by Thorne, Leia
By the time lunch rolls around, I’ve worried so much about what—if anything—will happen with these uber elites that I’ve exhausted my supply of adrenaline.
All I want to do is eat and crash in the library.
As I stand in line with an orange tray, someone taps my shoulder.
“Don’t eat that,” a girl says. “It’s not real food. Come on.” She nods her head. “I’ll share my lunch with you.”
It’s one of them—the beautiful girl with long and sleek auburn hair that I saw standing next to Emry. She’s statuesque and willowy. Her skin as flawless as porcelain.
“Okay…” I have no choice but to follow her as she grabbed my backpack and is now leading me toward a long wood table in the far back near the stained-glass windows.
I swear, this cafeteria is something right out of a middle-grade fantasy novel. School banners decorate the sheetrock walls that blend into stone higher up to meet giant beams that cross overhead. Three large wrought iron chandeliers hang from above.
“I’m Palmer Childs, by the way,” she says, and plants my pack on the floor next to an empty seat—the seat beside the blond girl from this morning. “And you already know Sawyer Van Doren.”
I smile at her, hesitantly sitting down beside Sawyer.
“Then we have Rush Decker”—Palmer points to the built guy across from me—“Emry Leighton, who you met yesterday, my studly boyfriend. And that’s Gage Astor.”
The too-gorgeous boy from science.
I offer a small wave. “Hi. I’m Remi St. James. Otherwise known as New Girl.” Do all the kids here use their last names in greeting, like some kind of status thing?
“Oh, my god. She’s so cute,” Palmer says, taking the seat next to Emry. “You don’t have to be shy. We’re not.” She winks, and that makes me even more self-conscious.
“Okay. Thanks.” I rack my brain for something interesting to say, but I’m the new one. I have no baseline for conversation.
“So, what do you think of Brighton Saints Academy so far?” This question from Emry, my tour guide and yet another ridiculously gorgeous male.
I loop a strand of hair behind my ear. “It’s intense,” I admit.
Emry laughs, digging into his tray of food. “Best description I’ve heard yet.”
Palmer slides a wrapped cartridge my way. “Organic vegies and crackers.”
“Oh, thank you.” I unwrap the plastic and pick up a cracker. This is the most awkward thing that has ever happened to me…and I’m waiting for the catch. Like Ex-Lax-laced food, and the trilling laugh that will follow me out the lunchroom when my bowels explode.
I take a bite anyway. It tastes strange, but then again, it’s organic. I chew and swallow.
“So,” Sawyer says, picking around her own cartridge. “Where are you from?”
I tell them a little about Camden Heights, the safe stuff to talk about. How I was on the track and field team, but wasn’t a star athlete or anything. About my friends, Piper and Aubrey—and no, I mention, there was no boyfriend. “Pretty basic,” I wrap up. “But I do miss it.”
Through my whole spiel, Gage watched me intently. I’m not sure he even blinked.
But it’s Palmer who speaks first. “Wow. That is really sad, your parents moving you away at the start of senior year like that. I would hate mine for doing something so wretched.”
I shrug, but don’t correct her on the plural parents. It’s just one parent now. “It’s not that bad. I think my dad just wanted me to have some of his experiences.” At their confused expressions, I say, “Oh, he used to go here. He said high school at Brighton was some of his best memories.”
This gets a curious look from Sawyer. “That is interesting.” She glances at Gage. “Did you know her father used to attend the academy?”
Gage finally shifts his penetrating gaze away from me and focuses on Sawyer. “Actually, I did,” he says, his light-blue eyes finding me quickly again. “He was a track star and part of the prom court. I think there’s a picture of him in the cases outside the cafeteria.”
My mouth parts, and I shake my head. “How did you know that?”
A slanted smile tips his mouth, revealing the hint of dimples in his cheeks. “Brighton is exclusive and rather small. There have only been two St. James kids to attend. I did the math.”
Sawyer speaks up. “Gage is involved with the student council,” she offers in way of explanation. “They keep files on every student.”
Right. Good to know. I nod, accepting that these people probably know more about my family than I do. At least, on my dad’s side. What little I do know came from my father’s vague stories of high school. His “glory days.”
I finish the carrots and celery and crackers, and hate myself for wanting what’s on Emry’s tray, which looks far more appetizing than my rabbit food. Compared to Camden, the school food here looks gourmet.
The bell rings, and no one makes a move to leave. I feel awkward as I glance around, watching the rest of the students file out through the stone arches.
Palmer leans in toward me from across the table. “So there’s this kickback this weekend,” she says, a delicate smile on her face, “and even though the kickbacks around here are kind of lame, that’s all there really is to do.”
I raise my eyebrows. “Okay…” The question implied.
“Anyway, Sawyer and I are going shopping for new outfits. Again, the mall here, kinda lame, but it’s something to do. And sometimes we can place orders from the stores to boutique shops in New York. Do you want to go with?”
“After school?” I ask, gripping the strap of my pack.
Sawyer turns toward me. “Right now.”
Peer pressure has never been an issue for me. Honestly, I thought it was greatly exaggerated until this moment.
When you have no foundation to stand on, and someone is offering you a branch—even if that branch turns out to be a snake—you want to reach for it.
Still, I shake my head. “I’m sorry…I would, but it’s only my second day…”
“No worries,” Sawyer says. She stands, and the rest of the crew stand with her. “Next time.”
She’s nice about it, and Palmer even smiles at me as she leaves, but I still can’t help feeling like I made the wrong choice. I watch them leave out the glass doors toward the courtyard.
I may have passed the inquisition, but I hardly feel that was the real test.
As I leave the lunchroom, I walk past the glass-encased shelves that line the outer corridor. Trophies and accolades, pictures of star athletes and academic accomplishments over the years.
I glance at the pictures while searching for my dad, wondering if he really is here.
My steps falter as I notice a case in the middle surrounded by black and silver ribbons, the colors of mourning. The pictures of the girl steal my breath.
Below a picture of her smiling brightly, it reads: In loving memory of Lesley de Pont.
You look like her.
What the guy at my locker said comes back to me, and I stare at her face, transfixed.
In one of the pictures, Lesley is surrounded by the group I just ate lunch with. Six beautiful and perfect Brighton Saints. But what really grabs my attention is the fact that yes, in some alternate reality where I’m one of them—after a major makeover—I could look just like her. Our features are similar enough.
I push closer to the case and squint at the image. All of them are wearing the same silver rings with a crest. I can’t make out the initials, though, and decide it’s probably the school crest.
I glance aound, making sure I’m alone, then snap a pic of the case with my phone camera. Then, as I head to my next block, I do a quick Internet search on Lesley de Pont.
Teen socialite takes own life, the local article reads.
Suicide.
Suddenly, I wonder if he was right, if my similar appearance is what captured their interest. And what’s more, what would make a girl like Lesley end her life?
/> Chapter 5
Gage
“You’re just creeping her out.” Emry closes his car door and stares at me. “Honestly, Gage. The vibe I got from her yesterday was that she’s skittish enough.”
Rush rounds the hood of Emry’s Bentley coupe. “I got a virgin vibe off her,” he says, “and damn, it was hot. I could practically smell her sweet cherry pie.” He grabs his crotch and squeezes. “Uhh.”
I stand in the middle of the two cars and cast my gaze toward the lake. The large body of water is center in Crescent Valley and, of course, shaped like a crescent moon. This spot is one of the private lakefront beaches on my property, and it’s often where I come to think and be alone, but today, I brought my Broken Saints to work out the next stage.
By now, Remi has probably found Lesley in the display case. Her father isn’t there, of course, that was a ploy to get her to look, to notice her place among us.
“She’s one of us,” I say, as I trek closer to the lake shore.
Sawyer and Palmer are seated on the hood of my Audi, and Sawyer watches me closely. She’s been quiet since we left Brighton. Still sore at me for keeping everything I know about Remi from her, I guess.
But in a gamble, you can’t show all your cards.
“Remi looks so much like…” Palmer trails off. She knows she’s not allowed to say her name, but she doesn’t have to say it. They’ve all been thinking it.
“I know,” Emry follows up. “When Barton introduced me to her yesterday, I swear I was staring at a ghost.”
“That’s enough,” Sawyer declares. “She’s not her, and she never will be. I’m not sure why Gage is invested in the idea of her being initiated.” She narrows her eyes at me. “She won’t pass.”
What she’s really saying: The reason I suddenly recommended a new member was because of Remi’s resemblance to Lesley. Truth? Maybe yes, and maybe no. I’m good at secrets. When Remi’s file dinged my inbox as a new applicant, and I saw her school photo…
A seed was planted.
So when I heard that she wasn’t a real contender to be accepted into Brighton Saints, I greased the wheels. I made it happen. Remi was lacking on the academic front. I simply made a few key edits to her file before the admissions office reviewed it.
I turn and face them. “We need a sixth member,” I say. “It’s time. And Remi belongs to us now.”
Rush grunts. “Oh, my god, yes. Give me that virgin pussy.” He tugs at his dick again.
“She’ll choose Gage,” Sawyer says, pushing off the hood.
“Fuck, man. Why do you have to kill a guy’s dreams?” Rush sends her a scowl, but it’s playful. And something perks up in Sawyer.
“Really, Rush? That’s what you dream about?” She inches up her uniform skirt teasingly. “Are you sure virgin ass really does it for you?”
Rush stalks toward her and flips up the back of her skirt, showing off her round ass with a hint of G-string. “I much rather have a piece of this hotness.” He slaps her ass cheek and then grabs it, groaning.
“Are you sober?” Sawyer demands.
“Damn straight. Coach is doing random drug testing this week. Flushing my system.”
Palmer snorts. “How is it random if you know about it?”
Rush barely processes her question, his sole attention focused on easing Sawyer’s panties down her legs. “That’s the benefit of owning the football team, Palm. Now go give your man a Palm job.” He laughs. “Damn, that joke never gets old.”
Rush doesn’t own the team. Not really. His perks and status are tantamount to his status among the Broken Saints, and I can pull his membership at any time. I’ve been considering if a may have to do just that should his drug use spiral.
Sawyer angles her leg over the hood of Emry’s car, opening her self wide, as Rush drops to his knees. “Oh, my god. I missed this pussy.” Then he licks her, eating her out.
With a dejected frown, Palmer heads my way. She wraps an arm around my waist. “Why don’t you come join me and Emry,” she says.
I inhale deeply. “I’m good here.”
“Why do you let her torture you? Come on, Gage.”
“I said, I’m good.” I move away from her and find a seat on a bolder, the perfect view to see Sawyer’s face.
“He’s a masochists. Enjoys the torture,” Rush says, as he stands and unzips his slacks. He takes out his cock and strokes it a couple of times before lining the head up against the seam of Sawyer’s pussy. “Don’t you, you twisted fuck? Hell, both of you are fucked in the head. It’s been this way since middle school.” He thrusts inside her, and Sawyer lets out a soft moan.
“I just thought they’d fuck and get it over with by now,” Palmer says. She’s already at work pulling Emry’s pants down.
“It’s their game,” Rush says, his thrusts speeding as he fucks Sawyer.
“You can stop talking about us like we’re not here,” Sawyer says. She looks directly at me as she unbuttons her shirt, freeing her perfect tits.
“That’s why we need fresh blood,” Rush says. “Oh, god, baby. Yeah, work those hips.” He fondles her breasts, tweaking her nipples, as he drives deeper inside her. “This game between you two is definitely getting stagnant.”
“I agree with that,” Emry says. Then he loses all interest in the conversation as he goes down on Palmer.
I stay silent, listening to the soft, breathy pants Sawyer makes. I watch her kick her ass out, arch her back, hands splayed over the hood of the car. A fucking sex goddess.
I read a book once on tantric sex. It’s mainly for guys to learn how to extend their orgasm, hold off from coming too soon. But it also instructs on how to control an orgasm, the timing of it and duration.
I started practicing myself, getting better and better at controlling my breathing and muscles. Then I watched a porn on the Internet that showed a guy getting a hard-on while he was doing pull-ups. He came in less than two minutes, no stroke-off necessary.
I focus on Sawyer now. I lock eyes with her. M cock grows hard in my pants, and I have the desperate urge to unleash it, beat the fuck out of it while I watch her get off.
But I control the impulse. I slow my breathing. My cock throbs inside my boxers, and I flex my core muscles, making the fucker jump a couple of times. I rock my hips, letting the friction of my pants do some of the work.
Sawyer watches me, licks her lips. Such a fucking teasing bitch.
“Grab her hair,” I order Rush.
He does so, yanking her head back, and her tits bounce from the force.
“Jesus…ah fuck…” Rush pumps her pussy harder, rocking into her with fast, primal thrusts. “Touch yourself, Saw. Do it now.”
My dick gets rock-hard at the sight of her dipping her fingers toward her clit. And when she rubs it, working the nub like a pro…and moans out her orgasm…
“Shit…ah…” Hot semen spurts inside my boxers. My cock pulses against my pelvis, throbbing in sync to her clipped moans of pleasure.
I release heavy breaths, lightheaded, as I come down with her.
Rush groans loudly. “Ah hell. Sorry, Emry. But I got to…” He pulls out of Sawyer and grabs his cock, aiming his load on the hood of the car.
“Fuck you!” Emry shouts, but he’s only half invested as he drills Palmer’s ass from behind.
Rush zips up and heads off toward the lake shore. He spends a lot of time alone lately. Or high. Despite my investment in Remi, I need to keep a closer watch on him. It’s fine if he wants to blow off steam in high school, but later, when I need him, I need him on point.
Sawyer straightens her shirt and smoothes her blond hair down. She peeks over at me. “Are you going to clean yourself up?”
I lower my pants, then use my boxers to wipe away the mess, before I put my slacks back on. Sawyer watches with a curious glint in her eye. “Tell me everything you know about Remi St. James.”
“There’s nothing to tell.” I slide onto the hood of my car.
Sawyer crosses her arms
and stalks toward me. “There’s not a single student that walks the halls of Brighton that you don’t know every last details about. You make sure of that.”
Secrets are power. It’s a more lucrative currency than money. “What’s your point, Sawyer?”
“My point is,” she sidles up beside me, “she has no place at Brighton, and somehow, here she is, in attendance.”
I shrug. “Apparently her father went to the academy. It makes sense.”
She scoffs. “You knew that, too. Which was mysteriously omitted from the file you showed me.”
“What is it that you really want to know?” I look at her.
“What’s your endgame? It’s not me, so don’t go there. What’s really going on?”
I drive a hand through my hair, stalling. Then I grasp her hand, turn it over, so that her ring faces us. A platinum band with an engraved BSS. Broken Saints Society. Every member wears the ring.
“Every secret society has a successor,” I say, lacing my fingers through hers. “Someone they entrust with the keys to the kingdom. Pass down their knowledge to. Someone to continue traditions.”
Her eyes squint. “You want Remi to take over your society?”
“Our society,” I correct her.
“That doesn’t make sense. She’s a senior.”
My lips tip into a halfhearted smile. “She’ll be a repeater. She’ll have such an off year that she’ll fail just about every class, and will have to repeat her senior year.”
“Oh, my god,” she says, squeezing my hand. “You’re diabolical.”
“I’m ensuring that someone who we can maintain control over will be in charge. Think of all the leaders who come out of Brighton? All the CEOs. All the politicians. The most powerful influencers…”
“And you think you can, what? Establish a system to control them all?”
“Yes.”
She looks out over the lake, her gaze trailing Rush, Emry, and Palmer as they walk along the beach. Each member of the Broken Saints came to me a lost, damaged soul.
Children of money. Of divorce. Of sexual and physical and mental abuse.
The offspring of the filthy rich and powerful are a ruined lot.
