The Envy of Idols (Rich Boys of Burberry Prep #3) - C.M. Stunich Page 0,96
into his arms, tucking me up close against his chest.
“Don’t you dare try to get up,” Tristan warns, pushing down harder on Harper’s hand. The other girls exchange looks, like they can’t decide if they’re going to start a fight with the boys. “Throw a single punch and I’ll break your queen’s hand.”
“Get the hell off of me!” Harper shrieks, but Tristan isn’t going anywhere, that predatory grace of his taking over his limbs, his silver eyes locked on their target.
Creed, Zayd, and Windsor are right behind him, fanning out across the back of the room.
A few seconds later, Myron shows up with Lizzie by his side.
“Are you okay, Marnye?” Zayd asks, panting, his green eyes wide as he takes me in with the shaving cream all over my head and the burn on my arm. I nod. I mean, I could really use some painkillers and aloe vera, but I think I’ll be alright. Oh, and ice. I would kill for a pack of ice right now.
“I’m fine,” I say, my voice shaky and dark with pain. Zayd notices and scowls, giving Becky a look that’s pure, unadulterated hatred.
“You fucking idiots,” Tristan says, leaning his weight forward until Harper screams. “We have video footage of this entire thing. You think I won’t use it?”
“Do you think my parents don’t have any sway over the academy staff?” she shouts back at him. “I’ll get in-school suspension, and a slap on the wrist. This is nothing.” Tristan grinds his heel down and she squeaks with real pain.
“You should go find your boyfriends—and don’t tell me you’re not fucking John and Greg. I have video footage of that, too.”
“Wait, you’re screwing Greg?” Abigail whispers, but nobody acknowledges her.
“What did you do to them?” Valentina asks, wringing her hands. “Where are they?”
“On their way home,” Creed drawls, lounging against the doorjamb with his hands tucked into his pockets. He’s playing the bored Blueblood act, but I can see worry pinching his brow as he glances over at me.
“They were caught sharing unauthorized nude photos of other students all over the school,” Windsor says, cool as a cucumber. He actually looks like he might be having fun. Then again, there’s that darkness behind his eyes he isn’t so good at hiding from me anymore.
“You planted nudes on their phones?” Ileana scoffs, and Windsor turns to look at her with his brows raised.
“No. They already had the nudes. I guess this time, they just sent them out to the whole school on accident. And while Harper might have good enough connections to escape the zero tolerance policy on bullying, Greg and John do not.”
Abigail shoves between Zayd and Creed, taking off down the hall with her heels clacking on the stone.
“Bye-bye, Greg,” Tristan says, giving a derisive little one handed wave. “Bye-bye, John. Oh, unfortunately, John’s father isn’t going to get reelected, so … you can kiss your father’s handpicked future US senator goodbye, too. It’s just a day of bittersweet farewells, isn’t it?”
“He was screwing his secretary’s seventeen year old son,” Zack whispers in my ear, kissing me softly. “Hang them with their own rope, right?” I cling to him, sucking in a sharp breath.
“Don’t forget about Greg’s family,” Windsor says, speaking up.
“Nah, how could we?” Zayd says, getting out a cigarette and lighting up. He saunters into my room and cracks open the bathroom window, planting his boot on the closed toilet lid, so he can smoke. “Not when he media’s having a field day with all those leaked documents. How many illegal foreclosures did they push through in the last decade?”
“You can’t mess with Infinity Club members like that!” Harper snarls as Tristan finally releases her hand, and she scrambles to her feet. He collects the Working Girl brand before she can get hold of it and chucks it into my trash can. “It’s against the rules. That’s what the bets are for. You don’t involve business, politics, or media.”
“We bet you that we could keep Marnye here at Burberry until she graduated. However we have to go about doing that is fair game.”
“We’ll see,” Harper sneers, touching the blister on her bottom lip. It starts to bleed, but I have no sympathy left for her.
She grabs Becky and Ileana by the arms and heads for the door.
“Wait,” I call out, and she actually pauses, turning a poisonous glare on me. I lick my dry lower lip. “Last year, when I was collecting information on all of you … I found out