In the Arms of the Elite (Rich Boys of Burberry Prep #4) - C.M. Stunich Page 0,43
I always wanted, that I dreamed about, that I asked after for years … and she won’t even look at me.
“Fuck the Infinity Club,” I tell Harper, raising my voice, so every student in that hall can hear me. Not that it matters anymore: there’s not a single person at the academy who doesn’t know about the Club—staff included. I know that now. “My friends tell me all I need to know.”
“Sure they do,” Harper says, flicking a look back at Tristan. “I’m sure Mr. Vanderbilt over here’s been a wealth of information.”
“You’d best keep that silicone plumped trap of yours shut, before I close it permanently,” Tristan growls, and there’s a darkness in his voice that makes me shiver. He sounds awful, a veritable well of hostility and neatly suppressed rage. It’s like all of that wild anger and hate inside of him as been honed down to a fine diamond’s point. Sharp, unbreakable.
“Did he tell you,” Harper starts, backing up into the sea of girls as Tristan takes a step forward. He very much looks like he’d enjoy hitting her. Instead, he adjusts the silver Burberry Prep crest cufflinks at his wrists. “Did he tell you,” Harper repeats, clearly enjoying herself as she glances my way, “that Lizzie actually made a bet with her parents? She’s free and clear of her engagement obligations now. Tristan … Lizzie, a match made in heaven. She can afford him the type of lifestyle he’s so used to living. Can you do that, Working Girl?” she asks, looking me dead in the face, her lips curved into a devil’s smile. No wonder Miranda used to call the Idols devils and the Inner Circle demons; it fits. “If you and Tristan ride off into the sunset together, can you give him the standard of living he’s accustomed to?”
“Harper,” Tristan says, reaching out. Becky and Ileana act like they think he’s going to hit her, and the other girls crowd forward like they’re willing to beat the shit out of both of us, here and now. I don’t doubt their ability; I was victim to it once before. “Stop being so jealous.” He curls strands of her red hair around his fingers, and she watches him with narrowed eyes. Clearly, she expects scissors. And rightfully so. “Here’s the thing: you’ve thoroughly pissed me off now. I mean, I thought you’d done it before, but kudos.” He yanks on her hair and jerks her forward, and she slaps him away with a scowl. “You’ve really and truly incited me.” He narrows his blade-gray gaze on her. “I’d rather be a charity case … I’d rather be a homeless fucking drunk than married to a speed-addicted whore with too much plastic surgery.”
“Takes one to know one,” Harper snaps back, acting like she’s not bothered at all by Tristan’s words. Watching them exchange blows is painful, like two sets of knives being thrown across the hall. I can’t take it. “How many girls did you sleep with during first year? Two dozen? Three dozen? More?”
Tristan grits his teeth and opens his mouth, but I’m already stepping between the two of them.
“No bullying,” I tell him, looking into his eyes, “not even toward her.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” he snaps, but I mean it. I intend to be queen here, even over the king. I’ve made up my mind. The boys might be the muscle behind my rise to social power at Burberry Prep, but they’re too cruel to rule on their own.
“Not even toward her. Let’s go.” I take off down the hall, pausing just once to glance back and look at Isabella. “And if you have to do this Infinity Club thing, there are other sponsors, you know.” I turn back around and take off, and surprisingly enough … Tristan follows.
“You’re going to wish you’d never met me—either of you,” Harper calls out from behind us, but I’m done with her. “You’re going to fucking bleed for this!”
Tristan and I take off down the hall, but when I reach for his hand, he pulls away. His face is tight and dark, like thunderclouds have rolled over his expression. He won’t look at me.
“Are you angry because I stopped you from retaliating?” I ask, but he just briefly glances my way. Dressed in his fourth year uniform, he’s intimidating as fuck, I’ll admit that. Doubly so when we step outside and he pens me against the wall.
“What do you think about what she said, about Lizzie?” I blink back