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

by Eden Beck

  My stomach drops straight down to my feet. I try to look casual as I tip more sugar into my mug.

  “I don’t know what you mean,” I tell her, forcing myself to be calm. I can’t rat out Beck and Heath. Jasper, maybe, I’d be fine with—but I can’t do that without also implicating the other two.

  “I’ve heard it’s a tradition,” she says pleasantly, but there’s an edge to her voice. This is what she really wants to talk about. “Boys who are descendants of the school’s founders form a little … club, I suppose.”

  I look up at the clock on the wall. “Sounds dumb,” I tell her truthfully as I stand up. I can’t sit here any longer without slipping up. I know myself. “I gotta go meet my friends now.”

  “Oh.” Her face falls into an expression of disappointment. “Of course. I’ll see you later, Miss Alexis.”

  “Alex,” I say through gritted teeth. I sling my backpack over my shoulder and march out of the room, leaving my undrunk coffee behind.

  Too scared to loiter near the dorms again lest Ms. Ada see me, I head to the library to wait for Rafael and Neville there. I claim three computers sitting next to each other and plop down into a seat. My stomach rumbles. I should’ve grabbed breakfast while I was in the dining hall, but I’m not about to head back now.

  I’m not sure where to start on applications, so I pull out a textbook and start doing some homework instead while I wait for the boys. They appear at our scheduled time; Rafael rubs sleep out of his eyes as he approaches, but Neville is chipper and excited.

  “Morning,” Rafael mumbles sleepily as he sits heavily down at the computer next to me. Neville follows suit on his other side.

  “Good morning.”

  I close my textbook and get right to the point. “Do you guys know what schools you’re applying to?”

  Rafael sighs without answering and looks out at the library; students have begun to filter in, sometimes by themselves, sometimes in groups of twos or threes. Some are just studying. Others, like us, drift toward computers, talking about colleges in low murmurs. There’s a strange atmosphere hanging over us, spreading through the library like a low fog.

  “It feels weird, doesn’t it?” I ask quietly. “Like … people are scared. Or uncertain.”

  I feel like I sound stupid, but to my surprise, Rafael and Neville both nod in agreement. “I feel it too,” Neville whispers. “It’s everything that’s happened. None of us are even sure if Bleakwood will be here next year.”

  “A few boys in the dorm were wondering how it’s going to affect their applications,” Rafael tells me, roughly shaking his mouse to wake up his computer. “Francis said he might have to talk to his uncle, who’s on the board of directors for … uh … some university.”

  “Harvard,” Neville says promptly.

  “Right. Harvard. His fallback school.”

  “Harvard is his fallback school?” I ask in disbelief. “What’s his first choice, then?”

  “Probably something European.” Rafael shrugs. “I don’t listen much when Francis talks. He’s pretty, but nothing he says is interesting.”

  Except for the fact that a prestigious Ivy League school is his fallback, I think to myself—but things like that likely aren’t going to be interesting to him, I suppose. It strikes me that Bleakwood is full of guys who have uncles on the board of directors somewhere; guys who don’t have to worry about paying for college at all.

  The only thing that they really have to worry about is whether or not they’re getting into their first choice.

  None of them need to rely on scholarships. I’m the only one.

  “Everyone’s feeling it, though,” Neville says, knocking me back into the present. He shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “Will Bleakwood be here next year? Will having it on our applications even mean anything?”

  I duck my head, averting my eyes as Neville chews nervously on his bottom lip. I can’t let people know that this is my fault.

  I have to fix it somehow … before it gets irrevocably broken.

  Chapter Eight

  I adjust the strap of my backpack as I slip between Beck and Heath in the hallway later in the day. They both grin as I appear from seemingly nowhere between them.

  “Where are you guys going?”

  “Library,” Beck grunts, the smile slipping off his face.

  “We need to apply to some colleges,” Heath tells me.

  “I don’t know why,” Beck interrupts. “We already know we’re in.”

  “The applications are a formality, sure.” The backs of Heath’s fingers brush against mine, and I feel myself blush. “But we need to put them in anyway. Especially since my dad will kill me if I don’t formally apply.”

  “What college are you applying to?” I ask, trying to sound casual but not sure I succeed. I spent most of the morning not actually applying to anything alongside Rafael and Neville. The more I tried to look at schools, the more overwhelming the whole thing became.

  Everyone else seemed determined to put in early decision applications since they already were basically a shoo-in. The last thing I want is to be the only Bleakwood student who doesn’t find out where they’re going to school—or even if they’re going to school again—until the semester is practically over.

  “Oxford,” Heath replies easily. “It was decided that I’d go there before I was even born; my family practically owns it.”

  “As much as you can own a university,” Beck snorts.

  I tug my hand away from Heath’s as I see Ms. Ada out of the corner of my eye; she doesn’t see me, but she’s scanning the crowd like she’s looking for something specific.

  Seriously? She can’t be looking for me, right? It’s only been hours since she ambushed me last.

  I thought the way Headmistress Robin always seemed to be turning up was bad. I never imagined it could be even worse.

  Heath follows my gaze. “Having these investigator people around really freaks me out.”

  “Same.” Beck shoves his hands into his jacket pockets.

  “She’s the one who inspected my room,” I say, carefully keeping myself hidden between the two boys. “She’s been bugging me for days now.”

  Heath’s eyebrows raise. “Bugging you?”

  “Asking questions.” I shrug. “It’s not a huge deal, I guess. After I graduate, who really cares if Bleakwood shuts down, anyway?” I’m barely paying attention to the words I’m saying—I’m too busy thinking about Oxford. If the boys are going to Oxford … well, why can’t I? I got into Bleakwood on merit alone; why not there too?

  Lost in my thoughts, I don’t realize for a moment that I’m alone. I stop, confused, and turn around. Heath and Beck stand several paces back, staring at me.

  “You should care what happens to Bleakwood,” Heath says.

  “Why?” I ask. “It’ll be on my applications. It’s a done deal no matter what at this point.”

  “If it shuts down, it’ll be done in disgrace.” Beck scowls at me. “Bleakwood has a close relationship with a lot of universities.”

  “One they won’t want if Bleakwood is shut down and discredited,” Heath finishes. “We’ll be fine. We’ll get into Oxford easy; I have connections. You, though—and some others, I guess—might have trouble getting anywhere with Bleakwood on your record in that case.”

  “What do you mean?” I ask as we finally get back to the library and settle back down into the same three seats by the wall that Rafael, Neville, and I occupied earlier. My voice comes out softer and weaker than I want it to.

  “If it closes, even after you graduate, then you won’t get any scholarships.” Beck shrugs. “It’s as simple as that. Bleakwood will go from being a good thing to … a bad thing.” He frowns.

  “A stain,” Heath says. “It’ll be a stain on your record.”

  I wrap my fingers around the straps of my backpack and tighten my grip until my knuckles turn white and ache—prompting me to finally swing it around to hang on the back of my seat. It’s more serio
us than I thought, I suppose.

  I guess I’ll just have to do everything I can to make sure the school doesn’t shut down.

  As if I have any idea how I’m supposed to go about doing that.

  “Stop that,” Beck says, suddenly.

  It catches me by surprise and still takes me another moment to understand what he means. “Stop—oh.”

  I glance down at my lap and blush.

  I hadn’t realized I’d zoned out for the better part of a minute, my face staring blankly—and probably pretty creepily—straight ahead at what turns out to be a very Orwellian poster about reporting unusual activity to the investigation board on the wall in front of me.

  “Whatever it is going on inside that head of yours,” Beck continues, leaning closer, “put it out of your mind. You don’t have to worry anymore. Not with Heath and me here by your side.”

  Any chance of me responding is drowned out by my own choking on my tongue as Beck’s hand moves to slide up my thigh under the table. Despite the fabric of my pants between his fingers and my skin, I still feel distinctly naked beneath his touch.

  I cut my eyes over to the corner of the room, where I catch sight of one of the many investigators flickering out of sight as he moves through the aisles.

  I’m not the only one looking, it seems.

  A second later, Heath scoots his chair into my vision—blocking out anything but his own mischievous smile as he glances once over his shoulder and moves to rest his own hand on my other thigh.

  The muscles between my legs tighten and burn hot, not unlike the flush that deepens in my cheeks.

  “What do the two of you think—”

  “What do we think we’re doing?” Heath whispers, his voice shockingly low and thick. “I think you know exactly what we’re doing.”

  With that, each one of them slides their hand up slightly higher.

  My breath hitches.

  The sound of it only drives their fingers prying higher, their eyes burning brighter, their lips drawing closer …

  Only for us to be interrupted before anything actually happens.

  “Pardon me,” a whining, nasal voice breaks out from just outside of my peripherals. “I just needed to grab a pencil from that container just there.”

  All three of us fall back, hands snaking back to where they belong, as our heads snap in the direction of the voice.

  It’s the investigator we just saw step into another aisle. So much for being discreet, I guess.

  If I thought my face was red before …

  Neither Heath nor Beck makes any sign that they were doing—or were about to do—anything untoward. I, meanwhile, just feel like I was caught swallowing a giant mouthful of sand.

  Before my wordless, rasping gasps can draw any further attention to us, Beck has the good sense to half rise from his chair to pluck the pencil holder from the shelf above the tables we’re sitting at and passes it to the investigator.

  The investigator just continues to stare at me as he takes the container but makes no move to take anything from it.

  After an extended moment in which none of us makes any sign of moving, it’s Heath’s turn to clear his throat and cock his head at the hovering investigator.

  “Sorry, is there something else or …”

  “That depends,” the investigator says, his voice returning to that nasal pitch, “on whether or not the three of you want to move a little further away from each other.”

  His eyes stay fixed on us, even as Beck tries to hold back a snort of surprise.

  The investigator’s face shows no of the same humor. His knuckles grip the pencil holder in his bony fingers as he leans in a bit further.

  “So, unless the thought of detention … or worse … isn’t enough …” he starts, eyes moving determinedly from each one of us to the next, “then I suppose you do as I suggest.”

  That shuts Beck up right away. We make a show of scooting a good half-table’s length away from each other and remain that way, pretending to go back to diligently studying while sending occasional glances over our shoulders to see when he goes away.

  Which takes forever.

  It must be a good half hour before he finally leaves his position pacing just at the end of the shelves—a good half hour before I collapse back into my seat with my first full breath this whole time.

  “Holy hell,” Beck says, sitting so far back in his chair that I’m sure for a moment that he’s going to knock it over. “Does he even have the authority to do that?”

  “Pervert,” Heath mutters, shaking his head.

  “Whether or not he can … I’d rather not find out,” I say, with another heavy sigh.

  Both Heath and Beck glance at me, but before either of them can open his mouth, there’s another flicker of movement from out of the corner of my eye. Sure enough, when all of us turn round to see what it is, we see another investigator stepping up to fill the spot of the first.

  “Looks like none of them is even going to give us the chance to see,” Beck says, a near growl through gritted teeth.

  He is, unfortunately, right.

  Chapter Nine

  The presence of the investigators grows even more prevalent than before—especially when I find myself anywhere near Heath or Beck. It gets to the point that I’ve grown suspicious that they’re the ones being followed, not me.

  But still, it isn’t long before their lingering presence makes it absolutely impossible to get a moment alone with the boys.

  If I wasn’t already isolated before, I soon find myself a sort of unintentional hermit. The more closely the investigators watch me, the further away the rest of my classmates seem to retreat.

  Soon, I’m positively starving for gossip from the dorms. I’ve started getting up earlier and earlier, trying to beat Ms. Ada into the hallways until I wake up well before the sun just to be sure I don’t get cornered again. I know I’m being ridiculous, but I just can’t shake the feeling that I’m being left out thanks to her ever-watchful presence.

  If not hers, then someone else’s.

  The fifth day in a row of camping out next to Rafael’s dorm waiting for sunrise, I’m dozing off as he throws open his door. I’ve learned the hard way which side to sit on so that it doesn’t hit me, but it scares the living hell out of me.

  “Rafael!” I cry out, but the word’s muffled as he slams his hand down over my mouth.

  “Shh!” he hisses angrily. “You’re being stupid. Come in here.”

  Still, we both glance conspiratorially down either end of the hall before I actually go inside.

  I grab my backpack and slip into Rafael’s darkened room. He shuts the door behind me. I hear gentle snores from the nearest bed as I close my eyes and breathe in the familiar scent of this dorm room. It was mine last year, after all, and I can still smell that musty old-building smell mixed with Rafael’s cologne.

  There’s a foreign tinge to it, though, that must come from Neville.

  A not-altogether-pleasant-tinge, too.

  “I’m getting sick of opening my door to find you asleep outside,” Rafael sniffs, his voice a normal volume. He grabs his phone and holds it up to illuminate the floor.

  I glance uncertainly over at Neville’s sleeping form.

  “He sleeps like a log,” Rafael says, beckoning me toward his bed. “You could blow an air horn in here and it wouldn’t wake him up. I would know—I’ve tried.”

  I sit down next to him, dropping my backpack at my feet.

  Rafael looks me over a little more closely. “You’re going to get some insane bags under your eyes if you don’t start getting more sleep.”

  “But I’m missing out,” I whine, feeling pathetic. “You never have time to give me the gossip, Neville’s too oblivious, and all Beck and Heath want to talk about lately are parties that aren’t happening.” I glance out the window and let out a small sigh. They’ve been a little … off … lately.

  It could be the fact that we practically have investigators like M
s. Ada watching our literal every move every moment, or it could be … something else.

  Rafael dangles one foot off the bed and watches me, expressionless. “Woe is you,” he says flatly. “Poor Princess Alex, all alone in her huge suite.”

  I scowl. “Yeah, it’s big, but it’s lonely,” I snap.

  His expression softens a little. “Does that mean you miss me?” he asks with a smirk.

  I can’t help but laugh.

  “Shut up.”

  We sit in silence for a little bit. I wrap my arms around my knees and lean back against the wall while Neville’s snores drift through the room.

  “Why so early?” Rafael asks finally, breaking our silence.

  I shrug. “No reason.”

  “Bullshit,” he replies good-naturedly.

  With another sigh, I readjust, shifting my weight. “The school investigators are … everywhere. And one in particular seems to be stalking me. She wants me to call her Ms. Ada.”

  Rafael frowns. “What’s she look like?”

  I describe her briefly, and he nods, his expression thoughtful. “She keeps trying to ask me stuff. Private stuff.”

  “That is their job,” he says, but he sounds troubled.

  “It’s … it’s not just that,” I say, after a moment. Unable to keep it in any longer, I blurt out, “It feels like it’s been ages since Heath and Beck and I made up, but it’s not like anything’s really changed.”

  Now Rafael’s eyebrows shoot up.

  “Now that is something that interests me. Do tell.”

  I’m suddenly self-conscious. I wrap my arms around my torso and avoid looking him in the eyes.

  “It’s just that with everyone watching all the time … we haven’t really had a moment to ourselves.” This time, the sigh that slips from my lips is exaggerated as I fall back onto his bed. “Not a single one.”