Reckless Rules: The Elites Of Weis-Jameson Prep Academy

by Hart, Rebel

  “And soon, pet, you’ll be begging for me.”

  3

  Chapter Three

  David Granger must delight in his athletes’ pain.

  I can’t remember the last time I’ve been so exhausted. Sprint drills push me to the brink. 300 meters at 95% effort. 100 meters at 100%. Rinse and repeat, until I’m dripping with sweat and the lactic acid build-up in my legs is killing me.

  David Granger isn’t present – he stopped by for a quick hello at the beginning of the session. He reiterated that these pre-season workouts were on our honor. He’d open up the track for us every day after school ended at 3:15 pm and expected us to be done by 5pm. We could only log so many hours.

  I’m by far the best in-shape of the girls – even the girls who were nationally ranked last season took a couple months off. I didn’t. But, nearing the end of workout, the assistant extends our rest period by a minute, and I find myself greedily sucking in lungfuls of air.

  Sweat slicks my skin when the assistant walks away, signaling the end of our group session. The assistant really isn’t an assistant but a fellow WJ Prep student, “suggested” by David to hold a timer and stand in the field. A couple of the long jumpers and high jumpers meander to their pits – they’ll practice their form.

  The track is fabulous. State-of-the-art, actually. Almost as good as Arcadia. And much better than the weather-beaten, warped track at my old high school.

  I grab my bag and chuck my spikes into it. I haven’t really gotten to know my teammates yet, but I figure that as we suffer together, we’ll bond. It always happens. Pain does that to groups.

  I don’t dally – I’m hungry and tired, and I want to shower. I head to the parking lot, but my eyes pick out three figures hanging around a car parked next to mine. Anxiety knots my stomach – it’s them.

  I won’t talk to them. I want to run to my car, but my legs are too exhausted to even walk. I can barely hold myself upright as I beeline straight to the driver’s door. I see Emmett move smoothly out of the corner of my eye.

  He slides in front of the door just before I get there. My jaw ticks with irritation. I just want to go home.

  “What do you want?” I grind out, staring at his chest. I will not give him the satisfaction of my gaze – I don’t want him to see the fear in my eyes.

  He must’ve been working out while I was training. He’s changed into a tight muscle shirt that strains against his chest, and I can faintly smell his sweat. There’s a leftover droplet clinging to his Adam’s apple. My fingers itch to wipe it away.

  “You’re taking a ride with us,” he says.

  “No, I’m not. Please move.”

  “Seems like she’s not cooperating,” comes Trey’s voice, winding around the side of my car.

  “Ah, I do like the struggles of a woman,” Vincent muses, sliding around the other. “So...appetizing.”

  The two guys stand on either side of me, too close for comfort, but I know I can’t outrun them now.

  “You’re a sick fuck,” I tell Vincent.

  He smiles. “Aren’t we all?”

  “So, are you coming?” Emmett asks like I have a choice.

  “I’m not getting into a fucking car with you three psychos.” If only my phone wasn’t in my bag, then I could call the police. But I don’t want to alert them. “Never.”

  He shrugs, and my blood both chills and heats – it’s a weird combination. I’m both full of fear and hatred, and I don’t know which one will win out.

  “Suit yourself.”

  Vincent and Trey pounce, and my body gives a half-hearted dodge backward. Steel-like hands grip my arms, and for the second time today I feel my feet leave the ground. I hiss in pain and I know I’ll have bruises tomorrow.

  “What the fuck!? Stop!” I scream as they rough me up to the car. I’m completely useless. “This is fucking kidnapping!”

  “Stop screaming,” Emmett says almost patronizingly, like scolding a child. He opens the back door. “No one from the track will help you.”

  His words send tendrils of deep fear into my chest. I’m shoved into the backseat, and my wrist stings from breaking my fall. Fuck, this thing will never heal.

  Emmett gets in behind me, and I scramble for the other door, furiously pulling the handle.

  “Child-locked,” he says.

  Of course it is, I think grimly to myself.

  He moves to the middle, and I squish myself against the soft leather interior. Thoughts torpedo through my mind. What the fuck am I doing here? What do they want with me? I can’t get out of the car, which is now backing out and pulling out of the parking lot.

  “So, what do you want?” I demand. I’m trying to keep my fear locked tight – I don’t know what they can do to me, but in my weakened state I know I can’t put up much of a fight. I can’t escape them either.

  “Oh, nothing,” says Vincent, twisting around and giving me a sick grin. “Just a little Jameson hospitality.”

  I don’t want to know what their definition of “hospitality” is.

  My track bag is shoved between my legs. My phone is in the side pocket, but it’s pointed toward Emmett. If I could just call 911 without them noticing...

  Emmett is on his phone, seemingly oblivious. I move my fingers to my thigh. No indication he notices. I move them to the zipper, trying to fiddle with it inconspicuously. His eyes flicker over, but when he notices I haven’t done anything, he goes back to scrolling through Instagram. I casually try to gather my bag into my chest, but his fingers whip out and wrap around my forearm.

  “Drop it,” he says, still looking at his phone. A painful squeeze. “Now.”

  I do several things at once, one singular thought in my mind: 911. I reach over and knock his phone out of his hand. It bounces on the seat next to him. I put my back against his shoulder, and use my body as a shield, rummaging around in the side pocket. My fingers brush the cool glass of my phone before suddenly I can’t breathe.

  I choke. Emmett’s fingers tighten around my neck. Panic stops my heart – I cannot breathe. The feeling is all-consuming and terrifying, and I grasp for purchase on his fingers, clawing at them. I need air. His fingers dig and I cannot make a sound. The air is muted around us. There’s a rushing sound in my head.

  Is he going to kill me?

  “Phone, baby,” he says in a low voice.

  I’m seeing spots. My limbs are heavy. Somehow, I manage to pull my phone out and hand it to him.

  Blessed air surges into my lungs. My vision returns and tears rush to my eyes. I bend at the waist, chest heaving and burning, and what just happened shoots through me with frigid awareness.

  He could have killed me.

  I rub my neck, feeling heat rise from the indentations his fingers left. I choke again, then suck in air like a fucking vacuum.

  “You okay now?” Emmett’s voice is distant, far away. Briefly, I’m aware of a hand on my back, rubbing soothing circles. I wrench myself away, pushing back against the door.

  “Are you fucking insane?” I rasp – I sound like a smoker.

  He reaches out, gaze fixed on the hot tears rolling down my cheeks. His eyes are a dark gray, but they’re filled with a soft emotion. If I didn’t know better, I would call it concern. I smack his hand away.

  “Don’t touch me,” I say weakly. My throat is still fucked. “Ever.”

  Emmett stares at me. His gaze sends a bad taste in my mouth.Then he turns to Trey, who is driving, and says, “This is good enough.”

  I look outside – I hadn’t realized we’d traveled outside of the city. The forests of Massachusetts rose up on both sides of the road. I don’t recognize the road at all. I curse myself for not paying attention.

  “Out,” Emmett says. I look at him like he’s crazy. Deliberately, I pull the handle.

  “The child lock, genius,” I snap at him.

  A flicker of anger crosses his handsome features. Then he scoots to his side, opens the door, and steps out, motioning me to follow.


  I grab my bag and exit into the cool evening air. It’s quiet. The road is one of those roads that needs some tender loving care, with black tar patches crisscrossing everywhere.

  If they try something, I’m sure I could outrun them now. But Vincent and Trey stay seated in the car, and Emmett closes the door behind me.

  “So, what now?” I say. I tense, ready to run, ready to fight for my life. I don’t know what he’s got hidden under his clothes, what his diabolical plan for me entails. But I won’t go out easily. “What the fuck do you want with me?”

  My voice breaks ever so slightly, and he hears it, eyes roving curiously over my face. I grit my teeth – I wish I could incinerate people with lasers. Emmett Jameson would be the first to go.

  I wait and see if he moves closer, but instead he rakes a hand through his dark hair, meeting my eyes again. They’re impassive, blank. Again, I’m reminded of how fucking handsome he is – his gray eyes are stormy clouds, framed by thick black lashes I would kill for.

  I instantly clamp down on a flicker of desire. He’s choked me, manhandled me, and hurt me. I don’t want to even entertain a positive thought about the bastard.

  “Not anything right now, Ophelia.” Emmett looks into the trees. “When we do want something from you, you’ll know. For now, we ask your total and complete subservience.”

  I don’t respond. There’s nothing to respond to. His words hammer the final nail into my coffin. I wonder if it is too late to move – surely other schools haven’t started yet.

  “But it doesn’t have to be a bad thing,” he says.

  I give him a withering look, raising my eyebrows. “You’re kidding.”

  “It can actually be quite okay,” he insists.

  “In what world is you kidnapping me and bringing me to the middle of the woods ‘okay?’” I cut harsh quotation marks in the air. “Or trying to choke me out? Because in my book, that’s assault.”

  “We’re just giving you a little insight to what will happen if you don’t comply.”

  “Comply with what?” I snap. I’m tired and irritated, and this whole situation doesn’t make sense. “What the fuck am I supposed to comply with?”

  He gives me a hard look. It’s like he doesn’t believe I don’t know.

  “The whole hierarchy code?” I suggest. It sounds ridiculous when I say it. It’s like I’ve stepped into some sort of weird drama series.

  “My family built this town,” Emmett says slowly. He’s still got that curious look to his eyes. “And there’s a certain expectation surrounding that. A certain sort of-”

  “Hierarchy?” I suggest, but I can’t stop my voice from lilting with humor.

  “Respect,” he finishes, grey eyes narrowing. “That comes with it.”

  “Like what?” I challenge. My hands find my hips, and I try to send him a contemptible smirk. “What more respect could you possibly want other than me staying out of your way?”

  “You can’t just escape, Ophelia,” he says, and his warning gives me shivers. “You can’t just try and avoid this.”

  “What is this? Look, I said I won’t bother you. Great. That’s what I was doing all along.” Lily’s face flashes in my mind and I wince. I realize I’d given these guys fodder to mess with me. “And I won’t interfere.”

  “You’re not the type to sit by idly.”

  He’s right, but I’m not going to tell him that.

  “Please,” I say, lowering my voice. Great, I sound like I’m begging, “I just came here to run. That’s all I want to do. Run and then leave.”

  “And that’s all you’re here for,” Emmett says, but his tone seems more like he’s trying to convince himself than me.

  “I’m just here to run,” I reiterate. I want him to get that into his pea-sized brain. “I just want to run.”

  We eye each other, sizing each other up. I notice he has the faintest of freckles speckling the bridge of his nose. It’s cute, in a sort of devilishly innocent way. Like the rabbit from the Holy Grail.

  But something in his gaze… It’s the smallest speck of confusion.

  Why would Emmett be confused?

  “Back in Arcadia,” I say, and the moment I do, his gaze locks on my mouth like a heat-seeking missile. “What was your brother competing in again?”

  And there it is – his smile twists knowingly, and I suddenly understand. A breeze picks up, and suddenly I’m cold all over.

  “You have no brother,” I whisper, and it’s like a knife has cut my sense of safety. My sense of understanding this world. “You were there for me, weren’t you?”

  He doesn’t answer, but he’s given me enough proof already: Emmett had been watching me. For months now.

  “Why?” I ask.

  I need to know why. I need to know why he was there, watching me, scouting me.

  He finally opens his mouth as he shrugs. “I picked you. The school sent me there.”

  I don’t buy it one fucking bit, but I keep my mouth shut.

  “Yo, Emmett,” says Trey, sticking his head out the window. “We need to go.”

  “Bye, Ophelia,” he says, stepping into the car. For the first time, I notice that it’s fancy. Sleek. And dangerous looking. I don’t recognize the logo, and realize with a jolt it must be a car from the Jameson Automobile Co. “Have fun on your walk back.”

  With the snap of a door and the rev of an engine, the car does a U-turn and heads back into civilization. I feel an urge to stomp out their taillight, flip them the bird – do something to them – but I’m completely out of my league.

  A chilly breeze hits me right now. The sweat has dried on my body, and goosebumps light up my skin. I shiver.

  There’s a reason for all of this, I think dully. There’s a reason for Emmett showing up at Arcadia, for the scholarship offer. Emmett has some sort of ulterior motive for me. And I don’t like it one bit.

  And there was a reason they brought me out on this road, I think as I start walking.

  Nobody ever fucking drives it.

  4

  Chapter Four

  I sit in my assigned car spot – the very last spot at the very back of the lot. Yards away from anyone else. Figures. Even though there were plenty of open spaces before me that I could have, they assigned me the last one.

  I can’t help but think Emmett and the others are behind this. Clearly, it’s some sort of status thing.

  Last night, I did my research on Jameson, Massachusetts.

  What Lily had given me proved accurate.

  The Jameson, Blackwater and Whitworth families were the remaining founders, and their kids, Emmett and Bernadette, Vivian, Vincent and Trey went to WJ Prep. The Whitworths had another son still in middle school.

  There was no record of a Jameson from Jameson, Massachusetts in the Arcadia track attendance.

  Emmett was a lying sack of shit.

  But yeah, a Forbes article last week had done an exclusive interview with Thomas Jameson. I promised myself I would read it, but I was so exhausted after coming home that I just went to bed instead.

  Mom and Brendan had bought my “going out to dinner with the team after practice” bit. I wanted so badly to tell them everything, but I didn’t want them to worry. They have enough on their plates as it is. Though they had been disappointed I hadn’t told them about dinner. I tried to bite my tongue, and the hole in my pocket where my phone normally occupied... I knew they were doing shitty things on it. That phone has sensitive information.

  I’d done my makeup that morning. An extra application of mascara, a dash of highlighter and a fresh coat of cherry chapstick. There were deep bruises on my arm, starting to turn dark purple, as well as marks on my neck. A hardened part of my heart told me not to cover them up. To bear what they had done to my body loud and proud, to stick it to them that I wasn’t afraid of their bully tactics and assault.

  So I rushed out the door that morning, my neck red and my throat swollen, to avoid Brendan’s offering of cereal and eggs.

&n
bsp; I flip down the car mirror and gingerly touch the marks. The ghost of Emmett’s fingers are swollen and perfect indentations. The more I look at them, the more they distort and twist, and my mind flashes back to silent suffocation, the primal desire for air, the sinking feeling that I was at his mercy. I hadn’t been able to move or make a sound, my breath lodged in my throat, Emmett’s fingers stopping it.

  Fuck them.

  Fuck this place.

  Fuck this weird sort of world I’ve entered.

  I want nothing more than to scuttle back to Oklahoma. At least there I have friends, and I have Coach.

  But for now, I need to show they haven’t gotten to me. Honestly, how hard could it be to get through a school day?

  * * *

  Lily looks up when I enter, but then she quickly looks down at her desk. She’s cleaned up, and she smells fine. I wonder how many showers it took to get rid of the smell.

  I open my mouth to say something, but then close it. Lily got in trouble for talking to me. I look around at my classmates. They’re talking to each other, writing things in their notebooks, but they keep glancing back at me.

  What little snitches. They probably tattled on Lily yesterday.

  So throughout Calculus, I ignore Lily. She does the same. Not even a glance in my direction. It stings a bit – it’s not like I’m expecting a thank you, but it seems like we’re caught in the crosshairs of the Elites.

  When the bell rings, Lily jumps up and nearly sprints away. All heads swivel back to me – even Mr. Brayburn stares. There’s a feeling building up inside me – What! I want to shout. But instead, I slowly gather my things and exit, refusing to give them the satisfaction of a backward glance.

  * * *

  I keep my head high throughout the morning. I get strange looks. Pitying looks. And I hear my name in whispers. I don’t see any of the three guys, nor do I see the two girls. I do pass by Jason, though, and he breaks up laughing. My senses are on high alert – something has happened, and I don’t know what.