* * *
When I wake up in the sick bay, I’m handed a day pass, a packed lunch, and ten crisp hundred-dollar bills. There’s a small town, with the cutesy name of Haven, twenty minutes away from Hannaford, and I have a school car and personal driver waiting to escort me there to replace my destroyed belongings. Mr. Trevelen explains to me that my room will be cleaned and painted by the time I return in the afternoon and he’s barely looking me in the eye. Whatever Matteo said to him is sticking.
During the drive, I tap out a quick text to Matteo and ask him for some recommendations on pick-proof locks. I’m willing to pay big bucks to keep the other girls out of my shit from here on out. His reply is immediate and coddling, but I take it. He’ll send me what I need.
It’s a Saturday, so the town is full of students. I’ve never seen the appeal in venturing outside the school. I don’t want to spend money or run into one of Matteo’s men out here, but the town is one of those cookie-cutter-perfect places with cafés and boutique stores, and I have to admit it’s nice. There isn’t a big box chain store in sight. Giant trees line the brick streets, and they’re all decorated with hundreds of white, blinking fairy lights. It’s magical-looking, even for my jaded heart, and I let myself stare out the window at it all a little wistfully.
A thousand dollars isn’t enough to replace what I need if I stick to these higher-end stores, I’d be lucky to find a single item of clothing for that price, so I ask the driver to drive around for a while until I spot what I’m looking for. Tucked away off the main street in a tiny alleyway, I find a thrift store. I ask the driver to wait, and he informs me with a curt smile that he’s mine for the day and to take my time. Rich kid perks, I guess.
The store is teeming with designers labels I care nothing about, and I dig through the shoes until I hit a jackpot. A pair of cherry red Docs that hit me mid-calf. They’re a touch too big, but with thick socks they’re perfect, and my spirits are instantly lifted. I trawl through the jeans until I find three pairs that work for me, and then I look for some booty shorts.
An hour later, I leave the store with more bags than I’ve ever carried out of anywhere before, and the driver has to pop the trunk and help me pile my haul in. It’s still early enough in the afternoon, so I decide to stop to get a coffee. I shouldn’t be wasting money on something as frivolous as coffee, but I think of it as a reward for all my hard work and perfect marks at Hannaford so far.
I choose one of the smaller shops, because the bigger ones are overrun with Hannaford uniforms and I do not want to be accosted by one of the Beaumonts or their loyal followers. I order it to go, eager to get back to my room and get my life back in order. I chat to the barista, Emily, and I enjoy just being a teenager for a moment. She doesn’t know anything about me except that I go to Hannaford, and the shock that I’m speaking to her at all is evident on her face. I find out the other students have a reputation in this town for being assholes. What a shock. When she hands me the coffee, I thank her warmly, and then slip back out to the alleyway.
I should have ignored the sounds coming from the tiny back parking lot.
I knew what I was hearing, I’d heard it a million times before, but curiosity killed the cat and it may someday kill me too. I move slowly and try to be silent, which is hard in the kitten heels I’m forced to wear as part of the Hannaford Prep uniform. As I round the corner, I get the disgusting view of Rory’s bare ass as his hips swing. He’s got Avery bent over his garishly orange Lamborghini Huracan. I can’t see her face, only the skirt pushed up over her hips and twisted in Rory’s fists as he pumps away at her. He’s grunting and swearing under his breath, and I startle at the sharp crack of his palm hitting her ass.
Why would they be fucking out here instead of just doing it in the dorms? The zero-tolerance bullshit Trevelen spouts means nothing to any of these rich assholes, so why risk public sex? Maybe they’re voyeurs and Rory needs the thrill to get his dick hard. I smother the snort I have at the thought. I’m tempted to take a photo and send it out, give her a taste of her own medicine, but I won’t stoop to her level. Plus the guys all told me it wasn’t her and, while I don’t believe them, I prefer to extract the right forms of punishment. Just as I turn to leave them to it, Rory grunts and pulls Avery up by her hair so roughly, I wince. It doesn’t look sexy at all, more controlling and dominative in a shitty, misogynistic way. He turns them both so he can sit on the car and she can straddle him reverse cowgirl to finish the job. Her head is down, but I don’t need to see the face to know that’s not Avery riding his dick. The hair isn’t the perfect black curls of the devil that’s torturing me.
It’s Harlow Roqueford.
She tips her head back, and I see her nose is still taped, but the bruises have all faded enough to be covered by makeup. She’s moaning loudly, seemingly uncaring of being caught, and she’s bouncing on him with gusto. I’m shocked enough to freeze for a second, gaping at the sight of them both, but after a heartbeat I get my wits about me. I get my phone out and snap a photo, not to share around, but if I decide to tell Avery, she won’t believe me without some proof. I take a short video for good measure, and then I sneak back down the alleyway and out to the waiting car. I flick through the photos and smile as I sip my coffee and the driver pulls back onto the highway.
Chapter 15
My room is now freshly painted, white and crisp, and the new bed I’ve been supplied is even more comfortable than the last one. The sheets and pillows are also brand new, and the thread count must be higher than my postcode. I feel like I should send Avery a thank-you note. I grin to myself at the mental image of her reading all about her little prank backfiring. I’m also in love with my new boots, and I spent hours trying them on with all my new clothes to see what I like best. Hannaford is quickly teaching me to take the good with the bad.
True to form, the lock Matteo had promised me was already installed by the time I arrived back at Hannaford, and the single key is on a chain around my neck. If anyone wants access to this room, they will have to pry it from my cold, dead body. I’m sure nothing would give Joey more pleasure.
My great mood lasts until choir, and then I’m overcome with nerves. I arrive early, having sprinted down the halls and shoving other students out of my way, so I can corner Miss Umber and persuade her to take pity on me. Our class assignment is to sing a solo in front of the class, and there is no way on this earth that I’ll be able to do it. I’ve been practicing at every available opportunity and I’ve become decent at distracting myself, but the second my concentration wavers, I get the shakes and lose my stomach contents. If I perform in front of the class, Avery will not only have photos of my disgrace, she will also have a new weakness of mine to exploit. Now that I’ve managed to lock down any access to my room, I’m not looking at giving her a new avenue to explore.
Miss Umber looks right through me. There’s this puzzled look on her face, like she’s trying to place my face, and I grumble under my breath. Such is life when you share a class with the fabled lead singer and guitarist of Vanth Falling. I’m not sure she remembers any of my classmates, only the shining god that joins us each lesson. It doesn’t matter to me if she doesn’t remember me. All that matters is convincing her to let me have a private assessment. It’s not an easy sell.
“Part of the mark is your ability to perform to a crowd. I alone am not a crowd, Miss…er-And-Anderson.” I ignore the stumble over my name. I’ve already had to tell her what it is twice.
“I understand that, but I’m currently undertaking extensive therapy to be able to do so, and my health care professionals aren’t comfortable with me stepping out on stage to more than a few people.” Lie-lie-lie, I don’t care. I’ll keep spewing out falsehoods until I get what I want, and if she asks for proof, I’ll call in a favor. Fuck, I’ll call in ten favors. Whatever it takes, I’m not getting on that stage.
“Oh. Yes, okay. That’s a different case. We wouldn’t want to upset your parents and have them in here, would we? You can come after the winter break, and I’ll assess you privately. Now, take a seat and start your warm-ups! Mr. Morrison should be here soon, and then we can start.”
I thank her and slump onto my usual chair, relief coursing through my veins. I'm still feeling prickly with irritation and relief when the rest of the students arrive. Avery has her hand tucked into Blaise’s, and they're chatting happily with their adoring fans. I nod to Lauren when she joins me, but my mind is on Avery. What is the best way to get back at her for everything she’s been doing to me without becoming a bully myself? If I get caught, I’ll lose my scholarship, but it’s more than that.
I’ve never done anything out of spite. I’ve hurt people, I’ve stolen, I’ve lied. I’ve beaten someone until the life left them. But never have I done anything with the intent of hurting someone purely to get back at them. I’d only ever acted in self-preservation or defense. That was the moral high ground I clung to, so I didn’t lose my mind about all the wrong I’d done. What am I willing to do to Avery as revenge?
“Oh, Lord. You’re staring at Avery again. Should I be worried? Is another Beaumont about to be taken out in handcuffs?” whispers Lauren, breaking my chain of thought. I give her a sidelong look, and she grins at me. I don’t know how she guessed about my involvement in Joey’s arrest. Maybe the whole school has already guessed.
“What do you think of our oh-so-benevolent overlord?” I reply. Lauren is nice enough. If she thinks Avery is the devil, then maybe I could be spiteful just this once. Lauren glances over to her, and we both watch as she plays around on her phone, not a care for the teacher and lesson going on around her at all.
“I think she’s lonely. I think she comes from a fucked-up family and her brother is so scared of anything happening to her that she’s now isolated. Did you hear that Rory and Blaise got into a fight over dinner last night? Rory came back from his football game and Blaise said, in front of the whole dining hall, that the pussy he could smell on him had better not be Avery’s.” Lauren giggles at the shocked look on my face. “I think he was just saying it to bait Rory into spilling about their sex life. Ash was there too, and everyone knows he’ll murder Rory it he touches her.”
“But why? If any of the rumors are true, they’re all fucking half the damn school between them. Pretty damn sexist to say she can’t sleep around if she wants to.” I did not want to think about any of the whispers I’ve heard. Or about Annabelle. Ugh, fuck Annabelle.
“I know. It’s an old money thing. My parents would also have a lot to say if I started dating, and I’d murder my little sister if I found her hanging around someone like Rory.” Lauren shrugs and settles back in her chair.
* * *
Ash Beaumont is lying to me.
