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

by Selena

  When I snort with laughter and look up from reading that gem, Colt is leaning his elbow on his desk. He flexes and strokes the bulge of his bicep sensually.

  This time, I can’t help but laugh out loud. The teacher shoots me an irritated glare. “Mind joining us, Miss Dolce?”

  “Yes, sorry,” I mutter.

  Colt lounges back in his chair, a gloating grin on his face. I slowly crumple up the paper we’ve been writing on, watching his face as I do it. A flicker of something passes through his gaze even as his smile remains firmly in place. It’s gone so fast I can’t tell if it was anger, insult, or interest.

  I manage to ignore him for the rest of class, but my curiosity is piqued. I can’t stop thinking about him. Wanting to know more about this boy who smiles so casually, so easily. The twins are the same way, flirty and fun, but there’s something more about Colt. Something darker under that sunshiny surface.

  I make it through the rest of class, and then through the rest of the day. At home, I tell my brothers that maybe we should just leave the Darlings alone. We had our time at the top. If they really need it again, maybe we can make a truce with the Darlings.

  Royal laughs at that. They wrecked his car. He’s never going to forgive them. Royal is my rock. He’s loyal and protective and good. But forgiveness is not a word in his vocabulary.

  Still, he promises that if he cooks up any revenge schemes, I’ll be far away when he enacts them. Whatever they do, I won’t be involved in any way. The Darlings can take it up with my brothers and leave me out of it. My brothers are suspiciously quiet after that, and I don’t pry. I don’t want to know what they’re up to. Ignorance is bliss and all that. If I don’t know, I can’t be held accountable for anything they do.

  At school the next week, I hang out with Dixie, giving her tips on makeup, boys, and fashion. I settle into my classes. A few subdued woofs and snickers are the only indication that people remember the first day of school. No one gangs up to bark at me, and the Darlings pretty much leave me alone, except Colt, who forces me to sit with him in lit. Devlin doesn’t come storming into my bedroom, so I guess Colt is keeping his mouth shut.

  Every day, we leave the house ridiculously early so we can arrive at school and park in the primo spot before the Darlings get there. At home I study, ignore the midnight football noises from next door, and keep an eye on Daddy to make sure he’s not thinking of entertaining Mrs. Darling again. The first weekend passes quietly. Too quietly. I’m starting to get nervous about my brothers. Since the mailbox incident, we’ve been taking two cars to work—King’s Evija and Duke’s Hummer. The Range Rover sits in the garage with new tires, but with the side all bashed in, reminding me every day that retaliation is brewing.

  The next Friday morning, even though we arrive early, the Bel Air is parked in our spot again. My brothers don’t say a word, which makes my blood run cold. I know better than to think they’ve stopped fighting. My brothers will never stop. Once they get something in their heads, it’s impossible to convince them of anything else. Even I can’t persuade them, and they’d do anything for me.

  Royal walks me to my first class, but he keeps glancing around as if distracted. As if waiting for something.

  “What’s up?” I ask. It’s not like my fight-happy brother to be jumpy.

  “Nothing,” he says. “But maybe you should stay home tonight.”

  I swallow hard and nod. As much as I want to go to the game and scope out the competition with my brothers, if they’re brawling tonight, I don’t want to be part of it. Staying home from the game altogether is the clearest way to let the Darlings know that even if I’m loyal to my family, I’m not on board with the escalating pranks. I’ve survived two weeks at Willow Heights, but every moment of this dance has been done on eggshells.

  The bell rings, and I wave and head to first period, grateful to see that Devlin’s absent. He seems to only attend first period when he feels like it, which is about half the time. I’m not complaining. I slide in at our lab table and let out a breath. I’m not sure how to explain my feelings about Devlin even to myself. When I sit next to him in class, it’s hard to breathe. My body is electric when he’s near, my skin aching to move closer, to press against his. But as soon as he speaks, I want to punch him in the nuts. I hear him throwing the football at night, and I’m drawn to my balcony, hoping each night I’ll catch a glimpse of him as I did that first time. And then he smiles that cold, dangerous smile that makes him as terrifying and hypnotic as a snake.

  I shake my thoughts away and try to focus. Nothing about Devlin Darling fits into my plan to be better here. Nothing about him would fit into my life, not with my brothers at war with him. Still, he hasn’t moved seats or asked me to move since the first day we sat together. Sometimes, I catch him looking at me, and for a second I can see the real Devlin, see into him, see that he’s just human like the rest of us. Sometimes, he even makes me laugh with his quiet, unexpected humor. And then he makes some rude, bossy comment that shows what an entitled prick he really is.

  After class I head to my locker, hoping I’ll get lucky and find Colt missing from second period. I notice a few people whispering as I stop at my locker, but I can’t tell if it’s worse than usual. I am the Darling Dog, after all. And though nothing has really come of it, I get just enough comments and dog noises to know no one has forgotten. It hangs over me, following me like an echo through the halls. I can’t forget for a moment that I’ve been marked.

  I start to twist the combination lock when I smell something familiar that I can’t place, a smell that’s half stale grease, a quarter musty, and a quarter something else. I slow as I click the lock around to the second number, but my mind is racing. I can turn around and demand to know who did it, even though I’m not exactly sure what “it” is. I can hurry to class without opening my locker, but if I do that, everyone will know I’m running away. Or I can open my locker and face whatever they put in here.

  I’ve done plenty of running, hiding, and pretending, but I prefer to do it when I won’t look like I’m running scared. Being a Dolce means never losing face, and if that means letting them laugh at me, I’ll do it. If I don’t lose my cool, I can keep my dignity even in the face of their laughter. And if I don’t react, they’ll lose interest soon enough.

  Taking a deep breath, I stop at the last number, feeling the lock catch before it gives. The second the latch gives, the door jumps open as if on a spring. I jump back involuntarily, even though I thought I was ready for it. The door swings open, and a cascade of dogfood pellets flood out of my locker. They rain down on the floor, scattering across the hall, burying the toes of my nude pumps.

  A few people bark, but most of them just laugh. I stare at my locker, my heart pounding, my mind racing.

  Don’t react, I tell myself. Take your books, close your locker, and go to class like nothing happened. Whatever you do, don’t shed a tear, no matter what else they do.

  I reach forward and pull out my Shakespeare book, my hands trembling, my fingers numb. More dogfood rains down from in front of and on top of my books. I reach for my locker door, willing myself not to cry. I won’t give them the satisfaction.

  Before I can shut my locker, a hand grabs the door from behind and slams it shut with a metallic bang that echoes down the hall. Devlin is standing behind it, his palm flat against my closed locker, his eyes blazing into mine. A titter of nervous laughter makes its way through the hall, and I search for my brothers, thinking someone saw them coming.

  But they’re nowhere to be seen. These people aren’t afraid of my brothers, or of seeing a fight. They’re afraid of Devlin.

  Seeing the fury crackling in his icy eyes, it’s easy to see why he inspires fear. I just don’t know why anyone but me should be afraid.

  “Who did this?” Devlin asks, turning slowly to face the crowd.

  A murmur goes through the gathering crowd, but no one steps up. I’d assumed he did it, and if not him, one of his cousins. But he looks like
he’s about to fly off the handle. I don’t get it. He designated me the Darling Dog. He painted a target on me. And now he’s pissed that someone targeted me?

  “What’s going on here?” calls an exasperated teacher’s voice, and a petite older teacher in a pencil skirt and blazer pushes through the crowd.

  “Go away,” Devlin says, not even looking at her. “This is Darling business. It doesn’t concern you.”

  She looks like she’s going to argue, but then she pinches her lips together and glares with disapproval. Without another word, she turns and pushes back through the crowd, leaving me gaping. Fuck. The Darlings aren’t even a little bit afraid of consequences, because for them, there are none. If I had any doubts that they run this school, they’re gone now. So is any chance at getting out of the scene unfolding around me.

  And as much as I want to run away with that teacher, some insatiably curious part of me is dying to know what comes next, even though I know it can’t be good. I am fascinated by Devlin’s rage. Like a storm-chaser, I want to follow, to witness his destructive power even though I know this storm could wreck me.

  I know he wouldn’t let me go, anyway. And when Colt slips up to my other side, the game is over. They’ll stop me if I try to run now.

  “This is the Darling Dog,” Devlin says to the crowd, his hand shooting out and grabbing me by the back of my neck. He pulls me to his side, but this time, there’s no violence in his grip. It’s firm and possessive, not cruel. “She’s my dog. Understand?”

  “Make her eat it,” a guy calls, then shrinks back when Devlin swings his gaze in that direction.

  “Who said that?” Devlin asks, his grip tightening.

  Devlin’s gaze bores into the crowd, and after a few seconds, the guy who spoke gives a nervous laugh. “I just thought it would be funny.”

  “Is this a joke to you?” Devlin demands.

  “Well—”

  Before he can finish, Devlin cuts him off. “This isn’t about pranks. This is real. This girl is a dog. Our dog. No one feeds her, or takes her for rides, or pets her without our permission.”

  “Sorry,” the guy says, shuffling back a step.

  “You can eat it, since you think it’s funny,” Preston says, stepping through the crowd. Of all the Darlings, I know him least, and yet, he’s just as scary. His threats sound like jokes, but from the spark of mean in his eyes, I get the feeling he’d love to enact every sick threat he makes.

  “What?” asks the unfortunate guy who spoke, his eyes going wide when he sees that all three Darling cousins are here.

  Preston speaks slowly. “Pick up a handful, and eat it.”

  The guy glances from one side to the other, as if searching for someone to rescue him. But the teachers are obviously not going to interfere in this ritual. After a second, the guy bends and scoops up a handful. His face reddens with humiliation as he brings it to his mouth, but he doesn’t stop. He puts the pellets in his mouth and begins to chew.

  “Who fed our dog?” Devlin demands, not even bothering to watch the public shaming his cousin ordered. No one answers, but a group of popular girls laugh nervously.

  “You?” he asks, his gaze fixed on them with maliciousness that makes me scared for them. Yeah, they pulled a shitty prank to humiliate me, but I have a feeling they’re about to get something a lot worse than a locker full of dogfood.

  “It was just a joke,” Lacey says at last.

  “Am I laughing?” Devlin asks, his voice quiet but thunderous. His fingers are shaking with barely contained fury, and it strikes me how completely unhinged this guy is. If he looked crazy when he was holding me by the throat, all cool and calculating, now he looks… Straight psycho, batshit crazy, insane. I’m suddenly afraid for Lacey. True, she’s a bitch, but even bitches have dignity.

  “It’s not that big a deal,” I say quickly.

  “Quiet,” Devlin orders, giving me a little shake. Staring at Lacey and her friends, he holds out his other hand. “Give me your dolls.”

  What. The. Actual. Fuck.

  “What? No,” Lacey cries, her eyes going wide and her fingers flying to her throat.

  “We didn’t mean anything by it,” another girl says, sounding close to tears. She shoots me a look of sheer panic, as if I can save her from the fate she chose.

  “You’re not worthy of Dolly’s legacy,” Devlin says.

  “It was Lacey’s idea,” whines another girl.

  “And you went along with it,” Colt says. “You really shouldn’t have fucked with our puppy.”

  Devlin narrows his eyes at the girl. “You’re weak. Not one of you deserves to be a Doll.”

  “I’m sorry,” the girl whimpers, tears pooling in her eyes as she pulls a necklace from inside her shirt. A tiny crystal ballerina hangs on the silver chain. Her hand is visibly shaking as she drops it into Devlin’s outstretched palm. She shoots me one withering, hateful look before wiping her tears.

  “I left mine at home,” says another girl, her voice trembling.

  “Go get it,” Devlin says. “Until you get back, your friends will be feasting.”

  “What?” Lacey asks, looking horrified. “I can’t dogfood. I’m a Darling Doll!”

  “Not anymore,” Devlin says, a sadistic spark of triumph in his eyes as he wraps his hand around the three ballerina pendants.

  “But… I’m gluten free,” she protests.

  “On your hands and knees,” Devlin says slowly, a cruel smile twisting his lips. “All three of you will eat like dogs until she gets back.”

  “Hurry,” says another girl, and the one who left her necklace at home turns and sprints down the hall toward the exit.

  Preston’s hand lazily moves to his crotch, giving himself a stroke through his slacks. “I’ve got something else you can do on your knees if you’d rather.”

  “No,” Devlin snaps. “They’ll clean up the mess they made.”

  I feel sick as I watch the three girls sink to their knees in the dogfood kernels. I must not be alone, as there is no more laughter. The hall is silent as we watch Lacey put a single pellet between her trembling lips and begin to chew.

  “That’s not how dogs eat,” Preston says, holding up his phone to film the scene. “Get your ass in the air and pick it up off the floor with those pretty lips you like to use so much.”

  For a moment, Lacey’s eyes catch on me, and she glares at me with such intense hatred I shrink back. With a hiccupping breath, she lowers her mouth to the floor and gets a kernel between her lips. As she chews, the crunch echoes through the silence, and a tear trickles down her cheek. She sniffs and picks up another piece, more tears coming now. The other girls are crying, too, all of them silently eating the dogfood they filled my locker with as a hateful, ugly prank.

  I can’t help but feel horrified at the pitiful sight of them eating dogfood off the floor. I don’t like bullies, but I don’t like this, either.

  “I think that’s enough,” I say. “You’ve proved your point.”

  Devlin spins around, pinning me to the lockers with his body. He leans on the metal with both elbows, caging me in. My breath comes faster as our bodies make contact, a contact that feels dangerously good in this bizarre situation, as if he’s somehow a comfort instead of a threat.

  “You’ve completely missed the point,” he growls. “I say when it’s enough. What I say goes in this school. Not you, and not your city-boy brothers. Me.”

  His eyes blaze into mine, and I nod, instinctively darting my tongue out to wet my lips. The movement catches Devlin’s eye, and he drops his gaze to my lips for a long moment, one that wakes butterflies inside my belly.

  No, no, no…

  “Be a good dog, and obey your master,” he says, so softly that only me and Colt, who’s standing next to us, can hear. “Now, go to class before you get yourself into any more trouble.”

  twelve

  The guys go to the game that night, but Daddy bribes me to stay home with the promise that we’ll spend some time t
ogether. When the guys leave, he’s still not home. A storm brews on the horizon, and the heat has finally broken for the time being. I sit out on the balcony wrapped in a robe, watching lightning flicker in the distance. Where is he?

  My phone rings, startling me. A jolt of fear shoots through me as I fumble it from my robe, sure I’ll see Daddy calling to say he was in an accident, or worse, that my brothers did something stupid.

  Instead, I see a video chat request from Mom. “Darling,” she says when I accept the call. “Don’t frown like that. I don’t want to pay to smooth out those wrinkles until you’re at least twenty.”

  “Hi, Mom,” I say, rolling my eyes. “How’s everything back home?”

  She makes a face, and I consider hassling her about wrinkles, but I decide to keep my pettiness to myself for now. She’s here for me right now when no one else is, and the call is a good distraction from my melancholy thoughts and groundless worries.

  “You know, I thought it would be a lot more exciting than it’s been,” she says. “It turns out, life as a single gal isn’t so glamourous. It’s no different than when you were here, except I have no one to talk to when I get bored.”

  “Glad we could entertain you all those years.”

  “Where’s your father?”

  “Working,” I say. “Of course.”

  She pouts at me. “You know, he might have been a good husband if he weren’t already married to his job. No woman wants to be the mistress in her own marriage.”

  “Problems for your therapist, Mom.” Not to mention that without Daddy’s job, Mom never would have been able to maintain the life she loves so much in Manhattan.

  She starts telling me a long story about something scandalous she found out about her therapist. I half listen, thankful for the distraction of her endless gossip. I don’t care who her married therapist is banging, but the familiarity of her gossiping is comforting.

  When she finally finishes her story, dark has fallen. Still no sign of Daddy. The Darling house sits dark and empty next door, the whole family undoubtedly off at the game. Apparently, football is a family affair in the south.