Brett’s eyes narrow, calculating and vicious. His jaw clenches, and he gets that maniacal gleam in his eyes. The entire room drops into silence, and the only thing I can hear is the rapid rush of blood in my ears.
“I am willing to give her this,” Brett replies in a cold, detached tone.
It—kind of—sounds like he’s standing up to his father. In a weird ‘I’ll do things my way’ sort of thing. And from the stiffening in his body, to him fisting his hands by his sides—Brett’s ready for a fight with the old man. Probably a long time coming, if you ask me.
I can’t decide whether the idea exhilarates me or sickens me to know that Brett is going toe-to-toe with his father without knowing the truth. That the reason he’s going up against him is because Joaquin is trying to undermine him in front of me.
If only he knew the whole truth.
Brett is a very, very possessive man—even I know that after our time together. With the way he loathes his father, I’m sure—almost positive—Joaquin hasn’t told him everything that went down between us. If he has, Brett has an easier time dealing with others defiling his property than I thought.
Dear God, I’m starting to think of myself as property now. How far down is this rabbit hole I’ve fallen into?
Before I can say anything, the sound of glass shattering catches us all off guard. Jerking to, we all turn in that direction, seeing Dorran standing there with the same look on his face Brett had earlier. If looks could kill, man—Joaquin would be dead. His eyes spark with an intense, flaming rage I’ve never seen from him before.
“What have you done?” he growls, taking a menacing step forward.
I take my eyes off Dorran to stare at Joaquin, seeing his eyes still staring me down, a lascivious grin on his face. “Whatever are you talking about?” He finally breaks eye contact with me to stare past at the raging bull that is Dorran.
Tension rolls off Dorran in waves, and I have no doubt he would kill Joaquin and laugh while he did it. He’d gladly turn him inside out if the bastard didn’t have dozens of bodyguards surrounding the property. While there may not be any inside the room, I’m almost positive there’s at least two or three in the hallway. I can even just barely see the tips of two pistols on both sides of the opening.
So, whatever’s making Dorran glare at him like that must be terrible. Like a raging hurricane, Dorran picks up the nearest thing he can reach, something of an antique vase, slinging it across the room. It shatters on impact, scattering all over the room like a bomb exploded. The only thing Joaquin does is smile a grin that roars of nothing but triumph.
“You better answer my goddamn question, Joaquin!” My mouth falls open in shock as collective gasps circulate through the room.
Dorran is as terrible as them, but he’s never lost his shit so thoroughly before. He’s the cool, calm, and collected. He only reacts if there’s a reason to react. The harshest I’ve seen him is when he had to chase after me that day outside the dorms.
Joaquin levels a menacing glower at him, and I swear the temperature drops several degrees. It’s so menacing, dark, and deranged it makes me take a measured step toward the lesser of two evils … his son.
“I did what I had to do. If you don’t like that, then take it up with the other two … boy. It’s called sacrifice for a reason. Now deal with it, and deal with her.” He points toward me.
Sacrifice?
CHAPTER 2
“You have to be kidding me,” I growl under my breath, looking around the pathetic excuse of a room. It’s more like a cubby. Actually, I think a cubby would be bigger.
My eyes pin Dorran to his spot, growing angrier and angrier as I see a hint of amusement in his eyes. He’s far from the asshole that went toe-to-toe with Joaquin just a few moments ago. Now, it seems, he’s getting his fix out of making my life hell.
What gives?
“This had better be a joke.”
A room no bigger than a half bath, and that’s without the toilet, is where I have to lay my head down at night. There’s only enough room for a tiny mattress, plastic milk crate, and what little dignity I have left.
It’s not even connected to the fucking central air unit, so it’s kind of stifling in here.
There’s not even enough room for two people to navigate around each other, which is exactly what I’m trying to figure out how to do right now.
There is no desk, no proper overhead lighting—except for some absurd fire hazard dangling from the ceiling on a thin piece of wire with some string. I’m not snooty when it comes to places to lay my head down at night, because I have been in worser places than this, but you’d think rich people would be better equipped to deal with overnight guests.
Especially a person they basically killed off, all in the hopes of keeping her. Even if that person is still standing right here, in the flesh, living and breathing.
For God’s sake, it’s barely big enough for the mattress, let alone a five-and-a-half-foot tall woman.
“This is where you will be sleeping while living here,” informs Dorran, who has to crouch down just to be able to step inside the tiny ass room.
“Point. Proven.” I thrust my hand in his direction, my open palm facing toward the ceiling. “You can’t even get your big ass through the door, so why the hell would you want me in here in the first place.”
Him and I both know I’m not really angry about the room. In fact, the room really doesn’t bother me. I’m just throwing a tantrum because some motherfucker thought it was an awesome idea to ruin my life.
I’ve been sold.
Killed off.
Now, I’m left to rot in a damn wooden box—it’s more of a rectangle, but you get the idea.
There are baseboards showing. No drywall, and probably no insulation, either. This tiny room puts me in the mind of a weathered attic in one of those old plantation houses. With chipped and battered two by fours showing along the walls. A ceiling that’s not really ceiling it all, but more of an under the stairs kind of thing as it slants diagonally. It’s lower where the bed is located, and higher were a tiny bowl of water and an eight by ten mirror hangs on the wall.
“We can allow you to get away with a few things because of shock of your situation, but don’t mistake our kindness for weakness, Brat.” His tone brooks no argument. Fucker.
My mouth drops open in incredulity. “You call this kindness? This is where you put unused coats when they’re no good anymore.”
Before the incident downstairs in the den, the guys and I kinda of had an unspoken agreement going on. At least, we did while we were at RPA. As long as I did what they ordered, I was left alone. Most of the time. It was a fairly new implicit arrangement, but one we navigated the hidden lines to perfection.
But now all that is shot to shit, because we’re no longer in no man’s land. We are at Kingston Manor—playground for the rich and senseless.
“I am not in the mood for your mouth, little girl,” he blazes, turning toward me in a move of erratic anger. Seems he didn’t lose it from earlier like I had originally thought. Should’ve known.
His abrupt movement stops him short when he runs headfirst into an exposed beam. On autopilot, my hands slap over my mouth in distressed shock. A sickening thwack reverberates off the exposed walls as his head makes contact, flying backward from the force of impact. Dorran stumbles backward into the wall behind him, shouting expletives as he rushes to solace the mark left on his forehead.
He looks close to tears, eyes shimmering in the low-light.
I shouldn’t, but I find it comical that a man of his size and stature is near tears from running headfirst into something. Especially after the display he showered us with downstairs.
Before I can stop it, a bout of laughter rises in my throat. I try my hardest to suppress it, but watching him flounder around for a change makes it very difficult. Dorran is this big, buff guy, yet he’s just been taken down a peg by a non-animated object.
It’s fucking hilarious.
He looks like he could wring my neck at this moment and be all too happy about the light fading from my eyes. But instead of acting on the impulse, he quickly puts himself together like nothing happened, even going as far as to straighten his jacket collar.
To a jacket … He. Is. Not. Even. Wearing.
I smirk at that though. He could be trying to save face with that nervous twitch of his, but it’s never going to work. Humiliation usually doesn’t can’t be covered up with nervous twitches.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
He clears his throat. As if that, too, can cause the embarrassment to fade away from the situation. No, sweetie, that just makes it worse. “So, as I was saying, this is a kindness we don’t have to show you. Most females on the manor grounds don’t get a private room. Is that something you want?”
I can tell, from the twinkle in his eyes, that he desperately wants me to ask the question burning at the forefront of my mind. In fact, I’d bet my left tit.
Not for him to be sadistic or cruel, but to be the one person that gets to enlighten me on how things could be so much worse for me. Specifically, if I don’t watch my step.
Frowning, I can no longer stop my true sentiments from materializing. The idea this is happening to me is misfortunate, horrible even. But the knowledge it’s happening to others, people that cannot control the outcome of their life, is a travesty. No one should have to go through this, so, I guess, if I have to take one for the team, then so be it.
If I’m here, they don’t need those girls. Whatever it is they do with them in the first place. I don’t know, but I’ll be damned if I ask Dorran. The smug bastard is simply waiting for the question to free fall from my lips.
He’ll be waiting a long time for that to happen. I’d rather figure it all out myself, rather than jump through hoops. That’s all I would be doing with Dorran—with all of them really. And I’m not about to fall prey to the need for information.
The only thing I want to do—and what I will accomplish—is to take away from them what they took from me.
Because of them, I will amount to nothing.
Because of them, I will not have the future I always thought I’d have.
No husband. No children. No love.
They took everything away from me.
I want to make them pay. It may seem flippant and irrational that I want to do this, but they took things away from me that were important.
Ff you really think about it—all irrational thoughts and decisions once started out as rational. A person just has to decide if the reward is big enough to take the risk.
In my case, I can’t go to the police. One, because I don’t know who the families have in their pockets. Two, because something tells me if I went to the wrong person, the wrong organization of people, that it would not only endanger their lives, but all my life.
Something tells me these guys have a lot of connections in this town. If a fake death can be used as an example, then their strings are limitless. And if they can do that with very little flack, then I would hate to see what they can accomplish when putting in a little effort.
That doesn’t mean I’m giving up, though. It also doesn’t mean I will sit here, day after day, and allow their misdeeds to go unpunished. Someone has to punish them. And I may be nothing special, but I have one thing up my sleeve they did not account for.
A level of revenge to rival even their worst enemy, and I have nothing to lose.
If living with the guys all these months has taught me anything, it’s to choose my battles wisely when I know I can win. May not be able to do that all that time, but right now seems to be one of the times I must back down. It goes against everything engrained into my DNA. However, if I want to survive in this house, I have to find a way to one-up the devil.
In this town, this house, Dorran has more pull than someone like me. I’m nothing; a plaything for them to get their rocks off with. He is an upstanding citizen of this town; a son of one of the most influential men anyone would kill to have the opportunity to know personally. It would not be in my best interest to piss him off.
Especially since I still need to figure out what he’s hiding from the others. Maybe the thing he’s hiding is the thing I need to break him.
Sighing, I whisper (even going as far as bowing my head in compliance), “I can’t say that I can answer that honestly, but if following the rules gets me mock killed, then I would hate to find out what happens here to the girls people know are still alive.”
A bark of cynical laughter abruptly leaves his throat before he replies, “It’d be best if you didn’t think about it at all.”
My eyes snap to, peering at him through my lashes. Did I just hear a bit of animosity in his voice? The longer I look into his eyes, seeing him slowly shut down right in front of me, the more I think I could be right. But just because I could be right, doesn’t mean I’m ignorant enough to voice my opinion.
So, instead of digging into that subject—at least for now—I go to a safer topic. “Why did Joaquin fake kill me?”
Dorran gives me a deadpan stare, as if he’s bored with the conversation. And surprisingly enough, he doesn’t answer my question. “You don’t need to know.”
I do need to know why Joaquin is doing the things he’s doing, but that’s not the most important issue right now. The most important issue is the fact that, just as soon as he said that, he could no longer look me in the eye.
He’s definitely hiding something.
“What are you hiding?” I crane my head to the side, studying him.
I don’t expect him to tell me anything, but it still doesn’t hurt to ask. There are already too many secrets shoved down my throat to last me a lifetime. All I really want is some truth every now and then to break up the monotony.
After a few moments, ones filled with tense silence, I catch one of his little ticks. I never seen him do that before. It’s as if he shrugs his shoulders, then goes as far as to straighten a jacket that he’s not even wearing. He’s done it twice now.
“Dorran?” I put an emphasis on his name, hoping that somehow, someway, I’ll manage to break through his resolve.
Now that I think it … I know I’m right and there is something wrong. Besides his usual quirkiness, something is just off about him.
Ever since Brett’s father told him to escort me to my room (when he decided to come back from God knows where he disappeared off to), Dorran’s had this sort of … disconcertion surrounding him.
Yet, just as fast as the curtain fell, it rises once more. His face hardens into an impenetrable mask. “The only thing you need to worry about is how to deep throat cock.”
It’s always the same thing with him. I always known I could crack Dorran if given the chance. There’s no telling what I could find behind his prickly exterior. But what I do know is that it can’t be anything good.
“You haven’t even touched me.” I roll my eyes, throwing out the offhanded comment without thought.
Within moments, I know my words hit a mark. I just don’t know which button it pushes. But if I had to guess … I’d say I’m in trouble.
His eyes lower to half-mast, becoming the epitome of sexy. This is the version of bedroom eyes that absolutely used to drive me wild when Trevor flashed them my way.
They catch on my lips, heating. When I feel my tongue dart out reflexively to wet them, a delirious thrum of arousal sparks and seeps throughout my body when Dorran takes notice. He uses that right shoulder of his to thrust himself away from the wall.
My eyes glue to his form, and for the life of me, I can’t move. I’m frozen; like a deer caught in headlights.
One step.
Then two.
He makes his way toward me, strutting with such swagger I’m near the point of panting. He approaches until he comes to a stop within proximity, his large, looming figure towering over mine. His muscular chest is right there—inches from my face. Tantalizing, brawny pecs jut out from his chest, stretching the soft material for all its worth. I can see each sinew, corded muscle on display. While I may hate him mentally, my body loves the visual.
“Hmm, does our little girl want some lovin’,” he seduces, his voice dropping an octave that hits me right between the thighs. Hands come to rest on my hips, fingers gripping and tightening to the point of pain. But it’s a discomfort I relish and hunger and find myself hungering for more. It’s satisfying; sings to a part of my soul I thought was long since lost.
“D-Dorran, I was only teasing.” I lick my lips again, nearly creaming my panties as the look of desire on his face. When I can do nothing but stare up into his eyes, watching as they dilate from arousal, it’s hard to keep myself from trembling.
“You want me?” he murmurs huskily, slowly pushing me backward with his bulky frame.
My breath catches when his face moves closer to mine. Something important pricks at the back of my mind, like I should be inquiring about somewhat important subject, but for the life of me, I can’t remember what that is. The only thing I can focus on is the fact that Dorran is standing right in front of me, nearly pressing himself against me, and my body has never been happier.
“I hate you.” I’m proud for being able to get that out without my voice breaking.
He forces himself forward. Zings rush up my spine as the feel of his hard, decadently large chest grazes mine. My nipples harden behind the cups of my bra, pussy dampening by the eroticism flowing through my veins.
One step.
Then two.
His breath.
Mine.
This time, I can’t help but to suck in a sharp breath when my back meets the wall. It’s hard, unyielding surface stops me from escaping as he crowds in one me from seemingly all directions. The only thing I can do is watch as he keeps coming for me, never once stopping, until the weight of him threatens to cut off my air supply.
Dirty Little Secret: A Dark High School Bully Romance (Reighton Preparatory Academy Book 3) Page 2
