The Ruthless Boys (Adamson All-Boys Academy #2)

by C. M. Stunich

  “You're really into Charlotte?” Spencer asks, looking like he, too, would gladly accept a hole to dive into. He leans his head back and runs his hands over his face. “Damn it.”

  “Was it less than three hours ago that I chastised you guys for this crap?” Ranger snaps, nostrils flaring. He shoves a drink into both Spencer's and Tobias' hands. “Let it go. It's not your goddamn choice.”

  “I just want Charlotte to know that I like her,” Tobias says, rubbing his hand over the back of his spiky orange-red hair. He looks almost … sheepish.

  “We should hold a competition,” Church says, appearing with a … well, something that looks vaguely coffee-like in his hands. Probable an Irish coffee or something with alcohol in it. “Like we always do when we have disagreements among Student Council members.”

  “A competition?” I ask, cocking a brow. “Um, like for my hand in marriage? We’re just dating.”

  “Just?” Spencer starts, looking at me. “There is no just. You were there in that bed with me, in that bathroom last night. We have mad chemistry. You know the tension between us isn’t normal, right? I’ve never felt this intensely for anyone else in my life.”

  My mouth twitches, but the twins are exchanging a look and then shrugging.

  “If it’s paintball, we’re in. Let’s do paintball.”

  “You want to play paintball … to compete for my affections?” I ask, and Spencer grits his teeth. “This is the dumbest shit I’ve ever heard. No.”

  “I’ll do it,” Spencer says, lifting his chin in defiance. “I’ll fight you for Charlotte.”

  “Only, hello, newsflash: this is my choice,” I grumble, and Ranger gives me a sympathetic look. We exchange a long, silent these guys are idiots sort of expression before I turn back to Spencer.

  “Admit it: you’re interested in these penis-holes,” he says, but his gaze is on his friends and not on me. “What about this? If I win, it’s just me and Charlotte. If you guys win, she can … like, I don’t know, do her reverse harem thing for a while until she decides who she likes best.”

  My mouth drops open. Even Ranger and Church look a bit shocked.

  “Seriously?” Ranger asks, like he couldn’t imagine even offering up a proposition like that. “You’re as jealous as they come. Tobias and Micah are as jealous as they come. This’ll never work.”

  But then I look between Spencer and the twins, and I can see something happened between them in the last few weeks. They really are best friends, and the McCarthy brothers thought they’d lost their bestie forever. That changes people, that sort of trauma. Hell, it changed me. They care about Spencer, and he cares about them.

  This is almost less about me than it is about their relationships with each other.

  “A paintball competition?” I ask, and then sigh. It’s about as dumb as all the usual Culinary Club/Student Council activities. I’m not surprised. “I suppose it couldn’t hurt.”

  “Prepare to get your ass kicked,” Micah says, smirking at his friend. “We’ve never dueled over a girl before. This should be fun.”

  “As is usual with Student Council activities such as this, we’ll all be participating,” Church adds, touching his chin as he muses. I feel my cheeks turning red as I look between him and Ranger. Neither is acting like they’re particularly interested in me, but they’re going to join the duel, too, huh? “Ross can be the ref.”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Spencer says, throwing up his hands. “Now I have to win against all four of you?!” He gives me a look, and I smile, giving him a kiss on the edge of his mouth. His hands go to my hips, and I can feel him glaring at his friends over my shoulder.

  “Ranger and Church are just there to even out the playing field,” I say, because I can’t fathom them playing for any other reason. Imagine that, the whole Adamson Academy Student Council fighting over me. It’s ridiculous. “But how does it work, with both twins and all that?”

  “One of us will sit out,” they say together, exchanging one of those secret twin looks.

  “Tomorrow at twelve sharp, we’ll meet at the headmaster’s house and head to the paintball park.” Church finishes his coffee and then sets it aside on a passing tray, smiling a truly wicked smile as he does. “Now I’m off to go find those college girls,” he says, and Ranger grunts, following after him. The two of them disappear into the crowd, and I feel my stomach knot with anxiety.

  It’s stupid.

  The council doesn’t belong to me.

  But it sort of feels like it does. Some dark, quiet part of me likes being the only girl in their world. I feel protected at school, like I have a crew of my own. And I don’t want my crew sleeping with coeds.

  “They’re not going to pick up girls while you’re here,” Tobias says, watching his friends weave their way through the crowd. He turns his green eyes back to me, and smiles. “Trust me.”

  “Why not?” I ask, genuinely curious, still wrapped in Spencer’s arms. I’m not sure how I feel about this duel thing. When I think about it, I get butterflies. I’m more than happy with just Spencer, but what would it be like to have it all? I don’t dare let myself think about that. You’re just being a selfish brat, I tell myself, and really, that’s the last thing I want to be. That’s the old Charlotte. The new one … I’m still figuring out who, exactly, she is.

  “I don’t know,” Tobias continues, looking at Micah who shrugs. “It just doesn’t feel right. They’re probably off picking on North York Prep brats. Come on.” He gestures with his chin toward the dance floor and then holds out his hand for mine. Spencer gives him a look, and then drops his own hands from my hips.

  “Go,” he says, giving me that wily grin of his. “I’m not threatened by these idiots. Two days ‘dating’ these dopes, and you’d be so done with the twin trope.”

  I let Tobias lead me off toward the dance floor, but as we move, I catch the others watching me.

  And not just Micah and Spencer either.

  Church and Ranger.

  I never even dared to consider …

  On Saturday, Dad wakes me up like it's a school day, ripping my covers off after the fifth or sixth time of trying to snap me out of my admittedly embarrassing orgy dream featuring all five Student Council boys. I groan and shuffle downstairs in a pink robe, slumping into the chair at the table. I’ve got a terrible hangover, and I’m cranky as hell, although last night was fun. Interesting, but fun.

  There's a box of cereal, a bowl and spoon, and some skim milk.

  Usually when Dad dumps bad news on me, he tries to butter me up with good food. Not so much today. My nose wrinkles as I pick up the cereal box and study the front.

  It's some healthy granola crap. I set it back down and push the bowl away.

  “Why am I up at the butt crack of dawn on a Saturday?” I ask, my heart beating frantically as I think about the whole California thing. I'm still trying to figure out a new angle on this, but I'm struggling. Every argument I come up with, Dad seems to refute.

  “I want to hear your decision,” he says, sitting down at the head of the table, where he always sits. I just stare back at him.

  “Seriously?” I ask, feeling my heart start to pound. “I told you: I don't want to leave Adamson. I like it here.”

  “And sometimes, as adults, we have to make decisions, whether we like the choices put before us or not. Santa Cruz or Los Angeles, Charlotte.”

  I gape at him, sitting there with his hands folded on the tabletop.

  Evil, hateful ogre dictator headmaster dick, I think, trying to keep the worst of my thoughts to myself.

  “Are you, like, trying to ship me out tomorrow or something?”

  “That would be ideal,” he says, and my heart breaks in half.

  “What?!” I have to resist the urge to pick up my fork and throw it at him. “That's total bullshit.”

  “So is your language. Speak like a mature adult, and I'll continue to treat you like one.” Dad leans back in his chair, watching me through his glasses
, blue eyes stern, mouth set in a thin line. “If you don't make the choice, I'll have to make it for you, and I don't want to have to do that.”

  “Why are you so determined to destroy any chance I have at being happy?” I ask, feeling the tears start. “I was happy in Santa Cruz; I'm happier here now. And yet you only seem to want to move me around when it's convenient to you. Dad, please. If you send me away this time, I'll never forgive you.”

  “I'm sorry, but my decision is final.”

  I just stare at him, sitting there like he doesn't give a shit about my feelings, so cold and blank and sterile.

  “No wonder Mom turned to drugs. You're a serious fucking drag.” I stand up and take off for the stairs, ignoring his shouts as he calls out to me. I lock my door, block it with a chair, and change into my uniform. It might be a Saturday, but I've got things to do today.

  Tears fall as I gather my clothes up, and I end up sitting on the edge of my bed with my face in my hands. I don't want to leave Adamson, or its quirky Student Council. Rich assholes they might be, but they're fun, too.

  Knowing my father, he'll have the police here to escort me onto the plane if I resist.

  I hate him sometimes.

  After I'm dressed, I text the boys, and then sneak out the back door to meet them.

  They’re all dressed in jeans and sweaters, even though it’s sunny out, layers for the paintball match that’s supposed to happen today. I try to hide the melancholy in my face, but these dickheads are far too perceptive.

  “You're leaving, aren't you?” Church asks, looking at me with those beautiful amber eyes of his. He's dressed in jeans, brown boots, and a cream-colored sweatshirt that emphasizes the bright flecks in his eyes and the natural highlights in his hair. He watches me carefully as I nod. “When?”

  “Tomorrow.”

  The word falls from my lips like a curse, and the twins exchange a look. Spencer's expression is one part horror, two parts rage.

  “No fucking way. I'm not letting him send you off!” he snaps, but even as he paces in a tight circle around me, I know that no amount of passion or pleading from the Student Council is going to keep me here. There’s a reason I’ve been avoiding this argument, huh? Because I knew I wouldn’t win. Old Charlotte would throw a fit, try something childish or vindictive to bully Archie into giving in. Never worked before, but she’d at least try. New Charlotte … well, like I said, I’m still figuring out exactly who she is, but I won’t get my way by throwing a fit.

  “He must know something he’s not telling you,” Ranger says, pulling the stone from his pocket and holding it between two fingers, his nails painted sapphire blue. Emo dick, I think, but I can’t stop myself from appreciating his head to toe, all-black look, complete with combat boots. “I figured out where I’ve seen this symbol before, by the way.”

  “Really?” I blink, briefly forgetting the dread of my inevitable move. The twins and Spencer though, they’re all steaming like kettles. “Where?”

  “My mother refuses to admit Jenica even existed most days, so I had our housekeeper send me pictures of her journal. There were a few pages in the middle that were stuck together when I first got it. I managed to peel them apart, but I didn’t think much of it then, like maybe she’d spilled a drink on the book or something.” Ranger exhales and turns the stone around, staring at the design on the top. “But I think she did it on purpose, hid those pages.”

  “Why?” I ask, tucking my hands into the pockets of my slacks as the breeze tousles my hair.

  “Because she’d drawn this on one of them.” Ranger takes his phone out and hands both items over to me, so I can look between the two.

  Holy shit.

  He’s right.

  The symbol on the stone, and the one in the notebook … they’re one in the same.

  Despite the double revelations—my move, and the stone—we head to the paintball park anyway. Good thing Ross was waiting for us at the limo because once we got in, we were all silent; he filled the empty space with chatter.

  “If you get hit with a paintball, you’re out. It has to be a real hit, at least quarter-sized,” Ross continues, waving his hands around with a flourish. “Droplets of random spray don’t count.”

  “That’s what she said,” Micah snickers as his brother hefts the paintball gun up to his shoulder and grins. “Yeah, yeah, we get it. You get shot, you’re out. Last man standing wins.”

  “And what, exactly, he wins is up to me,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest and lifting my chin. I try not to think about the fact that I’ll only be here for another day. It’s too heartbreaking; I don’t want to believe it. “Now go shoot each other with brightly colored paint in some sort of weird toxic masculine ritual.”

  Spencer chuckles, and nods, pulling down the plastic hood on his mask.

  He still thinks he’s going to find some way to keep me here, I can tell. Church and Ranger seem to have a much better grasp on the situation, although I still can’t quite understand their motivation for participating in this stupid duel or competition or whatever you want to call it.

  “This constitutes an official meeting of the Student Council,” Ross continues, tapping something out on his phone. “Minutes and results will be recorded. Have at it boys.” He sets his phone down on the table in front of him and claps his hands.

  The guys take off down the hill toward the field while we relax in the little café area with the big, glass windows. There’s a perfect view of all the action from up here, and I settle in to watch.

  “Can I get you a drink?” Micah asks, tapping his fingers on the tabletop and smirking at me. “I know the girl who works the counter. She’ll give us whatever we want.”

  “It’s cold out today—which is not how I like to spend my April days—so I suppose a hot cocoa’s in order.”

  He nods and takes off, leaving me alone with Ross for a brief moment.

  “You’re really leaving, huh?” he asks me, keeping his eyes on the field. He’s supposed to be the ref or judge or whatever, but yet he’s sitting up here in the warm building, out of harm’s way. Figures.

  “I don’t know what to do. If Dad says I can’t stay, what can I do? Physically refuse to move? He’ll have Nathan drag me away kicking and screaming, probably call the police and tell them I’m a truant or something.” I park my head in my hand, watching as the four boys split up to the four corners of the field. A buzzer goes off, and they all start slinking around like they’re at war.

  A smile curves my lips, quickly replaced by a frown.

  “I heard your dad talking to Mr. Murphy and Mr. Dave about it, you know.” My ears perk up at that, and I turn to stare at Ross. He’s too busy looking out the window to notice, so he keeps talking casually, like it’s no big deal. “In the library yesterday. They thought everyone was gone for the night, but as the assistant to the Student Council, I have a key that gets me in after-hours. Pretty sure they’d forgotten about that.” He chuckles, and then glances my way, finally noticing my wide-eyed expression. “What’s your problem?”

  “What, exactly, were they talking about?” I ask, leaning forward, the stool creaking beneath me. This could be important. Huge. A game-changer.

  “Mr. Dave and Mr. Murphy were encouraging and congratulating the headmaster on his decision to send you away. The thing is, they all messed up at some point and said she or even Charlotte. Both teachers know your secret. Does the whole staff know?”

  My mouth drops open.

  Only the heads of the departments are supposed to know. I guess … Mr. Murphy would then. But Mr. Dave? He’s the librarian. He shouldn’t know anything about it. I get the chills, and my breath escapes me in a rush. All his glaring and grumbling, his anger at me for looking into the yearbooks … What if he’s the one writing the notes?

  “Got your hot cocoa,” Micah says, putting a mug down on the table. There’s a huge mountain of whipped cream, topped with rainbow sprinkles. I smile.

  “Thank you,” I say as he
hands Ross a water with a lemon wedge, and relaxes with a beer for himself. Guess he was right about having connections. I glance back and see the girl behind the counter checking him out. I bristle, even though I tell myself how ridiculous that is. “Ross just told me something interesting.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Micah asks, doing that bad boy lounge thing where he takes up like ten times as much space as a person rightfully should, legs outstretched, arms folded behind his head, just sprawled across the scenery of the café like he owns it. Who am I kidding? The Montagues probably do.

  I gesture at Ross, and the council’s assistant sighs, giving a brief summary of his observations.

  “Could you give us a second?” Micah asks after Ross is finished. He gives us both a raised eyebrow, but takes his drink to the table at the end of the row to keep watching the epic battle below. I’m watching, too, my stomach a twist of nerves that I can’t seem to untangle. Who do I want to win? Spencer? He could easily be the love of my life (I know, I know, I’m seventeen, and I sound stupid as hell, don’t I?). Anyway, he could be.

  But the twins … they’re intriguing. I felt a spark with them; I still do.

  Ugh.

  Cody was so … I don’t want to say dumb, but dumb is what comes to mind. A relationship with him was easy. Now I know it’s because I didn’t care nearly as much about him as I do basically any of my new friends, but damn, all of this romantic shit is complicated.

  “Do you think Mr. Dave could be Adam?” I ask, and Micah leans in toward me, putting his elbows on the table, green eyes sparkling. Much as I hate to admit it, there’s something about his cruel streak that calls to me. It shouldn’t. No, it should send me running in the other direction, but who doesn’t like a bit of bad boy every now and again?

  “He could be, but he’s such a dick, it just seems too obvious, right?”

  “But he knows my secret, and he shouldn’t,” I add, gaping as Spencer gets nailed in the back by Church, pink paint spattering everywhere. I’m sitting there in total shock as he tears his helmet off and chucks it hard at a giant stack of hay bales. The way he storms off, it’s quite clear that he’s fucking pissed.