kill him earlier.
“Have a nice chat?” Zayd asks, leaning back on the bench and putting his tattooed arms out behind him. He’s still wearing the polo shirt, but he’s tossed the jacket.
“You have no idea,” Wind purrs in his English accent, and I shiver.
He’s been a good friend to me all along. Now, when I glance over at him, something feels different.
Deeper, darker … impossible to ignore.
“Right,” Zayd responds, voice tight and clipped with jealousy.
Jealousy.
How the hell am I going to manage an entire harem of bullies for the rest of the year?
Guess only time will tell that.
December at Burberry Prep is always fun. There’s a giant Christmas tree in the student lounge, but I’ve never really had the chance to appreciate it, considering my previous circumstances. It’s quiet and secluded up here, and the student council—most of whom I’ve never met—actually runs a tiny café where students can purchase coffee or croissants.
It’s like … halfway between The Mess and the library, but without much employee supervision.
Essentially, it’s the ideal place to get jumped.
Since second year, I’ve been preparing my case against Harper.
I’m not worried about her. Some of the others however, I’m struggling with. They all deserve to get theirs, but I’m not willing to break my rules, no matter what Zack says.
“I like it up here,” I say, sitting next to Tristan on one of the leather couches in the student lounge. “The last time I was up here, I was giving Wind a tour of the school.” My face burns, and I do my best not to think about how much hay I had stuck in my butt crack. Or how I gave in and tiptoed to Wind’s bedroom later that night. He spent almost two hours between my thighs with his mouth.
“So do I. Too bad we wasted four years not using it.” Tristan Vanderbilt taps his fingers on the couch arm, and then pauses to look over as Lizzie Walton appears with a cup of coffee on a saucer, and a white bag in her other hand filled with pastries. “Excuse me.” Tristan stands up and then sets something down on the stack of papers in front of me, most of which are scholarship pamphlets I picked up during the academic fair last week.
Tristan … kind of needs to apply to as many as he can.
“I brought food for everyone, but …” She trails off and watches him leave before sitting down in the chair nearest me. I glance down at whatever it is that Tristan left, and then flush ten shades of crimson when I see it’s his test results, just like I saw with Zack, Zayd, and even Windsor. He emailed me his, and I just happened to have Charlie standing near me when I opened it …
Needless to say, we had a small birds and the bees sex talk that ended with him giving me a book that looks like it’s from 1982, all about how people in love can make each other happy with their bodies … Gross.
“You okay?” Lizzie asks me, waving her hand in front of my face. I look up and force a smile, folding the page in half, so she can’t see it. If Tristan gave me this then … but I notice that she’s also got a folded in half piece of paper clutched in her hand, too.
No, I’m being paranoid. I’m imagining things. I’m …
“Why did you pick me?” I ask suddenly as Lizzie sets her food down and tosses shiny dark hair over one shoulder. She freezes, like a deer caught in the headlights. I mean, I’ve heard this story from Zack, but I want to hear it from her, too.
“For …”
“The bet,” I clarify, as if there was anything else. My hand subconsciously reaches down to rest atop my slashed out infinity tattoo. I know it’s all in my head, but it feels like it burns sometimes. I just hate the way the world works, how the super-rich control everything, and how they rule without compassion.
The Club is … just that, but on a smaller scale.
Nothing is different; nothing has changed.
“Right.” Lizzie sighs and closes her eyes. Her all-black uniform is perfectly pressed and polished, much like Tristan’s, never a fold or wrinkle or stitch out of place. When she opens her amber eyes and looks back over at me, I keep my gaze neutral. “It feels so stupid now, but … back then I was so angry. Your mother’s new husband, Adam