Rich Boys vs. Poor Boys (The Cruel Kings of Castle Hill Academy, Book 1) by Devon Hartford kd103

by Hartford, Devon

  “What’s the mystery?” I ask.

  Jonah says, “We heard about what happened on Halloween.”

  “Who didn’t?” I try not to cringe as I fight back the horrid memory of that night. Scowling, I say, “Those silicone bitches made sure everyone on campus knows. You saw the pictures of Gladys. Ugh. Why did they have to single me out?”

  Skill says, “Because they’re heartless bitches who don’t give a shit about anyone other than themselves.”

  Jonah says somberly, “They like hurting people. They get off on it. It’s all a game to them.”

  “That’s an understatement,” I snort.

  Tucker tips his chin and practically snarls, “Wanna fuck them over?”

  “What?!” I snort a laugh.

  “You wanna help us fuck them over?”

  “Uh, yeah,” I snicker. “If only there was a way to do it without us getting in trouble. You know they’ll find a way to turn it around back on us and get us busted with Ms. Skelter or whoever.”

  Rob shakes his head, “That’s where we come in.”

  “Sounds like you already have a plan?” I glance between the four of them.

  “You could say that,” Skill grins.

  “Mind sharing?” I ask.

  Rob says, “If we let you in on this, there’s no going back.”

  “In on what? You guys sound really creepy all of a sudden.”

  Jonah jokes, “That’s just Rob. He always sounds creepy.” Jonah always sets me at ease.

  I grin, “So what is it then? What’s the big mystery?”

  Rob says, “Have you heard of the Ivory Tower?”

  I say, “The secret society on campus? The one Prince belongs to?”

  Rob frowns, “How do you know about that?”

  “I overheard Azielbeth talking to him about it at the All Hallows’ Ball. She said he’s the youngest ever magister or something like that.”

  “Who said?” Skill asks.

  “Oh,” I titter. “I meant Eliza-bitch Morgan-Hearse with an e. Because she’s like the Angel of Death or whatever. She said Prince is the magister of The Ivory Tower.”

  Rob nods, “He is. How would you like to get back at her and her friends for what they did to you?”

  I sneer, “Are we locking them in their own iron maidens in the dungeon? Elizabeth, Victoria, and Jacqueline?”

  “Nothing so prosaic as that,” Skill says.

  “What then? Get them kicked out of Castle Hill Academy permanently?” I grin. “Something like that? I’m totally up for doing that.”

  Rob says ominously, “No, we want to take down their entire families.”

  “What do you mean by take down?” I ask shrewdly.

  “Use your imagination,” Rob says cryptically.

  “Kill them?” I ask carefully.

  “Nothing so extreme.”

  “What, like bankrupt them?” I titter.

  “For starters.”

  “Hmm. Their whole families?”

  Rob nods.

  “How many people is that?” I ask.

  “Dozens. If you count extended family for all three girls, Elizabeth, Victoria, and Jacqueline, and you include anyone on the family inheritance lists, well over a hundred people get affected.”

  “Um, what if, I don’t know, what if Grandma Morgan-Hearst is a kindly old lady or something, and all she does is donate money to charities and feed her thousand cats gourmet organic cat food? She doesn’t deserve anything bad, does she?”

  Rob says flatly, “What if I told you that forty years ago, Grandma Morgan-Hearst personally saw to it that a bunch of sweatshop factories, and tobacco and tea farms the Morgan-Hearsts own overseas, started forcing children to work sixteen hour days in dangerous conditions for close to no money so the Morgan-Hearst companies continued to turn a profit every year?”

  “Is that true?” I gasp.

  Jonah scowls, “Disgusting but true.”

  Tucker hisses to himself, “Fucking ruthless bitch.”

  Skill muses sarcastically, “Why hire adults who demand a living wage when you can enslave orphans who’re too young to understand? We’re talking kids five, six and seven years old without any families to protect them.”

  Being a foster kid for so many years, what they’re saying is a hundred knives to the gut. I know what it’s like to have no one watching out for you, and what can happen when—

  ((((pitch black))))

  ((((pain))))

  ((((it hurts!))))

  ((((please not again!))))

  —you fall into the hands of evil people. People like Gladys. I look to Rob for confirmation.

  He says, “In one case, the kids managed to escape from their dorms—”

  “Shitholes,” Tucker says. “Dorms makes it sound nice. They made them live in dirty little shitholes. Rats, garbage everywhere, dirt floors, no medical attention, shitty food, not even running fucking water. They had to drink from the fucking river. You have any idea the amount of human shit that goes into that river?”

  Skill says somberly, “If the malaria didn’t kill the kids, the dysentery did.”

  “When was this?” I ask, horrified.

  “Back when Grandma Morgan-Hearst ran things,” Rob says. “Back in the sixties and seventies, when a bunch of the kids escaped and went to the local village for help, and the villagers took the kids in and fed them, kindly old Grandma Morgan-Hearst hired a bunch of local armed men with jeeps and assault rifles to round up the kids at gunpoint. Jammed them into the backs of old military trucks and drove them right back to the factory and forced them to keep working.”

  I’m flabbergasted. “Are you guys serious?”

  “As a fucking stroke,” Tucker growls, looking ready to bite someone’s face off. “Hundreds of kids died in one fucking factory because Grandma Morgan-Hearst didn’t think they needed clean fucking water. It was cheaper to snatch up more local orphans than the millions it would’ve cost to clean up a polluted river. Or do something as simple as truck in fucking clean water. Fucking heartless penny-pinching bitch.”

  Skill adds, “And that’s just the tip of their vile iceberg empire.”

  I gasp trepidatiously, “How do you guys know all this?”

  Rob’s face is dead set and painfully grim when he says, “Let’s just say we’ve been studying the business empires of the Morgan-Hearsts and the Hanover-Wessexes and the Stanford-Cornwalls for a long, long time.”

  “Who’re they again?”

  “Elizabeth, Victoria and Jacqueline’s families.”

  Tucker grunts, “Don’t forget the fucking Lancasters.”

  “Prince’s family?” I blurt.

  “They’re as shitty as the rest of them,” Tucker grumbles.

  Skill says, “So are the Montfortes and the Wendinghams and a dozen others at the academy.”

  “Duke’s family?” I ask.

  Rob nods, “Among other things, the Montfortes are one of the biggest builders of private prisons in America. The more people who get locked up, the more money the Montfortes make.”

  “Who’re the Wendinghams again?” I ask. “I’ve heard that name.” My eyes light up and I snap my fingers. “Chase! That’s Chase’s family, right? Him too?”

  Skill scowls, “They’re no better than the rest.”

  It takes a moment for me to process what they’re telling me. “So, what, you’re saying Prince and Duke and Chase are as bad as Eliza-bitch and her silicone friends?”

  “Afraid so,” Jonah says. “Rich and powerful people don’t get that way being nice and generous.”

  “They fuck everyone over,” Tucker barks. “Even kids. Every one of those fuckers deserves to rot in fucking hell for what they do. Fucking kids!” Tucker looks at me wide-eyed like the world has turned upside down and nobody is saying anything about it except him.

  No, that’s not true.

  They’re all looking at me like that.

  “What do you say, Mary?” Rob asks. “You want to help us take t
hem down?”

  “Umm… how?” I ask nervously.

  “For starters, we, or should I say you, infiltrate The Ivory Tower.”

  “How am I supposed to do that?”

  “By getting close to Prince. Very close.”

  Not sure if I like the sound of that, I titter, “What exactly does that mean?”

  Rob’s face darkens and he opens his mouth to reply when there’s a commotion in the campfire crowd and everybody looks in the direction of the parking lot beyond the flickering flames.

  “What is it?” I ask.

  Tucker grumbles, “The fuck are they doing here crashing our shit?”

  “Who’s crashing?” I whisper because I can’t see over Rob and the rest of them.

  “The fucking Fundies,” Tucker grouses.

  “Which ones?”

  “All of them.”

  “That can’t be good,” I grimace.

  Skill says, “Nothing about them ever is.”

  Tucker grunts, “They wanna fight a fucking war? Bring it fucking on.”

  Let the drama begin.

  Every single one of us work-study kids are breaking the rules being here. Not only is it way past curfew, we’re nowhere close to being on campus. And we’ve got kegs, meaning underage drinking aplenty.

  I immediately dump my SOLO cup of beer in the dirt and throw the cup under the table, already eying an escape route that will take me to Mimi, and the both of us safely away so we can sneak several miles through the forest and back into our rooms without getting caught. What’re the chances of making that happen?

  Zero?

  Less than zero, obvi.

  We never should’ve done this.

  Chapter 31

  Prince says, “You threw a keg party without inviting us? I’m hurt, Fletcher. I thought we had an understanding.”

  Prince strolls up to the campfires flanked by Duke and Chase and two dozen other Fundy boys I recognize from Castle Hill. They all wear suits. Not academy uniforms. Regular blazers and slacks and dress shoes that shimmer darkly, like you’d expect if they were going out clubbing.

  Rob faces them, backed by Skill, Tucker, and Jonah, and a huge crowd of work-study kids.

  Mimi and I are moving through the shadows behind some trees, heading for the parking lot and the road beyond. When I realize no one is running for the cars, not the Castle Hill townie kids nor the work-study kids, Mimi and I stop to watch the confrontation.

  “Get the fuck outta here!” Tucker barks at Prince.

  “Dial it down,” Rob grumbles at Tucker before stepping up to Prince.

  Prince says, “Care to kiss my shoe, Fletcher?”

  “How about you kiss mine?” Rob folds his muscled arms across his chest and his big biceps bulge with menace.

  “Hmph,” Prince sniffs like he’s above it all when he’s obviously not.

  I suddenly realize things are very different off campus. Rob isn’t acting so beholden. He’s standing his ground and daring Prince to cross over the invisible line drawn in the dirt between them.

  Prince clearly has no intention of crossing it.

  Rob says, “Shouldn’t you be in Fiji surfing or some shit?”

  “Not until winter break,” Prince grins. “Aren’t you going to play the good host and offer us beers?”

  “You’re not welcome here,” Rob says flatly.

  The crowd of work-study boys behind Rob rumble their agreement.

  Prince says, “That may be true, but I believe you aren’t either. The park closes at sundown. What would the sheriff say if I call him and tell him about all the underage drinking going on?”

  “We’ll be long gone before anyone gets here.”

  Skill says, “He probably called them already.”

  “Now, now,” Prince clucks. “We came to enjoy ourselves.”

  “Slumming for sluts,” Chase chuckles lustily, eying several cute Castle Hill townie girls I don’t recognize. They giggle and welcome his plundering eyes.

  Mimi rolls hers in disgust.

  Is she into him? I never can tell for sure, but she’s acting like it now.

  The townie girls are also tossing flirty looks at Prince, Duke, and the other Fundy boys, many of whom are pretty cute. You can’t miss the Fundies’ expensive cars parked in the dirt parking lot. I don’t see Prince’s Bugatti, but I do see plenty of Porsches, Land Rovers, and a Ferrari. I guess they took the cheap cars out for tonight. I can tell the townie girls are wondering what it’d be like to go for a ride with these boys in those cars. If they only knew what dicks they are.

  “Get the fuck outta here,” Tucker says to Prince and his friends. “Before I fuck up all you fucking Fundies.” He looks ready to fight every last Fundy boy on his own, and he looks like he might just win. Not that he needs to. He has plenty of help.

  Prince frowns at Rob, “Do us a favor and muzzle this mongrel.” He’s referring to Tucker.

  Rob quips, “I’ll let you do the honors.”

  Tucker jams a fist into his palm, cracking his knuckles. Then he cracks the other. “Go for it, princess. Try and muzzle me. You don’t get a free shot tonight.”

  Prince looks down his nose at Tucker for a moment before lowering his eyelids sleepily and turning to Rob, “What do you think Ms. Skelter will say if I call her and tell her half her work-study staff are breaking curfew and partying off campus?” Prince waits for a response. When he doesn’t get one, he says, “I think Ms. Skelter might decide it’s time to send you all back where you belong.” He obviously means prison.

  Tucker barks, “No, she’d tell you soft as fuck shitheads to get over it.”

  Skill says, “He’s right. Skelter can’t afford to lose half her staff. Who’ll clean your rooms and wipe your asses if we get kicked out?”

  Prince grins, “I’m sure we can replace you with a fresh batch of delinquents.” He’s clearly enjoying his authority and power.

  “Never gonna happen,” Tucker snorts. “Like Skill said, you rich shitheads don’t even know how to wipe your own asses. If it wasn’t for paying someone else to do it for you, you’d be sitting in shit like a bunch of babies.” You have to give Tucker credit. For a seemingly short-fused hot head, he’s quite clever and thinks fast under pressure.

  Rob chuckles dismissively, “Skill and Tucker are right. Replacing us would take weeks if not months and you know it, Prince. Unless you plan on making your own beds, cleaning your own bathrooms, and cooking your own meals for the next couple months, you need us.”

  Prince says, “We’ll hire temporary staff. Bonded, so they won’t steal.” He’s implying we have done just that.

  I can tell you I’ve never stolen a single thing. It’s not worth the risk.

  Mimi barks loud enough for everyone to hear, “We don’t steal any of your stuff and you know it!”

  Prince turns to look.

  Mimi steps into the light, pulling me with her, and says with disgust, “We don’t want your stupid stuff. Tell him, Mary.”

  “Erm, she’s right,” I say.

  “Strumpet,” Prince says affectionately.

  “Don’t call her that,” Rob growls and surges toward Prince without hesitation. “Use her fucking name or I’ll rip your tongue out where you stand.”

  Tucker is right beside Rob and scowling at Prince, “I’ll fucking bite it off his rich boy mouth, spit it in his face and feed it to him.”

  Duke lunges to Prince’s side, hands fisting at his sides. He warns Tucker, “Over my dead fucking body!”

  Jonah steps up beside Rob and towers over Duke. “It would be my pleasure.”

  Chase says, “You’ll have to go through both of us.”

  Skill saunters up and says, “I’ll go through all three of you.” Having seen Skill fight, I think he probably could.

  The other Fundy boys loom forward, forming a phalanx of fists behind Prince, Duke, and Chase.

  Behind Rob, dozens of work-study boys step up to bat. They outnumber the Fundies four to one, and that’s
not counting the work-study girls, and townie boys and girls. Not that I expect the townies to fight, or the work-study girls, but maybe the townie boys would. They seem to like Rob and the Poor Boys just fine.

  For tense seconds, it seems certain a brawl will break out.

  “People, please!” Prince laughs loud. “We came to party, not to fight.” He reaches into his suit jacket to pull something out.

  “He’s got a gun,” Skill hisses.

  Rob and crew surge forward.

  “Relax!” Prince chuckles loudly. “I’m not armed.” He holds a car remote aloft. In the parking lot, the lights on a Range Rover flash and the back gate opens automatically. “Who wants edibles?”

  Two Fundy boys carry over a large cooler and set it down, opening it in front of everyone. It’s like a bakery inside. Obviously marijuana-laden baked goods.

  “Who wants some?” Prince asks the crowd. “There’s more than enough to go around.”

  The townies rush forward muttering joyfully amongst themselves as they start taking handouts.

  When some of the work-study kids step forward to get theirs, Rob holds up a halting hand. He doesn’t even look at them, but they stop like he’s the effing general of the work-study army. Maybe he is. I don’t know. But they stop like Rob is Russell Crowe in Gladiator shouting “Hold the line!” or Mel Gibson in Braveheart shouting, “They can offer us pot, but they’ll never take our freedom!”

  The work-study kids aren’t going to touch the drugs because Rob said so.

  With a single hand gesture.

  I blurt a laugh in complete disbelief.

  Rob isn’t afraid to stand up to Prince and the Fundies after all. To think I was once embarrassed for Rob when he kissed Prince’s shoe my first day at Castle Hill. I’d thought Rob was a nothing-burger for doing something so demeaning. Yes, I quickly realized he was only bowing and scarping for Prince to protect me from being demeaned, but I never would’ve imagined this.

  Rob is the freaking king.

  Ohmygod, it is so effing hot.

  What are the chances I’ll end up in his bed later tonight? Sleeping only, of course. Ahem.

  <(—)>