read the thing on the bus from Philly. The handbook was boring. And long. “I’m sorry, Ms. West. I didn’t know—”
“Ignorance is no excuse. That’s 3 demerit points for you. And you’re to refer to me as Headmistress.”
Beside her, the boy sniggered. I turned my gaze to look at him, and my heart nearly stopped. Wow, he’s beautiful. I had no idea boys that hot existed outside of magazines and Hollywood movies. He stood practically the same height as Ms. West, his broad shoulders accentuated by the tailored cut of his red-trimmed blazer. Prefect and merit badges decorated both lapels. Dark brown curls caught the grey light filtering through the clouds, throwing back beautiful shades of russet and silver. His clean-shaven face and high, majestic cheekbones appeared angelic, but his ice-blue eyes were cold and cruel.
The girl moved closer to him, touching his arm and shooting me a possessive glare, like a cat in heat. She had the appearance of a cat, too – slanted green eyes accentuated with heavy makeup, pointed chin, and the lithe body and long legs of a panther. Beautiful but deadly.
“This is Trey Bloomberg and Courtney Haynes,” Headmistress West said. “I’ve appointed them as your student guides. They will show you the dorm, library, and dining hall, go over your schedule and classrooms, and ensure you understand all our rules. You will dine with the student body in two hours’ time, and tomorrow you begin classes. I’ve had a copy of your schedule and the school handbook placed in your room. Memorize them, for failure to comply will result in further demerits. Here’s your dorm room key.”
In my pocket, my phone gave another defiant chirp. Great. I’d practically worn down the battery looking for a signal on the death road.
Headmistress West descended the last step to drop an ancient-looking metal key into my hand. Her pointy black boots lined up with my scuffed Docs. She loomed over me, her disapproval seeping into my bones. “You have a phone in your pocket.” It wasn’t a question.
“Yes.”
Behind her, the boy smirked. I felt naked, exposed. My legs itched to make a run for the woods. Headmistress West held out her hand, unfurling long fingers topped with red-painted nails, the tips pointed like talons. “Hand it over. We don’t allow outside technology on campus.”
Instinctively, my hand flew to my pocket. “I won’t use it to call or text. It doesn’t work here, anyway, so what’s the—”
“Ms. Waite, failure to obey a teacher’s command is an automatic loss of 10 points. You seem most anxious to find out what punishments await the students at the bottom of the class list.”
A lump rose in my throat. My phone contained photographs – snaps of my mom smiling demurely or brushing her hair in the mirror before she went out to work at the strip club. Of Dante and I hanging out around the neighborhood, smoking on the rusted playground beside his house, tagging the concrete wall behind the boxing gym on the corner. Every other one of my possessions had been destroyed in the fire. Those photographs were practically all I had left of them.
Trey and Courtney covered their mouths with their hands, barely disguising their laughter. Courtney leaned over and whispered something to Trey. They both cracked up. Despite myself, my cheeks flushed. Better get used to this.
Headmistress West, of course, ignored them. She wasn’t backing down on this phone thing. My fingers closed around it, the comfortable weight of it in my hand reminding me that it was one of the last connections to my old life.
What does it matter? They’re gone. Looking at their photos won’t bring them back. But this school could be the only chance I have at a real future.
My hand trembling, I dropped my phone into her talons. As soon as it left my hand, I itched to get it back. Headmistre
ss West slipped the phone into a fold of her dress, where it disappeared from sight.
“Follow me.” The headmistress swirled on her heel and floated up the stairs. Numb, I fell in step behind her. Trey came up beside me. His arm brushed mine, and a jolt of warmth rocketed through my body. I dared a look up at his face. As we moved into the shadow of the porch, the colors in his hair changed, becoming a deep brown and blood red. A curl flopped over his eye, and I noticed flecks of silver on the edges of those arresting blue irises. My fingers itched to reach up and swipe that curl off his face, to touch his smooth skin, feel his cheek move beneath my fingers, to cut myself on his cheekbones. A familiar longing pooled in my stomach, an ache that I’d never been able to sate before, and now never would.
I’d never seen a boy that perfect.
Trey’s fingers brushed me again. My breath froze in my mouth as his hand lingered on my elbow. To anyone looking at us from a distance, it would appear as though he was helping me, steadying me up the steep steps. The touch on my skin was white-hot, lighting up parts of my body that hadn’t felt anything since Dante… since before the fire. How can this boy with such cruel eyes have this effect on me?
When he caught me looking, Trey’s perfect lips curled back into a sneer. His fingers tightened on my arm, squeezing my skin. Tighter, tighter, until he was cutting off circulation. I yelped in protest.
“You don’t belong here,” he murmured, his perfect lips forming hateful words. “You should leave now.”
He said it so casually, like he was chatting about the weather, and that self-satisfied smirk never left his face. My stomach twisted, the air driving from my lungs as though he’d punched me.
“No thanks,” I said brightly, pretending that I misunderstood him. “I’m good.”
“We don’t want you, and we’re used to getting what we want. We’re going to eat you alive, new meat.” Trey flashed me a smile that was all teeth and violence. The venom in his eyes frightened me. This is not a guy to mess with.
Too bad he seemed to already have it out for me, and I hadn’t even got inside the school yet. My plan to keep my head down and stay invisible fizzled before my eyes. Already I could see how the school year was going to play out. We don’t want you here. Trey spoke for the entire student body. He was a King in this school. It was written in his smile, dripping from the menace in his words.
I’d pissed him off. Just by existing. Just by setting foot on the hallowed grounds of his kingdom. Well, fuck you, Trey Bloomberg. I could handle a year of insults and loneliness if I got my diploma at the end of it. My life was already hell on earth – if Trey Bloomberg thought he could break me, he’d have to try a lot harder.
I wrenched my arm away from us. “Don’t touch me.” Behind us, Courtney giggled.
“Yeah, Trey. You should know not to handle garbage. She’s a gutter-trash whore who’s probably fucked so many guys that your dick wouldn’t even touch the sides.”
The comment stung. I thought of my sweet mother, all candy smiles and sticky skin as she stripped off her sweat-soaked lace g-string and six-inch heels after her shift and pulled on the cloud-pink pajamas I found for her in a thrift store. A hard lump rose in my throat. I shoved the image aside. Not now.
Wait until you get to your room, until you’re alone, then you can break down.
“I guess we’re not going to be braiding each other’s hair,” I muttered to Courtney.
“I wouldn’t touch that rat’s nest on your head if someone hid a Faberge egg inside,” Courtney sneered. “I bet it’s got real eggs in it, though. Insect eggs, laid by the gross things crawling around in there.”
Instinctively, my hand flew up to my face, to touch the dreadlock that always fell over my eye, to tuck it behind my ear – a gesture that Dante would so often do when he noticed my loss in my eyes, which was all the time because I liked them unruly. Ever since the fire, I’d been touching my own hair more and more, seeking the comfort of the familiar weight of a hand moving the dreadlocks. But it wasn’t the same. It would never be the same.
Courtney wrinkled her face in disgust, while Trey continued to smirk at me. The force of his loathing sank my stomach to my knees. He didn’t even know me, but it didn’t matter.
At the top of the stairs, the headmistress turned and frowned at me. “Don’t dawdle,” she snapped. “The school doesn’t bite.”
“She’s wrong,” Trey whispered. “Are you ready to find out just how bad we bite?”
The lump of hard, bitterness burned at the back of my throat. They were right. I didn’t belong here. I was the poor gutter-trash girl from the wrong side of the tracks, and they were royalty. They were the monarchs. They’re going to make my life miserable, and there’s nothing I can do.
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Read the Amazon top-20 book readers are calling “The greatest mindfuck of 2019.”
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.
The fire took everything.
My parents. My best friend. My life.
Now I have a second chance.
I only have to endure one year at this prestigious academy for rich snobs.
One year of being the charity case no one wanted.
One year of taunts and insults and bullying. Then I’m free.
But I didn’t count on Trey, Ayaz, and Quinn.
Arrogant, privileged, dangerous.
Drop-dead gorgeous.
They want me gone.
They want me to suffer.
They’re determined to make my nightmares real.
Tough luck, bully boys – I won’t hide away.
I’m not afraid.
But maybe… I should be.
HP Lovecraft meets Cruel Intentions in book 1 of this dark paranormal reverse harem bully romance. 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.
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Welcome to Manderley Academy
From the author of Shunned, the Amazon top-20 bestselling bully romance readers are calling, “The greatest mindf**k of 2019,” comes this chilling new dark paranormal reverse harem romance.
Ivan, Titus, Dorien.
These Bad Boys of Baroque may play like angels,
but they’re determined to make my life hell.
When my mom got sick, my dreams of a career in music imploded. That is, until Madame Usher wafts into my life like a ghost from the past, offering me the chance to study at the exclusive Manderley Academy – a music school for the most gifted and wealthy.
It’s an offer I can’t refuse – free room and board at the gothic mansion where elite students immerse themselves in mastering their art. But there’s a catch, and it’s a big one.
I’m her slave.
I clean the rooms. I polish the piano keys. I serve her and the three pretentious a-hole guys who rule this school.
I must endure their bullying in silence. Even when they destroy my things, sabotage my performances, and try their best to drive me from Manderley.
Rich. Arrogant. Cruel.
They won’t have the poor little charity case ruining their fun.
They’ve heard me play.
They know I’m a serious contender for the prestigious Manderley Prize.
These broken muses aren’t used to losing, especially to the help.
But they’re not the only ones haunting me.
Something twisted and evil shrouds Manderley Academy. Maybe my bullies are the least of my problems. Maybe Dorien, Ivan, and Titus aren’t the ones behind the strange noises in the walls, the warnings scrawled on my mirror, and the gruesome murders on the school grounds.
Maybe…maybe Manderley’s ghosts are real.
A dark mystery unf
olds around musician Faye de Winter in book one of this gripping gothic college reverse harem bully romance by USA Today best-selling author Steffanie Holmes. Warning: This tale of three spoiled rich boys with unsettling secrets and the girl who refuses to put up with their shit contains dark themes, a creepy house, a smoldering second-chance romance, college angst, cruel bullies and swoon-worthy sex.
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Agatha Christie meet Black Books
What do you get when you cross a cursed bookshop, three hot fictional men, and a punk rock heroine nursing a broken heart?
After being fired from her fashion internship in New York City, Mina Wilde decides it’s time to reevaluate her life. She returns to the quaint English village where she grew up to take a job at the local bookshop, hoping that being surrounded by great literature will help her heal from a devastating blow.
But Mina soon discovers her life is stranger than fiction – a mysterious curse on the bookshop brings fictional characters to life in lust-worthy bodies. Mina finds herself babysitting Poe’s raven, making hot dogs for Heathcliff, and getting IT help from James Moriarty, all while trying not to fall for the three broken men who should only exist within her imagination.
When Mina’s ex-best friend shows up dead with a knife in her back, she’s the chief suspect. She’ll have to solve the murder if she wants to clear her name. Will her fictional boyfriends be able to keep her out of prison?
My Stolen Life: a high school bully romance (Stonehurst Prep Book 1) Page 25