Savage Elites: An Elite High School Bully Romance (Bully Boys of Brittas Academy Book 2)

by Sofia Daniel

  “Sit,” said Mrs. Benazir.

  I lowered myself onto the chair and gulped.

  The headmistress pushed a copy of the Cumbria Gazette across her desk.

  DRUNKEN SCHOOLGIRL PLUMMETS OFF HARD KNOTT PASS

  Another pupil of the renowned Brittas Academy succumbs to the stress of maintaining the Elite Register top spot.

  Throat tightening, I skimmed the contents of the article. The reporter had dug around for details and depicted me as an orphan taken up by Mrs. Benazir to artificially inflate the grades of paying students.

  The article also said that students paid £80,000 a year for their education and compared it with Eton College, an institution established in 1440 that charged £42,500 and Institut Le Rosey, the most expensive school in the world, which cost approximately £105,000.

  I sucked in a breath. Corrine had underestimated the price of Brittas Academy by fifty percent, but her diary entry matched the journalist’s scathing remarks.

  Before I could turn the page, Mrs. Benazir’s sharp voice cut through the air like a whip. “Explain how the reporter linked you to the academy. Have you been speaking to the press?”

  I reared back. Of all the things I had expected the headmistress to say, it wasn’t an accusation of deliberately tarnishing her precious academy’s reputation.

  “Answer me!”

  “Maybe the reporter spoke to the police,” I said through clenched teeth. “Because I didn’t drink-drive. Someone must have forced alcohol down my throat because I would never—”

  “Again?” Mrs. Benazir screeched. “Who is responsible, this time?”

  My jaw tightened at her tone. It sounded like she was sick of me being the target for bullies, even though the situation was partially her fault. With the amount of cash she brought in from all the tuition fees, she could have employed extra staff to help manage student welfare, but all she seemed to care about was the school’s position on the Elite Register.

  Miss Claymore shifted on her feet, reminding me that I still hadn’t answered Mrs. Benazir’s question.

  After inhaling a deep, calming breath, I said, “That’s what I’m trying to find out. I have no memories of that Monday.”

  Miss Claymore stepped forward. “None at all?”

  “I remember the Sunday night and Monday morning, but everything after that is a blank.”

  “What might have made bullies attack you this time?” The deputy head placed her hands on Mrs. Benazir’s desk, seeming more comfortable now. It was as though she was eager to pull up her sleeves and help investigate what had really happened to me on Monday night.

  I blew out a relieved breath and offered her a tiny smile. “Maybe they wanted me to call off the police investigation on the sexual assault. Back at Ashley’s initiation ceremony, Bianca whispered to me that I would fall down a ditch. Maybe this is what she meant.”

  Mrs. Benazir sniffed. “Pressing charges against the girls has made you a target.”

  Boiling blood surged through my veins and into my cheeks. “You think I should let them get away with it?”

  “I wouldn’t purport to tell you what to do.” Raising her nose in the air, the headmistress rested her chin on her steepled fingers. “However, actions have consequences.”

  The ticking of her wall clock filled a silence that stretched out for several minutes. I glanced at Miss Claymore, who held her face in a neutral expression, then glowered at Mrs. Benazir, who stared back at me with pitiless eyes. While what she had said was correct, I had expected better from a woman who claimed to be taking measures to stamp out bullying.

  “If I’d known scholars would be victimized so much, I might not have signed that contract.” I tried to keep the venom out of my voice. “But you only mentioned the possibility of bullying afterward.”

  She leaned back in her seat. “Be that as it may, you are still required to maintain a grade average of ninety-five percent. The Board of Governors has called an emergency meeting and wish to investigate what is causing so many students to take such drastic actions.”

  The words from Corrine’s diary drifted back to the forefront of my mind. She needed scholars because we kept her precious academy at the top of the Elite Register.

  “At least someone cares about the plight of the students,” I said.

  Miss Claymore straightened and folded her arms across her chest. “Leave, before you land yourself a detention.”

  Pulling myself off out of my seat, I suppressed the urge to spit. If it wasn’t for my need to pay the bills, I would leave the academy and return to Cummersdale Comprehensive.

  I stormed out of the room and headed down the hallway, clenching and unclenching my fists. The more interactions I had with the people at this accursed academy, the more I believed that Corrine had been killed… And I would be next.

  Students crowded outside the dining hall, a sea of bottle green uniforms. I hardened my stomach. One of them had set me up to die. Possibly two. If anyone taunted me about the accident—

  “Willow!” Appearing from the crowd, Cormac wrapped his arms around my shoulders and knocked the air out of my lungs. “There was an article about your accident in the paper. It said you were airlifted out from the mountainside. I kept calling the hospital, but they wouldn’t give me any information on where you’d gone.”

  His words came out in such a long rush, I had to lean into his embrace and close my eyes to parse their meaning.

  “Sorry,” I murmured. “I should have called, but my mobile got lost.”

  He drew back and placed both hands on my shoulders. “You weren’t at your cottage?”

  “The doctor advised me not to stay on my own.”

  “Right.” He cupped my face with both hands. “You should have seen the photos in the middle spread of the Gazette. There’s a picture of your car in the stream!”

  Some of the people crowded around the dining room doors gathered around us. Perhaps they’d all seen the article and wanted to hear the latest gossip.

  “Why don’t you two snog already,” muttered one of the auburn-haired twins. “The sexual tension between you ugly virgins is getting tiresome.”

  His twin doubled over with laughter, and Bruce clapped him on the back. Ashley smirked at his side and flipped her hair. I curled my lip. Had she always enjoyed seeing me insulted? Perhaps with Mom and Dad gone, she no longer had to attempt solidarity.

  “Have you looked in the mirror recently?” I snapped.

  “Have you?” the twin shot back.

  “Yes, thank you. And I was delighted with what I saw.” I raised my chin and glowered into his malevolent, gray eyes until he walked away in a huff.

  Cormac pulled me to one side. “Willow, you didn’t need to stoop to his level.”

  I leaned against a storage closet and folded my arms across my chest. “Rising above these people doesn’t work. That’s twice someone’s tried to kill me.”

  His face dropped. “What are you talking—” He glanced from left to right and whispered, “The car accident?”

  “My memory of that day is blank, but can you imagine me getting into a car while drunk? They said my blood alcohol was three times the limit.”

  “That can’t be right. When I saw you that night, you were sober.”

  I shrugged. “Exactly.”

  He glanced around. “Who do you think—”

  “He’s right, you know.” One of the twins, presumably the one who had observed his brother call us ugly virgins, stalked toward us.

  “What are you talking about now?” I snapped.

  “You two are made for each other.”

  Cormac’s nostrils flared. “Thank you, Mr. Riley, but I already have a girlfriend with whom I am very happy.”

  The auburn-haired wretch reared back. “You?”

  I looped my arm around Cormac’s and walked away. When we reached the far end of the hallway and were out of earshot, I whispered, “Who’s your girlfriend?”

  “I’d love to tell you,” Corma
c whispered back, “But she’s asked me to keep things quiet for now.”

  My brows drew together. One of Corrine’s diary entries had mentioned that Prakash hadn’t wanted to announce his relationship to the rest of the kings. I hoped this girlfriend was a scholar like Michelle or Cora and not one of the mainstream girls playing the pull-a-pig game.

  Chapter 6

  Any curiosity I might have had about the identity of Cormac’s girlfriend faded with the intensity of my headaches. After two-and-a-half hours, the pain returned to the annoying, background throb I’d had at Uncle Trevor’s apartment, and after four, it became so blinding, I couldn’t think. It got to the point where I had to take paracetamol in between doses of codeine and ibuprofen so that I didn’t collapse into wracking sobs in the middle of lessons.

  Prakash sat next to me in Advanced Calculus but barely said a word. Not even to snipe at me to leave the academy. Perhaps something had happened while he was in India because he had been kind enough to visit me in the hospital, and I couldn’t think of any other reason for his regression.

  When Miss Weir dismissed us before the bell, he gathered his books in his arms and stormed out of the room. I shot to my feet, but the teacher called me over.

  “Were you able to follow everything this afternoon?” she asked. “I noticed you drifting at times.”

  “I-it’s my medication.” That was partially true. My mind had blanked for the entire lesson, partly because I wondered what was wrong with Prakash.

  “Did you understand the inverse trigonometric functions?”

  “I read my prep.”

  She nodded. “If you’re following the textbooks in your own time, there’s no cause for concern.”

  The bell rang.

  I gathered my books and headed for the door. “Thanks, Miss Weir.”

  Prakash was probably gone by now. There was no point in rushing through the building when each throbbing pain through my skull made it reverberate like a boom box. I held onto the railing and took the stairs with great care. If I lapsed back into dizziness, I didn’t want to fall down the stairs.

  Someone shoved me hard in the back. A spasm clenched my heart, which pumped ice through my veins... I stumbled over my feet, in the beginnings of a summersault. Then my other hand grabbed the railing, making me fall into an awkward, twisted squat that turned my body around.

  Bianca Byrd towered over me, her dark eyes burning with rage. The bridge of her nose appeared swollen, as though it was still healing from a bad break.

  “What the hell are you doing?” I spat.

  Her lip curled. “The police got in touch, demanding that Geraldine and I go down to the station and submit genetic samples.”

  I glowered back at her. “As they should.”

  “It’s no wonder someone wants you dead when you go around telling tales and ruining lives.”

  A breath caught in the back of my throat. Bianca was the first person to acknowledge that someone had tried to kill me. Straightening, I asked, “What do you know?”

  “A lot. You’ve poked your nose where it doesn’t belong, and now you’re being punished. They won’t stop until you’re dead…” She bared her teeth in a grimace. “Just like Corrine Gibbons.”

  The throbbing in my head intensified to the point where I could barely focus. I clenched my teeth and tried to process the pain. Even though Bianca’s words confirmed my suspicion, she was the last person I should believe about any subject, let alone something as serious as attempted murder.

  Righting myself, I asked, “How do I know you’re not bluffing?”

  “Call the police and call off that stupid investigation.” She walked past, making sure to give me a hard shoulder check and knock me off balance. “You put the pork ribs in your pussy, not any of us.”

  I turned around and glared at her back. “Then you won’t be afraid to prove your innocence.”

  Bianca paused on the steps. Straightening, I braced myself for a final insult. A sharp pain lanced through my skull with the intensity of a dagger, making me wince.

  Bianca spun and grabbed me by the chin. “You snitching bit—”

  I swung my fist into her gut. “Get off me.”

  She doubled over and groaned. “Y-you’ll pay for this. Like you’ll pay for suffocating me like a hippo and breaking my nose!”

  My stomach dropped. I did that to Bianca’s face? It must have been on that Monday. “Wait!”

  She hurried down the stairs. “Fuck off, you ugly, fat pig.”

  Blood roared in my ears, adding to the cacophony of throbbing pain and rapid pulse beats. I rushed down the stairs after Bianca, threaded my fingers through her hair, and yanked hard. Her screech echoed through the stairwell, making me cringe.

  Right now, I didn’t care how much pain I inflicted on her. She had started the aggression, and I would fight back in kind. “Why did I hit you?”

  She drew in a sharp breath. “You don’t remember?”

  “Tell me.” I gave her hair a little tug.

  “I want something in return,” she said through clenched teeth.

  “If you think I’ll drop those charges—”

  “Pig some.”

  “What?” My hands slipped out of her hair. “No!”

  With a skittering, backward movement, Bianca moved out of reach. “You haven’t heard me out.”

  “I’m not playing any of your cruel games,” I snarled.

  “Then you won’t know who is trying to kill you.” Her face twisted into a satisfied smirk. “They’re closer than you think, and they’ll strike again. Nothing’s changed, except they know you’re as resilient as a cockroach. Next time, they won’t fail.”

  My stomach hardened with dread. Right now, with my head throbbing, and with no memories of blank Monday, I was ready to believe the worst, even if Bianca was probably bluffing.

  “What do you want?” I asked through clenched teeth.

  Tilting her head to the side, Bianca thrust out a hip in a move that reminded me of Ashley. Perhaps she thought she’d won this little battle, but I’d only asked to keep her talking.

  Anticipation fizzled up my gullet. If I could glean anything from her ramblings, it might tell me if she knew something or was spewing out random sentences to see if she could use anything as leverage to stop me from pressing charges for the sexual assault.

  “Cormac Gibbons.” She folded her arms across her chest. “Tell him you’re in love with him. Confess your feelings, string him along, and break his heart. Then I’ll tell you who is trying to kill you.”

  I rolled my eyes and stepped past her. “Now I know you’re bullshitting me.”

  “Wait.”

  Opening the door to the next hallway, I muttered, “Come back when you can tell me something I can use. Otherwise, fuck the hell off.”

  I stole through the door, hurried to the nearest bathroom, and walked into the closest stall. My head felt so swollen, I thought it would explode. After sitting on the toilet seat, I tore open my bag.

  With hands that shook, I found a box of paracetamol and pushed three tablets out of the blister pack. My time at the hideout with Leopold and Sebastian had been blissful. They had both treated me to great food, luxurious surroundings, and all the sensual pleasures I could handle. But it had been an oasis in a world of mad dogs that seemed to make me its bitch, and my head was staging its painful protest.

  I stuffed the tablets in my mouth and gnashed them into dust. After swallowing, I rested my head against the door and blew out a long breath, and waited for the painkillers to work. If these headaches didn’t go away, I was screwed.

  The extra layer of painkillers kept me functional, but the stress of returning to Brittas Academy blared like a beacon in the form of continued headaches. I tried going to bed early, cutting down on my prep, completely ignoring Geraldine, Bianca, Ashley, and anyone associated with them, but my efforts were futile.

  Even Dr. Forrester couldn’t find anything wrong with me and blamed it on the pressure of mai
ntaining a high grade average.

  In Economics class, I sat next to Cormac and massaged my temples in an attempt to chase the pain away with gentle movements.

  “What’s wrong?” asked Cormac.

  “Bloody migraines,” I muttered.

  “What did the doctor prescribe?” he asked. “Maybe you need stronger painkillers.”

  I shook my head. “The stronger ones make me drowsy.”

  “That’s because you have an imbalance in your liver, spleen, and kidney qi,” said Leopold from the seat behind.

  I twisted in my seat and met his concerned, aquamarine eyes. “What’s that?”

  “Resorting to mumbo-jumbo, Brunswick?” muttered Cormac.

  Leopold narrowed his eyes at the other boy. “Traditional Chinese Medicine has been in place a lot longer than Western Medicine. While they were curing diseases with tried and tested protocols, doctors in the West were bleeding people with leeches and boring holes in their heads.”

  Cormac muttered something unintelligible and turned back to the lecture.

  As soon as the bell rang, I placed my books in my bag and stood facing Leopold’s table. “Were you talking about acupuncture?”

  His aquamarine eyes sparkled, and a smile curled his full, kissable lips. “There’s a lot more to it. Tui Na massage…” His gaze dropped down to my chest. “Dermal friction, and cupping.”

  A pulse throbbed between my legs in time with the pounding of my heart. I walked around the table and gave him a playful nudge. “Now I know you’re making it up.”

  All the levity in his expression vanished, and concern shone in his eyes. “I’m serious about the TCM. Why don’t we go down to London on Saturday and visit Master Chang? He might be able to tell you what’s wrong.”

  Cormac snorted. “He sounds like an expert in Kung Fu.”

  “No, he’s experienced in Fu Kyu.”