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

by C. M. Stunich

  “What the hell?” I murmur as the man opens the door, and my phone pings with a text message.

  Here’s your ticket, have a safe flight. SJC to JFK, nonstop.

  It’s from Church.

  My mouth twitches as I squeeze my phone in my hand. JFK, as in John F. Kennedy airport, as in fucking New York City. He didn’t think to tell me that the party wasn’t being held in California?!

  “Christ.” I sound like Ranger now, I think as I take my bags in, and check them at the counter. I’m flying first-class, so I at least get to enjoy the lounge until boarding. That, and my seat is big and comfy, and the one next to it is also booked under my name, so I don’t have to make small-talk with strangers.

  Not quite five hours later, and I’m in New York with my bags, smiling as I spot Church’s honeyed hair in the crowd.

  “How was the flight?” he asks, directing his driver to collect my luggage. I’m still uncomfortable having other people do stuff for me, but I don’t pitch a fit about it. “I’d have sent you on our jet, but the timing on this worked out better. I hope you don’t mind?”

  “You’re joking right? I rode first freaking class. How could I possibly be upset about that?”

  “Well, once you see what our jet looks like, first class will appear to be a dump.” I roll my eyes as Church takes my arm and leads me to the car. What I don’t expect to see is an empty limo. Somehow, I imagined the rest of the Student Council would be here waiting, too. “None of the others could make it,” Church explains, reading the thoughts on my face. See what I mean? It’s the little tells. “It’ll just be me and you for the evening. What say you, Charlotte Carson?”

  “You said I’d be wearing a dress,” I begin as we climb into the back of the car, and the driver closes the door behind us. “But I’ve been thinking. If there really are going to be students from Adamson there, then I need to stay incognito, don’t I? I have to dress like a boy.”

  “You wore a dress to the Valentine’s Day party, didn’t you? Nobody but Ranger seemed to put two and two together, that ugly Chuck the Micropenis was the same dashing beauty that makes up Charlotte Carson.”

  I narrow my eyes on him, his long form folded in the corner, legs crossed, hands resting on his knee. He studies me with that amber gaze, and I resist the urge to squirm. We went through something in the woods that day, between Ranger’s near-drowning and Spencer’s faux-death. It changed the dynamic between us, from bully and victim to … something else. Friends, I think. And who’d have ever thought we’d end up engaged. Lucky me!

  “Nobody was looking at me then. If you waltz in there and announce me as your fiancée, people will look. They’ll scrutinize and study me, and they’ll figure it out.”

  “Two things,” Church says, pulling the ring from his pocket and handing it out to me again. My heart flutters strangely in my chest the way it did when Ranger gave me the box with the pin. Only this time, it really is an engagement ring. I refused to take it before, mostly because it’s worth gobs of cash, and I was pretty damn certain I’d end up losing it. “First, we’ll announce you as Charlotte, the cousin to Chuck, the same way you did to Spencer at that party. And second, we don’t have to tell anyone about our engagement other than my parents. They know all about you and Adamson, and the secret they’re supposed to keep.” He pauses for a moment and rubs at his chin. “Though my sisters are fucking awful gossips …”

  I crack the top on the box and stare down at the ring. It’s simple, but elegant, an Asscher cut diamond in a vivid pink with a platinum setting. It suits me, that’s for sure. Like, if I were actually getting married, this is something I’d like.

  “May I?” Church asks after a moment, and my gaze snaps up to his, heart pounding. He scoots across the seat and takes the jewel from the little velvet box, setting it aside before his long, elegant fingers curve around mine. He never breaks eye contact as he slides the ring up my finger. “When we get to the house, just make sure you play the part of enamored lover. My parents will notice if we slip up.”

  “Why does everyone talk about them like they’re so goddamn terrifying?” I ask, and Church turns away. I remember what he said, about his sisters not being blood-related, why that matters, and how that factored into his somber mood that day, I’d love to know.

  “You’ll find out,” Church whispers, grabbing my hand and pulling me into his lap. I’m so surprised by the move that I end up sitting there completely dumbfounded. “We should practice, just in case.”

  “Practice what?” I ask, and he smiles, a shadow taking over his expression. There’s a heat to that darkness, though, that I’ve never seen before.

  “This.”

  Church turns my face toward him with those elegant finger of his, and then he kisses me. The shock of it freezes me in place while the intensity of the action melts me into a puddle. His tongue sweeps my mouth, expertly capturing me in that web of his, drawing me in even when I try to resist. He’s controlled, but with a fire burning just behind that façade that feels liable to shatter that careful intensity at any moment.

  I pull away, turning my head and lifting a hand to cover my mouth. Every place he’s touching me tingles, and I suddenly just need distance. Scooting back into my own seat, I put space between us for the rest of the two hour drive.

  Church doesn’t talk much, just stares out the window with a sort of faraway expression on his face. I take the opportunity to check my phone, sending a message to Dad to let him know I’m staying at Monica’s—total fucking lie, obviously, but what else can I do? There are a few messages from the other boys, including one from Ranger that simply says I’m sorry. I huff, and Church glances my way.

  “Ranger’s apologizing to me; I just can’t figure out what, exactly, he’s apologizing for.”

  “He unleashed all of that passion he keeps coiled up inside on you. He thinks he’s scared you away.” Church pauses for a moment. “Did he?”

  “No, of course not.” I put my phone back in my lap and stare down at it, trying not to think too hard about the possibility of Church … you know, liking me. The twins said it; Spencer said it. It could be true. Then again, he’s also just as likely to be ‘Adam’ from the notes, right?

  The car pulls up to this understated, but elegant white beachside palace.

  We landed in New York, but we’re definitely a whole world away now. The sun is shining in a clear blue sky, reflecting off the gentle crests of the ocean. The grounds are manicured, but not like the ones at Ranger’s mother’s place in LA. They’re more natural here, climbing plants woven into the framework of the porch, clusters of flowers just barely contained in their designated boxes.

  “We’re in the Hamptons now, by the way,” Church says, and then he opens the door. He’s just barely had the chance to stand up before an older blond woman is taking his face in her hands.

  “My baby,” she says, kissing both of his cheeks and leaving smears of nude lipstick. She steps back, holding his face still as she examines him. She’s quite pretty, like she looks way too young to be his mother, and yet, he’s the youngest of six, right?

  Or … he said his sisters weren’t blood-related, so what does that mean exactly?

  “Mother,” he says, and then holds out a hand for me to take. I curl my fingers around his, and let him help me from the backseat and into the sunshine. The woman’s blue eyes light up, and she gives me the warmest smile I may have ever received in my life. Her expression … it reminds me of Church’s, one of those big, cheery smiles that he imitates but doesn’t always feel.

  It makes so much sense now; he learned it from his mom.

  “You’re even more beautiful than you were in your pictures,” she says, and when I hold out a hand for her to shake, she grabs me and squeezes me close instead, crushing the life out of me. But it’s such a nice, genuine sort of hug that I can hardly complain.

  “It’s good to meet you,” I manage to get out as she pushes me back to examine me. While I’m sporting my old SCHS sw
eats and a plain gray tank from the plane ride, Mrs. Montague is decked out in a white pantsuit with a pink blouse underneath the jacket. “We’ve always expressed the importance of finding the one to Church, haven’t we, honey?”

  “We have,” a man says, coming down the path in jeans and a t-shirt. He wipes dirt from his palms, and I raise an eyebrow. This is Mr. Montague, dressed like a gardener and wearing dirt on his jeans?

  Well, shit, I like them already.

  And yet, I’m struggling to figure out why this pair is referred to so ominously by all of Church’s friends.

  “We found each other young, so we try not to write off our kids’ feelings,” Mr. Montague continues, and then his wife turns to him, and the two get lost in each other’s eyes. Before I know it, they’re kissing and Church is scowling.

  “Here we go again,” he murmurs, glancing down at me, his amber eyes catching the sunshine and glimmering with a brilliance that takes my breath away. “They’re always like this. Everything they do is beyond intense, that’s why nobody likes to invite them to parties, so they always have to host their own.”

  “Oh, Church, knock that off,” his mom says, still clinging to his father’s shirt. While Church’s mom is blond, and fair-skinned like him, his father looks nothing at all like them. He’s got dark hair, stubble, and a wide nose. Not to say he isn’t handsome, he just doesn’t have Church’s fine-boned features. “Take your fiancée inside, and show her your room.”

  “His room?” I ask, and Mrs. Montague laughs. I swear, the sound is like … like butterflies landing on daisies or some shit. It’s magical.

  “We’re not about to make you sleep in separate rooms. How silly is that?” She gestures toward the house. “We’re still preparing for tonight, but make yourself at home for now, and we’ll talk later about this Adamson business.”

  I nod, and Church reaches down to take my hand, pulling me down a pathway lined with flowers and into a light, airy space. The wall across from us is all windows, the doors open to welcome in the soft sound of the sea.

  “My sisters are around here somewhere,” he murmurs, his eyes darting back and forth. “Watch out for them. They’re truly awful.”

  “Church!” An ear-splitting squeal splits the air, and a dark-haired girl throws her arms around Church’s neck from behind, squeezing him so hard that her legs come up off the ground. She’s wearing a tennis outfit, and sweating like crazy, but her smile is as infectious as her mothers. “We’ve been missing you around here this summer. It’s just not the same without you.”

  “Not the same without me to pick on, you mean,” he says, carefully untangling her from his neck, so that her sneakers slap on the tiled floors when she lands. Church turns around with a sigh and holds out a hand. “Charlotte, this is my youngest sister, Giselle.”

  “And by youngest, he means still five years older than him.” She grins and ruffles his hair which he very clearly hates, but takes anyway. “Everyone else is outside, fighting over whose new boyfriend is the cutest.” Giselle winks dramatically in my direction. “Not to sound biased or anything, but I think you’re likely to win that bet.”

  “Um, thanks?” I say, and then she gasps, reaching out to take my hand and examine the ring. “This is fantastic, Churchie, did you pick this out yourself?”

  “Churchie?” I ask, trying to stifle a laugh. The poor guy looks miserable as he helps extract my hand from his sister’s grip.

  “Do you mind if I get Charlotte settled? She’s had a long flight. You can molest her at the party tonight.”

  “You’re so uptight, Churchie,” Giselle says, swatting him on the ass with a tennis racket. “Hopefully this beautiful lady of yours loosens you up a bit.” She glances over at me, face turning serious for a moment. The sudden change in expression reminds me of her brother, how he flips moods. Maybe it’s … fuck, it can’t be genetic because he said they weren’t genetically-related. I’m so confused. “Does he treat you right, Charlotte? Because if he doesn’t, we’ll all kick his ass. We raised him better than that.”

  “He brought me chocolate and a hot water bottle when I was on my period,” I offer up, and Giselle nods, giving her little brother another pleased smile.

  “Good to hear. I am not in the mood for removing my brother’s balls with a tennis racquet for poor behavior. Good job, Churchie.”

  “We’ll be upstairs if you need us,” he says, grabbing me by the hand and guiding me up a curving staircase to a private little suite that overlooks the sea. It’s beautiful in here, decorated in white and blue like the rest of the house, but with enough coffee posters to let me know exactly where I’m at.

  I sit down on the edge of the bed as Church sighs and slumps back against the wall, smoothing out his hair with his hand.

  “I’m sorry abut my family. They’re beyond fucking intense.”

  “I liked them,” I say with a shrug, leaning back on his bed and letting the ocean breeze tease my hair. If I do end up going back to Adamson, I’ll have to cut it. The thought makes me sad, but really, I’d do anything to spend senior year there. Even … pretend to be engaged to the president of the Student Council.

  Church studies me for a moment, and then sighs, moving over to sit next to me on the bed. The mattress dips under his weight, and our fingers brush together, making me shiver. It feels good when he touches me, but forbidden, like he’s denied it even to himself.

  “Are you going to tell me about your sisters, about how they’re not related to you?” I ask, and Church tenses up, glancing away sharply toward his bedroom door. The waves crash against the beach, gulls calling out to each other in the clouds.

  “I’ve never told anyone that before,” he admits, and my brows go up. “Not Ranger, or Spencer, not the twins … nobody.” There’s a long pause as Church takes in a deep breath and turns back to me. “Why I told you, I’m not sure.”

  “The others all think you … that you like me.” The words come out before I can stop them, and Church’s smile gets a little wider before falling away completely. He looks down at his lap.

  “Maybe I told you because I knew you wouldn’t judge?” he starts, but more like he’s talking to himself than he is to me. I curl my fingers around his, and he goes stiff for a brief moment before exhaling and calming himself back down again. Church turns back to look at me. “I’m adopted,” he says, and then he closes his eyes, like that’s the most painful statement in the world.

  I try not to laugh, but really, it’s cute that he thinks it’s such a big deal.

  “So?” I ask, smiling and giving his hand a squeeze. “You have an awesome family who clearly loves you. What does it matter?”

  “My mother was their maid,” Church grinds out, breathing hard. He has the most vulnerable sort of expression on his face. “She left me here after giving birth. Literally, dropped me on the doorstep and left.”

  “Wait … what?” I ask, blinking through my confusion. “Your birth mother abandoned you?”

  “She left me in a car seat on the porch. My parents took me in, legally adopted me, and then decided to wait until I turned sixteen to tell me the truth.”

  Oh.

  Oh, shit.

  No wonder he’s so upset.

  “That’s what I was talking about when I mentioned imposter syndrome. I play the Montague’s only son, this shining example of what it means to be a part of this family, and yet … I’m not. I’m not related to any of them.” He closes his eyes and runs his hand over his face, fingers catching on his lower lip as he opens his eyes back up. It’s sexy as hell, but now’s not the time to be ogling, so I keep my hormones to myself.

  “Nobody else knows?” I ask, and Church shakes his head.

  “They lived in France with me for two years, told everyone Mom was several months pregnant at the time they left, and played me off as their own son. You’d think, if I had nothing to be ashamed about as they say, that they’d have no need to hide it. And yet, they did.”

  “Maybe they were jus
t thinking of you?” I suggest, shrugging one shoulder. “Like, they wanted to make life easy for you. Clearly, you fit right in. As soon as I saw your mother and sister smile, I knew where you’d gotten yours from. Honestly, Church, our biological parents’ DNA might make the shape of our lips, but the way we grin, or laugh, or light up on the inside … that comes from the people that love us.”

  He just stares at me.

  “Who the hell are you? And what happened to that little brat that knocked my report into the water?”

  I grimace, but there’s no getting around the fact that I was a total jerk.

  “Look, I never really properly apologized for that. It was a shitty thing to do, and I’m sorry. I was afraid if I spent time working on the project with you, that you’d find out and well … I never expected anyone was going to try to kill me, but …” I trail off because I’m not sure what else to say.

  The atmosphere in that big, airy bedroom has suddenly become intimate and close, the way it did in the rest stop lobby.

  “I should get your dress,” Church murmurs, standing up and heading over to the closet. “I had it ordered and delivered here for today.” He pulls out a garment bag and hands it over to me. I stand up from the bed and take it, laying it out on top of his white comforter and unzipping it to reveal a beautiful three-tiered tulle ballgown in peach. It has silver floral designs embroidered on it, and I swear, it just floats when I lift it up from the bed.

  “This is … holy shit, Church.”

  “It’s a Carolina Herrera piece,” he says, studying it for a moment.

  “That’s, like, swanky as hell,” I whisper, wondering how I’m supposed to wear a dress this expensive without having a heart attack. What if I spill punch on it? There will be punch tonight, right? Or champagne? I’ll definitely spill something on it. “How much did it cost?”

  “Does it matter?” he asks, and then thinks on it for a moment. “Twelve, I think.”