The Envy of Idols (Rich Boys of Burberry Prep #3) - C.M. Stunich Page 0,95
as Harper plugs in the iron, and the other girls, like Valentina Pitt and Kiara Xiao hold me in place.
I’m struggling so hard that I manage to get a kick out that nails Ebony in the nail. She drops the buzzer to the floor and the plastic bit shatters to pieces. The motor sputters out, and there’s a moment of stunned silence.
“Are you freaking kidding me?” Harper snaps, pointing her finger at the bathroom. “Go find some scissors, or a razor, or fuck, even a knife. If we take some of her scalp off with her hair, it doesn’t matter to me.”
She tests the iron to see if it’s hot, and then scowls. It must not be. Not yet.
I fight even harder, flailing and kicking. If anyone gets near my mouth, I’ll bite. Hard.
Unfortunately, nobody does.
“Got a razor and some shaving cream,” Becky says, trotting back in with Ileana on her heels. They both climb on my bed and starts squeezing strawberry cream gel into my hair.
“Don’t do this,” I say, not particularly concerned about my hair. It’s the increasingly hot heat of the iron that worries me. “I’ve got hidden cameras in here. Whatever you do to me now, it’s on video. It live streams to my phone.”
“Well, that’s too bad then,” Harper says, tapping the iron and then hissing. A grin takes over what should rightfully be a very pretty mouth. Every time she scowls, that illusion is ripped away and the villain beneath the princess rears her ugly head. “You don’t have your phone tonight, do you? And by the time you get it back tomorrow, you’ll know better than to mess with us.”
Becky takes the razor and starts shaving the hair on the sides of my head. It’s already pretty short, but even then, a disposable razor isn’t mean for such thick hair, and it quickly gets clogged up. Ileana snatches the razor, wipes it on my bedspread, and tries again.
“I’ll grab some scissors,” Valentina suggests, heading over to the kitchenette and digging through my drawers.
Meanwhile, Harper has something in her hand. It’s a piece of metal with a short wooden handle. Actually, the longer I look at it … the more I realize that it looks like a brand, one of those ones ranchers heat up to mark their cows.
She notices me looking and turns the brand to face me.
“Do you like it?” she asks, blinking innocently. “I had it custom made. It says Working Girl. I thought maybe we could stamp it on that huge forehead of yours, so the whole world would know who you really are.” She grabs the iron off the fold-out ironing board that’s stored in an inset wall cabinet, and then presses it on my bare arm.
The pain is so intense that I trash even harder, and manage to dislodge a few of the girls. I barely notice though. No, instead I’m wrapped up in this white-hot agony of blistering flesh. I start weeping without even meaning to, the pain’s so great.
Harper releases the iron from the crook of my elbow and presses the brand against it, heating it up.
I’m still fighting against the other girls, making it a hell of a lot harder for them to shave my head.
“Hurry up, Harper. The brothel bitch is way stronger than she looks.” Ileana’s whine makes my head throb with an incoming migraine. Or, well, maybe that’s the second degree burn on my arm. It’s hard to say.
The leader of the Harpies, Miss du Pont herself, climbs up on the bed and straddles my waist.
Her smile is horrific, like watching an alligator open its jaws before it swallows its prey whole.
There’s a faint sound from the direction of the door, but I’m too focused on the brand coming at my face to pay it much attention. The sound of a lock slipping draws Harper’s attention just before the door is kicked in.
Zack is there in an instant, grabbing Harper’s arm and throwing her off the bed so hard that she hits the floor with an unfortunate cracking sound, the hot brand tumbling along with her and smacking into her bottom lip. She screams in pain as the other boys rush the room.
“Get the fuck off of her,” Zack says, grabbing Becky’s wrist and shoving her violently back. Ileana and the others scramble out of the way as Tristan steps in the room and puts his foot flat on Harper’s hand, crushing it to the floor.