Wicked Titan: A Dark High School Bully Romance (Golden Olympus Academy Book 1)

by A. J. Logan

  “Hang on. Is that how Asher knew all those things about me? Did you tell the Hastings about my dad?” I’m not sure what I want Nathan to say. If he gave Asher the leverage to taunt me, then I’ll feel betrayed by Nathan. But if he didn’t say anything, I’m back to guessing how in the hell Asher knows about my dad.

  Nathan looks a bit confused, but he answers quickly, “No. Today was the first time I’ve had a chance to catch up with Victor in a few weeks.”

  Candace continues to stare daggers at Nathan as he turns a charming smile her way. “I’ll let the school know to give you a call first, and I’ll just be there for backup in case Asher decides to take another dip in the lake.”

  She still doesn’t share Nathan’s amusement of the situation, but Candace finally moves on and asks Tanner if he wants more salmon.

  “No, but can I have dessert now?” His eyes light up as he looks over to the kitchen where the housekeeper is slicing a freshly baked chocolate cake.

  Candace informs him to finish his asparagus first, then she resumes another topic of conversation with Nathan.

  Out the corner of my eye, I watch Tanner push his asparagus on the same napkin before folding it back over and placing it on his plate. “All done!” He says after a few seconds, jumping up and heading into the kitchen.

  Smiling, I envy his innocence and joy at something as simple as having a piece of chocolate cake. Hopefully, he will enjoy the simple pleasures as long as possible and not have to deal with reality anytime soon. It’s all on you, Candace. She’d left when I wasn’t much older than he is now. The only difference time has presented is me; I won’t make it easy for her to walk away this time. Tanner deserves better than the pitiful excuse I’d gotten for a mother. One of us should have a happy childhood. One of us shouldn’t know what it’s like to watch their mother—the person who should love you the most—walk away.

  10

  Standing in front of the floor-to-ceiling mirror inside the walk-in closet, I solemnly loop my tie. Adjusting the knot, I laugh at the memory of trying to teach Dad so he’d stop wearing clip-on ties. I eventually gave up and tied them all for him, leaving a loose knot so he could adjust them as needed. My finger smooths along the gold stitching between the maroon and black fabric. What would Dad say if he saw me wearing a tie for school?

  Shaking my head, I run my hands over the crisp white button-down shirt that’s tucked into my pleated skirt that matches the dang tie that seems to be getting tighter and tighter around my throat. I grab one of the blazers that hangs neatly with the others. There’s five of everything related to my school uniform. Maybe I should leave a spare at school in case there’s another mishap.

  No. I’m going to control my temper. Asher wants a rise out of me. Not giving it to him will bother him even more.

  Why is he already invading my brain? It’s not like it has ever really stopped since I’d first laid eyes on him yesterday, but I was hoping the morning would clear the lusty haze. I don’t need the desire that fills my thoughts every time his chiseled abs pop into my mind. I force the image out with the reminder of his warped mentality.

  I slide on a new pair of black ballerina flats, opting to forego the pair that went swimming yesterday, but once again, that’s not a problem since there are several pairs lined neatly on the shelf. I won’t ever adjust to having a pre-filled closet that’s larger than my old bedroom.

  I grab my phone noticing a text from Mason. Morning, beautiful.

  He’s sent something along the same lines every morning even though I haven’t replied.

  Taking a deep breath, I debate on responding but decide against it. The guilt of being with him—or more like on him—the night I lost my dad is still too much. And the pesky realization that I’d never experienced a tenth of the desire for Mason during the year we were together that Asher has conjured up in less than a day, psychotic ways and all, is really pissing me off.

  Heading downstairs, I spot Tanner at the table, his nose in an iPad, as Candace looks like she is deep in conversation with Nathan.

  They both greet me with a “Good morning,” as Tanner looks up with a cheesy grin before focusing back on his game.

  “I’m not really hungry.”

  “You need a healthy breakfast, Quinn,” Candace says without looking up from her phone.

  “I’m good.”

  “We have a surprise to show you.” Nathan’s smile beams while Candace is less than enthusiastic for the big reveal. “Follow me.”

  We weave through several hallways before entering the garage. He presses a button as the door lifts open. I continue following him as we walk to the detached garage. He punches in a code and the door opens.

  The battered paint that appears gray rather than its original black captures my eye immediately. My car.

  “It’s here whenever you’re ready to work on it or even if you just want to come out here and hang out. There’s every tool you can imagine in those toolboxes, and if you can’t find what you need, let me know, and I’ll get it for you.” Shoving his hands in his pockets, he looks over to the Corvette then back to me. “I get if you don’t want me to help, but if you do, I’m happy to work on it with you. My dad enjoyed tinkering on vehicles, so I picked up some skills. They aren’t that great, but I think we could get it running.”

  “Thank you.” It comes out as a whisper, and I let a tear fall down my cheek, not feeling the need to hide it from Nathan.

  “You’re welcome, Quinn,” he says before turning to look at the spot next to my car. “I figured you’d need something until yours is up and running, so … this one is for you too.”

  Looking at the exquisite black car and back to him, I try to figure out his play. “Why?”

  “You need a way to and from school, and it might be awhile until your ’Vette is functional. Plus, what teenager doesn’t want a new Audi R8?”

  Looking at the car, his excitement drops a bit. “We can trade it in if you want something different. I figured it wouldn’t hurt to have options even when the ’Vette is in driving condition.”

  “I just don’t understand why you’re being so nice to me. I haven’t exactly been the most pleasant house guest.”

  “You haven’t been that bad of a houseguest,” he teases, “and I want you to know you aren’t just a houseguest. I understand this isn’t the house you’ve known your entire life, but you’re welcome to call it your home—if the day ever comes where you want to. And maybe I’m trying to ease the transition a little with material things … but you have to admit, it’s not all that bad.”

  “True,” the slight smile that peeks on my face surprises even me.

  Nathan tosses me a key fob. “Give ’em hell, again. It’s the only way to make it out of that place intact.”

  “Yeah … thanks for the warning, Barker Bennett’s son.”

  He grins, knowing I’m referring to his dad’s eight-foot tall towering picture that stares at me as I pass it several times a day.

  Pulling the Audi’s door open, the smell of leather invites me in. Sliding into the bucket seat, I look over to something shimmery that catches my eye. Grabbing the charm, I rub my fingers over the gold wings of the glittery pink pig hanging from the rearview mirror by a gold chain.

  Nathan leans down, peeking into the car. “Just a reminder that anything is possible.” He reaches into the car, pressing a button above the mirror, and the garage door in front of me opens.

  The charm sways as I release it. Rubbing my hands over the smooth, leather-covered steering wheel, I don’t know how to feel about any of it. My brain has been on overload and so far, it’s just getting worse. I shift the car into drive before pulling out of the garage. This has got to be the peak of my day, surely it’ll all be a downhill slide through pig shit after this—but here goes.

  11

  Parking in the furthest spot I can find from the school, I figure the longer the walk, the more time before I must deal with the day. Taking one last glance at the winged pig swaying
from the rearview mirror, I tell myself I can get through this. I have to.

  Walking around to the front of the school with the trail of students, I enter the foyer where nearly everyone takes a turn rubbing the statue’s rear end again, so I guess it’s not just a first day of school thing.

  “It’s for good luck.” Grant takes a turn to rub the stone statue. “Legend has it that the founder of the school, Theodore Thomas, loved his prized English bulldog more than anyone or anything else. People claim to hear whistling all around campus, like someone is calling for their dog. Some even claim to see his ghost around, so everyone gives his loyal companion a pat to keep him happy.”

  “Patting the statue on the butt is supposed to make the ghost of Theodore Thomas happy?”

  “If the dog was happy, he was happy.”

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  “Why don’t you give it a shot? Give ole Zeus a good pat and see if your second day is better than your first.”

  Why am I actually considering this?

  “Come on. What could it hurt?”

  Good point. Absolutely nothing. There’s no way today could be worse than yesterday.

  “Fine.” I quickly rub the cold stone with a smirk. “Happy now?”

  “I was happy as soon as I saw you,” he flashes a charming smile and drapes his arm over my shoulder, “but I’m sure Theo approves too.”

  Walking into the hallway, we are surrounded by a swarm of maroon. The only thing good about wearing the uniform is it’s easy to blend in. Keep my head down. Avoid thinking, speaking, or interacting with Asher. Make it through the day. Get the hell out of here. That’s the plan.

  “Hey, Quinnster!”

  With Grant’s arm still draped over my shoulder, I look up to see an upbeat Elliot headed my way with Asher by his side. There goes the plan.

  Elliot’s cheerful demeanor swiftly changes once he approaches, looking directly at Grant. “Quinnster, you really need to be more selective when making friends. Vile people are lurking all around.”

  I’m slightly aware of Grant’s arm tensing. What I am fully aware of is Asher standing before me like he owns the damn space and everyone in it, myself included.

  “You might want to take your own advice,” I say back to Elliot. Look who’s picked the vilest of them all to call a friend.

  Removing his arm from my shoulder, Grant lightly grasps my hand. “Let’s get to class, Quinn.”

  Elliot counters Grant’s move, blocking our way. What is going on with these two? I expected this from Asher, but Elliot has been the nice one, even if his judgment is usually off.

  “Get out of the way, Bass. I don’t want any trouble.”

  “You invited trouble long ago. This is the moment you can wise up and move along because next time you won’t walk away alive.”

  Oh, damn. Whatever this is goes deeper than some trivial high school disagreement.

  Grant stiffens before his shoulders square, and with an air of arrogance, he says, “You can’t really invite trouble when it’s freely thrown at you, right?”

  In a flash, Elliot rams Grant back, slamming him into the locker as his fist connects with Grant’s face. I’m hauled sideways as they tumble to the ground at my feet. Students begin to surround the two idiots rolling around on the floor. No one is attempting to break them up, but each of them has their phone out, recording the show.

  I move to step forward, hoping to make some attempt to break them up since no one else cares to, but Asher moves in front of me, his arms on each side of my head. Pushing at his chest, he remains in front of me, fixed in place like a brick wall. Obstinate. Unyielding. Immovable. And utterly intoxicating if not for the fact that he’s unhinged, which is reiterated as he bends down to whisper, “Just enjoy the show.”

  Looking into his eyes, there’s a wickedness in them that sends a shiver throughout my entire body.

  “You’re sick,” I say, not knowing if he can hear my words over the deafening ruckus that has grown around us until the devilish sneer spreads on his face. He heard me. He knows he’s sickening and even enjoys the fact from the looks of it. I long to untangle his disturbed mind, yearning to discover what’s hidden beneath his powerful exterior, but I want to flee from it at the same time. The voices around us grow louder, screaming and yelling, as the fight continues.

  Attempting to elbow him away, he remains a solid force in front of me. Ducking to the side as my back stays pressed against the lockers, I catch a glimpse of the fight still in full swing.

  “Stop them!” I yell to Asher, but he doesn’t make a move.

  Finally, two security guards run towards the commotion with Principal Huntington not far behind. Most of my view of the scene is blocked, but I’m able to see a guard haul Elliot back as Principal Huntington yells at the gathered students to get to class.

  On my tippy-toes, I crane my neck looking for Grant, hoping he is okay. I didn’t see much, but what I did see looked like Elliot was a madman and Grant didn’t stand much of a chance.

  Asher dashes away, pulling me with him. I struggle against him, attempting to figure out where he’s taking me when I’m abruptly hauled into a dark room smelling of vinegar.

  “What the—”

  His hand clamps over my mouth, silencing my words as fear of what he has planned next runs through my mind. Though he’s deranged, I don’t think he would take it too far, but the more I’m around him, the more I realize I can’t figure out anything that’s going on in his warped brain. I bite down as hard as I can. His hand moves away as I hear him curse under his breath.

  “Don’t touch me.” Bringing my arms in front of me, I jab at his chest as I try to gather my bearings.

  Gripping my wrists, he pins my arms above my head against the wall, and I feel him lean to the side. A button clicks before a soft, red glow fills the room, highlighting the sinister gleam in his eyes.

  “Why do you let him touch you?” His menacing, demanding voice contradicts his delicate touch. Though one hand keeps my wrists trapped against the wall, his grip isn’t rough but rather secure—lustfully snug, more like. And the fingers of his free hand graze down my cheek in a gentle trail.

  “Do you want him to touch you?”

  “No. I mean, yeah.” Struggling against his hold, his grip turns tight. I despise the way he has my arms trapped and what the pose is stirring in me as the sensation of his warm fingertips remain on my skin. His contradicting touches, eliciting pain and pleasure at the same time, causing me to question what I’m feeling for him, just like he’s done since the very moment I’d laid eyes on him.

  His hand releases my wrists, but I stay pressed against the wall. He threads his fingers into my hair, lightly grasping the silky strands as he brings his lips so close to mine. I can feel his shallow breath as he speaks, “Which one is it? Do you want him or not?”

  I swallow, stalling to answer since his solid presence is having such a strong effect on my body. Yelling, screaming, running … anything would be a better choice than standing here, relishing in the closeness of his captivating but callous existence. There must be something just as unbalanced inside me to be enticed by him.

  “I don’t want you.” My voice betrays me, escaping in breathless waves, exposing just how much he is affecting me. How can I want someone so much and hate them all at the same time?

  A sarcastic chuckle rumbles from his lips, vibrating against mine, as he whispers, “Then why are you still here?”

  His grip tightens in my hair a second before his lips crash on mine, devouring all rational thoughts. My mouth greedily explores his, tasting mint and sin. My fingers grasp the stiff material of his jacket, clinging on as his hand moves up my thigh, rubbing over my spandex boyshorts before tightly squeezing my backside.

  A low moan leaves my lips as I attempt to regain some clarity before it goes any further because it’s already way past where it should be. It shouldn’t be happening at all.

  “Stop.” I force him back, pushing my hands fl
at against his chest, feeling the hard muscles beneath, clearly picturing it from yesterday.

  “Don’t let him touch you again.”

  “What?” There it is. My anger has returned in full fury as the beautiful idiot—who’s practically taken me hostage in the darkroom, no less—tells me not to let Grant touch me when he’s basically just mauled me against the wall.

  “You’ll regret it if you do.”

  “I’ll still regret this more.” I flick my finger, pointing between the two of us.

  He moves forward, pressing me back into the wall. “I didn’t feel any regret or hesitation.”

  The thing that pisses me off the most—he’s right. “Feel this.”

  He anticipates my intent, swiftly shifting to the side, catching my knee as I bring it up to nail him in the crotch.

  His fingers curl around my knee, tugging my leg up to hook it around his waist as he presses against me, allowing me to feel the hard bulge in his pants. “That’s a dangerous move, Bennett. You really should think long and hard about your next one.”

  The mention of my stepdad’s last name snaps me back to reality. “How did you know about my dad?”

  “Even if I know something, why would I reveal my hand in middle of the game?” He releases my knee as he steps back, and turning, he strides away. “Stay away from Grant.”

  “Why would I listen to the enemy who’s using me for some dumbass game?”

  He hesitates for a moment before resuming his confident stride out the door, leaving me alone to make some sense of everything that just happened. The only thing that is certain—rubbing the dog’s ass didn’t help one damn bit.