Betray Me (Willow Heights Prep Academy: The Elite Book 2)

  Betray Me

  Willow Heights Preparatory Academy: The Elite

  Book Two

  Selena

  Betray Me

  Copyright © 2020 Selena

  Unabridged First Edition

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the express written permission of the publisher, except in cases of a reviewer quoting brief passages in a review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are used factiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, and events are entirely coincidental. Use of any copyrighted, trademarked, or brand names in this work of fiction does not imply endorsement of that brand.

  Published in the United States by Selena and Speak Now.

  ISBN-13: 978-1-945780-98-1

  Cover © Marisa Rose of Cover Me Darling

  Battle not with monsters, lest ye become a monster. And if you gaze into the abyss, the abyss gazes also into you.

  —Friedrich Nietzsche

  one

  Crystal

  There’s life, and there’s life without Royal. But that’s too simple. Because life without Royal isn’t life. Without Royal… Life. Stops.

  “Come on, Crys, you gotta eat,” Duke coaxes as we sit huddled over a table at a diner that smells like cheap fryer oil and imitation maple syrup.

  “I can’t eat,” I mumble, dropping my phone into my bag and pushing away my plate of pancakes and sausage.

  “Want ice cream?” King asks.

  “It’s not even noon yet,” I point out. “It’s not on the menu.”

  “I bet I could make it appear for you,” he says, taking my hand.

  The thought of my favorite food makes my stomach cramp, and I nod. I know they’re trying to be nice. But I can’t bear the thought of just sitting here while Royal is gone.

  King appears a minute later with a piece of apple pie topped with a scoop of vanilla ice cream melting down the sides. “You gotta eat, baby sis,” he says, setting it in front of me.

  “We have to do something,” I say, taking a bite. I taste nothing as I swallow the warm, spicy pie and cold, sweet ice cream. I only feel the jagged hole left where my heart used to be, scraped out and hollow as if Devlin reached down my throat with an ice cream scoop.

  And then I can’t breathe, and tears spring to my eyes. I try to swallow the pie, but it lodges in my throat. Tears spill down my cheeks, dripping into my ice cream.

  “Crys,” King says, sliding around the table and wrapping a strong arm around me. He knows I’m not a crier, but this… These aren’t ordinary circumstances. Today, I’m a crier.

  Suddenly, the horror of King’s revelation about Royal and the realization that I inadvertently played into it is too much. I bolt out of my seat, fly through the door, and fall on my knees in the bathroom, emptying my stomach and retching on bile until it hurts too badly to go on. When I sit up, all three of my brothers are standing behind me, ready to hold my hair. But all I can think is… It should be four.

  This time, they can’t say the right words to make me feel better. This time, there are no right words, and nothing can make me feel better. Nothing can make me feel at all.

  I thought I was numb after finding out a girl I bullied tried to end her life. Every day I fought the demons that whispered in my ears that I’d been found out, that everyone knew I was a fraud. My brothers were still royalty, but I no longer felt like their Dolce Princess. When people found out, they began to fight for my throne. They wanted to take me down. Half of being queen is believing you are, after all. Believing you deserve it. And I knew I didn’t.

  For six months, I was falling. Falling from grace. I walked around school watching my throne crumble, watching myself tumble from it in slow motion. I didn’t care anymore.

  But that was nothing compared to this. King could still take me out for ice cream and make me feel better back then. Duke could still be ridiculous and make me laugh. Now… Ice cream makes me puke and the thought of laughing or feeling better is a betrayal.

  “This was a bad idea,” King says, wrapping an arm around me when I’m done washing my face. “Fix your makeup, and let’s go home.”

  Home. Right next door to Devlin Darling, who used me to keep me out of the way while Preston—

  I won’t think the word. I won’t think about what he did. I won’t think about a world where Royal Dolce isn’t my brother, my twin, the brave, reckless half that never gets to come out in me. I have to be a Dolce daughter, to cultivate an image, to emulate my mother’s effortless beauty and be my daddy’s little angel. I don’t get to fight and fuck and black out drunk like my brothers.

  I have to fix my makeup and tighten up my pony, so even while I’m shattering into a million crystal shards inside, I present a flawless face to the world.

  A middle-aged woman with a Karen haircut and an Old Navy wardrobe tries to come in the bathroom, but Baron shoves it closed in her face. “Go on,” he says to me, leaning back against the door so no one else will disturb us.

  I do as I’m told without question. I can’t feel my hands, but they know what to do. Ten minutes later, my face is in place. Unless you look closely, you’d never even notice that my eyes are still a little red from puking and crying.

  We leave the bathroom, ignoring the manager and the Karen and her husband, who are all yelling at us. We don’t hurry or dawdle. We walk out of the diner like four kids who just ate breakfast like anyone else, on any other day. Like our brother didn’t disappear last night.

  When we pull up at the house, I jolt forward against the seatbelt, a scream tearing from my throat. In the driveway, lights flashing, sits a police car.

  two

  Crystal

  I can’t lose Royal. I can’t comprehend that option. Losing Royal means losing myself. Which means that finding my brother means finding myself again.

  Doesn’t it?

  I lurch out the door before they can stop me, forgetting I’m wearing my stupid homecoming heels with the sweatpants I stole from Devlin. I go tumbling out of the Evija and crash to the ground on hands and knees, a second scream lodging in my throat. Strong arms wrap around me, and King lifts me to my feet.

  “Not in the yard,” he says, cutting his eyes toward Devlin’s house. There’s something in my brother’s eyes I’ve never seen before, and I know in that moment that none of us will ever be the same. This isn’t some stupid high school game of thrones to see who runs this town. This is real.

  Daddy comes striding over, his phone in one hand and a pissed off expression on his face. “I’ve been trying to call you all damn night,” he snaps at us, his eyes fixing on me.

  “Sorry, Daddy,” I say, biting down on my lip when it begins to tremble.

  “Okay, everyone else is safe and accounted for,” he calls over his shoulder to a fortyish, blond policeman I vaguely recognize from some other lifetime. Oh, yeah. He’s the one Dixie said was cute, the one I’ve seen at the football games. Does he have a kid on the team? Did she say that? No, she said something about him and the Darlings…

  “I told you I talked to them,” King says to Daddy, sounding irritated. “I told you they were fine. We’re all fine. Now where the fuck is Royal?”

  My head is spinning, my thoughts coming in fragments. My heart beats in a fragmented rhythm, too, crashing against my ribs like two syllables of his name.

  Roy-al. Roy-al. Roy-al.

  The officer comes toward
us, and I sway on my feet. This time, it’s Duke that wraps a strong arm around my shoulders, squeezing me so tightly to him that I can barely breathe.

  “I want you to know we’ll do everything we can to locate your boy,” the policeman says.

  Which means he’s not dead. He’s not. Because if he were, the world might keep spinning, but I wouldn’t be here to see it. If Royal were dead, I would know. I would die, too.

  “Now, we’re just going to ask you a few more questions, and maybe if these kids can add anything helpful, we’ll have a little more to go on.”

  “Isn’t that your job?” Duke asks.

  The officer smiles and holds out a hand. “It sure is,” he says. He’s got a strong southern accent, and not the kind the Darlings have. This guy’s accent is straight-up redneck. “I’m Officer Gunn, and that’s Officer Rosewood, and we’re here doing our job, which is to figure out where your brother went. So if there’s anything you can tell us that might help us locate him, we can bring him on home.”

  He’s tall and broad-shouldered, filling out the black uniform to perfection. Add to that the hint of golden stubble scattered across a strong jaw, and I can see why Dixie thinks he’s attractive despite the accent. I don’t give a fuck what he looks like or which side of the tracks he’s from, though. If he can find my brother, I’ll bow down and hero worship him for the rest of my life.

  “Do you think he’s okay?” I blurt out, unable to hold in the one question that matters.

  “I can’t answer that,” Officer Gunn says. “But I can tell you that nine times out of ten, when these kids get a wild hair, they’re home by dinnertime.”

  “My son doesn’t get ‘wild hairs,’” Daddy says icily, which is not at all true. But Royal would have told us if he was going somewhere. He wouldn’t have told Daddy, but he’d tell King. We always tell King. He knows everything about all of us.

  “So, he’s never gone off for a night without telling you where he’s going?” Officer Gunn asks.

  None of us can deny that Royal’s done that—dozens of times. It’s only the next morning. I know I should chill, that he’ll probably come rolling in any minute with a hangover and a black eye like he has all the other times. But somehow, I know it’s not going to happen this time. I know, and Dad must know it, too, because it’s only noon, and he’s already called the police.

  “He’s under eighteen,” I blurt. “Shouldn’t the FBI be involved or something? It’s a kidnapping!”

  “Now, let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Gunn says, raising a hand. “The proper authorities have been notified, but it’s only been a few hours. Sometimes teenagers do impulsive things. Trust me, I know. I got a couple of ‘em myself.”

  “He didn’t run away,” I growl.

  “Again, I’m not sayin’ he did,” Officer Gunn says, raising a hand. “But moving can be hard on a kid. Was he happy to come here? He been getting on well at school?”

  “You know the answer to that,” Daddy says, stepping forward so he’s towering over the policeman, his brows drawn together in a thunderous frown.

  “Have you called his mother?” Officer Gunn asks. “Is there any chance he—”

  “What?” I ask, gesturing to the house. “Drove back to New York without his car?”

  Duke squeezes me against him, his grip tightening. I don’t get to fall apart. Even now, I have to keep it together.

  “Of course I’ve talked to my wife,” Daddy says, his voice hard.

  “I understand how upset you must be,” Officer Gunn says. “We have to ask these sorts of questions. Cover all the bases.”

  We quickly fill him in on the few details we have—an estimate of when we left the dance, when we last saw him, when he last texted each of us. My stomach tightens with each answer, and sickness clutches my insides. It’s our fault. We left him there. What kind of asshole am I? I left my twin brother and jumped in a car with someone I don’t even like, someone who was nothing but horrible to me every moment up until last night. I rode in his car, having a blast. I was fucking having a party while my twin was being—

  Before I can finish the thought, the little red convertible Devlin bought to replace the Bel Air turns into the neighborhood. My stomach heaves, and Duke’s arm drops to my waist, wrapping around me as if he thinks I’ll go running into the house and hide. I want to. I never want to show my face again. Not to him. He doesn’t deserve to see my pain.

  King frowns at us, obviously noticing there’s something going on that he doesn’t yet know. Oh god. He doesn’t know what I did last night. And he’s going to kill me when he finds out. Because as much as I don’t want to, I’m going to have to tell him.

  Devlin’s car cruises slowly up the drive, taking its sweet time, making sure we see him, see that he’s in no hurry to hide from us. My body entire body clenches like a fist, not relaxing until he pulls around the back of the house toward the garage.

  “Aren’t you going to go talk to him?” I ask Officer Gunn.

  Daddy gives me a stern look, but I don’t care. I don’t care about looking like a perfect princess right now. I don’t care about being one. I just want my brother back.

  “You know, she’s got a point,” Daddy grits out, glowering at the Darlings’ house. “Mr. Darling’s been gunning for me since the day we moved in. He’s even got my construction site shut down, claiming some dispute over the property.”

  “What?” King asks, swinging around to look at Daddy.

  “Yeah,” Daddy says. “One of those Darling bastards outbid me on the property where I’m building the new offices.”

  “Devlin’s dad?” I ask.

  “No,” he says. “One of the others. There are seven of the sons of bitches. Each of them more unscrupulous than the last.”

  “Which one?” Duke presses. “Was it Preston’s dad? Because Preston’s the only one we didn’t see last night.”

  “That’s him,” Daddy agrees, the vein in his temple beginning to bulge at the mention of the man who’s apparently trying to destroy his business here in Faulkner.

  “What does that mean?” I ask, my belly flipping. “Are we going back to New York?”

  “No,” Daddy snaps. “It means we bid higher up front, and we don’t play dirty behind the scenes like that son of a bitch is doing. If my son is hurt, and he’s behind it…”

  “Don’t finish that sentence,” Officer Gunn warns, holding up a hand.

  Daddy looks him over, and I watch the calculation in his eyes as he debates whether this cop is one who could be persuaded. I don’t know much about Daddy’s business dealings, but I know having my uncle Benny on the force in New York hasn’t hurt our family. At least when it comes to personal issues—like all the times my brothers have been picked up or even arrested—he’s been a lifesaver. It’s harder here, where the cops are already in the Darling family’s pockets.

  As if on cue with that thought, the door to the Darlings’ house swings open, and the three of them start across the lawn toward us. I try to swallow, but my throat freezes, and I can’t force it open. I’ve never seen Mr. Darling up close, but as they draw closer, I see that he looks exactly like his son with about twenty years added. He’s still trim and fit, with a no-business attitude and a tense jawline as he approaches. Mrs. Darling clings to his arm, chatting animatedly as they make their way across the acres and acres of lawn.

  God, when did it get so big? It seems like they’ll never reach us. All the while, I refuse to give Devlin more than the most cursory glance. He hangs a step back, a troubled expression on his face, his hands stuffed in his pockets and his gaze fixed somewhere on the horizon behind us.

  “Question them,” I say, flinging a hand toward them. I can hear the edge of hysteria in my voice, but it doesn’t stop me. “And Preston Darling. Have you talked to him? Because he wasn’t with us last night. He hates Royal. He could have been here. Or Mr. Darling. Isn’t he a tall, blond man who lives right next to us? Shouldn’t you be questioning him instead of us right n
ow?”

  The Darlings arrive at the edge of our drive just then, only a few steps off their property. A few steps past the lilac bushes and the mailbox that has been replaced since Royal wrecked into it. I close my eyes and draw a shaky breath. When I open my eyes, Mr. Darling is looking at me, his mouth pressed into a thin line, obviously annoyed by what he overheard.

  Good. I wasn’t trying to be sneaky. I think his family is responsible for this, and I won’t pretend otherwise, no matter how crazy it makes me look.

  But he doesn’t speak to me. He turns his attention to my father, every part of him tensed as if waiting for a blow. “It’s been some time, hasn’t it, Tony?” he asks, holding out a hand.

  “I kept telling him to come by and pay a visit to the new neighbors,” Mrs. Darling coos in her sugary voice. “But you know how the Darling men can be. So stubborn.” She clings to her husband’s shoulder as he gives Daddy a quick handshake before pulling away and turning to Officer Gunn.

  The officer removes his hat and gives Mrs. Darling an apologetic smile. “I’m real sorry to bother you on a Sunday, Ma’am.”

  Mrs. Darling titters with laughter and swats his arm.

  “It’s no bother, Officer,” Mr. Darling says, reaching out to shake hands with the policeman. “I’m happy to help in any way I can.”

  “Then let him search your house,” I say, the words bursting from me as I choke back a sob. “He’s probably got his body in the freezer. You sick fucks, all of you!”

  “Now, let’s just calm down here,” the officer says, holding up a hand. “We have no reason to suspect a crime has been committed. I understand you’re upset, Ms. Dolce, but panicking right now won’t solve anything.”

  “You can search my house,” Mr. Darling says, glancing between Daddy and the policeman. “Anything I can do to put your mind at ease. I can’t imagine how difficult it is to be left wondering where your child is.” If Mr. Darling really did try to steal some of Daddy’s ideas, I can see why he’d be uncomfortable meeting him again after all this time. Though I have to say, he didn’t look one bit guilty. In fact, he seemed genuine in his offer to help the cops out.