by MV Ellis
Away from the prying eyes of their parents and other adults, the reality of who they are is completely different. Outside of their hand-selected and totally sycophantic crew, they treat other girls with derision at best, and outright hatred at worst. They’re the quintessential mean girls, and similar to the way Zeph has decided that I’m public enemy number one, so have the hoes, and for equally whack reasons.
Apparently because I’m friends with Geneva, and I don’t wear a full face of makeup every day, as far as the twins are concerned, I’m not their people. I mean, they’re not wrong. I’m definitely nothing like them, but why that makes me a target for their disdain, I have no idea, but that’s how they operate.
All the girls in the school are divided into two arbitrary groups—important people, and rivals. As far as they’re concerned, I’m the latter. Bored rich people really are something else, just like Nevie warned me right at the start.
To the hoes, guys are a whole different thing. They treat most of them like royalty or demigods, either in the lead up to fucking them, while they’re fucking them, after they’ve fucked them, or a combination of all three.
It seems that their love of dick is eclipsed only by their hatred of their father and their desire to secretly be the exact opposite of what he thinks they are, or wants them to be. Anything they can do that meets this criteria, and they’re the first to sign up. If it involves getting fucked by the man of the moment at the same time, even better.
Their right-hand woman is Jazzy. She’s as screwed up as they are, but in a completely different way. Her parents are star-fucker plastic surgeons whose “totally confidential” client list reads like a Who’s Who of Hollywood tragedy. It’s also pretty much the worst kept secret in Hollywood, probably because there’s truth in the rumor that they are the ones to “leak” it every few years.
According to school lore, Jazzy herself has locked them into a program of “improvements” for herself, for pretty much the rest of her life. She’s apparently already had a nose job and several “cupgrades,” and if she’s aspiring to be sexy schoolgirl Barbie, she’s well on her way.
I watch the girls dispassionately as they dance and flail about in ways I’m sure they imagine to be appealing. Drunken delusion has a lot to answer for. Some of them are topless, and a few have gone one step further, and are braless. They all have good tits. I wonder idly if any of the others—apart from Jazzy—have also had surgery.
Two of the girls start kissing each other. Their mouths are pressed together, brushing their fingers through each other’s hair while straddling each other on the couch, putting on a show for the guys who whistle their appreciation and egg them on.
I turn away, partly wondering how they can do that in front of all these people, and partly wishing I had the guts to be so wild and carefree. Or maybe guts isn’t what I need, and money and copious amounts of vodka is. Maybe that kind of confidence comes attached to bundles of money—like the fatter the bank balance, the bigger your balls.
I guess it really comes down to consequences. The fewer consequences there are for any action, the lower people’s inhibitions. The more money people have to “fix” whatever they do wrong, the less importance they place on consequences, and the more confidence they have to do whatever the fuck their hearts desire.
I have no clue, but what I do know is that all of these kids seem to have the same vibe—especially The Fallen—that innate air of confidence that the world, and everything in it, is there for the taking, and nothing and nobody can touch them.
As I head out of the room to look for Geneva, I realize I’ve misplaced my purse. Great. Things are just going from bad to worse. I start running through the night in my mind, tracing my movements and trying to figure out where I’ve left it.
The last place I can recall having it is the laundry area off the kitchen. It also houses one of the bathrooms I tried to use before my encounter with Zeph. At the time there were too many people in line, so I’d given up waiting, but maybe I absentmindedly left it on the counter there, or something.
Either way, the party seems to have thinned out a little, so hopefully I can combine looking for it with taking that pee I suddenly again realize never actually happened, but desperately needs to.
I bolt for the little bathroom—surely part of the housekeeper’s area—and am pleased to find there’s nobody in there. To my intense relief, I just manage to get my jeans and thong down in time as I hurl myself onto the porcelain throne, but it’s a close call. The last thing I need is to piss myself, to really up the humiliation factor of my already disastrous night.
I get done and head out into the laundry area to look for my purse, since I didn’t get a chance to do it on the way in—I would surely have ended up in a puddle of pee if I’d have stopped to search.
“Looking for this?” I don’t want to turn toward the voice, because I already know who it belongs to, and what he’s referring to.
Fuck.
Eventually I bite, because what choice do I have? It’s Zeph, obviously. When and how did he sneak in?
“Did I startle you little Bambi? I didn’t mean to, but you really need to be more observant; you never know who’s watching.”
So not only does he move like a jaguar, but he’s also a mind reader. Maybe he’s a fucking shape-shifter, and can just appear at will in random places, and at random times. I stifle a giggle at the stupid thought.
“Something funny?” Nothing is even remotely funny, but the hysteria seems to have come from nowhere, just like Zeph.
He’s leaning against the doorframe, dangling my purse from his index finger. He’s still bare-chested, but at least now his pants are pulled up, and his junk is under wraps. He’s hot even in his St. Joseph’s uniform, or whatever elements of it he bothers to wear on any given day, but damn, without it, he’s... devilish, especially with his chest out and in full effect.
“Nothing’s funny.” Ain’t that the truth? “And yes, I was looking for that. Thank you.” I nod my gratitude curtly, and close the small space between us. As I stretch up onto tiptoes to reach for the purse, I realize my mistake. Zeph’s body heat instantly radiates against me, and I respond in kind, as a familiar, and deliciously carnal warmth floods my body at his proximity.
“Whoa, wait just a minute, that’s not how we do things.” I roll my eyes, knowing what’s coming. “Around here, favors beget favors, and it looks like you now owe me one. If you want this back, you’re going to have to work for it first.”
Of course. Because that’s how rich people operate. Everything and everyone has a price.
I fold my arms tightly across myself and stand back. The movement serves a dual purpose, letting Zeph know I find his childish games boring, and putting a much-needed barrier between us.
I roll my eyes and sigh dramatically. “What do you want?”
“Let’s just say I want the same thing you do.” How the fuck would he know what I want?
He closes the gap between us, backing me closer to the countertop. Crap.
“Which is what?” I fight hard to make my features a mask of indifference.
“I would have thought that was obvious by now.”
It is. “Well, it’s not.” I stare at him defiantly, much bolder now that he’s at least partially clothed and doesn’t have his dick out.
He looks pointedly down, and I follow his gaze to the stiff peak beneath the zipper of his ultra-tight, ripped black jeans, concealing the dick in question.
“What about now?”
Jesus.
I give a small mocking snort, reveling in my ability to make him feel small, rather than the other way around, for once. “Loud and clear, but you’ve made a mistake. That’s obviously what you want, but it’s not mutual.” It feels good to wrestle back some power in our interactions.
“I don’t make mistakes, Bambi. I can read you like a hunter tracking a deer. Every move, every heartbeat, every thought, every desire. It’s leaking out from each pore of your body.
It’s screaming from the look in your eyes. I’ve seen the way you stare at me. The way your body lights up when you’re anywhere near me. Even upstairs, before. In fact, especially then. I bet you were dripping wet just watching. You want me. You just don’t want to.”
He is right, but damned if I am going to let him know that. I level him with my steeliest glare, ignoring the fact that, like he says, his return gaze sends me into a tailspin of desire.
“I’m not going to sleep with you to get my purse back.” I grip my arms even tighter around myself, and step back further, now leaning against the countertop with nowhere left to go. Double crap.
He pauses, looking at me like I’m literally insane, then he does the thing I least expect in the world. He throws his head back, and laughs. The booming yet melodious sound bounces off the marble surfaces of the fancy laundry—I swear the decor in the tiny space costs more than everything in my entire apartment put together—and goes straight to my panties.
Just when I’m thinking he never will, he stops laughing as abruptly as he started. “Jesus Christ, you really have no fucking idea how it works in this particular forest do you?” I’m sure it’s a rhetorical question, so I don’t respond. “So I’m gonna keep things real simple for you. I don’t have to bribe girls to screw me, and you’re no different.”
“I’m not—” I have no idea what I want to, or am going to say. I just know I have to say something.
“Shhh... save yourself the embarrassment of doing exactly the opposite of what you say you’re going to.” He licks his thumb, then reaches out to drag it down first my top lip, then my bottom. I pull in a quick sharp breath as sensation floods my body. It’s such a small, simple gesture, but it’s so personal and intimate that it totally throws me as my whole body shudders. I recover myself just as he’s about to withdraw his thumb, and jerk forward quickly, biting down on it hard.
Zeph doesn’t miss a beat. Just as speedily, and definitely too fast for me to see it coming, he wrenches his thumb from my mouth and shoves his hand hard against my neck. He moves like a wild cat, maneuvering us sideways, so that instead of being pressed against the countertop, I’m now backed up hard against the wall next to it.
If the bite hurt him, he’s not letting it show; instead, he moves forward again, this time thrusting his knee between my legs
He leans in close and lowers his mouth to my ear until it’s a hair’s breadth away from touching. He’s breathing heavily. I know, because his breath is brushing against my ear and neck, and, like before, the heady combination of sensuality and savagery sends my body and mind spiraling out of control.
“Well played, Bambi, I knew you had it in you. Behind that doe-eyed innocent routine, I can see pure fire, and I like it. But just know, you pull a stunt like that again, and you’ll regret it.”
I already regret ever laying eyes on Zeph, let alone anything else, and I have a feeling that letting Geneva convince me to come to this party is something I’m also going to mourn for a long time to come.
“Now, as I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted, you’re not going to screw me to get your purse back. You’re going to bone me because you want to, not because I make you. To get your purse back, you’re going to tell me what you’re doing here, and what the fuck you want from me.”
“I already told you, I don’t want anything from you. I’m here because Geneva convinced me to be her wingman, and that’s it.”
“What? I’m not talking about the party, I’m talking about St. Joseph’s, and the videos. How much will it take for you and them to go away for good? Name your price.
Chapter 15
We Know Where You Are
Zeph
* * *
The silence that stretches between us seems to last an eternity, but in reality it’s only a few moments.
“I… what videos? I don’t know what you’re—”
I slide my thumb and middle finger up to the delicate pressure points below her jaw and tighten my grip on her slim neck. It won’t take much to hurt her if I want to. I don’t want to, but she doesn’t need to know that. That point is, I know I can, and she knows it too. She’s trembling slightly against my body.
I realize that if I’m going to make any sense of the conversation, I need to see her face while I question her. I reluctantly shift back a little—no more than a half pace—so that I can stare down at her.
“Wrong. Answer. Try again, and if I were you, I’d consider how delicate windpipes are before answering this time.” I press harder.
“It may not be the answer you’re looking for, but it’s all I’ve got, because it’s the truth. I have no idea what the hell you’re talking about.”
I do my best to read her, just like I’ve told her I can, but the laundry is only partially lit by the triangle of light leaking from the open bathroom door, and I’m totally lit by the combination of candies and booze racing around my system, so it’s not as easy as usual.
I squeeze a little harder—not enough to do any damage, but enough to make my presence felt—to send a clear message: don’t fuck with me, or I can and will hurt you.
Blake’s hands fly up to my wrist reflexively, squeezing hard. She’s a fighter, and I like it, and so does my dick. A lot.
“Look me in the eye and say that.”
The bob of her larynx against my palm as she swallows hard sends a bolt of arousal straight below my waistband, followed by another as she levels me with a steely glare, her clear gray eyes glistening and stony.
“Are you fucking high right now? What am I saying? Of course you are, so I’m gonna keep things real simple for you.” I smirk at her use of my own words right back at me. Well played, Bambi. “I don’t know what you’re referring to. I don’t know you. Or I didn’t, until I enrolled at St. J’s. I came here for one reason and one reason only, and that’s to get an education. I don’t want money, or anything from you, I just want to finish school, and get the fuck away from…” She shakes her head, as though dislodging wayward thoughts. “I just want to finish school.” Her voice is firmer this time. “Now get your fucking hands off me, before—”
“Before what, Bambi? Although maybe I need a new nickname for you, hey? Because it turns out you’re quite the fiery little hothead when you want to be, not the docile little doe I thought you were at first.”
“You’re insane, and I’m leaving. You can keep my purse, for all I care. Seems to be more your color than mine, anyway.” She’s funny, and I love it. It’s true what they say about humor being sexy. Her sarcasm adds to her overall crazy hotness, and I’m totally there for it.
“You’ll leave when I say you can, and that will be when I get the answers I want.”
“So you want me to lie to you? Tell you what you want to hear? You’re out of your fucking mind.”
Keeping my grip on her throat, I rake my thumb raggedly over her full bottom lip. The urge to bite it is so strong, I have to clamp down on the inside of my own mouth to stop myself. Blake jerks her head to the side, trying to move her lip from my reach.
I fix my hand back in place around her neck. “Be careful there, little Bambi, like you said, I’m a touch crazy, so you never know what I might do.”
“Fuck you.” She spits the words out like she means them.
“That’s the plan.” She stiffens. “But first, I want the truth about the videos.”
“I’ve already told you everything I know, which, for the one hundredth time, is nothing at all. Zero. Zip. Nada. Nish. I’m leaving. Geneva is waiting for me so that we can go home together. In fact, she’s actually probably searching for me, right now. I’m sure she’ll think to look in here soon.”
“Really?” I let my lips kick up into a broad, smug grin. “I wouldn’t count on it. I’m pretty sure she’s got bigger fish to fry right now. Much. Bigger. Maybe even double the size.” The look of confusion on her face matches her expression every time I’ve mentioned the anonymous messages.
“The videos first appeared whe
n you did, and you’re everywhere I turn all the fucking time, just watching and waiting. Do you expect me to believe that’s coincidence?”
“I don’t expect anything, because that would mean I think about you, which I don’t. But while we’re on the subject, no, the way our paths keep crossing isn’t coincidence. I mean we attend the same school, and are in some of the same classes. It’s not exactly rocket science that we’ll run into each other sometimes. And like I said before, I didn’t even want to come tonight.”
“And you haven’t.” Unless someone didn’t get the memo that she’s off-limits, in which case I need to know who I have to kill. Stat.
“What? I’m right here… Oh.”
I watch as she realizes the double meaning of what she said before. “Yeah, oh.”
Anger replaces the shock in her eyes again, and I love it. She’s hot on a normal day, but fired up like this, she’s pressing all my buttons, and then some.
“Fuck this, I’m out of here.” She starts struggling, pulling at my arm and squirming. “I’ll scream.”
“If I’m doing it right, yeah, that’s the plan.”
“That’s not what I mean, asshole. I’ll call out for help.”
“Good luck. Not only is it unlikely that anybody will hear you—this room is basically sealed like a tomb—but even if they do, they’ll just think we are having a good time. So…” I shrug. The look of panic on her face intensifies, and I believe she’s about to start yelling. I also know that what I told her is true. It isn’t going to make a damned bit of difference to her situation.
I step back about a quarter of a pace—close enough to crowd her in, but giving her more breathing space than before—and drop my hand.
The look of surprise on her face is priceless.
