Ever Lost: Lost Boys of Neverly Prep: Academy Romance

by L. E. Bross

  Ever Lost

  Lost Boys of Neverly Prep #1

  L.E. Bross

  Ever Lost: Lost Boys of Neverly Prep #1 © copyright 2019 L.E. Bross

  Copyright notice: All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.

  Cover Design: EVE Graphic Design

  Developmental Editing: Brandy Reece at Precision Red Pen

  Line Editing: Ink It Out Editing

  Formatting: Nicole Smith BBB PA Services

  Dedication

  To anyone who has ever struggled to fit in.

  The only thing that kept me from curling up into a ball and giving up was my own fucking stubbornness. I’ll be damned if I let the universe knock me down. The harder it pushed, the deeper I dug in. Fate wants a bitch. Sorry, babe, that’s not me. - Ever Darlington

  “Ever Darlington. Eighteen. Juvenile record. No known address.”

  I stare at the man, dressed in a dark business suit that looks custom made to fit his exact form, and say nothing.

  He’s holding a thick file that has my name on it.

  I’m not sure who he is exactly, when he walked in I thought he was another public defender, sent to advise me to plead to a misdemeanor. Again. Except I’m not sure breaking into Panchard Enterprises counts as a misdemeanor.

  I never even knew the place existed until one of Nate’s buddies mentioned it a month or so ago. Nate is into some shady shit and one night they were talking about a place that dealt in information. The technical part of it went over my head, but one thing stuck.

  Panchard Enterprise can find anything, anywhere.

  Which is why I went there, technically last night, since it is now one in the morning. And also why I’m sitting in an interrogation room at the 92nd precinct.

  “Do you know who I am, Ms. Darlington?” the man asks, pulling my attention back to him.

  “Public defenders can’t afford thousand-dollar suits, so...you tell me,” I drawl lazily. I’ve learned to hide behind a mask of indifference. If I pretend not to care, then maybe I won’t.

  I sit back and put my boots on the edge of the table, crossing one ankle over the other, and slide my resting bitch face firmly in place. It takes every ounce of strength I have to look unaffected, because inside I am shitting my pants.

  I fucked up.

  Big time.

  Desperation sent me to Panchard tonight, a crazy harebrained idea that I might find what I needed, but I was cocky enough to think I could outsmart high-tech security.

  Now it might not only cost me my freedom, but my ability to find my little sister.

  “I’m Peter Panchard.”

  Ice slides down my spine.

  Shit.

  He sits back and crosses his arms over his chest. He’s younger than I would have thought a self-made multibillionaire would be. Maybe early forties? Sandy blond hair curls over his ears, touches the sides of his neck. The green of his eyes changes under the harsh fluorescent lighting of the interrogation room. One moment they’re bright, almost the color of grass, then the next, deep like a forest cast in shadows.

  A fine layer of scruff covers his jaw, which he runs his thumb over as he contemplates me. Those eyes seem to burrow down deep into my soul and I feel uneasy at what he might find there.

  I’m a screwup, nothing more.

  “You broke into my facility tonight, Ms. Darlington. Bypassed three levels of high-tech systems and almost made it to the server room. How?”

  “Suck ass system?” I quip.

  Mr. Panchard grunts and lifts an eyebrow, unamused.

  I shrug and after a moment, he sits forward and puts his hands on the table. I expect anger or even disgust, but there is nothing but curiosity in his gaze. I’m used to people accusing me of being a thief, a lowlife, a waste of air, but this, I can’t get a read on him and I don’t like it.

  I glare harder to get this man out of my space.

  “You’re not as badass as you might think.” His stare moves over my face, over my short black hair with badly bleached tips, lingering on my cheek where the scar is still visible even after all these months.

  I refuse to hide it, which is why I keep my locks short and spiky.

  I own my shit, not the other way around.

  “You’re aware that you’re eighteen now?”

  I snort. “Well, my birthday was last week, so yeah. You bring a cake?”

  Finally, fire flashes in his eyes and my words stick to my tongue. I wisely keep quiet until he sees what he needs to continue.

  “You’re an adult now. All this,” he waves his hand over my file, “stays sealed, but you won’t be charged as a minor this time. No slap on the wrist. No more warnings. You’ll do time. A lot of time. Locked away for years. Is that what you want? Whatever you were after in my facility, it was valuable enough that you’d take the chance. If you get put away, you lose it.”

  The back of my neck tingles and I rub it self-consciously. He’s waiting for me to answer, and I have a feeling that he’d wait all day.

  “I’m not telling you shit. I was there to take whatever I could pawn.”

  I can’t meet his eyes and he notices.

  “You went straight for the server room. There’s nothing there but digital files. If you wanted to pawn stuff, you would have taken the computers of the staff, or supplies from the office.” Now his stare is burning into me and despite the panic creeping up my spine, I meet his gaze again. “Why?”

  My mouth goes dry and I dig my nails into my palms to stay calm.

  He leans even closer over the table.

  “You wanted information. What were you looking for? Who are you working for?”

  The fire is back in his eyes and when he raises his voice, I push back from the table, the beginnings of fear crawling over my icy skin.

  “I know you’re watching,” I shout at the mirror. “Get me the fuck out of here. I admit it, I broke into Panchard.” I spread my arms wide. “Take me away.”

  The door doesn’t open and my breaths grow ragged. Who the fuck is this guy? Why does no one care that I’m locked in a room with a stranger? My skin grows clammy. He stands and I step back until I’m pressed against the cold concrete. I reach for my knife, then remember the pigs took it from me after they searched me. I can’t hear anything over the thundering of my heart in my ears. The whoosh-thump drowns it all out.

  I’m alone. In a room with a man and no way to defend myself. There are no windows and only one door. Walls close in and press on my lungs. I stare at the glass and scream.

  “Let me the fuck out of here!”

  Panic claws at my throat and my breath turns wheezy.

  The guy hasn’t moved. He watches with wide eyes and when he sees me looking, he holds his hands out, palms up, and moves back to the table.

  I have to force air into my lungs. Rapid inhales and ragged exhales.

  “Ever, you�
�re safe,” he croons in a low, steady voice. “I won’t hurt you. I apologize for making you uncomfortable. Please, sit and we can talk more. I won’t get out of this chair unless you want me to.”

  I watch warily as he sinks back into the chair and puts his hands on the table.

  “I think we can help each other, Ever, but I need to know what you were doing at my facility. What are you looking for?”

  My vision clears and I see understanding in his eyes. Maybe he’s some kind of psychologist, used to dealing with trauma. He waits patiently, not making a sound, just watching, until I can take a breath without a struggle.

  “Please, sit.”

  It has to be a trap. He’s being nice because he wants something, but that's okay, because I want something, too. Whoever is on the other side of the glass doesn’t care that I’m locked in here.

  “Are you thirsty? Hungry?” Mr. Panchard asks, glancing at the two-way mirror. “I can have something brought in if you are.”

  My stomach growls but I ignore it.

  He waits until I shake my head. I’m not eating when I feel like I could be sick at any moment. I won’t give him the satisfaction of seeing me weak. Weaker. Fuck. I see it in his eyes now, the sympathy. He thinks he knows all about me.

  He has to be a shrink.

  “Are you working for William Hook?” he asks out of the blue.

  “Who?” I answer before thinking.

  His eyes bore into mine until he nods in satisfaction. “That answers that question. Okay, good, this is good.”

  His stare turns contemplative and his gaze moves over my face, down over the tight black t-shirt I wore purposefully tonight. Together with black leggings, it made me not only invisible but also sleek enough to move through the AC vents. But he’ll never know that.

  “It would help if I knew what you needed from my company, Ms. Darlington. Maybe we could strike a deal.”

  My back stiffens and I sit up straighter. “You’re propositioning a teenage girl?” I snark.

  His face turns a mottled red, and he looks horrified.

  “God no. But I need someone with your unique skill set. No one has ever managed to get past the first level of my security. I want you to come work for me.”

  Okay, clearly the man has lost his mind. I broke into his company and he’s offering me a job? “What?”

  “Come and work for me, Ms. Darlington. We can call it consulting. I have a need for someone with your skills, and in exchange, I’ll provide room and board, spending money, an education.”

  My head spins and I shake it to clear up some of the confusion. “A what?”

  “I know you dropped out of high school halfway through senior year. I’ll make sure you graduate this year, and I’ll even fund college if that’s something you want to pursue.”

  Peter stares at me expectantly.

  I blink a few times because this guy can’t be for real, then laugh, only it sounds more like a seal barking. For the first time in my life, I don’t have a smart ass comeback. I am speechless.

  “There will be no charges filed for tonight and I will have your juvenile record permanently sealed. No one will ever have access to it again. It’ll be a fresh start. A chance to start over.”

  I really don’t know what to say. Warning bells are sounding off so loudly in my head I can’t think. This is some Cinderella shit right here and everyone knows that fairy tales aren’t real.

  He sighs and rubs his fingers over his eyes. When he looks up, I see the exhaustion in them.

  “The way I see it, you have two choices. You come work for me and I’ll help you with whatever it is you’re looking for, or you go to prison, where that would be impossible to do so. The choice really is yours, Ms. Darlington, but I need your answer tonight. Well,” he glances at his fancy watch and grimaces. “Today actually. Before I leave.”

  The chair scrapes as he pushes back and I cringe at the way it cuts through my head. He stands a few feet away, and I realize it’s so he won’t appear intimidating. Again I have to wonder who the hell he is.

  “If I walk out that door, the cards will fall as they may. But I really think we can help each other.”

  There is an air of vulnerability to him now and the sadness in his eyes isn’t for me. He’s hurting. He’s lost something important, too. I clench my fingers into fists and question my sanity.

  But he’s right. I can’t find what I’m looking for if I’m locked up for the next ten years. I don’t trust anyone, least of all men, but after everything I’ve been through, I know my own instincts, and they are telling me that this guy is legit.

  And if I don’t like what he’s selling, I can always walk away.

  My chair is noiseless as I stand.

  Words get caught in my throat so I nod.

  His shoulders sink in relief and then he’s pounding on the door.

  “Let’s go home then.”

  I’m in a limo.

  A real, honest-to-god stretch limo that has a bar and music and plush leather seats and a privacy window so I can’t see the driver.

  Mr. Panchard, Peter, as he asked me to call him the moment we sat, is across from me staring out the window.

  It’s too dark to see anything out there, but he still looks.

  The lights from the city dimmed a few minutes after we left the police station. I didn’t ask where we were going. It doesn’t really matter. I only need to stick around long enough to get the information about my sister, then I’m gone again. I don’t care about all the promises Peter made.

  I don’t need an education or a temporary home. The money, though? Hell yeah, I’ll take that. I’m not stupid.

  The car slows and then stops and I can make out enormous gates in front of us. Tall and made of iron with spikes at the top. The kind meant to keep people out. After a moment, they swing open and the car moves through. I watch as they close behind us and try to swallow the unease that I’ve traded one prison for another.

  The house, even in the dark, is massive. Like museum massive. Who the hell needs that much space? I glance at Peter Panchard, but he’s still staring out the window. He doesn’t move until the door swings open and the driver stands there.

  “Thank you, Bob,” Peter says, climbing out and clapping the driver on the shoulder.

  I move slower and ignore the hand offered to help.

  Peter walks up to the door and pushes it open, then looks over his shoulder.

  “Come inside, Ever. Tomorrow, if you decide you don’t want to stay, I won’t stop you. I just hope…” He exhales, a long, drawn out sound, then his head drops. “I think this will be beneficial to both of us.”

  I follow him in and tense when the door closes behind me.

  That remains to be seen.

  ∞∞∞

  I sleep with the door locked and one ear open, but it’s still the best night’s sleep I’ve had in forever. As soon as my eyes blink open, the tension is back, though. I roll out of bed; I didn’t take off my clothes because rookie mistake number one, but I also didn’t cover up just in case I had to defend myself.

  No one attacked me in my sleep, but I warily step out of the room and into a quiet hallway, head tilted to catch any sound or sign of movement. The stairs are to my right and when I hear nothing, I tiptoe toward them.

  “Who the fuck are you?” a raspy voice says from just behind me.

  Instinct has me spinning around, fists in the air, before I remember where I am. A guy my age stands there, arms crossed over a very bare chest and sleep pants slung so low I can see the deep grooves on the side of his hips.

  I snap my eyes up and meet his narrowed gaze. He’s got that tousled hair look down perfectly and despite the glare, he’s hands down the hottest guy I’ve ever been this close to.

  It’s impossible not to react on a purely visceral level; he is fallen angel worthy. I cross my arms over my chest and take a step back.

  “Who the fuck are you?” I parrot with false bravado. I can feel the erratic flicker
ing of my pulse in my neck and I’m sure he can see it, too. Predators love prey and right now I’m feeling like a rabbit standing in front of a wolf.

  “I fucking live here,” he grinds out, making up the step between us.

  “Huh, so do I,” I snark back, trying to hide the panic that is coming to life. He towers over me and that now familiar race of fear slides down my back. Heat radiates from his bare skin and I swallow back the sour creeping up the back of my throat.

  “Bullshit.” His dark eyes narrowing ever further, he crosses his own arms and mirrors my pose. Except muscles dance along his biceps that don’t exist on me.

  When he takes that last step and closes the distance between us, I can’t fight it any longer. Air stutters in my lungs and I give in to the urge to flee, spinning around and hurrying to the stairs before he can say anything else. My pulse is pounding in my chest.

  I never thought to ask Mr. Panchard if there was anyone else in his house. My fight-or-flight instinct is in high gear right now and I can’t believe I turned my back on that guy. I’ve already broken one of my own rules.

  The hair on my neck prickles and I know he’s behind me. My bare feet are soundless on thick carpeting. I clench my hands into fists. If he touches me, I’m going to lose it.

  By the time I’ve made it to the kitchen, I can barely squeeze air into my lungs. I come to an immediate stop on the threshold when two more sets of eyes land on me.

  Two more male stares.

  They all look to be about my age. Blondie slouches in his chair, a bowl of cereal in his hand as he shovels spoonfuls into his mouth. His gaze cuts over my shoulder and I see an eyebrow lift.

  The guy behind me shifts and my back goes rigid.

  He’s way too fucking close.

  “Who’re you?” the one in glasses asks.

  His toast is halfway to his mouth, but he seems to have forgotten it. His hair is a chocolate brown and a little longer than the other two. The front hangs over his eyes and he brushes it back before remembering he’s holding food. I fight a smile when the toast crumbles on the table and see crumbs clinging to his locks.