The Mercy Academy Box Set: A Complete High School Bully Romance Series

by Lane Hart

  “What happened?” I ask. Even though I think I already have an idea, I just want her to keep talking to me. I even slip my arm around her back to clasp her upper arm and hold her. It seems like she needs comfort from someone; and for the moment, I’m the lucky son of a bitch she’s opening up to.

  I’m only a little disappointed when she shakes her head on my shoulder, refusing to go into details. I don’t think I really want to hear them anyway.

  “Promise me that you won’t ever be a jerk to girls like Sean Jacobs,” Caroline says when she turns her face to see mine.

  “Okay,” I easily agree, because it’s not like I’m having to fight chicks off with a stick or anything. No, that’s always been Aric and Royal, and I’m just their tagalong friend.

  “And…and don’t get in a big hurry to lose your virginity to just anyone,” Caroline adds when she lowers her eyes but keeps her head on my shoulder while she talks to me about s-e-x.

  Holy shit. My dick swells up in record-breaking time behind my zipper as I subtly try and pull my hoodie lower to cover it. Caroline doesn’t seem to notice because she goes on to say, “Your first time should be with someone special, you know? It should mean something to you and to her. You should love each other.”

  In the silence that follows her advice, I struggle to think of what to say; but it’s hard to come up with anything good thanks to all my blood rushing south and my total lack of experience.

  “So, um, did you, did you love Sean?”

  “No,” she answers without hesitation. “I stupidly thought that, if I slept with him, maybe he would fall in love with me. Instead, he’s acting like I’m invisible now and talking to every other girl in the world.”

  “Sean’s an asshole,” I tell her honestly. “There are plenty of guys out there who would kill to be with you, Caroline.”

  “You think so?” she asks, tilting her face to mine again. We’re so close, only inches separating her lips from mine. And fuck, I want to kiss her, but I can’t. I’m just her little brother’s friend and nothing more. I sure as hell can’t compete with some senior dickhead.

  “Absolutely. Forget Sean. The best thing you can do is probably move on. You know, act like you don’t give a shit about him.”

  “Ugh, I can’t just forget him!” Caroline groans when she presses her face into the shoulder of my hoodie and winds her hands around my arm to squeeze it. Her muffled voice says into the fabric, “He’ll always be my first! I wish…I wish I could just take it back. Now he’s going around school telling everyone!”

  God, I wish I could take her virginity back for her, but it’s too little too late. The guys and I have always talked about how we can’t wait to fuck a girl to get rid of ours, but now, seeing how much Caroline regrets her first time…well, I don’t want to ever feel that way or make the girl I’m with want to take it back after it’s over. Being a disappointment sounds a helluva lot worse than staying a virgin. Although, she said she regretted giving her virginity to Sean but not that it actually sucked.

  “Was it…was it any good?” I can’t help but ask curiously.

  “No,” Caroline answers without having to consider it, tightening her grip on my arm. “We did it in the backseat of his Mercedes. It was cramped and uncomfortable, not to mention it hurt. At least it only lasted, like, two minutes…”

  I make a mental note to never screw a girl in my car our first time and to jerkoff at least twice before doing the deed so I can last longer than two minutes.

  “So then at least Sean wasn’t your first good sex,” I point out.

  “Oh yeah,” she agrees after several quiet moments. “Maybe I’ll even tell him that.”

  “You should,” I urge her. “If he’s telling people anyway, then you should make sure they at least know that he wasn’t any good.”

  “They should,” Caroline says with a chuckle. “And you know what else?”

  “What?” I ask.

  Whispering, she says, “I thought he would be bigger.”

  “Oh, you should definitely throw that out there too,” I tell her with a grin. At least I know that’s one thing I have on Sean fucking Jacobs, because I’m very, very blessed in the size department. Which is probably why no virgin is ever going to want me to be her first.

  While I’m thinking about my big Johnson, Caroline’s lips land with a smack on my cheek. “Thank you, Blake,” she says as she lets me go to get to her feet. By the time I look over my shoulder, she’s already slipping inside the house. Her short, pleated skirt barely covering her ass is the last glimpse I have of her.

  I sit there on the steps for a few more minutes in disbelief that Caroline not only opened up to me but actually talked to me about sex.

  And then I get up and go home to take a shower and jerk off until I withdraw every single fantasy about my best friend’s sister from my spank bank and then close out the account for good.

  Never again will I think about Caroline Prince naked, I promise myself.

  There are plenty of other girls in equally short skirts to chase after that are not related to my best friend.

  Too bad my dick never agreed to any such agreements.

  Chapter 1

  Blake

  Four years later…

  September

  “I gave you everything, and this is how you repay me, you ungrateful bitch?”

  My dad has been yelling at my mom for hours on end, and I can’t take it anymore.

  Fucking Aric Prince.

  Maybe I should’ve kept my mouth closed, but I was just so pissed that I came home and called my mom out as soon as I found out she had been screwing my best friend.

  At first, she denied it.

  Then, my father, a calm and cool under pressure lawyer, started questioning her like she was on trial until finally Mom broke down and admitted it was true. That’s when my dad lost his mind and his temper. I’ve never heard him shout before or swear until tonight. What she did, it’s the ultimate betrayal, I get that. But now it’s gone on for a long damn time.

  The crazy thing is that their three-hour screaming match is the most they’ve said to each other in probably ten years. My dad is always working, one emergency corporate civil case after another needing his attention. Not that my mom ever seemed to mind his absence. I barely saw the two of them in the same room. They don’t even sleep in the same bed. My mom always claimed it was because Dad got up early and came home so late, interrupting her sleep, so she started crashing in one of our four guest bedrooms a few years back.

  I’m not an idiot. My birthday falls just four months after their wedding anniversary, and I’m an only child. I was an unwanted pregnancy when my mom was still in high school and my dad was in college. They got married because she was knocked up, not because they loved each other. As far as I can tell, they barely tolerate each other and do so by keeping their distance. Mom shops and socializes with her friends while Dad works seventy-hour weeks. He says he does it so we can have nice things, but I’m pretty sure he just doesn’t like coming home.

  Even though it’s around three a.m., I send Royal a text message asking if I can come stay with him.

  His response is, Sure. Shit hitting the ceiling?

  You have no fucking idea, I respond before I climb out of bed and start tossing some clothes into my backpack.

  I throw the bag over one shoulder and then place my hand on my doorknob to try and get up the nerve to walk into the crossfire.

  Once my mom says yet again that it was a one-time mistake, a lie neither my dad nor I am buying, I finally jerk the door open and jog down the stairs toward the front door.

  “Where are you going?” my dad asks from where it looks like he’s been pacing in front of my mother. She’s sitting on the sofa with black streaks of makeup running down her face. Dad’s black hair is no longer perfectly slicked back but a mess from yanking on it.

  “Royal’s house,” I answer.

  “Fine,” he says to me, then to my mom, “Thank god Royal�
�s mom hasn’t been fucking our son like you fucked the Princes’ boy! How would you feel about that, huh, Collette? Disgusted probably, because that’s how I feel!”

  I don’t wait to hear my mom’s response; I just get the hell out of there and hope they’ve calmed down by the time I come back.

  “So how bad is shit at your house?” Royal asks Saturday afternoon when I finally wake up after crashing on his uncomfortable floor because straight dudes don’t sleep together.

  “Bad,” I tell him when I sit up and rest my back against the side of his bed frame. “Like really fucking bad.”

  “No kidding,” he says while tossing a baseball in the air and catching it over and over again. He’s never been one to sit down much, and I’m guessing that his suspension from the football and baseball team is still eating away at him.

  “I’m gonna kill Aric,” I tell him. “Did you know about any of this?”

  “Fuck no,” he says. “You know I would’ve told you if I did. Aric kept this fucked-up train wreck a secret from everyone.”

  “Do you think…maybe it just happened once?” I mutter, and Royal’s silence tells me exactly what he thinks of that.

  “You could ask Aric,” he suggests.

  “Fuck that. I don’t want to hear a single word out of his disgusting mouth!”

  “I don’t blame you,” he agrees. “But if you want answers, only two people can give them to you.”

  “Whatever. I just want to forget everything including my own name for the rest of the weekend.”

  “That can be arranged,” Royal says with a grin. “You worried about the team’s drug tests?” he asks.

  “Couldn’t care less. With that asshole injured, our season will be done in about three more weeks anyway.”

  “In that case, let the wasted weekend begin!” Royal announces.

  Chapter 2

  Blake

  “Nice of you to finally come home,” my dad grumbles when I walk into the kitchen Monday morning to grab some cereal before school. Pretty damn ironic if you ask me since he’s never home. He’s leaning his back against the counter in his suit and tie, drinking a cup of coffee with bags under his eyes.

  “I thought you and mom could use the privacy,” I respond, having spent the night with Royal again last night and only just coming home around seven this morning to get ready for school.

  “Here,” he says, holding up a gold key in front of his face.

  “What’s this for?” I ask when I take it.

  “I had the locks changed yesterday. That’s why I’m running late for work. I wanted to give you a copy so you can get in after school.”

  “Oh,” I mutter.

  “Your mother isn’t welcome in my house,” he goes on to say. “Don’t let her in for any reason whatsoever. Do you understand?”

  “Ah, yeah,” I respond even though that’s pretty harsh. I mean, I’m angry at her too, but kicking her out is brutal. “Where is she?” I ask.

  “Don’t know and don’t care. We’re getting a divorce,” he says into his coffee. “Guess that shouldn’t be a big surprise given the circumstances.”

  “You’re not even going to try and forgive her?” I ask him.

  “No,” is his one-word clipped response. “And Aric Prince isn’t welcome in this house ever again. Got that? I don’t want to see his smug fucking face.” With that pronouncement, he places his coffee mug in the sink and then heads for the garage door. “Lock up before you leave.”

  Great. Aric’s singlehandedly responsible for ruining my entire fucking life.

  One way or another I’m going to make that asshole pay for this.

  “Hey man, I know you’re pissed but just let me apologize,” Aric says when he comes up to me first thing at school Monday morning when I’m throwing my shit into my locker.

  “Fuck off,” I tell him when I slam my locker shut as hard and loud as possible. The urge to punch the prick in the face is strong, and the only thing that stops me is the pathetic, blue sling around his right arm. Only an even bigger dick would hit a man who is already injured and can’t fight back.

  “I’m sorry. Really. And I know that doesn’t make up for what I did. If I could take it back, I would!” he says, which for some reason has me thinking back to the conversation I had with his sister four years ago, when Caroline was a freshman and we were still in middle school. Her regrets were different, though. They were personal. Aric is only apologizing and regretting shit now because he got caught. Still, I can’t help but wonder how Caroline is doing now that she’s graduated and off at college.

  Now seems like as good as time as any to mention her to him.

  “How’s your sister, Aric?” I snap at him.

  He reels back, caught off guard by my question.

  “Caroline is fine, I guess. She hasn’t been home since school started. Why?” he asks, brows furrowed.

  “How many times did you fuck my mom?” I ask him.

  “Ah, well…” his face turns the color of blood. “I’m not sure. Do you-do you really want to know?”

  “Uh-huh,” I say even though I really don’t.

  “Maybe like two or three…” he starts. Two or three times isn’t as awful as I thought. “Dozen times,” he finishes with a wince, and my fists clench at my sides with the urge to punch him in his fucking face.

  “What if I told you I’ve thought about fucking your sister two or three dozen times?” I yell at him and enjoy his cringe. “That’s right. It sucks to think about your friends screwing the women in your family, doesn’t it? You know the difference, though? Caroline isn’t married, she’s nearly my age, and she isn’t your goddamn mother! So, screw you, Aric. Leave me the hell alone!”

  Chapter 3

  Caroline Prince

  October

  “Be sure to read chapters six and seven before Monday. There will be a quiz!” Professor Waller warns our chemistry class. “Miss Prince, a word?” he calls out, making me flinch and blush from being singled out.

  Over the past four years, I’ve been searching for the legendary “good sex” only to be disappointed again and again fifteen times in a row. That’s right, I’ve kept count, writing down each and every failure of bad sex known to man — my painful first time, head wound sex, falling off the bed sex, the awkward anal sex. You name it I’ve unfortunately done it in search of what I’m now starting to believe is the mythical good sex that other girls talk about. Now, I’m about to get fucked over by my professor in the absolute worst way possible. I’m talking the dry as the desert, jackhammer, caught by your parents, good-old-fashioned fucking. Oh, the shame.

  I hurry to put away my laptop and textbook into my messenger bag before I jog down the auditorium stairs to find out just how screwed I am now.

  “You’re failing,” Mr. Waller says without preamble.

  “I know,” I reply.

  “Then why haven’t you dropped my class?”

  “Because I’m not a quitter,” I tell him confidently. “And if I drop it now, then I can’t take chemistry again until next fall, and I’ll be behind on all of my prerequisites.”

  “Failing will not do you or your GPA any good. You’ll still have to take my class again next year.”

  “I was hoping I could pull my grade up before the end of the semester.”

  “While I certainly appreciate your peppy optimism, pigs would fly before you could pull up your grade to a C,” he replies. “The drop deadline is October twenty-eighth. I suggest you make the arrangements sooner, rather than later.”

  “But if I drop every class that I’m failing right now, then I’ll only be enrolled in one – statistics!”

  Looking down his pointed nose at me through his bifocals, Professor Waller says, “Then perhaps you should consider changing your major from pre-med to statistics.”

  “I can’t. My dad’s an oncologist. We’ve been talking about practicing together since I was, like, ten years old!”

  “Not everyone is medical doctor mate
rial, Miss Prince. There’s no shame in that,” he responds before he shoves his notes into his briefcase and slams it shut. On the way toward the door, he says over his shoulder, “Enjoy your weekend,” as if that’s going to be possible when my entire future is crumbling around me.

  I hate disappointing my parents. They’re both amazing people who would bend over backwards to help me and Aric with anything we needed to succeed. They’re paying for my tuition here at Hawthorne, which is outrageous since it’s a private school. The only reason I got in was because I’m a legacy. It certainly wasn’t my mediocre SAT scores. My GPA was decent, and I had a ton of extracurricular activities and community projects under my belt, which must have helped sway the admissions committee. But since the first day I stepped foot on campus, I knew I didn’t belong here. I thought I could study my ass off and get by. But after eight weeks, it’s becoming obvious that I was wrong.

  I’ll never forget how upset my mom and dad were when my kindergarten teacher told them she thought I needed to be held back a year. First, they were angry at her; then they were sad and upset when they hired tutors who told them the same thing.

  I know they were humiliated after that whenever friends and family would ask why I was repeating the easiest grade of them all.

  Since then, I’ve always tried my best to never disappoint my parents again, and they made sure I wouldn’t by hiring expensive tutors to get me through every grade and even prepare me for the SATs.