King of Denial : An Academy Bully Romance (Boys of Almadale Book 3)

by Jacie Lennon

  Who put that there?

  I slam one fist into the trunk. I can feel my skin break, the slivers of bark stuck to my hand, blood trickling from the open wound, and I grin. I do it again, the pain shooting up my arm.

  Fuck, that feels good.

  She’s supposed to be mine. She said she loved me. Liar. We’ve never belonged to each other. It’s always been one-sided, whether we knew it or not. How long has she known about this? How long has she kept this huge damning secret from me?

  Who else knows?

  Who is laughing at me?

  Who is pitying me?

  I drive my fist into the tree once more for good measure. I might have broken my hand; I don’t know. I can’t feel anything anymore. My mind is numb. My hand is numb.

  I turn, resting my back against the tree that doesn’t have a scratch on it. Such a metaphor for life. I beat myself up, trying to attack it, and it continues on, standing strong, unconcerned with my outburst. The world is still turning, unaffected, while I stand here, breaking apart.

  I cradle my hand on the opposite forearm and push myself off the trunk with my elbow. I turn, finding the mansion still lit up, music drifting out the windows from inside and the sounds of talking and laughter traveling on the slight breeze. With one swift motion, I stand tall, raising my bloodied hand, and I stick the middle finger straight up in the air at the house. Blood trickling down the back of my hand, mixing into the grass below me.

  I stalk away from the tree, across the front lawn, and around the side of the building, searching for where I left my car in my haste earlier. I reach into my pocket for my keys, stopping beside the sleek black vehicle, and grunt in pain as my damaged fist makes contact with the material of my pants.

  In one swift motion, I’m turned, pressed against the car, bent backward. I swallow, my throat bobbing against the cold metal of a blade, and my eyes widen.

  A face comes into view, and I blink again, trying to focus.

  “Bodhi Montgomery,” the mouth says, and I finally register who it is.

  Seth.

  “Hastings.”

  “Don’t fucking speak,” he says, his face close to mine, spittle landing on my cheek as he growls the words.

  I press my lips in a thin line and reach up to wipe the liquid from my face. Two guys grab both of my arms, stretching them out and pinning them to the car beside me.

  “Don’t fucking move either,” Seth says. His face even closer.

  I can smell the alcohol on his breath, and mixed with my own alcohol, it’s making my head and stomach spin.

  He pushes down with the hand holding the knife to my skin, and I attempt to still my swallowing, so my throat doesn’t move. I can still feel it scraping.

  “Stay the fuck away from Trixie.”

  “I’m not near Trixie,” I shoot back, unable to keep the sarcasm from my voice.

  He pushes in further, and I gag.

  “Seth.” The voice isn’t mine or either of the guys holding my arms.

  Seth looks over his shoulder and narrows his eyes.

  “What?” he growls, and the figure steps closer, into view.

  Connor is here, arms crossed over his chest and a frown on his face, but he makes no move to pull Seth off of me. “Get on with it,” he says.

  Seth turns back to me.

  “Is that all you wanted to tell me?” I grit out, poking the bear. Maybe I’m looking for a fight. Maybe if he slits my throat now, I won’t have to deal with feelings, emotions, or anything else that comes with losing the love of my life to this dipshit here.

  “She’s mine, asshole. And if I catch you sniffing around her, if I catch you looking at her, speaking to her, or anything I consider remotely friendly, I’ll—” He cuts off, a slow smile spreading across his face.

  “You’ll what? Beat my face in? Cut my throat? Toss my body in a river somewhere?”

  “No,” he says, a chuckle seeping from between his thin lips, one I don’t like—and not because he has me pinned to a car with a sharp blade in his hand. “I’ll break a bone in her body. And I’ll tell her it’s because of you. She will hate you, and I’ll love every fucking minute of it, Montgomery. This time, I win.”

  I feel cold. I think if he were to cut me, nothing would come out because my blood is frozen in my veins. He’s sadistic, a madman. Threatening violence against Trixie has me stilling all movement. I don’t fight against his two goons, and I don’t move my gaze from his. I don’t even flinch.

  “Are we clear?” His head is lowered, right beside my ear.

  I can see the stars twinkling above us, bright and cheerful, looking down at this scene. I can only imagine what they see.

  I’m terrified because, deep inside, I know he means what he says. He would hurt her to get to me, and I make up my mind right then and there to get her away from him, if it’s the last thing I do. But first, I need her to hate me, so he doesn’t have to make her.

  “Crystal.”

  He presses harder, the knife slicing into my skin. I thought it would be painful, but it’s not; it’s freeing. Seth backs up, his friends following, and I finally stand. My eyes find Connor’s, and I glare. He stares back at me impassively, arms still crossed, legs spread wide in an assertive stance.

  Asshole.

  “See you around, Montgomery,” Seth says, another chuckle coming from his slimy, bastard chest.

  I reach up with my damaged hand, feeling warm liquid trickle down my neck and arm.

  Looks like my blood isn’t frozen after all.

  20

  Trixie

  I should be exhausted after this party, but I’m not. I’m wired. I’m angry. I’m furiously frustrated. My parents promised to give me this night, and they lied. They didn’t let me have my birthday to be myself; they took joy in putting me on display, like they have my entire life. They took pleasure in showing me off to their friends and business partners.

  Look at my daughter Trixie. She’s so beautiful. She is so in love with her boyfriend. They are getting married and strengthening alliances between our families.

  Bull. Shit.

  My heart aches as I think about their selfishness. The devastation I saw on Bodhi’s face as he stared up at us. The betrayal that flashed in his eyes when my gaze met his. The way he realized that tonight wouldn’t happen. That forever was out of reach for us. That I’d been keeping this huge secret and he would never forgive me for it. It was written on his face, plain as day.

  My feet are working, carrying me across the floor before my brain catches up. I’m alone in this large room that’s littered with food and glasses and confetti and birthday paraphernalia, but I don’t pay any attention to it. I’m on a mission, and I know exactly where to go.

  I don’t even pause as I approach the door. I stick one hand straight out, slamming the door open, and three surprised gazes snap to mine.

  “How could you?” I scream.

  My dad stands from his chair, setting down his cigar and glass of brandy. Celebrating putting his daughter in shackles.

  “Beatrice,” he starts, but I stick up a hand.

  I don’t know where this confidence is coming from, but I’m glad it’s here, letting me get my thoughts out in the open.

  “No. You promised me one night. One lovely fucking night, which was stolen by your grand display of a proposal. It’s a sham, a lie, and you put me on the stage for all of your world to see and fawn over. I only asked for this time to myself before I was sucked into your games. How dare you!” I turn to Seth and his father, where they are sitting, staring at me, and ask them both, “How could you?”

  I don’t expect them to reply. They don’t care. I know they don’t.

  But my heart is breaking, and I have to let the emotions out somehow. This seems to be the best way. Lighting into my father, fiancé, and future father-in-law.

  “You are sitting in here, toasting, as if you accomplished something huge and grand, and I’m caught in the cross fire. I didn’t get to choose anyt
hing.”

  “You think I got to choose?” Seth asks, leaning back, crossing one ankle over his knee. He grins at me, a smirk, but instead of it being sexy like Bodhi’s, it reminds me of a wolf. “I’m as much of a pawn in the game as you are. But remember, that’s what our world is. One big fucking game, Trixie. So, you can rant as much as you want, but it doesn’t change the fact that we are getting married and you will be my wife.”

  I turn wide eyes on my father, but he’s smiling at Seth as if his monologue made him proud.

  Can he not see the way Seth thinks he owns me?

  Another thought hits me straight in the heart.

  He does see, and he approves.

  That’s how my father has always treated my mother. Why should I be any different? This is like another century altogether.

  Women are only seen as a means to further an empire.

  I’m not even sure that my father even feels love for me. I wish desperately that Linna were here. She would know what to do. She would help me escape. I could go live with her and be free.

  Then, my father’s words come back to me from that moment when I stood in his office and he signed away my fate.

  “His life is in your hands, Beatrice. So, I would choose carefully. I have friends who don’t mind getting their hands dirty, and it will be nothing to take care of this little problem.”

  I have Bodhi to think about. Like I’ve thought about him every day since that time. I still can’t give in to my heart, and after the shitshow tonight, I doubt Bodhi will be a problem again. But I can’t run. What if they rough him up—or something worse—because I’m gone? I can’t have his blood on my hands or my heart.

  They know my Achilles’ heel, and I curse the day I ever entered into a relationship with Bodhi Montgomery.

  “It’s not fair,” I whisper pitifully.

  “Life isn’t fair,” Mr. Hastings says, his smile matching his son’s.

  The words are so cliché. So over said, but in this instance, I know why they are a cliché. It’s because they are true. Nothing about life has been fair. Maybe I have everything I could want material-wise, but does it even matter if my heart is unhappy? Does it matter that I have designer clothing and a huge mansion to live in or one-hundred-thousand-dollar cars if I have a black hole inside my body, spreading poison through my veins?

  I want to collapse on the floor and cry, but I don’t. I’m strong and resilient, and I will get through this. If only to protect the one thing my heart still clings to.

  “No, it doesn’t appear to be,” I say, raising my chin.

  My hands are clenched into fists at my sides, and I look at the three men in the room. Each of them has a part they have played in my downfall, and I will hold on to the hate I have inside for all three. I won’t let it go, and one day, it will manifest itself into something they won’t want to control.

  Surprise flashes through Seth’s eyes when I meet his gaze, as if he wasn’t expecting me to rally.

  Take that, motherfucker.

  I hate him. I hate that he has controlled me. Has put me down, belittled me, and used me as a trophy girlfriend. He doesn’t view me as a person. He sees me as an object to acquire to link our families. To what end? I’m not sure; no one will let me in on that secret. All I have are vague references to the meshing of our names being something that each side needs.

  I hate that he took my first time without an ounce of the tenderness and care that Bodhi showed me earlier. He doesn’t love me. I’m a wet place to put his dick. I hate that I cried after, that I gave him my tears. I won’t cry over him again. I promise myself that.

  I hate that I’m probably going to have his spawn one day and see him in their faces instead of Bodhi’s stormy blue-gray eyes staring back at me. Or a mix of his floppy, dark hair and my brown eyes in a cherubic face. I’ll save my tears for him, for what we will miss out on.

  “Have you set a wedding date?” I ask, knowing that I won’t have a say in the matter.

  “As a matter of fact, we were discussing that before you rudely interrupted.” Dad picks his brandy back up and takes a sip.

  “Well, don’t let me disturb you gentlemen for any longer. Continue on with your misogynistic and narcissistic discussion.” I whirl around, wanting desperately to give them all the middle finger, but I know I’ve probably already pushed my father to his limit, and I exit as quickly as I entered.

  My feet pick up speed as I push through doorways, running down hallways, up the stairs, and around corners until I’m in my safe haven—my bedroom.

  I cross to the window seat, breathing heavily, and I sit, my tight dress squeezing my body as it bunches. I raise my feet up and relish in the satisfying tearing sound of a seam ripping. This dress wasn’t made for leisurely lying about. I reach down by my ankle, and my fingers find the little half-heart, my thumb rubbing across the raised letters spelling out Friends as I stare out the window. I finally let my tears fall with the moon as my only witness.

  The next morning, I wake, still in my torn white dress and half-hanging off the window seat. My back aches from the position I slept in, and my eyes are puffy and bleary from crying. My head pounds, and my mouth tastes like cotton as I rise to a sitting position.

  I glance around my room, and my chest aches as the night comes crashing back over me. It’s Sunday. I’m expected to return to school tomorrow, and I’m not sure how I’m going to stomach it. Being in the same area as Bodhi, seeing him and the hate in his eyes, it might break me.

  You only have a month and a half left, I remind myself as I push to stand.

  I’ve got to get out of this dress and into the shower. I need to clean the despair off of my body.

  I freeze as the knob to my room turns and opens. A head comes into view, one I don’t recognize. A man looks me up and down and then focuses on my face.

  “Good, you are awake. Your parents want to see you as soon as possible.”

  “Who are you?” I glance down quickly to make sure all of me is covered before looking back at him. I’ve never seen him before; I’m sure of it. To my knowledge, he’s not one of Seth’s friends.

  “Your new bodyguard,” he says.

  I shake my head, sure I didn’t hear him correctly. “What?”

  Why do I need a bodyguard?

  “Your parents are in the dining room, having breakfast.” He doesn’t bother to answer my question, and I watch him step back out into the hallway and shut the door.

  Am I in danger? Will he go back to Almadale with me?

  I hurriedly unzip my dress and step out of it. I cross to my bag and find some leggings, which I hastily stick my legs into. I pull out a long, bulky sweater and slip it over my top half. I step into the bathroom and use the toilet before glancing at myself in the mirror. My mascara is in streaks, and I take a washcloth, wet it, and scrub. It makes my skin red, and that, paired with the puffy eyes, is a scary look.

  When I cross to the door and pull it open, I’m not surprised to see new bodyguard boy standing there. He doesn’t even look at me but remains alert, and I sweep past him. He follows me down the hallway and stairs, and I expect him to enter the dining room with me, but he stops at the door as I breeze through it.

  I must not be in any danger from my parents, I think with an eye roll.

  “Really? A bodyguard?” I slide into the chair across from my mother, who is on the left of my father, who predictably always sits at the head of the table. There is a spread of breakfast food before us, and I grab a croissant and place it on my plate. But I’m not hungry. I stare down at it.

  “He’s for your protection while at home,” Mom says.

  “Why am I in any danger in my own home?”

  “There are always reasons to be proactive about safety,” my father says, taking a sip of coffee.

  “Who did we get in bed with?” I ask, narrowing my eyes.

  “That’s none of your concern, sweetie,” my mom pipes up, and I narrow my eyes at her. “Eat your breakfast.”

/>   “I’m not hungry.”

  “Beatrice, don’t be ornery,” my dad says, and I stab my croissant with a fork.

  “What did you want to see me for?”

  “We have settled on a date for the wedding.” He takes another sip of coffee.

  My heart drops.

  “Wh-when?” I have a flash of anger at my own stutter.

  “May 31.”

  I gasp.

  “That’s only two months away.” My mouth drops open, and my eyes dart back and forth between my mother and father.

  “We have already planned the bulk of it,” Mom says with a little nod, like a period to her sentence.

  “We haven’t done anything,” I reply hotly, pointing back and forth between her and myself.

  “Oh, honey, we didn’t want to burden you with plans while you are trying to finish school. I have taken care of most of it. We do need to go dress shopping soon.”

  “Dress shopping,” I repeat dumbly, imagining myself dressed in a frothy white Cinderella dress, caging me inside its layers of material.

  “Yes, you’ll need to take some time off of school. We are flying to Paris.” She smiles, and my mouth gapes.

  “Paris?” I can’t seem to quit repeating things.

  “Isn’t it exciting? The Hastings are letting us use their private jet for the trip.” She smiles at me, her eyes shining.

  “Why?”

  Why are the Hastings so keen on this merger of our families? I don’t understand it.

  Why is Dad so set on it as well?

  “You are marrying their son, darling. They only want the best for you.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “Beatrice!” my father barks, and I look at him. “You will not use foul language, especially at my table.”

  “Then, I guess I’ll leave your table,” I say, pushing my chair back and standing.

  “Sit down,” he says, his tone brooking no argument.

  I sink back into the chair.

  He sets his coffee cup down and folds his hands together on the table in front of him, leaning forward slightly. “I want you to stop this childish behavior. You are a grown woman, so act like it. You will smile and say thank you for what you’ve been given, and I won’t have any more outbursts from you. Do you understand? What you did last night was embarrassing and unacceptable and not at all how we raised you. You are never to act like that again.”