The Rebel of Raleigh High (Raleigh Rebels Series Book 1)

by Callie Hart

  Eventually, he snaps. Dropping down, shoving his face into mine, he roars into my face. “I SAID FUCKING LOOK AWAY!!”

  I…

  can’t…

  fucking…

  breathe…

  Jacob slams his fist into my side, and my ribs scream, agony ripping through my torso, tearing through every last nerve ending. I have no choice in the matter now. My body convulses as I try and roll onto my side, vomit rising up in my throat, but Sam’s still holding me in place. Jake reels back, though, and I see what I felt between my legs—his sad, flaccid dick, hanging pathetically now, stuck to the inside of his thigh, covered in blood.

  Now, he reacts with shame.

  Now, because his friends have seen that he couldn’t fucking finish.

  That he couldn’t keep his dick hard enough to humiliate me by coming inside me.

  “Don’t just fucking sit there, staring.” He snatches a towel from the counter, wrapping it around his waist, then wipes his nose with the back of his hand. “Get on with it, for fuck’s sake. It’s early. There’s a party still going on downstairs.”

  Sam doesn’t need a second invitation.

  He climbs on top of me and does what Jake could not.

  Cillian follows.

  When they’re done, they release me…

  …and one by one they take turns in spitting on my cold, bloodied, naked body.

  The sound of their laughter rings in my ears as they leave the bathroom.

  Jake pauses a second in the doorway, revulsion raging like a storm in his eyes. “If you tell anyone that I couldn’t,” he whispers, “I’ll make your life a living hell, Silver Parisi. I’ll make your life so unbearable that you’ll do us all a favor and kill yourself before I have to do it fucking for you.”

  25

  ALEX

  It must be nearly dawn. The light in the trailer’s grown progressively brighter as the hours have slipped by, but I haven’t moved an inch from my spot on the couch, elbows digging into the tops of my thighs, my balled-up hands pressed against my mouth. My retinas are probably burned beyond repair from the amount of time I’ve spent staring at the laptop screen, but I haven’t been able to look away. I haven’t been able to blink for fear that even that small movement might send me into a fit of rage so dark and bottomless that I’ll never be able to pull myself out of it.

  Silver’s email took a while to read, but now her words are scorched into the barren wastelands of my soul forever. They’ve sparked a maelstrom of toxicity inside me that I can barely breathe around. For the past four hours since reading through the email, not once or twice but countless times, all I’ve done is sit here and talk myself out of breaking the promises I made to Silver. I should never have sworn I wouldn’t hurt those motherfuckers before I knew the full story. It was going to be bad, it was always going to be bad, but reading the minutia, diving into every single tiny detail that took place that night…fuck, I felt like I was there, in that bathroom, on my knees, hands tied behind my back, being forced to watch as those sick motherfuckers took turns hurting my girl.

  It's with a weird sense of calm that I realize I have officially lost my mind. A temporary kind of insanity. The same kind psychiatrists diagnose people with when they snap and lose all control over themselves and their actions. The only thing keeping my brain from breaking apart and sending me into a fit of incomprehensible insanity is the knowledge that Silver will never speak to me again if I don’t honor her wishes.

  There will be recompense, though. There will be an atonement for their sins, I’m going to make sure of it. There has to be a workaround that will allow for those fuckers to bleed for what they’ve done.

  And Jacob Weaving…

  Oh, Jesus, Jacob. You have no idea what you’ve done. Nine months ago, when you took a drugged, vulnerable girl into a room with the intention of causing her pain, shaming and humiliating her, stealing her virginity, you clearly weren’t thinking of the future. You didn’t consider for a moment what was going to happen today.

  You didn’t see me coming.

  If you had, you would never have laid a finger on Silver Parisi. You wouldn’t have allowed yourself to even think her damn name.

  I’m vibrating with rage, floating outside of myself as I make myself a coffee. No way I’m going to sleep at all now. We’re not back in school until tomorrow, so I’ll go and see Silver later. In the meantime, I plan on getting the ball rolling on this situation, and I know just the man for the job.

  I fill up the bike at the gas station closest to the bar, and a guy honks at me, trying to get me to hurry. I want to grind my knuckles into his face. Hit him until he begins to cry like a little bitch. I wanna break his fucking neck.

  I’ve been angry for most of my teen years—at Gary, for using his strength and his size over me. At Jackie for keeping me from seeing Ben. At Maeve, Rhonda and a whole line-up of other social workers, who have all made my life way harder than it needed to be. At my mom for fucking dying. But I have never, never been this angry before, spilling over with rage, panting and breathless, rendered mentally incompetent because of it.

  I sit on the bike in a parking spot, stewing over everything, thoughts like the blades of a blender, whipping around so fast and so sharp that the inside of my skull is in chaos. Five minutes later, the punk in the white button-down and the pressed khakis who honked at me emerges from the gas station, and I climb off the bike, heading toward him with a tire iron in my hand.

  He runs across the gas station forecourt, bolting for his Durango. “What the fuck? You fucking psycho!” He dives into the vehicle, slamming the door and locking it swiftly behind him.

  I’m three seconds away from smashing the tire iron into his window when the attendant comes rushing out of the building with a phone in his hand. “Hey! Hey, asshole! Get out of here before I call the fucking cops!”

  The taunt sits heavy on the tip of my tongue, burning like battery acid: Go ahead, motherfucker. Call them. See what happens. But I know how that’ll go. They’ll show up here en force, tires screeching as they peel onto the forecourt, guns already drawn, aimed at my fucking head. They’ll cart me off in cuffs. It’ll be on the news. ‘Local thug arrested for attempted assault.’ All of Raleigh will know about it before lunchtime, and Silver will be hysterical. She won’t forgive me. I told her I could handle the truth from her. I can’t let her down at the very first hurdle by pulling this kind of stupid shit.

  My pulse pounds like a runaway train in my temples as I stalk back to the bike and climb on, starting the engine and roaring out of the station.

  This is not good.

  This is not fucking good.

  I need to do something.

  At the bar, I find Monty in his office, going over surveillance footage at his desk. His expression darkens when I burst in without knocking. “The fuck’s got you so riled up?” he asks, halting the feed on the screen.

  “I need a favor,” I grind out. I’m calmer than I was when I had the tire iron in my hand, but I am a far cry from actually being calm.

  “Does this favor involve murder? ’Cause you look like you’re about to kill someone.”

  “Maybe,” I say grimly.

  “Jesus. It’s only Monday morning, Alex. Can’t we at least make it to Thursday evening without a need for homicide?” He jerks his head at the seat opposite him. “Sit. Tell me what’s happened.”

  I don’t want to sit but I know he won’t appreciate me prowling up and down in his office with a face like thunder, so I slump down in the chair and lean forward, holding my head in my hands.

  “You even shower this morning? You look like shit,” he says.

  “No. I did not shower. I had other things on my mind.”

  “If this has anything to do with that tasty little treat from Raleigh High that you brought in here the other night, please know I am not going to be happy.”

  I roll my eyes. “No. Not her. Another girl. My girlfriend,” I add on the end, gingerly…because I know
he’s gonna give me shit for—

  “Girlfriend? Since when?” I don’t even get to finish the thought. Monty’s already smirking like the bastard that he is, kicking his feet up on his desk like he’s settling in for a juicy bit of gossip. “You knock her up the first time you stick your dick in her, Moretti? ’Cause that would be some dumbass bullshit right there.”

  “Fuck you, man,” I growl. “My dick isn’t the problem here.”

  “But it is a dick problem.”

  “Three guys from the Raleigh football team raped her. It was really fucking bad.”

  Monty's grin takes on a sour, displeased look. “Well. That does sound like a problem, doesn't it?” He leans forward, swiping his pack of smokes up from the edge of his desk. He lights one, narrowing his eyes at me. “Should never have gotten kicked out of Bellingham, kid. A Bellingham girl would have carved 'em up before letting 'em pull that kinda shit. Raleigh's too touchy-feely. Makes the kids too soft to stick up for themselves.”

  “I’m not really interested in arguing the pros and cons of Raleigh High. I just want some fucking justice.”

  “For her, because they hurt her? Or for you, because they broke one of your toys?”

  Monty’s done a lot for me since I got out of juvie. More than anyone else would have done. But at the moment I feel like knocking his fucking head off. Common sense prevails, though. He’s my only ally in all of this. I still give him a look laced with enough vitriol to let him know what I think of his question. “She’s suffered long enough, having to see those fuckers day in and day out. She shouldn’t have to.”

  Blowing out a cloud of smoke, Monty regards me. “She go to the hospital? Take a rape kit?”

  I grip the arms of the chair, growling low, like a dog. “She's not making it up, asshole. You don't know her, man. She's not like that.” She's nothing at all like the girl Jake tried to paint when I first started at Raleigh. That was all subterfuge. So much smoke. Groundwork on Jake's part, prepping me for the time when Silver told me what he did, so I'd think she was a liar right out of the gate.

  “I’m not saying she’s lying. Though high school girls do do that, y’know. I’m merely wondering if there’s any kind of evidence to this crime. Something the cops can work with.”

  Bitterly, I shake my head. “She was too fucked up. Hasn’t told her folks. She told her friends, and they cut her out. Shunned her.”

  “And the school?”

  “The teachers heard about it. Called her in. Called him in, too. Made them do some conflict resolution counseling and swept the entire thing under the rug. They look at her the same way as all the other students do. Like she's some trouble maker, out to cause issues for their golden boy.”

  “You said there were three of them. You keep on talking about one guy, though.”

  “He was the one who drugged her. He’s the one who orchestrated the whole thing. He’s their fucking ringleader. They all need to suffer…but Jacob Weaving needs to suffer the most.”

  Monty’s eyebrows rocket, shooting upward. “Weaving? Caleb Weaving’s kid?”

  “I don’t know who his father is.” That hardly seems important, but the look on Monty’s face says otherwise.

  “Caleb Weaving used to be one of my biggest clients. Owns half of the farmland in the county. Richer than sin.”

  “And what? That means Jake shouldn’t be held accountable for what he’s done?”

  Slowly, Monty smiles, stubbing out his cigarette in an overflowing ashtray. “No, Alex. It means, if we are talking about Caleb’s kid, then I will happily help you bring the little fucker to his knees. Caleb’s screwed me over more times than I can count. It’s about time someone taught that family a hard lesson. When were you hoping to mete out this justice of yours?”

  “Today? Yesterday? As soon as humanly fucking possible. Why?”

  “Because…if you’re willing to stay your hand for a couple of weeks, a couple of months, even, then I think I know just the thing that’ll strip that little fucker of his crown.”

  “I don’t know, man. Months?”

  “It’ll be worth it. Trust me. By Christmas, Jacob Weaving won’t be bothering your little girlfriend any longer.”

  Silver's car doesn't sound healthy at all. On the drive back from the cabin, I make a mental note to give the engine a once over as soon as possible. Monty drove me over to the lake to collect it, and said no more about what his plan to punish Jake involved, but he played Lynyrd Skynyrd the entire way there—his thinking music—and wore a wolfish, smug smile that meant he was plotting something genuinely vile. I thanked him, told him I'd make sure I showed up for my shift on Wednesday, grim in the knowledge that he'll probably want me to do another run for him. When we pulled out of the cabin's long driveway, I took a left back toward Raleigh, and he took a right, disappearing off to god only knows where.

  Now that I’m close to Silver’s, I message her to let her know I’m heading her way.

  Me: Almost at your place. Gonna leave your beater. Should I knock?

  I’m turning onto her street when she answers.

  Silver: I resent that. My car is not a beater.

  Silver: I feel rude as hell, but would you mind dropping it off and going? Things aren’t good over here.

  Me: No problem

  Silver: You have plans tonight?

  Me: At your mercy. Have something in mind?

  Silver: What’s your address? I’ll come over after ten.

  My nerves revolt, making me feel nauseous. Silver, coming to the trailer? I told her I wanted her to come over when we were at the cabin, but I didn’t really think about all that that entailed. The place needs more than a little TLC.

  Me: 1876 Bow Hill Rd. You know which park?

  I arrive at her place while she's still replying. I make it quick, pulling into the driveway, parking, killing the engine. I get out, looking up at the house—beautiful, serene, ivy climbing up the fascia, roses planted in the beds. The kind of house I dreamed of living in when I was a kid—and then I spy her, standing at one of the upstairs windows. My poor Silver looks like a ghost up there, alone, pale behind the glass. She really is so fucking beautiful. She raises a hand, pressing it against the window, a small, sad smile on her face, and I want to kick in the front door, race up the stairs and take her into my arms right this second.

  She said now wasn’t good, though, which means the shit must be hitting the fan in there. I hold up her keys, making sure she can see what I’m doing as I place them on the Nova’s dashboard. She nods, just once, and then she vanishes out of sight.

  I could call an Uber to take me home, but it seems like a waste of time. The trailer park I call home is four miles away, but I’m no stranger to walking. I don’t care about the cold or the fact that it’s just starting to rain. I need to clear my head, and four miles should give me plenty of time to think.

  26

  SILVER

  He didn’t mention anything about the email in his texts. Not one word. I don’t blame him, either. If I were him, I’d probably want to pretend like I hadn’t read such a crappy, terrible story, too. He probably doesn’t even know what he’s going to say to me.

  I make my way downstairs, feeling sick to my soul. I have plenty of regrets, but I regret sending that email more than anything else I’ve ever done. I have no idea what tonight’s going to be like with him. I’m hoping it won’t be an awkward disaster, but—

  I run into Dad the second I hit the bottom step. “Holy hell!” He clutches a hand to his chest dramatically, staggering back until he hits the wall. “I thought you’d moved out. There were rumors some sort of nocturnal creature had taken up residence in your room. I was gonna start charging it rent.”

  “One day, Dad. I’ve been up early every other day for the past year. Feel free to cut me some slack.”

  “I know, I know,” he says, throwing an arm around me, guiding me into the kitchen. “I’m just messing with you. Figured you could take it, but I can see you’re feeling a lit
tle sensitive. I was surprised you came back yesterday. I thought you’d be making the most of every last second at the cabin. Mom said you weren’t feeling good. Everything all right?”

  Wow. Guess I shouldn’t be too surprised that Mom’s been lying again. I told her to do it, after all. I’m kind of glad she came up with this excuse, though. Would have been hard to explain my early return otherwise. “Yeah, yeah. I’m just feeling a little under the weather’s all. Decided it’d be smarter to head home before I came down with a full-blown head cold.”

  Dad releases me, making a cross with his index fingers, like he's warning off a demon. “If ye be infected, keep thy germs to thyself, lest the whole household succumbs to thy plague,” he says, feigning horror all over again. He is such a damn dork. “You want huevos rancheros? Extra spicy, just the way you like 'em. Might destroy whatever's ailing ya before it can take hold.”

  “Sure. Thanks, Dad.”

  He gets to work, clattering around the kitchen, pots banging on the counters, noisier than ever. I take a seat at the breakfast counter, watching him make a mess. “Your mom’s taken Max to the movies,” he says. “I know she told you about Gail. She’s been crying all morning. I told her to get out of the house. Shame you’re sick. Max is all well and good, but I think she’d have rather had you to hang out with today. Another girl, y’know.”

  Oh, I’m sure she would rather have gouged her own eyes out than spend the day with me. I’m the only other person in the world who knows her dirty little secret. As a rule, I’ve learned that people don’t like spending extended amounts of time with the people who know all about their misdeeds. Seeing them only serves to remind them of their crimes, and they’ll do anything to avoid facing those at all costs. “Yeah, it is a shame. I feel so bad for Dr. Coombes right now,” I murmur.