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

by Ivy Fox

  This morning’s dream left me all kinds of frazzled. Add in the detective’s visit and Vivienne’s advances, and the day was shot to hell. Holland’s presence is always able to pull me out of this funk, but since she’s nowhere around—and I don’t want to freak her out by tracking her down at the city library just to get my Snow fix—I go up to my room, hoping I can sleep the broody asshole out of me before she returns.

  I should have gone to the library and never closed my eyes.

  “Rome? Wake up, baby. Wake up,” she pleas, shaking my shoulders and rousing me awake.

  “Mom?” I yawn, looking over at my window casting the bright glare of the moonlight. “Mom, what time is it?”

  “It’s late.” She gives a weird laugh. Her eyes are bloodshot, and it looks like she hasn’t slept all night.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask, lifting off the bed and sitting next to her.

  “Nothing’s wrong, Rome. Quite the contrary.” She grins again, a little manically, but it’s still the sweet smile that belongs to the woman I would die for.

  “Are you okay?” I ask worriedly, placing my hand over hers.

  Her head lowers, her eyes becoming distant.

  “No. I’m not. When I thought it was only me, I thought I could bear it. But now he’s gone after… I can’t let it continue anymore. I have to end this now,” she hushes, and I think she’s talking to herself more than she is to me.

  “Mom?”

  She shakes her head, coming out of her stupor, and holds my hands with a newly born steel strength.

  “Listen to me, baby. This is important. I found a way to get all of us out of this house and away from your father.”

  “How?” I ask, my own excitement drowning my confusion.

  “I don’t have time to explain it to you now, but I promise I’ll tell you everything. I won’t be able to do this without you, Rome. I need you. Do you understand, baby?”

  “What do you need?” I stiffen my fourteen-year-old back with conviction, hoping she sees the man in me and not a fearful child.

  “I need you to tell Henrietta that you’re going to take your brothers and sister to see the parade today. Don’t bother telling Lawrence or your father directly. Otherwise, he might not let you go. Only tell Henrietta, and she will give him the message for you. Don’t tell the little ones anything, either, but pack their school bags with a change of clothes for each one, and whatever toy or game they love. You’ll ask Henrietta to pack a lunch for each of you, and that will be your excuse for the backpacks, but don’t take too much, baby.”

  I nod, trying hard to push away the haze of sleep and memorizing everything she’s asking me to do.

  “Take the little ones to the parade, then around noon, take them to the park in Washington Heights. I’ll be there waiting for all of you, and by then, I’ll know a safe place to go to. I know it’s a lot to ask of you, Rome, but do you think you can do this?” she questions anxiously.

  “Yes, mom. We’ll be there, you have my word,” I tell her with all the conviction I have in my body.

  “I’m so proud to be your mother, Roman. I promise, after today, our nightmare is over,” she says wistfully and leans in to hug me.

  “I have to go now. Just remember everything you have to do, and we’ll be fine.”

  “I promise. We’ll be there.”

  “I love you so much,” she proclaims, before pressing a kiss on my temple and leaving me, once again, in my dark room.

  I didn’t sleep. I didn’t even dare to try. Instead, I waited for dawn and began to do everything my mother requested. I packed everything perfectly. Henrietta smiled as she handed me the packed lunches, thinking the idea marvelous for us to watch the Thanksgiving Day Parade up close. She even packed us a few slices of her famous chocolate cake as a mid-afternoon treat.

  I thanked God for not running into my father when we left the house. While the twins and Elle laughed and cheered for every float in the parade, I kept vigilant on the time, checking my watch constantly. To their discontentment, I made sure that we left in time to be by the fountain in Washington Heights at noon sharp, waiting for the freedom my mother had promised.

  But as the hours passed by, I knew something in my mother’s plan must have gone wrong. She never made it to Washington Heights. As the day turned darker, Elle got cold and cranky, while the twins whined to go home so they could play on their Xbox.

  My apprehension only increased when I couldn’t even reach Mom on the phone, all of my calls going straight to her voicemail. But Henrietta and my father called me nonstop, though I was too afraid to answer, not knowing what I would say as an excuse for us not being home.

  When the clock turned ten in the evening, being in the park was no longer an option. It was just too dangerous. Even though I was a freshman in high school, and tall for my age, the twins and Elle were still too young to be able to defend themselves. Making a judgment call based only on my siblings’ safety, I took us back to the manor, wondering why Mom never showed up as she’d promised.

  When we got home, I was told why.

  “Child, where have you all been? Your father has been worried sick!”

  ‘No, he hasn’t,’ I think to myself, but Henrietta looks too worried to deal with my lip right now. “We lost track of time,” I answer instead. “Is Mom home?”

  Her face starts to pale as she looks down at my brothers and sister, taking off their winter coats in the hall.

  “Oh, I wish your father was here. I do not want to be the one to give you this news.”

  “What news?” I ask, but Avó just keeps shaking her head.

  The ringing sound of the elevator in the foyer comes to life, and I leave the twins and Elle behind, rushing to see if it’s my mother.

  But, alas, it’s the devil that torments her.

  “Where were you, Roman?” the almighty Judge Grayson asks, looking down at me with disdain.

  “We went to watch the parade. Lost track of time, I guess.” I shrug unapologetically.

  “Next time you want to go out, come to me to ask for permission. There are rules in this house, and I won’t tolerate you dishonoring them. Is that understood?” he demands.

  “Yes, sir,” I growl under my breath. I hate having to abide by his rules.

  “Good,” he replies, taking off his winter coat.

  “Where’s Mom?”

  “Dead,” he says nonchalantly, and passes by me, heading to his office. As if his declaration didn’t feel like a bullet being shot straight into my heart. “Tell your brothers and sister. I’ve got more pressing issues to deal with.”

  I wake up drenched in my own sweat, my heart hammering a mile a minute. Numb, I take a shower to remove the stench of hate and regret off of me, but it doesn’t do me any good.

  I don’t want to think. I don’t want to feel. I just want to forget.

  I run downstairs to the music room, where a tree of hope now dwells, but it’s just another lie I’ll have to live with. Like this house, this room saw his evil, and another beautiful woman was ruined by him. First my mother. Then Holland. And just like the helpless boy I once was, I was again powerless and clueless to stop him. I go over to the bar and grab a bottle, hoping its burning contents can erase the memories away. But that, too, is a lie I tell myself.

  Some memories are too ingrained in you to ever disappear.

  And I’m starting to wonder if even his death will give me peace.

  Chapter 13

  Holland

  The minute I step foot inside the kitchen, I know something isn’t right. Rome is sitting at his preferred spot, but instead of having some cake or treat waiting for me, there are two shot glasses and a half bottle of tequila in the middle of the table.

  “Rough day?” I ask, pulling out my usual seat and sitting myself down across from the brooding Grayson.

  “How about rough life?” he retorts, picking up his shot glass and downing it in one go.

&n
bsp; “Want to talk about it?” I question, genuinely concerned about him.

  I’ve never seen Rome drunk. Not that he looks like he is, but this precise pastime is usually Ash’s domain, not Rome’s. Maybe that’s why he’s been ghosting me all day. When I came home from the library, the first thing I did was try to track him down, but I couldn’t find him anywhere. He could have been holed up in his room, but I was too much of a coward to knock on his door to find out. Things have been intense with us lately, and if he invited me into his bedroom, I’m not sure I wouldn’t do something foolish—like kiss him.

  Yeah, that would be a big mistake. My love life is already screwed up because of two Grayson men. Adding a third to the mix is just inviting more heartache into it. Especially when the brother in question is the asshole responsible for splitting me up from the twins in the first place.

  It wasn’t his fault. He didn’t know me from Eve.

  I can’t fault him for trying to protect his family.

  The twins, though, don’t have the same excuse.

  “No. I want to drink,” he replies coldly, reminiscent of the boy I first met.

  “Fine. Then you don’t need me,” I tell him, scraping my chair back, but his arm flies across the table, grabbing my wrist and halting my exit.

  “Stop,” he whispers, his thumb lightly caressing the pressure point inside my wrist. My heart hurts for the pain he’s unable to conceal from his eyes, but it also flutters madly at his simple touch.

  “Why should I?” I pull my arm away, crossing it over my chest, not only to show that I mean business but also for not trusting myself to melt into a puddle with his tender caress.

  “Because I do need you,” he hushes under his breath, creating a warm tingling feeling in my belly.

  I shrug the endearment off immediately, not wanting to fall victim to my own wanton cravings when he’s obviously not in his best mindset. He’s vulnerable right now, and although his fragile openness is making me feel all gooey inside, it would be a huge mistake on my part to feed into it.

  “Are you going to tell me what happened? Why you decided to lose yourself at the bottom of a bottle?” I ask, my tone hard and cold, making me wince at my own callousness.

  He lets out a low, lamentable sigh, his golden eyes locked on mine.

  “Trust me. Tequila is your friend tonight, as much as it is mine. If I told you how I really wanted to lose myself, you’d be running, and already halfway back to your room right now.”

  I swallow dryly, feeling the heat rising to my cheeks. That’s the second time he’s been so forward, almost as if he’s lost his filter or something. And Rome’s blatant honesty is creating chaos with my libido. Not a good mixture.

  “You’re blushing,” he states, licking his lips and leaning closer to me from across the table.

  “I’m not. The tequila has obviously done its job because you’re seeing things,” I quip back coolly.

  “I like it when you blush. It makes me wonder about all the other places on your body that might flush that red tone.” He bites his full, lower lip, his hungry eyes taking stock of every available inch of me. My core clenches with just that one look, letting me know it is time to get the hell out of here.

  “You know what, Roman? I can’t talk to you when you’re like this,” I exclaim, getting up on my feet and making a dash for the door.

  But Rome is too fast for me, and before I know it, I’m pinned to a kitchen wall, my arms above my head, unable to pull away from the golden liquid burning in his eyes, much less from his grip.

  “Tell me something, little liar? Have you ever been with a man before?” he murmurs into my ear, his warm breath hitting my sensitive neck, making the drum of my heartbeat even louder than the question he just asked me. “One of my brothers, perhaps?” He continues to interrogate, but I’m too tongue-tied to say a word. He brushes up against me, rummaging his fingers through my hair, pulling it back so I have nowhere to look but up at his glorious face. “Do you love my brothers, little liar?”

  “That’s none of your business,” I answer, finally finding my voice.

  He wraps my hair around his wrist, pulling it back tighter, not to the point of hurting me, but just enough to show me who’s in control.

  “Answer me.”

  “No,” I spit out.

  “Liar.” He smirks, letting go of my hair and running the back of his knuckles up and down my cheek, coaxing a desire to just close my eyes and enjoy his tenderness. However, I fight against it.

  “Do you love me?” he asks. My eyes go wide with the brazen question.

  “I don’t even know you,” I reply, but it feels like an unkind lie on my lips.

  “Such a beautiful little liar,” he coos, biting his lower lip again as he stares at my mouth.

  “Let me go, Rome,” I croak, feeling my resolve weaken by the second.

  “Do you want to?” he whispers.

  “Do I want to what?”

  “Know me?” he rasps huskily.

  “Rome…”

  His face is now just inches from mine, and although he still has one hand gripping my wrists together above my head, not once have I struggled to get free from his hold. Somehow I know he would never hurt me. Not physically, at least. And it might be foolish of me to think like this, but I doubt he’d ever hurt me emotionally with intent, either. Rome only lashes out on those he feels are a danger to him and the people he cares about, and somehow, without either one of us realizing it, I’ve become one of the people I know he’ll always protect.

  “I don’t remember love anymore. You do, Snow. I need you to remind me because I think you’re the only one who can. If you don’t, I don’t think anyone ever will.”

  “Elle loves you,” I stutter, becoming hypnotized by the way his tongue plays with his lower lip.

  “She’s the only one,” he laments, his eyes lowering from mine in regret.

  I pull my wrists away from his grasp with ease—which confirms my suspicion that he would never do anything against my will—and cup his face in my hands, stroking his scruffy cheeks with the pads of my thumbs.

  “That’s not true. Ollie and Ash love you, too,” I implore, hoping he hears the truth in my words, but Rome just throws me a little simper and a shrug, sadness coating his amber eyes once more. He leans in, pressing his temple to mine, so lovingly gentle that it robs me of all logical thought and any other words I could come up with to assure him of his brothers’ love.

  “I don’t think they do. How could they, when I took you from them?”

  “Rome.” I begin to argue, not wanting him to carry on his shoulders the hefty burden of the twins’ rejection. He might have been the one who struck the first match, but it was Ollie and Ash that let it scorch our love to cinders.

  “Don’t try to deny it, little liar. I’d hate me too if I were in their shoes. How could I not?”

  “Rome,” I plea again, only this time I’m not entirely sure what I’m begging for.

  “Just for tonight, pretend you do know me. Pretend I’m them, and that you care for me just as much. Let me love you as they hunger to,” he whispers huskily, his golden hues fixed on my gray eyes, making all of my body crave his offer.

  “Rome, please. You’re drunk and not thinking clearly.” I try one last time, trying to make him see reason, or it may be just my final attempt to snap myself out of my own lust-filled haze. But even though my words are pushing him away, my hands have found themselves clinging around the nape of his neck, playing with his shorthairs.

  “Thinking is overrated. Why think when you can just feel,” he says, pulling his head to the side just enough to graze his scruffy cheek with my own.

  The air crackles with electricity around us, and his thick voice douses my bloodstream with kerosene, threatening to burn me from within. The lump in my throat drops to my stomach when I realize I’m grasping at his hair, urging him to continue with his tender touch.

  “You�
��re hurting,” I choke out, hoping the memory of whatever was paining him a few minutes ago will resurface, bringing with it the sense to retreat his hungry advances, since I’m obviously no longer capable of doing so, too mesmerized by his softness and vulnerability.

  Rome might be hurting, but ever since I’ve stepped foot inside this house, so have I. A moment of relief sounds too tempting not to dive into, even when said respite is being offered by the man who had a hand in orchestrating my pain.

  “True again. I think I like you better when you’re not so honest, little liar.” He’s so close that I feel his lips grow into a devilish smirk. I know that all I’d have to do to end our misery is tilt my head to the side and let his wicked grin press against my ravenous mouth.

  “You prefer that I lie to you?”

  “No. I want you to pretend, not lie,” he moans, his lips now hovering inches from mine, increasing my agitation. “Tonight, we’re not enemies. Nor victims. I want you to pretend we’re something else.”

  “What?” I ask on bated breath.

  “Something real.”

  And with that somber confession, he erases the small space between us and captures my mouth with his own. His soft and supple lips lightly acquaint themselves with mine, until establishing a familiarity that quickly gives way to more powerful desires. I gasp out when his lips turn bolder, stronger, and more relentless in their pursuit to discover all my secrets with just one kiss. The way his mouth traps over my lower lip—sucking on it, coveting it—causes my own inhibitions to evaporate and throw caution to the wind. My mouth opens for him on its own accord, and he uses this small breach to invade it with his dominant tongue. His full lips might have made a tender introduction, but his greedy tongue does not, wanting to dance and govern my own into submission. I raise the white flag at the first touch, letting his tongue lead us further into our frenzy.