Bad, Bad Blu Bloods

by Stunich, C. M.

  Break the rich boys.

  It’s tricky, but doable.

  Jerks like them don’t deserve to rule Burberry Prep.

  No, Tristan, Zayd, and Creed are going to pay, and I plan to make an example of them.

  Then there’s Zack, the varsity football d*ck. Oh, and did I mention a prince just transferred to the academy? Whatever will I do with those two?

  Revenge is wicked sweet; I can’t wait for a taste.

  ***

  Defend ourselves against the charity case.

  We’re the Idols of the school, the kings of the campus.

  Marnye Elizabeth Reed.

  That girl is nothing like the ones we’re used to. We just can’t decide if we hate her … or love her.

  She might come from nothing, but she sure is determined to stir up something at the academy.

  She says she’ll meet our challenge dead-on; we’ll make sure she regrets that.

  Table of Contents Table of Contents

  Front Matter Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Signup for my Newsletter

  Author's Note

  Map of Royal Pointe

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Epilogue

  Back Matter The Envy of Idols Cover

  Keep Up With The Fun

  More Books By C.M. Stunich

  About the Author

  Bad, Bad BlueBloods

  Bad, Bad BlueBloods © C.M. Stunich 2019

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  The For information address Sarian Royal Indie Publishing, 89365 Old Mohawk Rd, Springfield, OR 97478.

  www.cmstunich.com

  Cover art and design © Amanda Carroll and Sarian Royal

  The The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, businesses, or locales is coincidental and is not intended by the author.

  this book is dedicated to friendship

  as rare as diamonds and twice as precious

  to my true friends: you know who you are

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  Author's Note

  ***Possible Spoilers***

  Bad, Bad Bluebloods is a reverse harem, high school bully romance, and the sequel to Filthy Rich Boys. What does that mean exactly? It means our female main character, Marnye Reed, will end up with at least three love interests by the end of the series. It also means that for a good portion of this book, the love interests and the main character are at each other’s throats. This book in no way condones revenge plots, nor does it romanticize them. If the love interests in this story want to win the main character over, they’ll have to change their ways, accept her revenge, and embrace her forgiveness.

  Karma is a bitch, especially when it comes in the form of Marnye Reed.

  Any kissing/sexual scenes featuring Marnye are consensual. This book might be about high school students, but it is not what I would consider young adult. The characters are brutal, the emotions real, the f-word in prolific use. There’s some underage drinking, sexual situations, mentions of past suicide attempts, and other adult scenarios.

  None of the main characters is under the age of sixteen. This series will have a happy ending in the fourth and final book.

  READING ORDER:

  Rich Boys of Burberry Prep Series

  Filthy Rich Boys

  Bad, Bad Bluebloods

  The Envy of Idols

  In the Arms of the Elite

  There are flames dancing across the water.

  How that happened, I have no idea. I clutch my fingers to my chest, heart pounding. I almost lost my ability to make music with the harp … forever. This thing with the Idol girls is so much more than just a nasty case of bullying. Everything to do with the Infinity Club is so much darker and more involved than I first thought.

  Tristan grits his teeth, his hands curled into fists at his sides. The way he looks at Harper du Pont is terrifying. If I were her, I would leave. Now. But she doesn’t. Instead, she flicks that blue gaze of hers to the right, checking to make sure her cronies are in tow before she launches another attack.

  “Whatever you’re thinking about doing right now,” Tristan says, his voice as smooth as silk, “don’t.” His tone hardens on that last syllable, a perfect match to the rage in his face. They saved me, I think, glancing from Tristan to Zayd’s bloody lip to Creed with his arm around Miranda. Zack is standing on the opposite side of the boat, behind Harper and her new friends.

  “If you do this,” Harper says, taking a step forward, her short brown hair billowing in the breeze. It makes me feel good to see it cut like that. Don’t dish it if you can’t take it. I take a step back and bump into Zayd. He puts an arm around me, and all these strange feelings flood over me. My mind changes with each beat of my heart. Please don’t touch me; touch me more; get away from me; kiss me until I see stars. “Then you’re giving up control of the school. You’re Plebs, all of you.”

  Abigail Fanning and Valentina Pitt flank Harper as she steps forward, the chair they’d tied me to dividing the space between us. I try to look past them to see Zack, and I notice that he’s bleeding, too, but much worse than Zayd.

  “If you think we’ll fold that easy,” Creed begins as bored as always, but when I glance over at him, his blue eyes meet mine, and a strange spark passes between us. He’s shaking, too, but he tries to hide it as he pushes a lock of white-blond hair from his face. “Then you clearly haven’t been paying attention. We’ll destroy you.”

  Harper’s mouth is so wicked when it curves up in a smirk, and the reflection of the flames in her eyes mirrors the hate in her heart. Most of the Inner Circle is standing with her, her new girlfriends, and the three boys she’s handpicked to take Tristan’s, Zayd’s, and Creed’s spots as Idols.

  “So you’ll break up the greatest collection of Bluebloods in the history of Burberry Prep for some commoner? We’re the future rulers of the world. People live and die based on the decisions our families make. Tristan, I’m your fiancée.” Harper takes another step forward, and then pauses as the ladder on her right creaks and sways.

  Windsor York, the screw in the cogs of this machine, appears, his mouth twisted in a wry little smirk.

  “Well, bloody hell,” he curses, pulling himself over the edge and then standing up. He brushes his palms down the front of his white second-year uniform. His hazel eyes glitter as he takes in Harper, the chair, me. “Looks like I’m a bit late to the party.”

  He walks over to stand in front of Zayd, reaching out a hand for me. The flames catch on his red hair, bathing it in orange light. I reach out to touch him, but Zayd pulls me back. Windsor raises an eyebrow and sighs.

  “Yeah, way late, asshole,” Zayd
snaps, but I elbow him and step away from his embrace, wrapping my arms around myself and keeping my own space. I need to stand on my own; I can’t trust anyone. Not anymore. “If we hadn’t gotten here when we did …” His voice trails off, but he has to know that Windsor’s on my side. He has been since moment one.

  Turning, the prince gives Harper’s group a skeptical sort of look.

  “I disabled the motor on your friends’ boat,” he says, his English accent crisp and charming. “I don’t imagine they’ll be showing up tonight.” Harper’s face, already colored red-orange by the fire, looks like a ripe tomato now. She’s furious. “And I’m not late.” He rolls his eyes and flashes me a wink and a smile. I almost smile back. Almost. I’m too confused right now. “I saw Zack on his way up here, with these idiots trailing behind.” He gestures with his thumb in the direction of the Idol boys, and Tristan growls at him. Almost quite literally. “My time was better spent elsewhere. Oh.” Windsor snaps his fingers and then reaches down to pull up the edge of his shirt.

  There’s a tattoo there, an infinity tattoo.

  Everyone goes silent as Windsor drops his shirt and sighs.

  “I’ve been resisting the Club for a long, long time, but Marnye needs someone on the inside to watch her back, so … here I am!” He raises his arms up in the air for emphasis, and then drops them by his sides. “Oh, and I’m an awful, dirty fucking wanker. I don’t have a trust fund, or parents breathing down my neck that control my purse strings: I have nine billion in personal assets to play with.” Windsor pauses, crossing one arm over his chest and resting the elbow of the other in his palm. “Well, twelve billion in US dollars, I suppose.”

  “Do you think I’m threatened by you?” Harper chokes out with a laugh. “Some tenth-string prince from a country nobody even knows about?”

  “England?” Windsor asks, his voice colored with wry humor. “You do understand where the pilgrims came from, right?”

  Harper turns from him to Tristan, clearly realizing that there’s no making headway with Windsor York. He just does what he wants, the rest of the world be damned.

  “Last chance, Tristan,” she says, and when I see him unleash a whiplike smirk, I know he’s not going back.

  “You’re going to wish you’d never met me,” Tristan says, his voice like steel. He watches as Zack moves around behind the pack of Bluebloods to stand beside me. There’s blood running down the side of his face, and I decide that as soon as we get out of here, he’s going to a doctor. His dark eyes catch on mine, and I shiver. If he hadn’t taken on Greg and John for me …

  “Consider that goal accomplished,” Harper screeches, tearing the ring from her finger and throwing it at Tristan. He catches it, perfectly, one-handed. My heart skips several beats as he turns to me, silver eyes flashing.

  “Let’s go. I’ve got one of Dad’s yachts.” He moves over to stand in front of me, reaches down, and cups the side of my face. Zayd, Creed, and Zack all stiffen up. Windsor chuckles, this light, airy sound that echoes across the lake. Tristan reaches up to cup the side of my face, runs his thumb along my lower lip, and then sneers at Windsor. While he’s turned away, I pull back, putting distance between myself and the guys.

  Miranda meets my eyes, and there’s this interesting dichotomy in hers: half fear, half envy.

  She moves toward me, away from Creed’s arms, and his jaw tightens as Miranda puts her lips near my ear.

  “Which one?” she whispers, flicking her gaze at the five boys on the boat. Harper and her cronies are leaving, slowly, but there’s venom on both sides. Next year … there’s going to be a war.

  Before I get a chance to answer her, Tristan gets up in Windsor’s face.

  “You, go home to England and fuck off; we don’t need you here.”

  “And who, precisely, is we?” Windsor asks, leveling his hazel eyes on me. They reflect back the dancing flames as he smiles and cocks a single dark brow. Tristan looks between the two of us and scowls, standing up tall and straightening out his wool coat. “As far as I can see it, Marnye very much needs me.”

  “How so?” Tristan snaps, lifting his chin. Despite the inner fighting amongst the Idol boys for the throne … I think Tristan Vanderbilt still holds the crown. He’s a powerful enemy, and a potential ally. But can I trust him?

  Doubtful.

  “Because,” Windsor says, blinking innocently and holding a hand out to indicate me, “we’re dating.”

  Zayd curses under his breath, Creed sneers, and Zack frowns.

  Tristan says nothing, looking down at me with storm-gray eyes. And then he turns, walks away, and pauses at the edge of the boat. Harper du Pont is standing there waiting. She meets Tristan’s eyes first and then flicks her gaze over to mine.

  “Enjoy the summer, Marnye. It’s going to be your last.” She turns, disappears down the ladder, and soon we hear the sound of a boat engine being started.

  “Did she just threaten my life?” I wonder aloud, but nobody says anything. School is out, summer has started, and in the morning, we’re all going home. I’ll go back to Cruz Bay and my Dad while the boys go … wherever it is that they go.

  For now, it’s all on hold.

  Come September, all gloves are off.

  “Come on, Marnye, I’ve got a boat, too,” Miranda says, taking my hand and leading me away from the boys. I don’t look at any of them as I walk away, past Tristan, and down the ladder.

  Second year at Burberry Preparatory Academy was tough.

  Third year’s going to be a nightmare.

  The last person I expect to see on my doorstep is Zack Brooks.

  My mouth drops open in surprise, and I slam the door closed on him. He reaches up with his palm and stops it in its tracks, pushing his way inside as I back up against the counter in shock. His brown eyes are dark with anger, and they’re narrowed on me.

  “Zack,” I start, my heart pounding in my chest. I haven’t seen him since that fateful day at the lodge. We haven’t even texted. Well, maybe he texted me, but I blocked him months ago.

  “Marnye.” He exhales, standing over me in a letterman jacket and jeans. His dark hair is longer than when I last saw it, and the way it falls over his forehead makes my hands tremble. “You won’t talk to me. I had no choice but to come here.”

  “No choice but to fight your way into my house?” I ask, realizing as we stand there that the Train Car is far too small for his large body. He takes over the space with his presence, filling it so completely that I find it hard to breathe. “Maybe you could’ve taken the hint? I don’t want to talk to you.”

  I look away, and my heart stutters a little. That’s a lie. I do want to talk to him; I’m just not going to.

  “Too bad. I want to talk to you. I have a right to explain without … them stirring up drama.” He takes a step toward me, but I keep my face turned away. I’m not going to look at him, not right now. The last few months have been okay, filled with sunshine, day trips to the beach, and my tenth and eleventh rereads of the Harry Potter books. This is the last thing I need, a bump in the road to destroy my last peaceful week of summer. “Don’t think I didn’t hear about what happened on the last day of—”

  “Please don’t,” I choke out. That’s the last thing I want to think about right now, about the paint dripping down the sides of my face, my split lip, and the look on Zayd’s face … “The only prize … was that trophy. We did it for fun.” Tristan’s words slice through me, and I push away from the counter, heading down the hall toward my room.

  Zack follows me, and I end up trapped on my bed with his huge body filling my doorway.

  My hands curl into fists. I added his name to my revenge list. Why shouldn’t I? He tried to break me in middle school, and for what? A bet. A bet to get into that stupid fucking Club.

  The Infinity Club is going down, I think, and I drop my hand to my right hip. There’s a tattoo artist that some of my classmates bribed during my time at Lower Banks in order to get illegal ink. I’m taking a thous
and dollars out of the money I won and heading down there tomorrow to get a tattoo of my own.

  What I don’t need is Zack Brooks, standing in my room and staring at me with those umber depths.

  “You have to at least hear me out,” he says as I sit down on the edge of my bed.

  I’ve spent all summer writing horrible things about him in my notebook, but it was all venting. I don’t know how to make him hurt the way he made me hurt. Looking up, all I see is apology and sorrow in his eyes. Not like Creed. Or Zayd. Or Tristan. They definitely were not sorry.

  My fingers dig into the bedspread; it’s the only way to keep them from reaching for the necklace that hangs over my chest. I tried to sell it—twice—but I couldn’t do it. Selling it felt like I was letting him win. I don’t need or want Tristan Vanderbilt’s money. I’m giving it back the first day of school.

  “Haven’t you done enough damage?” I whisper, and we both freeze at the sound of the front door opening.

  “Honey, it’s just me.” Dad’s voice echoes in the small space just before I hear his footsteps. He pauses in the hall that connects the second passenger car, which holds our bedrooms, to the first train car which has the living room, kitchen, and bathroom. “Zack, long time no see. Would you like to stay for dinner?”

  “Can’t. Plans with my mom.” Zack leans his shoulder against the wall, his relentless gaze pinning me to the bed. I feel like I couldn’t stand up if I tried.

  “Well, if you have time on Friday, it’s Marnye’s birthday,” Dad starts, and I cringe. “Since it’s just me and her, it might be nice to have a friend to tag along?” He sounds earnest enough, but I wonder if Dad knows his words cut me to the core. I had friends. For a while, I had a lot. I had Miranda and Andrew, Zack and Lizzie, and … the Idols.