Bad, Bad Bluebloods(Rich Boys of Burberry Prep #2) - C.M. Stunich Page 0,84

I reply, and that’s the truth. Even if Zack is right, and Windsor is interested, it’s in a shallow, casual way. He’s a player, not partner material. If I wanted a quick, um, shag then he’d be the guy I’d seek out. If I wanted a boyfriend … my attention slides away from Creed and over to Zack.

“He’ll probably murder them right here,” Zayd says, making me jump as he appears out of the shadows. “You’ve just signed their death warrants.” He’s smoking a clove cigarette that smells too good for words, but that I wish desperately I could tear from his inked fingers. Those things are ten times worse than normal cigarettes. Ugh, come on Zayd Kaiser …

“They deserve it,” I reply, and he howls with laughter, tipping back a red Solo cup filled with beer.

“Yeah, sure, maybe. Still, Creed is gonna fucking kill them.” He sits down on the log beside me as Zack glares, and Windsor flirts with some random chick at the drink table. I ignore it all and turn back to the fight.

“I am fucking done with the two of you,” Creed says as Greg and John exchange looks. They don’t look particularly scared of him. They should be though. They really should be. “I told you to lay off of Andrew and Miranda.”

“We never touched Miranda,” John says, swaggering forward.

Uh-oh.

His brown eyes glimmer with defiance as he tucks his fingers in his front pockets and lifts his chin.

“Although maybe if we had, she wouldn’t be a fucking dyke anymore.” There’s this moment where everything is still, save the crackle of the fire and the wind in the trees. When Creed moves, that insouciant imperviousness of his falls away, and he becomes a machine. He nails John in the throat with a punch that sends the other man falling back into his friend’s arms.

That’s when the cracks start to show, and all of my planning comes together in a glorious moment.

“What the fuck, man?” Greg snarls, blood from his fight with Sai flecking his lips. “You think we didn’t all read about that shitty bet you pulled on our own sister in that whore’s journal? You’re a hypocritical asshole. Lay off.”

Creed grabs John by the shirt, yanks him forward, and throws him to the dirt before he goes for Greg. I don’t even have to film it this time because everybody else already is. Besides, I don’t need anymore damning footage of Creed. As it is, this is not on his list of things I want him to pay for. I don’t condone violence, but it’s almost admirable.

“What the hell is going on?” As soon as I hear that pterodactyl screech, I know who it is. Harper du Pont appears out of the trees dressed in Louboutins and some fancy designer dress that rides up so far on her thighs that I can see the lacy white panties underneath. She storms across the clearing and gets up in Creed’s face, just after he knocks Greg to his knees with a punch to the stomach. “Leave them alone,” she hisses, and there’s a collective intake of breath from the crowd.

Idol versus Idol.

I’d sort of hoped this might happen.

Harper has always had per people; Tristan has always had his.

What was it he said in the limo that day?

“If you keep talking, I’ll toss you right out of this limo, and we’ll find out if the Plebs enjoy their queen better … or their king. Don’t test me, Harper.”

There were cracks in the skin of this court, and they were bleeding blue blood long before I ever set my sights on them.

Tristan appears a moment later, swiping his hand down his face. For a second, I imagine that he and Harper were having sex in the woods, and I feel nauseous. But then I realize they were probably fighting. She’s too worked up; he’s too pissed off.

“Creed gave these assholes an order, and they fucked it up,” Tristan snaps, circling the small group like a caged lion shaking out his mane. “Leave him alone to mete out his own justice.”

“Since when do you care so much about Cabot?” Harper growls back at him, her brunette hair short and fluffy with frizz. It’s a pretty amazing sight to behold; I won’t lie. She hasn’t noticed that me or Windsor is here yet; I imagine when she does, she’ll have another fit. “What? Are you two gay for each other now, too?”

Tristan’s storm gray gaze snaps to life with refined