Do What I Say: A High School Bully Romance (Dirty Little Secret Book 1)

by Kai Juniper

  "Fuck off," I tell her as she and Aubrey leave.

  I'm left alone with Parker and Briggs, who are holding my arms so tight I'm sure they're going to leave a bruise.

  "Why are you doing this?" I ask. "What do you want?"

  "We talk. You listen," Parker says. "Those are the rules."

  "Why are you in on this?" I ask Parker. "You're trying to be valedictorian too?"

  "Shut up!" Briggs tightens his hand around my arm.

  "That's what this is about?" Parker says to Briggs. "You being valedictorian? Who the fuck cares?"

  "That's what I said," I mutter.

  "If it doesn't matter," Briggs says to me, "then give it up. Stop fighting me on this."

  "Wait." Parker keeps hold of my arm as he walks in front of me over to Briggs. "Is that seriously all this is about? I'm missing practice for this."

  "We'll go to practice when we're done. Just shut the fuck up."

  He lets out an annoyed sigh. "So what are we doing with her?"

  "Just get out of here. I'll deal with her myself."

  "I don't know why you're wasting your time with her." He lets go of my arm and walks off.

  "Parker!" Briggs yells.

  "What?"

  "You know what happens when you challenge me. Do it again and you'll be next on my shit list."

  He doesn't say anything, shaking his head as he goes around the building.

  Briggs shoves me back against the brick wall, causing my head to bang against it.

  "You're hurting me!" I yell, then wish I hadn't because he probably gets off on hurting people.

  "Shut the fuck up and listen." Briggs leans down to me, his hands on my arms, holding me in place. "It's only been one day and look what I've done. You really want to continue this?"

  "I don't know what you're talking about," I say, wanting him to admit it. "What did you do?"

  "Don't play stupid. You know what I did."

  "Put drugs in my locker? Made us partners in Chem lab? Big deal." I stare back at him, trying my best to hide my fear. "What else you got?"

  "Your grad form disappearing?" He laughs a little. "I even hid the forms so the old lady in the office would take forever to find them."

  "Yeah? So? You got what you wanted. Here I am. Now what?"

  I wish I hadn't asked. I don't want the answer. Briggs is capable of most anything.

  Briggs lowers his face to mine. "What's it going to be? Do what I asked or find out what's next? And trust me when I say today was nothing. On a scale of one to ten, today was barely a one."

  My chest rises and falls as I struggle to breathe, my heart pounding against my chest. And there's this odd tingling sensation moving through me. My body's never reacted to fear like this. It's almost like I'm turned on but that would be sick, and twisted, and just...wrong.

  Briggs either senses what I'm feeling or it's just part of his game because next thing I know, his mouth is by my ear, his warm breath causing a shiver to go down my spine.

  "What's your answer?" he asks in a low, deep voice.

  "Briggs, stop. Don't do this."

  "Do what?" he asks, his lips brushing over my ear. "What do you think I'm going to do to you?"

  "I don't know but I need you to stop." I hear my voice shaking but I'm not sure if it's from fear or from the sensations coursing through my body. Sensations I should not be feeling right now.

  "You want me to stop?" He raises my arms above my head, his giant hand grasping both my wrists.

  "What are you doing?" I sink back against the wall and look up at my hands. "Let me go."

  "Ella." He waits for me to look at him. "Do you want me to stop?"

  "Yes," I mutter.

  "Then do as I asked. Fail a test. Miss an assignment."

  "I can't." I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to make these feelings go away because what I'm feeling right now, for Briggs, is so damn wrong.

  "Why?" His voice is soft, but still in that deep, powerful tone that reverberates through me as he talks in my ear. "Why can't you do this, Ella? It's one little thing. Like you said, it means nothing."

  "But it does. To me. I worked my ass off to get this and I'm not giving it up."

  He gets quiet, and I keep my eyes closed, not wanting to look at him, not wanting to know what's next.

  I suck in a breath when I feel his hand on my thigh. It's a light touch, not his usual harsh grab. He slowly moves his hand up, taking the knit fabric of my dress with it. More sensations fill my body, making me want to slap myself for feeling them. What the hell is wrong with me?

  "Is that your answer?" he asks, his hand stopping at the top of my thigh.

  I open my eyes and see him looking back at me. "Briggs, please. Don't do this. This isn't you. You've done a lot of bad stuff to me, but this...this is so much worse. And it's not you. I know deep down, it's not."

  His expression softens and his lips part like he's about to say something but then he doesn't.

  "Stop," I tell him. "Please. Just stop."

  I see the movement in his neck as he swallows. He takes his hands off me and places them on the wall beside my head, keeping me trapped in front of him.

  "Say you'll do this. I need this, Ella, more than you'll ever understand."

  His tone is urging, almost desperate.

  "Tell me why. If you tell me maybe I'd—" I don't want to agree to do this so I keep quiet and see if he'll explain.

  "You don't need to fucking know," he says, his tone back to sounding like the harsh, angry Briggs I'm used to. "This is your last chance. You asked me to stop and I did. But next time? Who the fuck knows? You really want to test me and find out?"

  After seeing a glimpse of vulnerability from him just now, that hint of regret in his eyes when I told him to stop, I think there's more to Briggs than the bully I know and hate. I think there's a side of him that doesn't want to be this way or do the things he does. But I can't count on that side of him showing up again to save me. I have to save myself, which means I need to be smarter about this. I should've known today was a trap. I should've been more careful.

  "I need to think about it," I say. "I need more time. It's not like this has to be done tomorrow. I could fail a test any time this semester. Can you stop this and give me time to think?"

  He pauses to consider it. "I'll give you until Monday morning to decide."

  "It's already Friday. That's not enough time."

  "You get all weekend. That's plenty of time."

  "I need more. Seriously, what's the rush? If anything, you're the one benefitting from this."

  "How?"

  "It gives you more time to plan your next move if I tell you no."

  He takes a moment to think. "I'll give you a week. You get all next week to decide. I want your answer a week from Monday and if it's not the answer I want—"

  "You'll torture me. Yeah, got it. And hey, I also want you to call off your minions. Tell Parker and Finn to leave me alone."

  "I don't control what they do, and this deal isn't with them. It's between you and me."

  "But they listen to you. If you tell them to back off, they will."

  He stares into my eyes. "Stop making demands or our deal is off."

  "I wasn't—"

  "You're lucky you got a week." He slowly backs away. "Go. Get the hell out of here."

  I push away from the wall, my legs feeling wobbly as I make my way around the building. I glance back, thinking Briggs is going to sneak up behind me but he's gone.

  "Ella." Ms. Whittaker is walking out of the school when I reach the parking lot. She smiles at me. "What are you still doing here?"

  I smile back. "I had to fill out a form in the office. I'm heading home now."

  "Before you go..." She walks up to me. "I've been meaning to talk to you about your valedictorian speech. Many students like to start on it early in the semester and I wanted to let you know I'd be happy to help or offer suggestions."

  "It's a little soon to say I'll be valedictorian, isn
't it? I mean, don't you have to wait until all the grades are in?"

  She sets her hand on my shoulder. "I think we can both say with confidence that it'll be you, unless you happen to fail a test or forget to turn in your assignments, things I know you would never do. Even if you did, all your extra credit would make up for it. You should be very proud of yourself, Ella. You've worked hard all these years. You deserve this. I'm sure your father is counting the days until he can see you on that stage, giving your speech."

  "Yeah," I say, nodding. "Well, I should go."

  "Have a good night!" she says as I go to my truck.

  She's right. I worked hard. I deserve this. And my dad deserves it too. He raised me by himself after my mom died. He sacrificed his own needs for mine. Giving this up means giving it up for both of us. I can't do that. I owe it to my dad and to myself to finish what I started. I didn't do all this work to just give up at the end.

  Sorry, Briggs, but this is how it has to be. I can't give you what you want.

  If Briggs wants to fight me, he can, but I'm going to fight back.

  Chapter Six

  Briggs

  I get home from practice at six, fucking exhausted and wanting to just go to bed. Practice went on longer than usual because Parker decided to get an attitude with Coach who made us all run three miles as punishment.

  Parker can turn on the charm for the teachers but he can't keep his mouth shut on the field. He can't keep quiet when I tell him something either. Last year I told him I liked this girl and he went right over and told her. She ended up going out with me but that's not how I wanted it to happen.

  Parker's my closest friend so I cut him some slack for being an idiot who can't keep his mouth shut but sometimes I wish he was the kind of friend I could tell shit to, like the shit with my dad. I haven't told anyone that, and keeping it inside is killing me. I fucking hate it. If I could just tell someone, just one person, maybe I'd be able to breathe again instead of feeling like there's a fucking vice grip around my chest, cutting off my air.

  "Son, is that you?" I hear my father say as I'm going upstairs. He's using the tone he reserves for when other people are around. The fake nice tone meant to imply he gives a shit about me.

  "What do you need?" I say, gritting my teeth as I look behind him to see who he's trying to impress, but I don't see anyone.

  "Get down here!" he whispers in his usual tone. Demanding. Threatening. Hateful.

  I saunter down the stairs, sighing when I reach the bottom.

  "Where the hell were you?" he asks.

  "At practice," I say, like he should already know this.

  "It's after six.”

  "Yeah? It went late today." I glance upstairs. "Are we done here? I need to go study."

  It's a lie. I'm not studying. I'm too damn tired.

  "Get cleaned up and get down here." He glances around to make sure we're alone. "We have guests waiting."

  "Guests? What guests?"

  He narrows his eyes at me. "I told you about this dinner last weekend. Are you telling me you forgot? You didn't even write it down?"

  My father is all about schedules and keeping track of shit. He hates that I'm not like that. It's one of the million things he hates about me.

  I shrug. "Guess I forgot."

  His jaw tightens. "I don't know why I even—" He blows out a breath.

  "What?" I ask, challenging him to say it. "You don't know why you had me? It was so you could have someone to control. Wasn't that it?"

  Normally I wouldn't say that to him, knowing it'll set him off, but with guests in the other room he'll control his temper no matter what I say. I may pay for it later but it was worth it. It feels fucking awesome to call him on his shit instead of letting him pretend he's the perfect father who's forced to treat me like shit because I'm a horrible son.

  He points upstairs. "Get up there and make yourself presentable. Suit and tie. Dinner is in twenty minutes. If you are one minute late, I'm cutting off your allowance for the week."

  Money for performance. He runs an investment firm so it makes sense for his business but not his personal life. But it's how it's always been. If I do what he says, I get money or a car or whatever else I want. If I don't, he takes it away. Money is control to him but as I got older it stopped working. I was sick of him telling me what to do so I rebelled. I didn't follow his orders. That's when the abuse began. So far it's only been a slap to the face or shoving me against the wall but I know he'd do worse if I really pissed him off.

  I've tried to avoid that, but it's not because I'm afraid of him or what he'll do to me. Let him punch me. I really don't care. Playing rugby, I'm used to pain. It's the money that's keeping me in line. To me, money isn't control. It's freedom, something I want more than anything. And if I just do as he says for a few more months, I'll have it.

  "You must be Briggs," a man says, appearing next to my father. The man is old with white hair, wearing a dark gray suit with a lapel pin that looks like a company logo.

  "Yes," my father says, his sinister expression replaced with that of a proud father, smiling at his son. "Briggs Chadwick the third. Briggs, this is Gerald Forsythe, owner of Forsythe TransAtlantic."

  "Nice to meet you," I say, shaking his hand and giving him the Chadwick smile. I was taught it before I could even speak. It's a partial smile, lips closed. It's meant to be cordial but businesslike. According to my father, a full smile makes you look like you're trying too hard for the person's approval. The half smile keeps them guessing and gives you the upper hand.

  "Briggs has just returned from rugby practice," my father says, "but he'll go clean up and be joining us soon."

  "Your father said you're the team captain," Forsythe says. "An athlete and a scholar. That's very impressive."

  Not to my father. He constantly reminds me how much more he was doing when he was my age, like working for my grandfather at the firm and getting involved in civic organizations to network with people who might be potential clients. He expects me to be doing all that and more but I haven't, telling him I need time to study. He says I'm stupid if I need that much time to study, and I just let him think that, knowing it's the only thing keeping me from having to work for him.

  My father turns to Forsythe. "Let's give Briggs some time to get cleaned up. Tell me, Gerald, are you a bourbon man?"

  "I am, indeed." He grins.

  "Let me show you to my private collection. I think there's one, or perhaps a few, you'd like to try."

  As they walk off, I race up to my room and straight to the shower. I feel like I need to wash off after playing along with my father's performance downstairs. He goes from evil dictator to doting father in less than a second. It's disturbing and wrong and yet I can't do anything about it. And in a few minutes I'll be back downstairs, taking part in the performance and hating myself for it.

  I close my eyes and tip my head back as the hot water falls over me, soothing my tired muscles which will soon get tight again when I go downstairs. For now, I set those thoughts aside and try to breathe. I push out my chest, extend my arms, and try to get air in my lungs.

  An image of Ella pops in my head. What the hell?

  I blink a few times and try to get rid of it but it's still there. Ella with her big, brown eyes and long, dark hair, staring back at me as I pinned her against the wall behind the school. It was just her and me. I'm twice her size. I could've done whatever I wanted to her. But I couldn't. I wouldn't. As much as I hate her, it's not who I am.

  It's not who I am. When she said that, it shocked me to the core. She doesn't know me, not the real me. She only knows the guy I let people see. The one every girl wants. The one other guys wish they could be. Ella knows me as a bully because that's all I've ever been to her. I've tortured her, because I can. I wouldn't call it torture. I'd call it putting her in her place because she tends to forget she lacks power, and those that forget need to be reminded.

  Ella should be kissing my damn feet the way I've treated her
the past year. Aside from some name-calling and making fun of that rusted-out truck she drives to school, I've left her alone, and I would've continued to leave her alone if it weren't for this valedictorian shit.

  Why can't she just do what I asked? I'm sure she's already been accepted to college and I'm sure she'll get scholarships to pay for it, so what the hell's her problem? It's not like she needs to do this for her parents. Her mom's dead and I'm sure her dad doesn't care. He's one of those fathers that loves his kid no matter what. Ella could flunk out of school and he'd still love her.

  I ram my fist against the stone shower wall, cringing at the pain it leaves behind. I try to take a deep breath but can't. It's like someone's squeezing my chest, taking all the air out.

  My phone dings from the counter. I wipe the steam off the glass shower door and see the text is from my dad, telling me to hurry up. He has these client dinners all the time but I haven't been required to be there until just recently. It's because I'm about to graduate. He expects me to become more involved in the company and learn how to interact with clients.

  It's not going to happen. I'm not working for him and I'm not taking over the company. Running an investment firm is not what I want to do. I don't care if I could make a billion dollars a year doing it. It's not what I want. And when I get my freedom, I'll finally tell him that.

  Ten minutes later I'm dressed in my suit and tie, looking at myself in the bathroom mirror and realizing how much I look like my father. I wish I didn't, because every fucking time I look at myself it's like looking at him. Maybe when I'm finally free of this place I'll dye my hair blond or shave it and get some tats to line my neck. My father would hate that. Just imagining the look on his face if he saw me like that makes me smile.

  My phone dings again.

  Get down here! he texts. Now!

  "Go fuck yourself, asshole," I mutter as I leave the bathroom and walk through my room to the hall. I slowly go down the stairs, trying to put this off as long as possible, knowing how horrible these dinners are and just wanting it to be over.

  As usual, the dinner guests are all over seventy, all men, all white. Every one of them looks the same. They're probably even wearing the same suits from the same store and the same designer.