In the Arms of the Elite

by Stunich, C. M.

  Choose between the rich boys.

  I’d rather face the Harpies than make that choice.

  How can my four years at Burberry Prep really be coming to an end?

  No, Tristan, Zayd, Creed, Zack, and Windsor are everything to me right now.

  My strength, my passion, my heart, my empathy, my joy.

  Love is a cruel master, but I have no one to blame for this but myself.

  ***

  We fell in love with the charity case.

  Idols of the school, the kings of the campus, and we’re nothing without her.

  Marnye Elizabeth Reed.

  This girl has twisted our world upside down, but the Infinity Club is about to knock us all on our asses.

  Big money, political ties, family bonds, obligations: shit is going down at the academy.

  The rest of our lives, the rest of her life … it all comes down to this one, final moment.

  Table of Contents Table of Contents

  Front Matter Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Signup for my Newsletter

  Author's Note 1

  Map of The Infinity Club Casino

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Epilogue

  Author's Note 2

  Back Matter I Was Born Ruined Cover

  Adamson All-Boys Academy Covers

  The Secret Girl Chapter 1

  Keep Up With The Fun

  More Books By C.M. Stunich

  About the Author

  In the Arms of the Elite

  In the Arms of the Elite © C.M. Stunich 2019

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  The For information address Sarian Royal Indie Publishing, 89365 Old Mohawk Rd, Springfield, OR 97478.

  www.cmstunich.com

  Cover art and design © Amanda Carroll and Sarian Royal

  The The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, businesses, or locales is coincidental and is not intended by the author.

  this book is dedicated to anyone that’s ever been bullied, abused, or mistreated.

  I see you; I love you.

  never give up.

  it gets better.

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  Author's Note

  ***Possible Spoilers***

  In the Arms of the Elite is a reverse harem, high school bully romance. What does that mean exactly? It means our female main character, Marnye Reed, will end up with at least three love interests by the end of the series. It also means that for a good portion of this book, there’s a lot of indecision, angst, and worry about how to make a relationship between multiple people work. This book in no way condones bullying, nor does it romanticize it. The love interests in this story have paid their dues, changed their ways, and been granted the sweetest gift of all: forgiveness.

  Now it’s time for them to prove their love for Marnye.

  Any kissing/sexual scenes featuring Marnye are consensual. This book might be about high school students, but it is not what I would consider young adult. The characters are brutal, the emotions real, the f-word in prolific use. There’s some underage drinking, sexual situations, mentions of past suicide attempts, and other adult scenarios.

  None of the main characters is under the age of eighteen. This series will have a happy ending inside of these pages.

  For now, this is the final book in the series, but due to popular demand, I may also be starting a new story arc with the same characters called Rich Boys of Bornstead U. That title will act as book one in a new series with Marnye and her friends at college. If you’d like to see more of these characters, please email me at author@cmstunich.com to let me know.

  Reading Order:

  Rich Boys of Burberry Prep Series

  Filthy Rich Boys

  Bad, Bad Bluebloods

  The Envy of Idols

  In the Arms of the Elite

  My graduation gown—and my heart—are in tatters.

  I can barely breathe as the uniformed officer nearest me grabs my elbow.

  “Miss?” he asks, and I blink stupidly in his direction, still reeling from the shock. He … he went to get the car, I tell myself, hands shaking. I reach up with one and grab my cap off my head, the red and black Burberry Prep tassel smearing blood across the back of my hand.

  “She’s in shock.” Someone else is talking, but I’m not sure who. All I can think is: will he live? I’m pretty sure I already know the answer to that question, but I don’t want to believe it. I can’t. I just can’t. Hands haul me to my feet, and I can hear voices talking around me, but all I care about is getting to the hospital.

  “… just her, I’m afraid, but we’ll take good care of her,” the officer says, and then I’m shuffling over to a police cruiser. I shake my head to clear it and look back at the boys, the ones who are still by my side. Someone … seems to be missing, but then I remind myself again that he just went to get the car.

  I’m sorry, I’m sure I make no sense. I just … I’m in shock right now.

  “Where are we going?” I ask as the officer opens the back door for me.

  “We can get you to the hospital with the sirens,” the man says, and I nod because that makes sense, even to my addled brain.

  “We’ll be right behind you,” one of the guys holding onto me says, his grip tight but firm. “Right behind you.”

  I’ve just taken the very last lick of my revenge, put the final nail in the coffin. I’ve made peace with the decision of which boy I should choose, and yet, I’ve never been so miserable. I’ve never hurt so much. How could this happen to me? It’s so much worse than what I suffered during first year. So, so, so much worse.

  A cosmic joke.

  A middle finger from the universe.

  “You’ll be right behind me …” I breathe, and then I slip into the backseat of the cruiser. The red and blue of the sirens flickers across the faces of the crowd, including the boys I just left behind. I wish one of them were in here with me.

  We take off down the road as I reach into my pocket for my phone. The thing is, there’s a hole in my pocket and my damn cell is missing. Of course it is.

  Fuck.

  The nearest hospital is … God, it’s like an hour from here, isn’t it? I almost throw up, leaning over and putting my head between my knees until I get control of my breathing. I’ll wait awhile, and then I’ll ask the officer to call the hospital for me.

  Leaning my head against the cool glass of the window, I close my eyes against the trees as they whir by in a blur. The shock must
really be getting to me because, I swear, I lose time there for a moment. When I open my eyes and sit up, I realize that we’re heading in the wrong direction.

  “Isn’t the hospital due west from here?” I ask, looking around and realizing that we’re closer to the casino than we are the hospital. What the hell? The sirens aren’t on anymore either, which is weird.

  “We’ll get you there, don’t worry,” the officer in the passenger seat says, but he doesn’t turn around to look at me. The longer we drive, the more concerned I get.

  And then we pull into the casino parking lot, and my heart starts to beat so fast I feel like I might pass out.

  “What are we doing here?” I choke out, looking around as we pull into the gravel parking lot, and the officers climb out. They don’t answer me as they open the back door, and then I’m dragged forcefully from the back seat and thrown unceremoniously to the gravel.

  My hands skid across it, tiny rocks embedding themselves into my flesh as I look over my shoulder just in time to see the officers climb back in their car and take off.

  They’ve left me here, at an abandoned casino in the middle of a Native American reservation. It’s bordered by national and state parks on all sides, just trees and nothing else for miles. I push up to my knees just as I hear the scuffle of feet on gravel, turning to look in the direction of the sound.

  And there she is, Harper du Pont with John Hannibal and Gregory Van Horn on either side of her.

  “Hello, Marnye Reed,” she says, her lips curving up into a smile. John has a baseball bat, and Greg is holding a coil of rope.

  This isn’t good. This isn’t good at all.

  I scramble to get to my feet, backing up as Harper strides forward like she owns the place.

  “Infinity Club rules,” she says, smiling. “Your friends did a nice job of making sure we couldn’t hire out your punishment. Marnye Elizabeth Reed can only suffer at the hands of a student …” She trails off with a sigh, tossing some of her bloodred extensions over one shoulder. “And so suffer at the hands of a student, she shall.” Harper gestures at me with her chin, and Greg and John take off toward me.

  I surprise them by running straight at and between them, taking off for the casino with my torn, black graduation gown billowing behind me. My wrist throbs from when I fell off the dais during the ceremony, and there’s blood dripping from my palm, both from the parking lot gravel, and from when I caught it on the edge of Ms. Felton’s chair.

  There is no way in hell I’m letting the Infinity Club win, not when I’m so close. So freaking close.

  I take off around the corner, and up the steps, through the back door …

  Only to run into the rest of the Bluebloods.

  And when I say Bluebloods, I mean the original Bluebloods, the ones from my list.

  “Marnye,” Tristan says, turning around to look at me. He smiles, and my heart turns to ice and shatters in my chest.

  I refuse to believe it. I refuse.

  He looks me dead in the eye and says just one word.

  “Run.”

  I don’t hesitate for even half a second before I do.

  You think you know how this story ends.

  You don't.

  You don't know anything just yet.

  “She's the devil,” I whisper, sitting down hard on the edge of my bed. I'm wearing white footie pajamas with ducks on them, but don't judge: they were a gift from Charlie, and I didn't have the heart to tell him I was ten years too old for them.

  “Who?” Miranda asks, pausing and turning to look at me, her luxurious white-blonde hair hanging over her shoulder. She strokes it gently with the brush, watching me with eyes the color of ice chips in a stormy sea. “Oh, you mean your sister? Don't worry too much about her. My brother's a dickhead, and I still manage to put up with him.”

  I sigh and run my fingers through my hair, trying not to stress too much about the boys and their whereabouts. It's been almost a week since we left them at the Vanderbilt Manor and in the hands of the Infinity Club. If Windsor hadn't texted to let me know everyone was okay, I'd think they were all like, dead or something.

  “Your brother's a kitten in a tiger suit,” I tell her, sitting up and dropping my hands to my lap. “That girl, Isabella Carmichael, she reminds me of Harper.”

  Miranda shivers and sets the brush down, turning fully in the chair to face me, a slight smile working its way onto her full lips. She really is the female version of Creed, his feminine other half. Ugh, I miss Creed. I miss all the boys actually. And that scares me.

  They're all dating me together because they feel bad, because they know they messed up, but I can't ask that of them forever. Eventually, I'll have to choose. It's not fair to them if I don't, right?

  “She wasn't the warmest character, I'll give you that,” Miranda hedges, chewing on her lower lip. While I'm dressed in ridiculous flannel pj's, the Cabot twin is decked out in a short, pink satin nightie. I'll admit it: I'm a little jealous. “But I wouldn't worry about her. Her or Harper. I've got your back; we'll kick both their asses next year.”

  She stands up and moves over to sit on the edge of the bed next to me, reaching out to put my face between her hands. I swear, she smells like strawberries and vanilla. It's comforting somehow.

  “One year left, and we'll leave all these fuckers in the dust. Just one more year.”

  “And then what?” I ask, feeling this strange pang inside my chest. When I first arrived at Burberry Preparatory Academy, I was excited for the years to come. Soon after, that excitement turned to dread. Then it became a mission of survival, a matter of principle.

  Now … I can't imagine it all being over. I'm not ready for it to end. Not yet.

  “Then Creed and I will follow you to Bornstead and bug the shit out of you for four more years! Maybe six or more if we go for a master's or a doctorate.” Miranda pauses as I raise both brows. I think my mouth's hanging slightly open.

  “You're going to Bornstead?” I ask, trying not to get too excited. Nothing's final until, you know, it's final. But still. How could Miranda or Creed be denied? Their mother, Kathleen, went to Bornstead.

  “Of course I am,” she replies, letting go of my face and standing up. “Not only is Bornstead my mother's alma mater, but my best friend is going there. That, and my twin is attached to my best friend's hip. Really, is there any other choice?” She stands up and opens my bedroom door, letting in the raucous rumble of my dad's snoring. “Let's go make midnight margaritas.”

  “There's no alcohol in this house,” I murmur, but I follow after her anyway, the tight, angsty feeling in my chest twisting painfully. Miranda's going to Bornstead. So is Creed. And as far as I know, Zayd is, too. What if I end up picking someone else? What if I don't pick at all? What if breaks my heart in half and spills all my blood to the parched earth if I have to make that choice?

  “We should get dressed and go out,” Miranda whispers as she systematically goes through the fridge and all the cabinets. “Go to a bar or something. I have fake IDs for us both in my bag.”

  I cross my arms over my chest as she turns around and notices my raised brow and hard stare.

  “Fake IDs, seriously?”

  Miranda shrugs and grins.

  “Briana Chow was selling them cheap at the end of the year, and I grabbed some for the whole crew, just in case we wanted to go out.”

  “Briana was selling fake IDs?” I ask, crinkling up my brow and trying to understand why a person as rich as her would even bother going through the trouble. Miranda waves my question away.

  “Yep. And they're good quality, too. Her mom owns a publishing house and a printing shop, and they have all sorts of fun machines in the factory.” Miranda grabs a cluster of grapes from the bowl on the table and pops one juicy purple orb into her mouth. “Did you know her dad's into organized crime? I mean, that's the rumor anyway. I bet they use the printing press to forge all sorts of documents.”

  “You're totally getting sidetracked,” I say
, padding over to the table to get some grapes for myself. “And you know I don't drink. Although I guess it might be fun to go out and dance …”

  “The boys should be back soon, and we can start our college partying early. Well, you, me, Andrew and your many boyfriends. Lizzie is not invited.”

  I cringe slightly, my mind going right back to Tristan's room, and Lizzie's bright amber eyes, the determined set of her face. “All I care about is you, Tristan. I love you.” My stomach feels sour all of a sudden, and I have to clamp a hand over it to calm the rumbling.

  Maybe I shouldn't have told Miranda about Lizzie's confession? Then again, I hate secrets. They're like splinters. If you just pull them out right away, the pain is minimal. Leave them buried and they get infected. Leave them long enough and you have to cut the skin to stop the pain. No thank you.

  “Is there really nothing else going on between you and Lizzie that I should know about?” I ask, but Miranda's already breezing past me, grabbing my hand and dragging me back into the bedroom. She bends over to dig around in her bag and flashes me the lacy panties she's got on. I look away and wait for her to stand up and spin, fanning out several fake driver's licenses.

  Reaching out, I take them into my hand and go through them quickly. There's mine, Miranda's, Andrew's, and one for each of my boyfriends.

  My boyfriends.

  Plural.

  My heart flutters, and I tuck the cluster of plastic cards to my chest.

  Even though it's been a week since we left Vanderbilt Manor, my mind is still roiling with all of the craziness that happened there. The least of which is that you and Tristan almost had unprotected sex … My cheeks flush red as Miranda moves over to the closet and pulls out a pair of expensive designer dresses, tossing them onto the bed.