Payback Princess (Lost Daughter of a Serial Killer Book 2)

by C. M. Stunich

  He moves around me, careful to put distance between us, and disappears into the garage.

  Maxx pads quickly down the first few steps of the spiral staircase, putting his hands on the railing and offering me an encouraging smile.

  “Good luck today, Kota,” he tells me as I smile back.

  “Thank you.” The words are as honest and as heartfelt as I can make them. X nods, as if that’s all he needed to say, and retreats back upstairs to—this lucky bastard—sleep in a little more. Seeing as he already finished his studies and made breakfast for us this morning, he deserves it.

  I squeeze my hand around the strap of my book bag, ignoring the annoyance I feel when my fingers brush the metal heart pin, take a deep breath, and head off to join them.

  If I were an outsider looking in at Whitehall Prep—as I once was—I’m sure I’d find it very grand looking, with its imposing white stone walls and towers, its spires. As an insider? It looks dreadful, like a fanciful prison full of horrible people.

  This is truly just the prep center for the rich and horrible.

  As soon as Chasm, Kimber, and I walk in the doors of the third-story courtyard—nobody’s around to throw me over the edge today, which is nice—we find ourselves at the center of the academy’s collective attention. I keep thinking I’ve really and truly felt it, that horde of glittering demons staring at me with their intensity unmasked.

  But, apparently, they’ve been holding back.

  I really feel it today, the way they watch us as we pass. Nobody heckles us or throws things or scowls. In fact, they don’t talk at all. It’s dead silent.

  “Holy fuck,” Chasm murmurs, but he seems somewhat relieved by the quiet, exchanging a glance with me as Kimber peels away from us and takes off down the right hallway. Chas and I turn left, and he deposits me at my classroom the way he’s been doing for weeks. “Hey.”

  He puts his hands on my shoulders and gives them a squeeze, one that I think is supposed to be friendly but that takes my breath away instead. He’s just that pretty, and I like him just that much. I almost wish that I didn’t, so things could be easier with Parrish, but that’s not how love works. And anyway, I’m too selfish; I wouldn’t give my feelings up for Chasm or Maxx, even if I could wave a wand and make it happen.

  “You’ve got this, naek— Little Sister.” Chas stands up and huffs a breath as I quirk an eyebrow at him. “You’ve studied hard: you’re going to nail this.”

  “If you stop calling me naekkeo, I’m going to get angry,” I tell him, but he just quirks his mouth in a very wry sort of smile.

  “If I keep calling you that, Parrish is going to get angry,” he corrects, and I sigh.

  “Chasm—” I start, but he’s already shaking his head and pointing past me toward the classroom.

  “What did I say? Stop worrying about romance. Go do your exam. Go kill that exam.” He flicks his fingers at me dismissively, and I roll my eyes.

  I do as he says, setting my bag down next to my desk, cracking my knuckles, and slipping into my seat. If ever I needed to have confidence in myself, it’s now. Because the idea of being able to see my sister in person is a tantalizing treat that I can’t ignore—something that Justin knows full well.

  Our teacher instructs us to set our iPads on our desks, directs us to the link for the multiple-choice portion of the exam, and off we go.

  During final exams, classes are structured a little differently. Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday are each split in half with an exam in the morning and one in the afternoon. So today, I’m tackling my exams for first and second period. Tomorrow will be for third and fourth period, and Wednesday for fifth and sixth. Thursday is for any late or make-up assignments, and one last goodbye, and Friday is for students like Parrish who might’ve missed—with a valid excuse—any of the previous exams.

  There’s a brief break in the middle of the first exam, but I take it inside the classroom as Chas suggested—just in case. There’s no point in tempting fate, not even if I want to see him so badly that my palms itch. Not even knowing that Parrish is back and intends on regaining his position of authority with the student body.

  I feel confident about the direction the exam takes, so confident in fact that I’m feeling pretty good when I hit submit, pack my iPad up, and head into the hall for lunch.

  Chasm is usually waiting for me, or else he shows up within a minute.

  Only … that’s not how it happens today.

  My first period teacher locks up and disappears down the hall toward the teacher’s lounge as my eyes scan the passing crowd, looking for that signature yellow lightning bolt.

  Nothing.

  I’m not worried at first, leaning my back up against the wall and sliding my phone from my blazer pocket. No calls or texts from Justin, no word about Maxine. With a sigh of frustration, I text my bio dad first asking if I could please see proof that my sister’s still doing alright, and then I shoot a quick message off to Chasm.

  Where are you?

  The minutes tick by, and he still isn’t here. That worries me. I have a feeling that, even if he somehow wasn’t done with his exam, he’d drop it, just to make sure I was alright. Not that I necessarily approve of that course of action, but it’s what he’d do.

  Instead, a chorus of footsteps from my right draws my attention up and over.

  It’s Veronica Fisher, the pain-in-my-ass redhead, with her scowling brunette friend and their group of bullies. Fantastic. I don’t wait to see what they have to say, nor do I even consider talking to them at all. Instead, I turn and immediately take off in the direction of the handicapped bathroom at a full-on sprint.

  Gamer Girl versus bully bitches. My favorite.

  If I can get there and lock myself in, then I can message or call whoever I need to—or even just wait them out. They won’t hover in front of that door forever, not with exams taking place.

  Unfortunately for me, the security guards are back to their usual rotation, with only two on the campus grounds at a time. Chasm was right about that, too, how one annoying complaint from one annoying student would restore the usual order around here.

  God forbid anyone holds these brats accountable.

  The girls catch up to me before I can reach the door handle, hauling me back and knocking my phone from my hand. It spins across the floor and slams into a bank of lockers. Not that it matters: I wouldn’t have had time to use it anyway.

  I’m dragged into the fray of girls, and it isn’t long before I see the silver flash of a utility knife. I know they’re kept on campus and used in several of the classrooms for various purposes. How Veronica and her friends keep getting access to them, I’m not sure. Hell, maybe they brought them from home?

  Whitehall Prep requires a gate code to even set foot on campus. We certainly don’t have metal detectors or drug dogs or anything of the like.

  I’m thrown onto the floor on my hands and knees, and a foot comes down hard on my back. I’m fighting like crazy, but there isn’t much that I can do against a group of twelve.

  I expect pain, most of all, the slashing of knives. That’s my worst fear. All of that blood …

  When I try to scream, hoping to catch the attention of, well, anyone at this point, another foot is pressed down on the side of my face.

  “Quiet. This doesn’t have to hurt unless you make it hurt.” Veronica pushes down harder against my skull as I’m jostled around, pulled and yanked and shoved. It takes me a minute to figure out what they’re doing. Are they … are they cutting my clothes off?!

  A hot sharp lance sears across the back of my thigh, and I gasp in pain, unable to make anymore sound than that. My muscles are trembling as I press my palms into the floor, trying to dislodge the person whose foot is atop my back. No luck. I’m crushed even harder into the ground as another slice tears across my shoulders, my arms, even my ass.

  “Keep fighting and you’ll end up with more cuts,” Veronica remarks absently, seemingly unconcerned at unleashing cruelty on me t
hat I damn well know that I don’t deserve. What have I ever done to her? I’ve barely spoken a handful of words to this chick. The closest we’ve ever been to one another is when she was standing behind Lumen and giggling at all of her jokes. That’s it. I didn’t even know Veronica’s name until recently.

  Still, that doesn’t stop the girls as they use their knives to slice up my uniform, tearing the fabric from my body with horrendous shredding sounds, even as blood leaks out to pool on the floor near my face. My whole body smarts; I’m not even sure it was fully healed from the last time this happened. I know for a fact that my nose and fingers aren’t, but I guess I didn’t realize how many of my bruises were still tender.

  It feels like I’m lying on that floor for hours, but I know it can only have been a couple of minutes. As quickly as the melee started, it stops, and I’m left shivering, pushing myself up with my palms on the floor. My skin feels cold and hot all at once.

  Looking down, I see blood smeared across my pale skin and a distinct lack of clothing.

  I’m naked.

  I’m completely naked and lying on the floor in the academy’s hallway.

  “Look up, bitch,” Veronica commands, and my head flies up on instinct, just in time to see that she has her phone in her hand. She’s recording me. No. I wrap my arms around my chest out of instinct as the girls surrounding me laugh, forming a tight circle that should hide me from any passersby.

  My uniform—even though it’s clearly in scraps—is gone. There isn’t even a piece of shredded fabric to hold over myself.

  “Maybe daddy can use this to plug your image into his new app? He said he could find people on the dark web, right? Because that’s exactly where this video is going.”

  I try to stand up, but hands push me down on either side, clamping on my shoulders and locking me in place.

  “What a fun livestream this is turning out to be,” Veronica continues, her brown eyes blazing as she looks down at me. “Stand her up.”

  There’s a shuffling sound behind me, and then the hands on my shoulders are gone, the pressure and the pain of those harsh fingertips releasing in a rush.

  Black fabric appears in my vision, wrapping around me like the wings of some massive bird, and then warm arms follow it, bundling me up.

  There’s a collective gasp, and I lift my eyes up to see Veronica staring at someone behind me. She backs up a step, but her phone remains where it is: still recording.

  “Oh god, it’s you,” she says, her voice a breathy whisper. There’s a healthy dose of fear there, underlaid with something else. Respect?

  “Yeah,” a voice says, and my heart soars when I recognize it immediately for who it is: Parrish. “It’s me.”

  He lifts me from the ground and sets me on my feet, holding my waist with one arm as I look up at him. It’s his blazer that’s been thrown around me; I tug it close, hiding my nakedness from the girls as best I can.

  Parrish glances down at me, but only for a second. His focus is on Veronica.

  If I were her, I’d be afraid.

  He looks fucking terrifying, a true king in his element. He might not like the Whitehall dynamic, or the way Medina’s high society works, but he understands it enough to take control of it. He’s the king of the academy for a reason. I turn toward him automatically, burying myself against his side.

  I’m humiliated. And in pain. And I’m terrified that Veronica really is livestreaming, that my naked image is out there on the internet and there’s nothing I can do about it.

  “I’m going to ask you this once,” Parrish says, his voice a quiet menace, a warning. “Delete the video.”

  “It’s a livestream—” Veronica starts, and rage surges through me like fire. Before I can even question what I’m doing, I spin and throw the hardest punch that I’m able to, my right fist connecting with her pretty nose and sending her phone flying as she loses her grip on it. It slides across the ground near Parrish’s feet.

  He grabs it right away, glancing down at the screen and then lifting his dark gaze back to Veronica’s bloody face. Red streams down from her nostrils in crimson rivulets as she slaps a hand over her mouth in shock.

  My knuckles are aching, and I’m bleeding far worse than she is, but the satisfaction is there.

  I got you, bitch.

  Parrish throws her phone as hard as he can against the lockers, and it shatters, denting the metal in the process, before he turns and sweeps his gaze over the other girls.

  “Delete your photos and your videos,” he commands, curling and uncurling his inked hands by his sides. “And I won’t completely kill each and every one of you: I’ll only make you hurt.”

  “He’s just one person,” Veronica snaps, her hand still clamped over her nose. “You’re holding knives.”

  “By all means, stab me,” Parrish says, his voice nonchalant, but his frown the most dark and twisted thing I’ve ever seen on his face. “Do it, and I will quite literally murder you.” He moves over to my torn blazer on the floor and extracts both of my phones before hefting my book bag up and tossing the strap over his shoulder; he slips the phones inside the front pocket.

  “He’s one person!” Veronica shouts, but the other girls—even that horrible brunette—don’t seem to want to take initiative.

  “He’s a Vanguard,” one of them whispers, shivering. “His grandmother could destroy my dad’s company. I’m sorry, Veronica, but I’m out.” The girl turns and takes off, and several others follow along behind her.

  Soon enough, it’s just Veronica and her bestie.

  Parrish ignores them both, moving over to me and scooping me into his arms. I’m a little surprised, but relieved, too. My legs are so shaky that I’m not sure I could’ve walked the few steps to the bathroom by myself.

  “You’re both dead!” Veronica continues, screaming at us as Parrish blatantly ignores her, opening the door to the handicapped bathroom and stepping aside. “My father will make sure of it.”

  That’s the last thing I hear before Parrish sets me down on the edge of the sink and flicks the dead bolt.

  It’s like lightning strikes that boy. He shivers and closes his eyes, and then when he opens them, all of that hatred and rage is gone, replaced with concern and affection. Parrish moves over to me and takes my face between his hands; his are trembling.

  “Fuck, Gamer Girl, are you okay?” he asks, and then he reaches down and grabs the blazer, giving it a tug. I resist him, curling my fingers into the edges of the jacket and refusing to let go. So many places on my body burn. But worse than that, I’m mortified. I feel assaulted, exposed, violated. “Dakota,” he whispers, covering my hands with his. “Look at me.”

  I do, and even though tears burn the edges of my eyes, I fight them back.

  “I’m okay,” I whisper back, voice shaky. “Was she … did she livestream that? Am I all over the internet?”

  Parrish’s face tightens enough that I know it’s true.

  No. Fuck. Please, no.

  “We’ll get it taken down,” he promises, and even though I feel like a traitor for thinking this, my mind goes to Justin. To Milk Carton. He can search my image anywhere, right? He’s been scrubbed clean off the internet, so it’s possible. It’s truly possible.

  But then, did he sic Veronica and her goons on me? Or are they truly after me because I’m Justin Prior’s daughter?

  Parrish tosses my book bag to the floor, ignoring the heart pin cam. It doesn’t matter now. Who cares if Justin sees this?

  “I don’t want my naked body online,” I repeat, and Parrish nods in understanding. This time, when he tries to take the blazer from me, I let him. He pulls it off and tosses it over the other sink, standing back so that he can assess my wounds.

  “Shit.” His jaw tightens as he reaches out and brushes some of the blood on my inner thigh, smearing it and revealing the extent of one wound. Even though it hurts, it also feels good, having him touch me like that. I look away. “Let’s get you to the nurse’s office.”
>
  “No.” I turn back to him and shake my head violently. “I already had one ‘fall’ this past month.” I shudder, my fingers curled around the edges of the sink. “I don’t want to have to explain this, and I don’t want Tess to have more reason to worry.”

  “Dakota,” Parrish starts, but then he grits his teeth because he knows I’m right. He grabs a wad of paper towels from the dispenser, runs some warm water on them after removing the blazer from the other sink, and then goes about carefully and meticulously cleaning the blood off of me. His teeth are gritted as he goes about it, fighting back that surge of tempestuous emotion in him. “You might need stitches.”

  “I’ll manage,” I whisper, and he lifts his eyes up to look at me, studying me, searching my face for trauma. “But we need a first aid kit and a new uniform.”

  “You’re not going back to class after this,” he tells me, and I grab him by the face.

  “Don’t start ordering me around the way the other two do,” I reply, sliding my fingers into his hair and dragging him closer for a kiss. He presses his mouth to me softly, almost tentatively, and then curses.

  “Let me call Chasm,” he says, and my heart drops.

  “Chas was supposed to pick me up after class; he always does. He comes and gets me and walks me from room to room …” I trail off as Parrish whips his phone out of his pocket, checks for messages, and then dials his friend’s number. When there’s no answer, he shoots a text off, and then makes another phone call. To Maxx, I’m guessing.

  “Fuck,” he curses when again, there’s no response. Parrish looks me over and then grabs his blazer again, settling it over my shoulders. He takes me by my upper arms and leans down to look into my eyes. “I’m going to go find something to clean your wounds up with, and I’ll stop at the merch shop for clothes. Will you be okay here for a minute by yourself?”

  I nod and he curses again.

  “I hate leaving you here,” he adds, but I square my shoulders and sit up straight, as if I’m attempting to prove to him that I’ve got this.

  “Go. Bring me clothes and then we can find Chasm; I’m worried about him.”