Wretched: A Reverse Harem Bully Romance (Wicked Brotherhood Book 3)

by Eden Beck

  “Lucky,” he sighs. “At least we’ll get to have an epic sleepover.”

  “Yeah, about that,” I say as we turn and start walking toward the classrooms. “Dean Withers has already made it pretty clear that I can’t have anyone up there. But I mean, you’re gay. Everyone knows you’re gay. Would they even have a problem with that?”

  I pause a second, then glance at him. “And you know, they never did say I couldn’t go in your dorm … or anyone else’s for that matter.”

  “Well then, I guess you’re in luck,” Rafael says. “Let’s just hope they forget that little oversight.”

  I open my mouth to reply, but I’m interrupted by a voice coming over the loudspeaker. “Attention all students; please report to assembly in the auditorium.”

  I groan. “I hate assembly.”

  “Me too. But maybe we’ll at least get to gawk at the newbies,” Rafael says excitedly, his eyes twinkling. “I got here a little late yesterday. Didn’t get to see any of them.”

  I frown. “I must’ve got here late, too. There weren’t even any signs for new student orientation. And none of the clubs were having their sign-ups.”

  “Weird.” Rafael glances over his shoulder as Neville jogs up to us.

  “Hey! Hi, Alex,” he adds a little shyly, darting his eyes away from me.

  Rafael rolls his eyes as the three of us amble down the hallway toward the auditorium. “It’s just Alex,” he says. “You don’t have to be weird.”

  Neville mumbles something and blushes violently.

  “And you,” Rafael says accusingly, turning his attention to me. “You get to be a girl openly and you’re sticking with the same wardrobe?”

  “Why not? It works.” I smooth down the front of my huge hoodie over the top of my uniform. “Besides, I like it.”

  “You’re swimming in that.”

  I shrug. “Oh, well. Makes me feel safe. Like I can fly under the radar.”

  Rafael rolls his eyes again, and we all walk into the auditorium. I look around for the three faces I simultaneously ache to see almost as much as I dread to see at the same time. Do I want to see them? Or do I want to avoid them?

  Avoid, for sure, my head screams at me as I catch sight of Jasper, their leader, already sitting in one of the seats. I duck behind Rafael, who protectively steps in front of me as he scans the room.

  “The gang’s all here,” he says softly. I follow his gaze to see Heath and Beck, the other two members. They’re not sitting near Jasper. In fact, they’re on the opposite side of the auditorium.

  Are they no longer on speaking terms?

  More importantly, are we?

  I didn’t exactly leave Bleakwood on good terms with the three of them.

  When I last saw Heath, he was being rolled toward the infirmary to be treated for injuries he got during a wolf attack. From what I can see of him in the low light of the auditorium, he seems better, recovered. I see his white teeth flash as he smiles, laughing at something Beck says.

  Beck looks the same. Tall, blonde, with cheekbones that could slice a man in half and a perpetual scowl. He shifts in his seat and turns to scan the room. I do my best to hide behind Rafael.

  “Over here,” Rafael hisses, tugging me toward a shadowy back corner. I hurry along with him with Neville at my heels. The three of us sit together with Rafael in the middle while I huddle into the farthest corner.

  “Looks empty in here,” Neville remarks in a whisper. He’s right. There are way fewer students in the seats than I would have thought.

  In fact, the closer I look …

  A hush falls over the assembled boys as a few teachers walk onto the stage, followed by the dean who walks next to one person I know for sure I do not want to find myself in close contact with.

  I grab the arms of my chair, clenching them.

  Headmistress Robin of the girls’ school smirks as she saunters along the stage, casting satisfied glances over the whole auditorium. I can tell she’s looking for me. She always is.

  I sink lower into my seat and let the fabric of my hoodie envelope me.

  “Hello everyone,” the dean says, stepping up to the podium with its little microphone. “Welcome back to Bleakwood.”

  I look toward Heath and Beck, who are paying rapt attention, and then to Jasper, who stares bleakly forward.

  “I know all of you have noticed some … changes.” The dean shifts awkwardly. “Headmistress—” he starts, before clearing his throat and adjusting his tie, “I mean, Dean Robin is taking part in observing us this year. Familiarize herself with her; she’ll be around more than usual. Head—Dean Robin, would you like to give the rest of the announcements?”

  Something about hearing Dean Withers resort to using Headmistress Robin’s preferred title—a title I outright refuse to use again—it’s more unsettling than the rest of it. It’s a signal for something.

  But what that something is, all I know is I’m not going to like it.

  Headmistress Robin smiles, but the dean’s expression says that he’d much rather eat the microphone than let her speak into it. He moves begrudgingly away when she approaches.

  “Good morning, students of the illustrious Bleakwood,” she says in smooth, honeyed tones, smiling placidly as she looks around the auditorium. “We’ve already met, but for those of you who don’t remember … you may call me Dean Robin. I look forward to getting to know each and every one of you even better this year.”

  There’s an awkward silence following this statement, but she presses on.

  “I’m sure you know that your school is currently experiencing a period of uncertainty. Turmoil, some would even say,” Headmistress Robin adds, arranging her features into that fake mask as she does so often, I’ve started to wonder if that is her normal face and the more human one is actually the mask. “However, I am here to help. Help, not hurt—and rest assured, this does not mean I’m taking over. Your dean will still be in charge, not me.”

  Some mutters rise up among the students. Rafael and I share a glance. It sure seems like she’s trying to take over.

  “I would like to inform you of the biggest change being made this year,” Headmistress Robin continues, raising her voice above the whispers of the crowd. Everyone quiets down. “You may have noticed the lack of new faces. That’s because while Bleakwood is under investigation, all admissions have been halted. There will be no new students until everything is straightened out.”

  That explains things. So many things.

  Like why I haven’t heard any whispers about the new round of The Brotherhood.

  Why no one else ended up covered in ash and marked as the new class’s bitch.

  Shocked voices raise all around me; the din much more intense than it was earlier. Headmistress Robin looks on with a grin as students turn to discuss this with their neighbors. Without even waiting for it to quiet down, she leans close to the microphone.

  “I certainly look forward to working with all of you.”

  Well, that makes one of us.

  The rest of us, the entirety of Bleakwood, looks more like it’s ready to riot.

  Chapter Three

  I soon find out exactly why.

  “This seems like the first step in shutting down the school,” Neville mutters as the assembly is dismissed.

  Silently, I agree, and I blame myself. I rise to my feet to quietly shuffle after Neville and Rafael, hanging behind while they talk quietly about the eventual closing of Bleakwood. It seems everyone around me is doing the same.

  Aside from the most obvious changes to the school year—that being the presence of the investigators that will soon be making up for the lack of an incoming class—there are several other notable differences set to change the pattern of daily life here at Bleakwood. The two most notable, in my opinion, are the banning of any students leaving the grounds during the school year, as well as cancelling the fall break in favor of a single, longer winter break between semesters.

  Neither of which, it see
ms, makes the student body of Bleakwood very happy.

  I’m adrift in a storm of my own thoughts.

  All this is my fault. I helped Headmistress Robin last year. I broke into the student records room and got her some old letter from a file cabinet shoved into the back of the room. I told her that The Brotherhood was bullying me. She’s using everything I said and did to tear Bleakwood apart with her bare hands.

  Just like I knew she would.

  I’m still drifting behind Neville and Rafael, lost in my own thoughts when we exit the auditorium and spill out into the corridor. I’m not paying attention to the students around me, or even where I’m going.

  I should know better.

  I’m so out of it that when I hear a sharp voice yell my name above the noise, I stop and look around without thinking of who it belongs to. If I’d actually learned anything from the last year, I wouldn’t turn. I would run.

  By the time that thought crosses my mind, it’s already too late to change course.

  Beck comes barreling out of the auditorium like the banshee he is. Fear erupts in my stomach—but even then, I can’t help noticing how nice he looks in his jeans, how well his jacket fits to his body. He’s so incredibly good-looking with his sharp jawline and high cheekbones; I feel like I’m staring into the centerfold of a magazine.

  A fucking mess of a magazine.

  “Alex!” Beck yells again. I’m frozen as he rushes up to me. He reaches out and grabs my elbow, anchoring me to the spot.

  I clamp my mouth shut and stare up at him. His eyes gaze down at me with a strange, manic glint, and a grin spreads across his face. I can’t decide if I should hit him or kiss him. Not that I have a choice. Not the way his hands have me cemented to the spot.

  Beck fixes me with a crazed look in his eyes and declares the last thing I ever expected to come from his mouth.

  “We should date,” he proclaims loudly.

  People are stopping to watch. I still can’t bring myself to speak.

  “We have an undeniable connection,” Beck continues, his grasp still firm on my elbow. His tone has taken on a new manic pace, much like the glint in his eye. “And it’s not confusing for me anymore, since you’re actually a girl.”

  I just blink up at him for another, long, moment.

  “Oh,” I say, my voice dripping with sarcasm once I’ve finally found it again. “How nice for you.”

  Beck’s face falters a bit, confusion flickering in his eyes.

  “Yeah, it’s so simple now. Now … now that I’m not confused. I’ll take you out this weekend, then?”

  I stare up at him in disbelief and yank my arm out of his grasp. This little charade has gone from cute to chilling.

  “Are you kidding me?” I snap. “Really, Beck?”

  Beck’s smile slides off his face. “What do you mean?”

  “The problem wasn’t that I was pretending to be a boy,” I tell him, my voice raising. “The problem is that you were an absolute asshole to me. Why would I want to date you after all that?”

  I should be dumbfounded when really, really, I should have seen this coming. Not this, specifically, but something completely and utterly insane. I cock my head as I stare back at Beck, my jaw starting to work in indignation.

  “After everything?”

  Beck splutters for words.

  “I’ll make it up to you,” he begins, but I turn on my heel and start marching off.

  “Go to hell, Beck,” I call over my shoulder, quickening my pace. I hear snickers around me and feel my face flush. I’d forgotten about everyone watching; now people who had come to a standstill are walking again, probably already exchanging gossip about what just happened.

  “Well,” Rafael says as I catch up with him and Neville. “Some shiny new balls you’ve got there.”

  “Shut up,” I mutter, but I smile a little as we head to class.

  I have neither Rafael nor Neville in my second class of the day, so I head there on my own, stuffing my math notebook into my backpack. The teacher has already given us so much homework, part of me wonders if this is some kind of punishment.

  If this is what I have to look forward to this year, I’m really not looking forward to what the other subjects are going to give us.

  The chemistry classroom looks much like my science classrooms in Ohio did, only nicer. In lieu of desks, it’s full of black-topped counters with their own sinks and Bunsen burners. A few boys are already here. I duck my head and scurry to the back to find an empty table. I don’t want to have to think about boys’ eyes staring at the back of my head while I’m in class.

  There are high stools instead of chairs, so I set my backpack on the floor, pull out my chemistry textbook, and climb onto the stool. There’s nothing written on the big whiteboard at the front of the room, but I get out a fresh notebook all the same.

  “Hey, Alex,” says a soft voice.

  I look up from writing my name at the top of a blank page and my stomach drops. Heath smiles shyly at me as he slides onto the stool next to mine. The gesture is slight, but after the way I reacted to Beck earlier, I didn’t expect any of them—let alone Heath—to approach me now.

  Not right away.

  But unlike Beck, I don’t feel the swell of anger at his presence. The thing I feel is more … complicated than that.

  Heath’s hair’s gotten long over the summer. It reaches down past his chin, almost to his shoulders. It’s longer than mine, even. He’s growing some stubble along his jaw, too. He was so clean-cut last year with his private-schoolboy hairstyle and crisp blazers; the change is startling.

  And not in a bad way.

  “Heath.” I’m not sure what else to say to him, so I just nod in his direction.

  “Is it okay if I sit here?” Heath asks.

  “Sure,” I reply uncertainly. He nods too and goes about setting himself up with his notebook and textbook. I watch him; his movements are slow, and he seems more subdued than last year. I find myself clearing my throat. “How are you feeling? Y’know, since—uh …”

  I trail off. I’d never really considered that the events of last year might leave permanent damage. Nothing more than a scar, anyway. Now, I don’t really know how to broach the subject.

  “You mean after the wolf attack?” he says helpfully.

  I nod.

  “Much better,” Heath says with one of those warm smiles of his. “I’m fully recovered. The doctor advised against sports this year, though.” His smile turns rueful. “No lacrosse.”

  I can’t help but be glad about that. He was so passionate about lacrosse last year that his grades suffered, and he started to take amphetamines there in the end … so maybe this is for the best.

  “Can I ask you something?” he asks quietly.

  I open my mouth to answer, not sure what exactly I’m about to say; but I’m saved when the teacher breezes through the doorway with a hearty, “Good morning, class! Page sixteen please!”

  I clamp my mouth shut and open my textbook; beside me, Heath does the same. We pass the rest of the class in an awkward, uneasy silence that feels full of things unsaid.

  As class ends and the teacher’s words are overtaken by the rustle of papers shuffling and the snaps and thumps of textbooks closing, it seems that Heath doesn’t plan to leave it that way.

  Heath turns to me as soon as the professor turns her back and asks quietly, “Um—I still wanna ask you something. If that’s okay.”

  I’m not sure about this new shy Heath. He was always a bit standoffish, but this is different. More vulnerable.

  It reminds me of our kiss, of the moment his lips pressed to mine before he discovered the truth of who I was. Who I am.

  After that, I owe him this at least. So, I simply nod and keep my eyes on my paper as I scribble down the homework assignment. I expect him to wait until we’re out of class, but it seems the silence between us weighs even heavier for him.

  “I was wondering if you could forgive me,” he blurts out, suddenly.<
br />
  That makes me look up. “Forgive … you?”

  Heath nods, and his brown eyes look at me soulfully. “I was a coward last year. I didn’t stand up for you, and I’m sorry.” He looks down at his hands and fiddles awkwardly with his pencil. “I was an ass.”

  I look toward the rest of the classroom, which is emptying, but a few students have lingered behind to eavesdrop. I dump my stuff into my backpack and slide off my stool. This is the last conversation I want to have in front of eagerly listening ears.

  Not when I’m still, for the life of me, trying to process what it is Heath’s actually trying to say.

  “Walk with me to lunch?” I ask Heath. I glance awkwardly towards the boys still lingering a little too close.

  “Sure,” he replies eagerly, grabbing his own backpack and slinging it over his shoulder.

  Together we walk out and head toward the dining hall. At first, we’re quiet. I scan the crowd in the halls for Rafael but don’t see him.

  “I’m glad you’re okay,” I tell Heath truthfully, finally looking at him. Has he gotten taller? I don’t feel like I had to crane my neck this much last year to look at him. “I was worried. You didn’t contact me over the summer.”

  Not that I really expected him to.

  Heath bites his lip and looks down at his feet. “I didn’t think you’d want to hear from me,” he admits sheepishly. “I thought you’d hate me.”

  I don’t answer. Because it’s true. A part of me did hate him. “Not hearing from you made it worse,” I tell him.

  He nods. “I’m sorry for that.” He shuffles his feet some. “I also … was shy. Because I honestly thought you were a boy all last year, and … I was falling for you.”

  My stomach twists into a knot as Heath peeks at me from under his hair. I completely stop walking in my shock. Someone knocks into me from behind and yells, “Hey!” indignantly; I mumble an apology and shuffle to the side of the hallway.

  “Sorry,” Heath says, walking with me. He takes my arm and gently guides me around a corner to an emptier hall. “Are you all right?”

  “Yeah. I’m fine.” I look around. I had English class down this hallway last year. My heart thumps in my chest as I ease my backpack off my shoulders to set it on the floor, relieving myself of its weight. “I’m just … surprised.”