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

by C. M. Stunich

  “The first attacker, with the knife,” I blurt, the pieces coming together. My gaze flicks over to Church, but he returns my look with a cool stare of his own. “That's the note writer.” I snap my fingers, feeling all proud of myself. “I mean, if you were there with a knife, and you wanted to kill me, why not just do it as soon as you opened the trunk?”

  “And there was only one person that time. The other incidents involved at least two people each time,” Ranger continues, taking out a notebook and writing this all down. I notice it's a pink notebook with gold edges, and a unicorn on the front. For a guy who tromps around in combat boots yelling at people all the time, smoking cigarettes, and sporting a chest tat, he sure likes cute things.

  “The first time, a man and a woman. The second time, two men.” I nod my chin and exhale. “Okay, this is making more sense, but also, that means the people who are really trying to kill me are here.” I muse on this for a moment, and then look up. “Is there anyone missing at school? Students? Teachers? Creepy Nathan?”

  “Creepy Nathan's definitely here,” the twins say together, glancing at one another. “But the librarian's not.”

  “Mr. Dave?” I ask, and they both nod as they turn back to look at me. Their red-orange hair is all spiked and sticking up all over the place, gelled to keep its shape, and adorable as hell. I wish I could run my fingers through it. Instead, I bite my lip and curl my hands together in my lap. “He's been a total dick to me. That, and he never liked me digging around in the yearbooks.” I pause. “What about Mr. Murphy?”

  “He was here today,” Spencer supplies, still leaning over the chair, his champagne colored tied hanging down. “But Mark wasn't. Couple of his football buddies were missing, too.”

  “And yet Eugene was his best friend,” Ranger says, growling low under his breath. “What sort of monster would string their buddy up in a tree like that? And why? Obviously, Jenica and Chuck have a connection.” Ranger lifts up one finger. “First, they're both girls. And second, they're both tied to me in some way. But Eugene? I barely knew the guy.”

  I pull the stone from my pocket and stare at it, trying not to think too hard about the headless bird.

  “Spencer,” I start, because something's just occurred to me.

  “Yeah?” he asks as I lift my eyes from the stone to his face, so far away, and yet so crisp and clear and beautiful on my screen. It's like, if I just lifted my fingers up, I could reach out and touch them to his lips.

  “When we went to look for you in cabin ten, we found the back window broken and the front door barred. Do you know what happened there?”

  “Uh, yeah,” he says, standing up straight and tucking his hands into the pockets of his slacks. “Someone locked me in while I was sleeping, and I couldn't get out. The rear window doesn't open, and I wasn't about to climb down from the second floor.” He shrugs his shoulders. “I didn't think much of it at the time; I thought it was a prank or a staff member or something. But now that you mention it, Jack was creeped out by it, too.”

  “Jack, huh?” Ranger starts, and Spencer gives him a look.

  “Don't start on my brother, man,” he warns, but Ranger's got that narrow-eyed look of determination on his face.

  “He's the one that encouraged you to hang with him that whole week, got you baked every day, and suggested you don't check your messages until you cooled off?”

  “What are you getting at?” Spencer snaps, frowning hard. “Jack isn't involved in this shit. Why would he be? What would he have to gain from it?”

  “Let's take a step back,” Church suggests, rising to his feet. “Charlotte, are you going to talk to your father?”

  “Might as well. What is he going to do? Ship me back to Adamson?” I can only hope. I exhale, letting my eyes trail across the boys' faces. I want nothing more than to be back at Adamson right now, but instead I'm all alone in Santa Cruz with a trio of psychos on my ass. “Wish me luck, boys.”

  And then I hang up and dial Archibald Carson.

  Our conversation does not go well.

  “I already received a call from the school,” is the first thing he tells me, frowning. “And frankly, Charlotte, I'm beginning to question the validity of your stories. There's never any proof, and the incidents only seem to occur when you want something. First, it's because you didn't want to be here. And now, it's because you don't want to be there. What am I supposed to make of that?”

  I gape at him.

  “I was chased by three people with baseball bats, knives, and Tasers, and you don't give a crap, that's what you're saying?” Archie removes his glasses and pinches the bridge of his nose.

  “Look, Charlotte, I'm still dealing with this plagiarism thing. The students who participated hired lawyers to tell me that yes, they did participate in mosaic plagiarism, but it's hard to prove in court, so what am I going to do about it? This is on top of the fact that a student committed suicide on my watch. I could very well lose my position, and if I do, my reputation will be shattered. I'll never get another teaching job.” The hurt and frustration in his voice is evident, but I want him to believe me, too, even if he is stressed, worried, overworked. I need that from him.

  “Karma will get those thieving assholes eventually,” I say, waving my hand to indicate the ballsy students and their ridiculous lawyers. “But I'm really scared here, Dad. These people followed me from Adamson. I've got a target on my back.”

  “Do you want to stay with your mother?” he asks finally, lifting his head. “You broke her heart by running away at the airport. You do understand that, right?” I look away, but I don't want to talk about it. My relationship with Mom is complicated. “Fine. I'll call the school back and let them know my concerns, does that help?” I nod, and Dad pauses. There's this weird awkward moment of silence where I almost feel like he might say the L-word. But then that's gone and he's sighing again. “Goodnight, Charlotte. Call me tomorrow.”

  He hangs up, and I slump down on the bed.

  It's hard to get others to believe you when there's not a shred of evidence one way or the other. But I refuse to end up like Eugene or Jenica, swinging from the limbs of a tree, the only sound the creak of the rope and the whisper of the wind.

  No fucking way.

  The next morning, I've got an escort to school: a man and a woman in a black SUV. The first thing I do is text the guys to see if they know anything about it.

  Private security. The Adamson school board has no sway over what happens in Santa Cruz.

  It's Tobias that responds first. I tuck my phone back in my pocket and go about my day, trying to pretend like everything's normal. The security people stay in their car for the most part, but when I leave after school with Monica and head to the beach, there they are.

  “Who the hell are they?” she asks as I get my board out of her car and carry it down to the sand.

  “Just … some security detail my new boyfriends hired.”

  I strip off my shirt and shorts—we often rock bathing suits under our clothes here—and hit the waves. Monica is definitely weirded-out, but some part of me wants to keep what happened to myself. Makes it easier to figure out who's telling the truth, and who's full of shit.

  Don't even go there, my mind whispers, but now that I've had the thought, I can't stop wondering if Church isn't the one writing me notes. He didn't want me digging into Jenica's death, he's the one who locked me in the trunk, and it always feels like he's one step ahead of the rest of us. I don't think he's actually out to kill me, but maybe he really was trying to scare me away?

  When I first got back, I was so out of shape it wasn't even funny, but these past few weeks have been good for me. I'm not quite the color of a Victorian ghost anymore, my hair is bleached white from the sun, and I've got that flat tummy back. Dorky Chuck with the oversized uniform, floppy hair, and nerdy glasses seems like a million miles away.

  I guess … she’s about three thousand miles away, quite literally, isn’t she?

  I ride the w
aves until the sun starts to set, and then collapse onto my towel beside Monica, half-naked and soaking up the sun. She lifts her giant shades to glance over at me, panting and dripping, my blonde hair finally growing out and hanging in curly tendrils around my face.

  “Why do you need private security detail? Your new boyfriends aren't, like, those weird rich controlling types are they? Trust me: I've dated plenty of those before and you don't want that.”

  “Nah, nothing like that,” I say, poking my finger in the sand. A pair of guys walk by, grinning at Monica and me, I think. She gives them a coquettish little smile in return while I just stare. I'm so used to playing the introverted headmaster's son, I'd almost forgotten what life used to be like here.

  And yet, I still want to go back.

  When it comes to real estate, it might be location, location, location, but when it comes to home, it's company, company, company.

  I exhale and lean back on my towel, my pink surfboard snuggled up beside me like an old friend.

  At least I don't have to be worried about dying right now. I'm surprised at how relieved I feel, like maybe I've been living with more fear and tension than I realized.

  Monica settles back down, and we lay in companionable silence for a while before I pull my phone back out and continue with my reading of Jenica's journal. It's a bit of a pain in the ass, having to zoom in on the pictures of those old pages, her very distinctive handwriting a challenge to make out at times. It's pretty, just super stylized and hard to read.

  Rick is pressuring me into sleeping together, but I'm not ready. He brings it up to me every day, and I don't know how to say no anymore. I almost want to do it just so I can get it over with.

  I pause and frown hard. Jenica's old boyfriend, Rick, lives in Singapore and is married to a local. He's got two kids, and some big shot job at an international company. It's highly unlikely he's involved in any of this, but if I ever meet the guy, I'm going to punch him in the balls. No girl or woman should be made to feel like Jenica did. No really does mean fucking no.

  As I lift my eyes back up to the page, I notice something.

  Jenica writes her R's in a capital shape, even when they're in the middle of a word. Sitting up suddenly, I shove my shades into my salt-soaked hair and flip back through the pages.

  Yep.

  It's always a capital, albeit a slightly smaller capital, but a capital nonetheless.

  Next, I flip to the image of her supposed suicide note. It must've taken Ranger a hell of a lot of courage to show this to us. Just looking at it now feels me with this warmth; he trusts me. He has no real reason to, but he does.

  I bite my lip.

  Dear JR, is written at the beginning of the note, like a pair of initials, like Jeff Rabot. But what if it was Jr., like Junior instead?

  I text Ranger my findings, my heart beating like crazy. Maybe it's nothing, but maybe it's the clue we've been looking for?

  Fuck, is the message he sends back. And then. Did you know Mr. Murphy's dad used to teach at Adamson? They had one year of overlap, and we used to call the older Mr. Murphy, Murph Senior.

  I bite my lip and try to hold back a squeal. Might not be right to get so excited about a murder investigation, but hey, it is what it is.

  We'll look into it, and get back to you, Ranger sends, and I tuck my phone back in my bag, turning my attention back to the cool, blue waters of the Pacific Ocean.

  If Mr. Murphy is involved, then he's gotta be the note writer, not the killer, right? I mean, he was encouraging my dad to send me away, wasn't he? Then again, maybe that was just a front to avoid any suspicion being cast on him?

  As excited as I am about this new discovery, I have a feeling that things are going to get worse before they get better.

  On Friday, when everyone else is busy dressing up for some big bonfire thing on the beach, I'm sitting at my favorite oceanside eatery and scribbling things down in a pink and white notebook that I bought because Ranger inspired me. I could take notes on my phone, but this is so much more fun with a feather pen and actual paper.

  List of Suspects

  Mr. Murphy (purple pen, weird about Jenica, could be Junior)

  Mr. Dave (gone during the week of the attack, had access to the missing yearbook, total dick)

  Eddie the Janitor (never locks shit he’s supposed to lock, introverted, has access to all parts of Adamson)

  Nathan the Night Watchman (drags his feet—ARGH!, carries weapons, also has access to all parts of Adamson)

  Mark Grandam (royal piece of shit, friends with Eugene, hole in ceiling that magically disappeared)

  Mark's crappy football friends (especially that meathead roommate of his, see above about magically disappearing hole)

  Rick, Jenica's ex (misogynist, jerk-off, dickhead)

  Jeff Rabot (name matches the JR on the note, hates the guys, knew Jenica)

  Mr. Johansen (he forced me to make that stupid cake, I don’t know, everyone’s a suspect)

  Mr. Cruschek (he can barely move, so probably not, but whatever)

  that PE teacher who shoved me in the locker room and made me see all that dick (this is a longshot, but I’m writing it down)

  the guy that texted me pics of the yearbook (I cannot remember his name for the life of me, also a longshot, still counts)

  I pause and tap my pen on the edge of my lip for a moment before continuing.

  Jack Hargrove (sold drugs to Jenica, convinced Spencer to stay with him that whole week)

  Kesha (slept with Ranger, was passed out on the ground during the attack, maybe as bait?)

  Selena (she lent me her dress, but also, there IS a female attacker, so I gotta start somewhere)

  Aster (she forced me and Ross to dance with her, I have no idea why I’m writing her down)

  Another pause. I take a bite of my fish and chips, going heavy on the tartar sauce, and adding just a splash of barbeque sauce to it. Some people find that even more disgusting than ketchup on eggs or hot sauce on French toast. Their loss.

  I study my list and try to decide if I should add Church to it. Well, him, or any of the other Student Council members.

  No.

  No fucking way.

  I’ve never felt more welcomed in a group of friends before. When I’m with the Student Council, they feel like family. If I start suspecting them, I’m just going to go belly-up from worry. I have to trust someone in all this, right?

  But … just because he’s a dick …

  Ross (I kind of like him, but also he’s an ass pig, used to be in love with Spencer)

  I toss the pen down on the notebook, take a photo, and send it to my group chat with the guys, just to see if they have something else to add. The brief excitement at having actually made a list is fleeting because as I look at it, I realize how little we actually know.

  On the bottom I add, weird stone, red wax, dead bird, two keys.

  Yeah, that’s helpful.

  To really get to the bottom of this, I need to go back to Adamson. I’m just not sure that that’s ever going to be a possibility.

  I finish my food, pack my stuff, and head back to Monica’s with the black SUV trailing behind me.

  The last day of school is, fortunately, a half-day. I'm so excited to get out of there that I'm practically buzzing. When I head outside with Monica and a few of the other girls, I come to a sudden stop, my mouth dropping open.

  There are several sportscars parked along the curb, all of them a hell of a lot nicer than even the rich kids at SCHS have. Two of them are matching Lamborghinis, and the other is a shiny black … well, something. I’m not exactly a car girl. But it looks expensive as shit.

  “Chuck!” the twins call, waving in unison, and then they're rushing up the brick steps toward me. Tobias sweeps me up first in his arms, spinning me around in a circle and squeezing me so tight that I feel these warm little tingles move through me.

  I'm so excited to see him, touch him, smell him, that I can hardly breathe.

 
I'm excited to smell my boyfriend? That is so not normal.

  “Missed you, dickhead,” Tobias murmurs near my ear, making me shiver. He sets me down and his brother picks me up next, giving me a hug that's just as warm and all-encompassing as his twin's. He might be the 'meaner' of the two, but there's a lot of heart in his jerk-wad yet.

  “Miss us?” he whispers, and then he plants this little surreptitious kiss near my ear that has me shivering. When he sets me down, I find Spencer waiting.

  “Chuck,” he says, putting his hands in the pockets of his jeans. He's so much prettier in person than on the phone that I lose my breath for a minute, and I have to swallow three times before I can talk.

  “Hey,” I respond, all casual and shit. I tuck some hair behind my ear and pretend to be all cool and aloof. Doesn't work. Spencer just gives that fox grin of his.

  “Seriously, Chuck? You really are an ass pig—slacks or a skirt, doesn't seem to matter.” He curls his fingers behind my neck, pulling me in close and giving me a kiss that sears through me, this ardent burst of fireworks that light up my entire soul. Holy hell. His tongue sweeps mine, and I groan, leaning my body into his, putting my palms on the white cotton of his t-shirt, and digging my pink-painted nails in.

  “Get a room,” Micah snorts, and I grin, pulling back to find Ranger and Church waiting at the bottom of the steps. I throw my arms around Ranger's neck without thinking. He seems surprised for a minute, but then he's hugging me back. Shit, he could give classes on this whole hugging thing.