by Lucy Auburn
He's dead, you bastard. He's dead, and I'll make you pay.
I push the anger down even as it demands retribution. Tanner is watching my face curiously, as if he wants to know everything about me—every secret and every sin. I hold in the fire of my anger, trying to remember the plan even as my thoughts slip away from me wildly, refusing to be held down or ordered into a straight line.
There are too many secrets inside me wanting to bubble out. If I stand here one more moment next to Tanner, out in the field as the sunset turns into dusk, I'll open my mouth and let more than just my anger out. I'll let the secrets out, too, and ruin everything I planned.
So I grab his hand, pull him towards me, and tell him, "Let's get out of here. I'm done with my ice cream, and I want to find out where the party is really at."
"Delighted to show you," he says, pressing his fingers against my lower back. "To Carthage we go."
He takes my hand and pulls me through the crowd. The other students note our passing. I can see the scene in their eyes: the little scholarship girl, all dolled up like she thinks she's something special, holding hands with a senator's son.
Murmurs follow us. A thrill of anticipation goes through me at the thought of Georgia's face when she finds out I snagged Tanner from her.
It doesn't matter how long it lasts. Doesn't matter if he's just playing games. She'll still have to hear about him picking me over her. That'll make any fallout, every consequence, worthwhile. He can do whatever he wants to me as long as he does it with his desire plain on his face, written in the lines of his body.
As Tanner brings me through the side doors of Carthrage library, smirk on his face, a little part of me whispers that I'm betraying Silas. But the bigger, stronger part insists: I need this. And I'll get my revenge on him in my own way, by kicking him to the curb with blue balls—just as soon as I've gotten what I want.
"This way." Tanner leads me to a vacated part of the stacks, where the dust is thick and the lights are low. "No one reads these old translated French tomes anymore."
He whirls me around and pushes me up against the tall, sturdy wooden bookshelves. I tilt my chin up towards him, looking into his mischievous eyes. "Show me you want me."
"Oh, I want you, Fire Girl."
Pushing his hips forward, he makes it clear what he wants with the outline of his arousal against my thigh. His fingers skim beneath the hem of my skirt, pressing between the heat of my thighs, teasing and alive.
I tilt my hips towards him.
His lips descend on me in a kiss that's everything I ever wanted.
It's hungry.
It's alive.
It's bitter.
And it tastes like revenge.
To be touched. To be desired. It's everything I've dreamed of and more. Warm desire blossoms inside me, softer than the fire of the rage but just as hungry. My hungry fingers splay on the planes of Tanner's body, feeling his taut muscles beneath his thin designer T-shirt.
He tastes like praline ice cream and something dark and bitter—alcohol, I think. As his mouth opens up and claims mine, as his fingers move up between my thighs and towards my apex, I find myself thinking of the thousands of girls who would kill to be right here, right now.
So much of my life here at Coleridge has been fake. But there's no faking the hungry way Tanner pushes me hard against the books, uncaring of the dust our bodies stir. There's no faking his hand that moves beneath my shirt and thumbs the underwire of his bra. And there's definitely no faking the hardening of his length.
Desire pulses and pools between my thighs, making me moan as his clever fingers brush against the edge of my underwear. I send a little prayer of thanks skyward that I bought brand new lingerie with Georgia's credit card, so his touch finds lace instead of worn cotton.
"Fuck." Breaking off the kiss, he pants against my mouth, but his hands don't leave my skin. If anything they grow more curious, more exploratory, his left hand slipping beneath my bra and touching skin, the right stirring warmth down below as his thumb rubs me through expensive lace. "We shouldn't be doing this. You're too inexperienced."
I push down on his fingers, enjoying the shadows his lashes cast on his cheeks as his eyes flutter closed. It's even better when his mouth opens in a soundless groan of desire.
"Does that feel inexperienced?"
"Pure as driven snow," he reminds me, though he doesn't move either one of his hands. "Whatever makeover you got, it made you look completely different. But you're still Fire Girl. You're fresh meat, and you don't know what you're getting into. I don't take advantage. Unlike—"
He hesitates. I grab his wrist and push his hand up beneath my bra, wanting to press him as far as I dare before I leave him here, alone and aroused without an outlet.
"Unlike?"
"Never mind." His voice is husky, his eyes looking down at my chest as my breath heaves in and I press myself against him. "I'm no saint. Let's sin together."
We do just that. He kisses me until all the breath has left my body. Uses his fingers to coax me to a point of arousal that I've never felt before. Finds the clasp of my bra and fumbles with it, his hips pressed against me, as I boldly dare to unzip his jeans and put my curious fingers beneath them.
I don't know how far I'll take this before I stop it.
It's hard to remember my plans for revenge with his tongue in my mouth and his thumb against my clit.
My thighs are shaking and trembling. My hips canting forward towards him. Heat has gathered in my body, and it's growing into a fire that might burn us both.
Before I can decide what to do—plunge in or pull out—I hear a giggle. High heels clacking against the aged hardwood floors. Cruel whispers. Mean girls.
Jerking back, I push Tanner away, my shirt pushed up where his hands have been, skirt twisted around my hips and barely covering my thighs. Cheeks flushed, breath heaving, wild and frenzied, I cast my eyes towards the culprits.
Georgia and Piper have their phones out and are recording us, cruel laughter in their eyes.
"Brenna Cooke," Georgia calls out, my lie of a name in her mouth the only reprieve i get from her rich girl cruelty. "How does it feel to be the Whore of Coleridge? Like the Whore of Babylon, only worse."
"Shut up, Georgia." I smooth my outfit as much as possible, wiping my mouth off with the back of my hand. "Slut shaming is so passé. We left it in the '90s along with the Rachel haircut and those low-rise jeans you're wearing."
She scowls, hand on her hips, and cuts her eyes over at Tanner. "Are you going to let her talk to me like that?"
I let myself look his way for the first time since the terrible twosome crashed our party. There's heat in his cheeks, desire in his eyes, and he's adjusting what's most definitely an erection in his pants, which he quietly zips up with a wince. I don't know if he called Georgia here, but if he did, I find myself wild and uncaring.
My reputation doesn't matter, after all. I'm not here to be the good girl. The only thing Georgia will prove by posting that video of us on social media is that she can't keep his attention without her petty little games—and a girl she calls trailer trash can.
I try not to think about how I'll feel if my mom, or Wally, or anyone else back home sees me making out and nearly dry-humping a boy with more marks on his bedposts than I can imagine.
Tanner tells Georgia, "I don't care how she talks to you." Looking over at me, he smirks, then glances back at the other girls. "Say whatever you want. Hell, fight in front of me—it's the hottest thing I can imagine. I'll fuck whoever wins. Or both of you, if you want."
As Georgia stares at him in open-mouthed outrage and horror, he runs a hand through his hair and leans up against the bookshelves, barely even trying to hide his obvious arousal. "You shouldn't have fucked that dumbass last week if you wanted me to choose you. Now you've given me an excuse to screw around."
"But with her?" She can't hide her disdain and doesn't try to. "That girl probably only wants you for your money. She's probably i
nbred. Or some out-of-wedlock whatever."
"A bastard," Piper helpfully reminds Georgia. "They call them bastards when their trashy dads screw around on their trashy moms without a condom."
"Exactly!" Georgia snaps her fingers together, as the fire inside me turns from the gentle warmth of desire to the hot, roaring flame of rage. "She's probably going to trap you with her loose lips. I bet she's not even on birth control—girls like her basically beg for it bare back, because a teenage pregnancy is their only way out of their hell holes they grow up in."
Tanner shrugs. "So? You act like you've never drunkenly ridden me without latex. That's what the Plan B under your sink is for, Georgia."
I can't keep from scowling and telling all of them, "I have zero interest in getting pregnant with his spawn."
"Oh, whatever." Georgia flicks her fingers at me. "The only hope you have of any kind of life worth living is taking somebody's husband by being easy and fertile. Thing is, whores don't get far. Men like him and his father don't marry the first girl they get pregnant. You'll be forgotten and discarded like all the trifling mistresses you came before you."
"Enough!"
The roar of a command is impossibly loud, full of venom and rage, and comes not from my mouth, but from Tanner's lips. He advances on Georgia, suddenly angry beyond all reason, his hands forming fists. She takes a step back, shock on her face as he prowls towards her.
"I should've seen you for what you were sooner. Delete that video and shut your mouth, Georgia, or I'll take that snap you sent me of you giving someone else a blowjob straight to your father and mother."
"You wouldn't!" She clutches on Piper's arms, shrinking back. The blonde, for her part, looks like she's regretting coming along for this sick and twisted ride. "That snap shouldn't have even been savable."
"Yeah, well, I found a way to keep it. I had the feeling you might try to blackmail me one day, just like you blackmailed Tommy Franklin last year." My eyebrows go up at this particular accusation; I didn't think Georgia was capable of machinations like blackmail. "Leave me the fuck alone, Georgie, because if it's not a quick lay you're offering, I'm not interested. The amount of drama you bring to the table isn't worth what it."
Fierce victory fills me at the sight of hurt and pain in Georgia's gaze. She stares at Tanner, tears shimmering—and then cuts her eyes at me, expression suddenly filled with anger and hate.
Vitriol in her voice, she promises, "You'll pay for this, your gutter trash whore."
Then she grabs Piper's arm and pulls her out of the library in her wake, heading through the back door. As soon as she's gone, it's like the air has lifted and the library feels lighter somehow, free from her presence.
Turning to me, Tanner arches a brow and asks, "Care to make a wager, Fire Girl?"
I'm about to ask him the details when my phone buzzes. Normally I wouldn't answer, but some instinct of mine drives me to pull it out and glance at the screen.
The notification sends anticipation and anxiety alike rushing through me.
Subject: I've got dirt on George Connally Jr
Looking back into Tanner's eyes, I wonder why it is that I suddenly feel like a traitor. After everything he's done, he should be down on his knees in front of me, begging for my forgiveness. Whatever is waiting in my inbox, he deserves it—and then some.
"What kind of bet do you want to make?" I ask him.
"The kind that's interesting." Pushing away from the bookshelves, he approaches me and raises his hand to my cheek, his fingers playing with a stray bit of highlighted hair that's swung in front of my face. "I've been so bored here ever since you burned my hand in that chapel. Nothing has made me feel quite as alive as that moment."
I swallow, refusing to admit that the very same moment has stayed with me too. The last thing his ego needs is a stroking—unlike another, more pressing thing still making itself known against my thigh.
"Tell my the terms," I tease him, tilting my chin until my mouth brushes against his hand, "and I'll tell you if I agree to them."
"Hmmm. Oh, you agreeing is not something I'm concerned about." He flashes his white teeth. "The wager is this: I bet Cole and I can make you want to leave this school by the end of the semester. And if we fail, we'll both tell all your little friends who you really are, one by one, until none of them want anything to do with you."
My body goes cold all over. "What?"
"Holly. Chrissy. Her roommate Tricia. Hell, even that obnoxious Hector Sanchez when he gets back from his suspension." His fingers trail down to my jawline, my neck, his arousal clear, as if he's turned on by the feeling of my pulse skyrocketing. "You won't get to have any friends here, Brenna. Not unless you convince them to fraternize with the sister of the trash everyone knows your brother is—a feat I doubt you'll be able to pull off."
Chapter 28
"Why?" That's the first word that leave my tongue. It comes out higher pitched, almost desperate, revealing me for the fool that I am—because for a moment I almost believed that he could want me enough to treat me well. "Why do you want me to leave Coleridge?"
"It's for your own good," he says, voice soft and low, slipping into his native Kentucky accent. "This place wasn't meant for girls like you. You're too pure."
"I told you," I bite back at him, reaching down to tug at the waistband of his jeans, "I'm not that pure."
"Good. Because if you're less innocent than you seem, you'll realize pretty soon that the best thing for you is to get far, far away from his place, and never come back." His fingertip traces my lips, his touch as soft as his words are cruel. "You don't belong here. This place will destroy you—these people will destroy you."
"They've all been perfectly nice so far, except for you, your shitty friend, and that bitch you call an ex," I snap; he jerks his finger back, as if he's afraid I might bite him, and maybe I would. "I'd be perfectly fine if you'd all just leave me alone. Let's make that the bet: leave me alone for the rest of the semester and I won't destroy you."
He shakes his head. "No deal. You have to leave Coleridge. The sooner the better."
"And if I refuse? If I beat you all at your little games—if I survive, and thrive, despite you?"
"I told you: we'll tell everyone who you are."
"Who cares?" I snarl at him. "Whatever sins you think come with my family name, reasonable people will see that it's all bullshit. All my friends are reasonable—and they hate your little bully games. Especially the shit Cole does. You really think you'll be able to turn them against me?"
Tanner draws back, shrugs nonchalantly, like it's nothing. He shifts his weight as he mutters, "We can try. You must've lied about your name for a reason. Why you did it, I don't know, but if telling the truth will get you to run back home, then get that over with now. Because you don't want to see what will happen if you defy us."
"Try me." I toss my head and push my hair over my shoulders, hands on my hips, chest out—suddenly aware of the way his eyes are watching me, how they're drawn to the curves of my body. "I can outlast you, Tanner Connally. I've got stamina. Do you?"
He grins lopsidedly. "If you want me to show you my stamina, Fire Girl, you're more than welcome to a demonstration. The only compensation I ask for is that you transfer out of here by the end of this week."
"Never."
"Then prepare for a fight," he warns. "Cole has more than enough spite in him to get rid of you. Georgia, too, if I don't stop her—which I could, if you promise to play nice and go away. You could have an enjoyable last week here. I'll make it worth your while. I could show you what it's like to live as the other half does."
I can imagine what that would be like: a whole week of Georgia leaving me alone, of Cole ignoring me. Having Tanner whenever I want, wherever I want. Getting one of those double dates with Holly. Sitting with the Elites at lunch.
It wouldn't feed the fire in me.
I need to make them burn.
"I enjoy living like my half," I lie to him, the hardest lie I'v
e ever told. "Bring your worst. I'll bring mine."
Softly, he says, "I can't imagine there's much you can do to us compared to what we can do to you. Please, Brenna—I don't normally say that word—just leave."
For a moment I'm still, staring into his eyes, wondering wildly if I'm really seeing what I think I see in them.
It's almost like he's begging me.
It's almost like he's pleading.
An absurd desire goes through me, to tell him I'll leave Coleridge if he gets down on his knees and asks me again. I force the feeling down, put a brick wall around my heart.
"I've got plenty of fight," I warn him. "You'll regret trying to get me to leave."
Spinning on my heels, I walk through the stacks, past the dusty books, and towards the door out. I don't hear footsteps following me; whatever Tanner is doing, he's not going to try to convince me to leave again.
As soon as I'm out of the library, I take out my phone and open the email so I can read it more thoroughly.
What I see makes me smile.
Tanner Connally can ask me to leave. He can even beg. But he'll be the one to regret crossing me just now. I almost didn't want to spill his dirt, but after that conversation, I'm going to make him pay.
This piece of dirt is one I sit on for a while. I want to release it when it'll have the most impact—and look the least like I'm the one who leaked it. It's one thing that the Elites figured out my real name; it would be disastrous if they somehow discovered I'm Legacies.
So I publish other pieces of dirt about rich kids to the blog. A girl at Morhaven Prep has been cooking and selling drugs; a boy at Pennally Academy steals cars and takes them on joyrides. Taking down these other rich kids, who I've never even met, isn't quite as satisfying. But it feels good to know that I'm single-handedly keeping them in check.
On Tuesday, I find that my big calculus homework has gone missing, and the teacher wants to give me a zero. Eyeing Blake, it becomes clear that he must've stolen the assignment I turned in, maybe with his old TA keys. Thankfully I have a copy on my computer and the teacher lets me email it to her, with ten points taken off for being late.
