Soulless: A High School Bully Romance (The Privileged of Pembroke High Book 2)

by Ivy Fox

  “Even if she does, do you really think she’ll want you on her arm?”

  “Not yet, but maybe one day. I can’t lose hope, Ash. But that’s beside the point, and it’s not what she needs now anyway. It will only confuse her more.”

  “You’re in denial, Ollie.”

  “And you’re spiraling,” I warn.

  “Shouldn’t I be? Our father tried to rape her, Ollie. Rape her!” he hollers, and I shove my palm over his mouth before the idiot gets us in hot water. His eyes look maniacal, to the point of scaring me that maybe my twin is too far gone to reach.

  “Keep your voice down.” My teeth grind the order. “Go home, Ash. Sleep that shit off. You’re no good to anyone here.”

  He gives me another malicious chuckle, tearing my hand away from him. He shoves his finger into my chest hard enough that I’m sure it will turn to one hell of a bruise later. But the hurt pales in comparison to the lost soul I see in my brother’s eyes.

  “Nah, brother. I’m no good to anyone, period. Neither are you. And the sooner you realize that, the better.”

  Chapter 8

  Asher

  She begins to take her top off, swaying along seductively with the pop song she picked from a playlist on her phone. Just like the girl dancing in front of me, the song is annoyingly over the top and desperately trying too hard. Still, I take another swig of Jack and keep my eyes on her. The girl, who is slowly unzipping her skirt, shimmying it to the floor, is one of the hottest Pembroke High has to offer. And yet, all I register are her flaws instead of her so-called perfections.

  She flaunts her long, straight, strawberry-blonde hair where white, wavy silk should shimmer down her back. Pearly, white skin where a kissed-by-the-sun golden-brown should be. Big silicone boobs where firm, natural globes should reside. A chemically induced, pouty smile shines lustfully at me where a natural, plump, cupid mouth should dwell. Even the smell of her expensive perfume is all wrong, bringing an acrid taste to my mouth. It’s nothing like the smell of Christmas cookies and snowflakes that always left me craving for a taste with my tongue.

  All of her is wrong, yet I keep drinking and, to my chagrin, Kim keeps dancing. I take another pull of the bottle, wishing the whiskey could transform my companion to the one I truly want. The only one I want to kiss, caress, and hold in my arms. But even if I drank all the top-shelf liquor in the world it could not change the fact that the woman—who is now crawling her way up to me on all fours—is not the one I burn for. Not the one I yearn and die for a little each day.

  I lean back on the bed, propping myself up on my forearms, letting her straddle me, while I look up at the white ceiling picturing the girl I lost. Kim leans into me, nibbling on my ear with her teeth, and it takes everything in me not to throw up the two bottles of Jack I drank today. She keeps making her way down, kissing my bare chest and increasing my nausea. When she finally reaches my zipper, I slap her greedy hands off of me, having reached my limit of tolerance for this shitshow.

  “Oh, I see,” she purrs. “Playing hard to get, huh? I can play if you want,” she cajoles, tracing one dark red fingernail up and down my crotch.

  “Who says I’m playing?” I yawn, faking boredom when in reality I’m a tumultuous mess who is two seconds away from pushing her aside.

  Kim, not being the brightest of the Pembroke bunch, licks her lips as if I’ve just dared her to wrap that store-bought sham she has for a mouth around my cock. If she had one functioning light bulb in that head of hers and took a closer look, she’d see that I’m as flaccid as they come. My dick doesn’t want a thing she’s offering, even if it is wrapped up in perfect red lace and being served on a silver platter.

  All it wants is the girl who, at this very minute, is probably in some lame class or walking down the halls to her locker—wearing a plaid-checkered skirt and maybe even two long, white-blonde braids on each side of her heart-shaped face. My fucking cock, not knowing how depressed I am, has the nerve to twitch at the thought, which gives Kim the wrong impression that it’s her plastic, fake ass that got it riled up.

  “I don’t believe you. I think he definitely wants to play,” she sing-songs, palming my half-mast cock through my jeans and taking all the life that had sprung into it. She frowns at the effect she’s had on my dick, and like a spoiled toddler, places her hands on both her hips and begins her little tantrum.

  “The fuck is wrong with you, Grayson? I skipped third period for this. Are we going to fuck, or what?” she fumes, aggravated that I’m not already ten inches deep inside her. However, all it does is to confirm my suspicion—I’d rather become a eunuch than fuck her. And by the looks of it, she isn’t the cause for my new-found impotence. My dick works just fine, even if my mind is a disaster.

  The cruel epiphany that I’m having, with Kim’s little visit this afternoon, is that my cock only wants the girl my heart pines for. Only problem is, she’s no longer ours to have. We lost that right. I swung the first sadist stone at her, and my bastard of a father brought the whole damned house down on top of her with his perverted wrecking ball. I couldn’t give a shit about my cock—he’ll just have to survive. It’s the hole in my chest, where my heart used to be, that I’m worried about.

  Kim, though, is still waiting for a reply, growing angrier by the minute with my lack of response. And let’s face it, with my absent attention, too. She could have been talking a mile a minute, and I wouldn’t have heard a word. That’s how detached I am—not even a pissed-off, semi-naked girl straddling my lap can keep my mind off of Snow. But enough is enough. I no longer want Kim here. She’s served her purpose and failed miserably, so I might as well send her packing.

  “If my dick didn’t make it evident enough for you, I will,” I goad, pushing her skanky ass off me, making her drop to the floor with a loud thud.

  Her face turns beet red in shock and, well, maybe in fury, too. But her pride gets her up to her feet quickly enough, grabbing her discarded clothes off the floor and putting them back on in a mad dash.

  “You’re an asshole!”

  “That’s not news, Kim. Just get the fuck out my house, will you?” I order, bored, taking another pull of whiskey since alcohol is the only thing I can find interest in of late.

  “You called me, asshole! ME!!!” she yells frantically, unable to button her shirt fast enough.

  “Actually, I texted your needy-ass back, after you sent me hundreds, begging for my cock. And saying ‘wanna come over’ is not exactly an invitation to suck my dick,” I mock, making fun of how easily she spreads her legs. But even putting Kim Carothers in her place doesn’t give me the thrill I expect.

  “Whatever! You’ll be sorry for this!”

  I’m already sorry.

  Sorry for being so desperate for something to take my mind off of Snow, that I let this stupid bitch inside my house. Should have known that no one can distract me from what I’m feeling. This is my new norm. My new reality.

  Pain.

  Grief.

  Hate.

  Hollow.

  “Lace was right. I should have stuck with Ollie.”

  I can’t help but laugh at that. The sound comes out sinister and vicious, but still, it’s a laugh—something I didn’t think I’d ever be capable of again. Guess Kim wasn’t as worthless to me as I thought. After all, she finally offered me a speck of entertainment that my stomach can endure.

  “Yeah, call Ollie. Like he’ll give you the time of day.” I chuckle in amusement.

  “He did last Saturday night,” she goads, thinking it will incite jealousy in me.

  God, she’s pathetic.

  “You were his beard, baby. He wouldn’t even touch that used-up pussy with my dick. But go for it. Crash and burn for all I care. I’m done with you. You were no help at all.”

  With a huff, Kim finally leaves my room and slams the door as hard as she can, trying to rip it off its hinges. But just as she was incapable of screwing me, she was also incompetent at
fucking up my door.

  I let myself fully drop back onto the mattress. Keeping one hand on my bottle, I use the other to find my phone on the bedspread somewhere beside me. When I finally have it in my grasp, I do what I’ve been doing for the past two days—scrolling through Pembroke High’s secret Facebook page to get a glimpse of the person that torments my every waking moment. When I see that the fucking video Addison posted yesterday is still there, I jump up straight, sitting on the foot of my bed, and speed dial the guy who is probably sick and tired of hearing from me since I first saw the damned thing online.

  He’s most likely in class at this time, but the fucker knows it’s in his best interest to make some excuse to answer my call. Otherwise, I’ll be dropping by the Hurst residence this evening to have a proper face-to-face, and we all know his daddy is as big a prick as mine is. Unsurprisingly, not three rings in, he answers the call.

  Good boy.

  “You know you’re a real persistent asshole, right?” Reid grunts on the other line. The echoing sound of a classroom door being closed by an irate teacher confirms that I caught him at a bad time.

  Fuck it. He’s got bigger problems to deal with than a pissed-off teacher.

  “Me being an asshole seems to be the consensus these days. Not why I’m calling you, though.”

  “I know why you’re calling, man, and I told you I’d handle it,” he whispers into the phone, as I hear him passing some kids. They’re probably using their hall pass to light up behind the bleachers. It’s what I would be doing if I was forced to be there right now.

  “How fucking hard can it be? Just go to your fucking bitch-of-a-sister’s computer and take the goddamned video down!” I growl, finally losing my patience.

  The alcohol running through my veins is lighting me up from the inside, threatening to scorch everything down if Reid doesn’t do what I say. I hear an agitated rumble on the other side of the line that feeds my manic frenzy.

  Good. Get mad, Reid. Join the fucking club.

  “Ash, you’re my team captain and like a brother to me, but don’t think for a minute that will stop me from beating you to a pulp if you disrespect my sister again.” He seethes menacingly.

  I’d like to see you try. Although a busted-up lip is preferable to a busted-up heart.

  Truly, with the way I’ve been either high as a kite or drunk off my ass since this weekend’s shitstorm, he probably could knock my teeth in without getting too much trouble from me.

  Reid is just as lean and mean as I am. Even though Addison is a bitch, under normal circumstances, I would understand his loyalty and proudly pat him on the back for it.

  Blood is thicker than water, after all. But right now, the head of my bloodline has made my life a living hell, so forgive me if I’m not as faithfully inclined.

  “You said you’d take it down yesterday, Reid. So why the fuck am I still looking right at it?!”

  “Ash, chill, will ya? Despite what you think, it wasn’t my sister. I checked her laptop, and nothing was there. But don’t worry. I talked to a guy this morning who is a wiz at this type of thing, even better than me, and he assured me it would be down before last period. But it’s going to cost ya.”

  It always does.

  “I don’t care about the money just get that thing down,” I growl.

  “Yeah, I thought you’d say that, so I already paid him. Like I told you, I’m on it,” he explains, and the stiffness in my spine yields a bit.

  “Thank you,” I mumble.

  My gratitude might not sound genuine, but I am honestly thankful that Reid didn’t let me down. Addison might be a cruel, self-absorbed, back-stabbing bitch, but her brother isn’t as cold-blooded. He might act like a cocksucker, living up to his big sister’s legacy, but when push comes to shove, he has your back—even if only for a selected few. Right now, I’m grateful I made the cut for his inner circle. He’s my eyes and ears at Pembroke while I slowly go insane, being trapped between the hospital and this house.

  “So how you holding up?” he asks, sensing my melancholy. Always the perceptive fucker.

  “I’m keeping it together,” I lie.

  “Yeah, I thought as much,” he jokes. “Know when you’ll be back? You know coach is freaking out, right? We have a swim meet this Friday, and no one can match your time on freestyle. Should I tell him that we’re screwed?”

  “No. I’ll be there,” I reply. Maybe a few laps and some competition to kill will screw my head back on straight.

  “You sure? Have you been training? You think you’re up for it, with your dad and all?” Reid asks, concerned that my fucked-up mind is the result of having my father lying in some hospital bed like a vegetable. Little does he know that if I had it my way, I’d be standing over his grave right now, pissing on his tombstone.

  “I said I’d be there, didn’t I?”

  “Jesus, you’re in a mood. More of a dick than usual.” He laughs awkwardly, not knowing how to handle me.

  I don’t know how to handle me either, so Reid is out of fucking luck if he thinks I’m going to be any help to him.

  “What else you got for me?” I ask, wanting to get to more important matters. Unfortunately, I’m not met with a ton of enthusiasm from my friend. “Reid, I asked you to do me a solid and look out for her, so what else have you got?”

  “She’s okay, dude. If she’s riled up with the shit that went down on her first day, she sure hasn’t shown it. Girl has balls of steel, if you ask me. But Murphy has been by her side all the way, so your girl is in good hands.”

  My back molars begin to grind of their own accord, releasing a discontented growl while my hands itch to curl themselves into fists.

  “Oh, come on, Grayson! Don’t tell me you got a problem with Chad ‘Squeaky-Clean’ Murphy? He’s as close to a choir boy as you can get. The dude isn’t like us, Ash. He can keep his hands off your step-sister,” he teases. “Now, your real sister on the other hand—”

  “Enough. I get it. Holland’s good. That’s all I want to know.” I cut in before he says something we both will regret. “Text me when the job is done and how much I owe your friend.”

  “Always a pleasure talking to you, Grayson. And don’t sweat the money. I got this one,” he adds before hanging up, erasing at least one problem for me.

  I’m not stupid enough to think Reid is paying from his own pocket out of the goodness of his heart. He might be the best of them, but he’s still a Hurst, which means that down the line, he’ll be cashing his chips and asking for a favor in return.

  In my world, nothing comes free. There is always a price to pay. I’ve only met one person in my life that was selfless and authentically kind. But my family did a bang-up job at destroying that part of her, too. Snow will never be able to trust and give herself so freely ever again. She’ll always be wary of the monsters lurking around her door. And as long as she stays in this house, I’m afraid she’ll never rid herself of them.

  Me being one of them.

  My stomach begins to grumble, ordering me to get some real food in it since this liquid diet won’t be winning any medals this Friday. Reluctantly, I do as it commands and get myself out of bed, running downstairs in search of whatever Henrietta has prepared today.

  I should have probably taken a shower beforehand, but right now, my stomach holds priority. If I can clear my head enough, it wouldn’t be the worst idea to do a few laps up on the terrace. I haven’t trained since last week, and although my body is fit enough to take a beating, I’m not sure if my mind can withstand one.

  I have to think of something compelling enough to convince Rome to chill the fuck out and let me resume my life, instead of spending every hour back at Liberty General. If I have to pretend for one more minute that I give a fuck about my father’s condition, I swear I will punch my fist through a wall.

  Ollie has been a better actor than I have, of course. Letting strangers go on and on about what a great man Judge Grayson is a
nd the hardship we are all going through.

  I, on the other hand, couldn’t care less about keeping up appearances. I’m there, aren’t I? That has to count for something. But I know I’m just pissing everybody off. Always looking menacingly into the faces of well-wishers until they recognize the warning in my eyes. They rush off with their tails between their legs in search of a sibling who will be more considerate of their condolences. I’ll even add a ‘go fuck yourself’ if I’m up for the verbal interaction, but other than that, they get nothing from me.

  I’m a few feet away, already smelling some mouthwatering South American treat, when I hear the family cook giggling like a schoolgirl.

  When I step foot inside, I understand why.

  “Larga-me, maldito!” she yells in her native tongue to let her go, laughing and out of breath as my older brother continues to tickle her from behind. “You’re going to make me ruin your lunch if you don’t leave me be, malandro,” she protests, threatening to hit him with the wooden spoon. The heavenly smell is making my own stomach complain; Rome better not screw around with whatever delicacy she’s got going on.

  “So what? I’ll just nibble on you until you feed me properly,” he jokes, pretending to bite the chubby arm of the sixty-something-year-old woman that is as much a part of my family as any of my siblings. Even my mother, God rest her soul, called her Avó—Grandmother. To this day, Rome still refers to Henrietta in the same way while the rest of us just call her by the other nickname our mother christened her with when she was young—Henry.

  So this scene doesn’t surprise me in the least. Rome and Henrietta have always had a special bond. I’ve come down for plenty of midnight snacks and caught them both sitting around the kitchen table, drinking mom’s favorite malt cream liqueur and reminiscing about her. Out of all of us, I think they are the two who need to keep her memory alive in this house the most. They knew her the longest, I guess. Knew all her secrets, dreams, and desires.