Bully Me (Willow Heights Prep Academy: The Elite Book 1) Page 4

  “Let her go,” I say, my voice quiet and calm but undeniable.

  For one moment, Devlin doesn’t move, doesn’t speak. He stares at me, and I catch the surprise, the incredulity, in his gaze. I take it he’s not used to people standing up to him.

  “Or what?” he asks, recovering quickly from his surprise and fixing a superior smile on me.

  “There is no or,” I say slowly. “Let her go.”

  A cat-ear headband lies on the floor at our feet. I kick it aside and step even closer. Glancing down, I realize Devlin’s not holding her neck but the back of a dog collar she’s wearing.

  “You have no idea what’s going on here,” he says, his blue eyes fixing on mine. “Why don’t you mind your own business, or better yet, go back to New York where you belong.”

  I cross my arms and glare back at him, at those blue eyes that are so clear they look like the surface of a frozen lake in January. Devlin’s eyes promise secret dangers that are every bit as deadly as those icy depths.

  I tear my gaze away from his and gesture to the trembling girl. “Anyone with two eyes can see what’s going on here. Now let her go. I won’t ask you again.”

  Devlin’s lips twist into an amused smirk. “I’m afraid you’re going to have to,” he purrs in that silk-draped voice. “Because this isn’t over. Unless you’re going to kneel for me instead.”

  His eyes flick over me, and his smile widens the slightest bit.

  “Not if it’s the last thing I ever do.”

  “Kneel, Frosh,” he says, powering down on the girl’s collar.

  She clumsily drops to her knees, and everyone starts laughing and whistling and barking again. For one horrible second, I think he’s going to make her blow him right here in the hall.

  He called my bluff. I can’t make him stop. I don’t know this guy. I have nothing on him, and no power in this school. So I do the only thing I can think of—distract him so she can escape. I step in and shove him as hard as I can.

  He feels like a brick wall under my palms, but I catch him off guard just enough that he stumbles sideways. His hand is still caught in the girl’s dog collar, and she falls sideways onto the floor before his fingers come free. I step over her, getting right in his face. With my back to her, my body is between them, and I hope she has the sense to get the hell out of here. I just played the only card I’ve got—desperation’s best friend, the element of surprise.

  It only buys her a few seconds.

  Devlin’s hand flashes out and grabs me by the throat, and he shoves me up against the lockers before I can jerk away. My body bangs against the metal, the sound echoing down the hall. His eyes flash with fury and his fingers clench around my neck for a split second before he relaxes his grip to one that is less painful but just as effective at restraining me. All the adrenaline that fueled my courage is turning to something else, and I’m shaking so hard he can probably feel it.

  “Where do you get off treating people that way?” I ask, spitting the words at him as I claw to free myself from his chokehold. “You think just because you drive a fancy car and wear a big name that you’re better than everyone else?”

  A cruel smile teases the corners of his lips, and he steps in, his body a whisper away from mine, the heat of it swirling over me like a blinding fog. “I don’t think that,” he says in that silky voice, his hand still around my throat just tight enough to feel like a threat. He tips my chin up, his warm breath caressing my lips when he speaks. “I know it.”

  For a second, I can’t move, as if the ice of his crystal blue gaze has frozen me solid even as a fire rages under my skin. My body is a contradiction, confusion slashing through me. I can’t tell if I feel incredibly, addictively strong, or terrifyingly weak. If the thing awakening in the core of my being is a delicate bud, a tender green sprout that can be trampled by one careless boot, or a fire-breathing dragon that could raze the earth with her fury.

  “This one,” he says slowly, his voice raised but his eyes still locked on mine. “Is now the Darling Dog.”

  A hush falls over the crowd, and then a burst of whispers. Before I can spit in his eye for calling me a dog, a fist connects with the side of his head, sending him reeling sideways and tearing me from his grip. King grabs Devlin by the throat before he can recover. “What the fuck are you doing to my sister?”

  What the fuck, indeed.

  As fists fly, I flatten my back against the lockers, pressing my burning palms against the cool metal, my heart stampeding in my chest. I close my eyes and breathe. I’m not shocked by the appearance of one of my brothers. In the recesses of my mind, I was probably even expecting it. Waiting for them to show up for me, the way they always do.

  When I open my eyes, King and Devlin are both on their feet. King is bigger and stronger, but Devlin is quicker on his feet, dancing like a boxer as he throws a punch. It slams into King’s jaw, and he stumbles backward. Royal bursts from the crowd and tackles Devlin. They slam into King, and the three of them go down together. The third Darling boy, the one I haven’t met, dives into the fray.

  I edge away from the fight, only to run into Colt Darling. He gives me a crooked grin and drawls, “Now look what you’ve gone and done, Crystal Sweet.”

  “Me?”

  “Naughty girl,” he says. “I like it.”

  “Shouldn’t you be helping your cousins?” I ask. “Because no offense to your fam, but I’m pretty sure my brothers are kicking their asses right now.”

  “I’m a lover, not a fighter,” he says, flicking his shiny hair off his forehead.

  I spot a mop of red hair in the crowd, a pair of black ears poking up from the curls. I can’t believe that girl’s not locked in a bathroom stall sobbing right now. “I have to go,” I say, edging away from Colt.

  “Don’t run away yet,” he says. “We’re still brawling.”

  “We’re not doing anything,” I say. “And I need to find my friend.”

  “I’m your friend,” Colt says, placing a hand over his heart and giving me puppy dog eyes.

  “Not after this,” I say, watching as the twins shove their way through and join the fight. I feel a little bad for the Darlings, and I’m definitely not sticking around to watch the beating.

  I try to step around Colt, but he steps in front of me again. “Who’s your friend?” he asks, crossing his arms over his chest and narrowing his eyes.

  “Her,” I say in annoyance, pointing to the redhead.

  “Dixie?

  “Yeah.” I elbow my way toward the redhead, leaving Colt behind.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” I ask, grabbing Dixie’s elbow.

  She turns to me, her eyes wide as saucers. “What?”

  “I created a distraction, and you’re just going to stand here and watch?”

  “That’s what you were doing?”

  “It worked, didn’t it?” I ask, pulling her away from the crowd and down the hall as a couple teachers come running.

  “You started a brawl?” Dixie asks, still gaping. “On purpose?”

  The answer that comes automatically to my lips is a cool smirk and a shrug of indifference.

  But then I remember that I’m trying to shed my bitch skin, so I admit the truth instead. “Not exactly. I was just trying to get them to leave you alone.”

  Dixie stops short. “Why would you do that?”

  I search for an excuse, but nothing comes. “Let’s just say I haven’t always been a very nice person. Maybe I wanted to make up for it in some way.”

  “And you’re going to do that by being my friend?” she asks, looking a bit too… Everything. Hopeful, and scared, and horribly, desperately transparent. This poor girl obviously has no idea how the game is played. Because that’s all life is—a game. Some people are dealt better hands, sure, but we’re all players on the same giant chessboard. Or football field, or whatever plane you want to use. Even the players dealt the best cards can lose it all with one ill-planned move, and the next thing you know, you�
�ve got nothing.

  I don’t know what hand this girl was dealt, or what cards she’s holding now, but I know she needs help figuring it out. And I’m going to be the one who helps her.

  “Tell you what,” I say. “I’m new here, but you’re not. I could use some help learning the ropes. So how about we make a deal?”

  Dixie’s eyes widen. “You’re bribing me to be your friend?”

  “How long have you gone to school here?”

  “T-This is my first year,” she stutters.

  I remember Devlin calling her Frosh, and I realize she’s only a freshman. “How long have you lived in this town?”

  “All my life,” she says. She has a soft, breathy voice with a sweet accent like the Darlings. “I’m actually the mayor’s step-niece, which is why I go here. Not that he’d acknowledge me. I mean, at holidays and stuff my parents make me go schmooze, but otherwise, they pretend they don’t know me. Last time we visited, his wife told my parents not to bring me over looking so ‘unkempt.’ But really I think it’s because I’m fat.”

  “Well, I could use a friend,” I say, deciding to process her words slowly when I have a chance. “And judging by what I just witnessed, you could, too. Why didn’t anyone stand up for you?”

  “I’m new here,” she says. “I mean, all the freshmen are new, obviously. But they all went to private school together and then came here for high school. I went to public school until this year. I haven’t really… I mean, I don’t really have any friends.”

  She’s about as red as when the Darling had her on her knees. I feel bad for asking about her friends, since I obviously embarrassed her.

  “You have a friend now,” I say. “Meet me in the dining hall for lunch.” With the way things are going today, though, I’m not sure any of the Dolces will make it until lunch.

  seven

  I did it. Something better. Or at least I tried. But what happens when your good deed leads to people being hurt? As they say, the road to hell is paved with those good intentions. I know plenty about the road to hell—with cruel intentions. Let’s hope this good deed doesn’t land me in a hell of my own making. Because right now? It feels less like a good deed and more like social suicide.

  I make it halfway through the next period before the headmaster calls me down so I can tell him my version of the fight. I wasn’t involved, so they can’t do shit to me. I feign ignorance, saying it was all a misunderstanding. When they let me go, I search the office for signs of my brothers or the Darlings, but no one offers me a clue.

  At lunch, I hurry across the open space of the commons, scanning for my brothers. But I see only strangers throwing a frisbee on the lawn, a few jumping bikes up and down a wide set of steps, and more milling around talking to their friends or sitting on the edge of the fountain. I reach the dining hall, a modern, angular building that’s all steel and glass from the outside. Inside, it’s all exposed beams and bamboo and no Dolce boys.

  Surely they aren’t still talking to the headmaster. Unless…

  My heart lurches in my chest. I’m always telling Royal to take it easy, that one day he’s going to get into it with the wrong person, the one who will file charges. Or that he’ll seriously hurt himself or someone else. Maybe even, by accident, do more than hurt them.

  I gulp down my growing panic, take out my phone, and send a quick text.

  When I look up, I catch sight of the third Darling boy, the one I haven’t talked to. I storm over to his table. A few kids snicker and woof at me, but I ignore them. The Darling is talking and laughing like nothing had happened, though a dark bruise is forming on his chiseled cheekbone and one eye is swollen half closed.

  I slap my palm down on the round table. The group sitting there falls silent, glancing at me before turning expectantly to the Darling.

  “Where are my brothers?” I ask.

  The table is full, about ten people sitting with him, a mixture of athletic looking guys and pretty girls. Darling Dolls, I remember Lacey calling them. But I don’t let my curiosity distract me. I keep my eyes fixed on the Darling boy.

  He grins and pushes back from the table, lounging in his seat with one arm dangling over the back of his chair. It’s a pose that makes it nearly impossible not to stare at his crotch.

  “Hey, it’s the new bitch,” he says. “Sweetie, is it? That’s a good name for a dog.”

  His friends snicker, but I keep my eyes on the one who spoke. I don’t want to be feared or envied or hated at Willow Heights. I just want to be quietly respected. That’s enough for me.

  Apparently, these guys have other plans.

  If they won’t let me have it my way, I’ll have to play their game. And I intend to win. “It’s Dolce,” I say, my voice as brittle as my first name. “You’re going to want to remember that.”

  “I’m Preston,” he says without missing a beat. “You’ll want to remember that, too, so you can scream it while you cum.”

  I’m the one who misses a beat. I may have run shit in Manhattan, but I had a team to back me up. Here, I’m not calling the plays anymore. And Preston knows it. The glint of malicious triumph in his eyes says as much.

  He leans forward the slightest bit, his eyes hot on mine. “If you’re looking for a seat, I’ve got one for you.”

  He runs one finger slowly up the front of his pants, and my eyes follow it with a kind of trancelike fascination. My heart is trembling in my chest by the time his finger stops. I gulp, staring at the slight bulge I can make out under the navy slacks.

  He leans forward another inch, lowers his voice to a conspiratorial murmur, and says, “On my tip.”

  I can feel heat prickling up my neck as I struggle for a comeback. Sure, there are assholes in Manhattan. But at our school? A guy would gouge out his own eyeballs before he’d speak to me that way. He’d know that I was off limits, that my brothers would murder him for messing with me.

  Suddenly, I realize how wrong my brothers were. Even Daddy. Willow Heights isn’t some sad little shit hole. Faulkner isn’t a pathetic hick town. It’s a place where my name holds no power, where my family is no better than anyone else’s. It’s a place where I have no protection. Where I’m vulnerable.

  Whatever I say to Preston won’t help. It will probably make it worse. I’ll be the hysterical psycho who lost it in the café, the chick who can’t take a joke. I refuse to sink to his level. Dolces have more class in one fingernail than this asshole has in his entire family. So I simply straighten, turn, and walk away with my head held high and whatever dignity I have left. Behind me, I hear hoots of laughter and people slapping Preston’s back, smacking the table at the hilarity.

  “Come on, baby,” Preston calls after me. “I hear city girls have all the moves. Bounce on it like a pro.”

  I realize the cafeteria has fallen silent, that everyone is watching the exchange. Waiting.

  It’s not until I’m halfway to the door that I realize what they’re waiting for. From the corner of my eye, I see kids elbowing each other, relaying a message Preston must have sent with some signal behind my back. As I pass each table, everyone sitting there barks at me. It’s not a silly little sound, either. It’s that feral, dangerous noise deep in their throats, like Rottweilers on the defensive.

  My knees are shaking by the time I reach the door. All I want to do is run to the nearest bathroom, lock myself inside, and let out the flood of tears threatening behind my eyes.

  But then I remember that I told Dixie I’d meet her for lunch. I stop and take a deep breath, balling my hands into fists. I can run away and tell my brothers that someone was mean to me, like a baby, or I can be a big girl and stand my ground. I’m not going back over there to make a scene, tell him what a piece of shit he is. But I’m also not going to run away. Because if I run now, I’ll never stop running from them. They’ll drag me deeper and deeper into hell, laughing all the way, and they won’t stop until I make them.

  So I’m stopping them right now.

  I turn at the do
or. I draw myself up, and I swallow my pride, and I let my eyes sweep the dining hall until I find Dixie sitting at a table in the corner. She waves to me. A big grin stretches across her face when I see her, and she frantically gestures me over. Forcing my eyes not to return to the Darling table, not to beg him to call off the school, I walk toward her. I keep my gait even, not hurrying but not strolling too slowly and giving them an extra second to bark at me.

  They’re all watching me, waiting to see what I’ll do. I won’t give them the satisfaction of a show. I slide in next to Dixie and let out a slow breath.

  “Tough school,” I say, keeping my words careful, too. I don’t know this girl. Yes, she wears her heart on her sleeve, but for all I know, she’s a Darling.

  She grabs my arm and lowers her voice, her eyes shining with excitement. “Did you just talk to Preston Darling?”

  “Yes,” I say, detaching my arm from her grip. “What about it?”

  “He’s Preston Darling,” she squeals like she’s talking about Ed Sheeran or Brody Villines instead of a high school boy in Nowhere, Arkansas.

  “Okay,” I say slowly. “You really need to stop saying it like that. Have you forgotten what his cousin did to you this morning?”

  “No,” she says, touching her headband. Looking at it again, I see that it’s a pair of dog ears. Along with the dog collar, it makes her an easy target. “What did he say to you?”

  “Nothing.” I cut my eyes at the silly headband. “Why do you wear that?”

  “I have to,” she says, an edge of defiance in her voice.

  “Why?”

  “Because they told me to,” she says, her eyes widening.

  “Wait a second,” I say, holding up a hand. That sounds a little too familiar, and a sick feeling rises in my stomach. Just when I think I’ve figured it out, something comes along to turn my perception of this place on its head. “The Darlings tell you what to wear? Why? Are you related to them?”

  “Oh, gosh, no.” She chews at a hangnail, shrinking in her seat and eyeing me nervously.