The Pawn: A Reverse Harem Bully Revenge Romance (Coleridge Academy Elites Book 1)

by Lucy Auburn

  There's something poetic about that, almost like it's fate.

  I could make a thousand excuses.

  The truth is that I want to have a life like those other girls, carefree and beautiful, with boys who want me, who fight over me. I've had a taste for it and I can't go back. It fills a hollow space inside me I didn't even know existed until I saw my reflection in the mirror of that salon.

  So I pull my cell phone out of my pocket, dial the number on the card, push the right digits into my keypad, and listen to the robotic voice congratulate Holly on her new card, complete with a two thousand dollar limit.

  I shouldn't do any of this.

  But it's not like I have anything to live for other than my revenge. If Holly finds out, nothing worse could happen to me than what I've already survived.

  That's what I tell myself as I slip my phone, and the card, into my pocket. Then I flush the activation offer down the toilet, just in time to hear Holly come in the door with Mariana in tow.

  My work here has almost come full circle now. I might as well finish it all off and get the final thing I want most—the truth.

  Chapter 31

  "So, I heard you wanted to talk about my SFX makeup skills." Mariana settles onto Holly's bed, and I jump up onto my bed opposite her, heart slamming fast against my rib cage. "I admit, I'm not usually a big Halloween girl—it's all so passé—but Holly said I should hear your pitch."

  I glance over at Holly, who's backing up towards the door. "I'll let you do this all on your own, Brenna. Remember: the Rosalinds are counting on you!"

  She leaves, no doubt to catch up with Cole or hang out with one of her other friends, which means it's just me and Mariana in the room.

  I'm tempted to come right out and ask her what really happened that night, if she still has the video, and why she didn't step in and change the narrative when my brother was falsely accused of assaulting her.

  But I don't know how she would react, and it would be unfair to drag her down bad memory lane just to appease my insatiable curiosity. I want to ease in to talking about that night once we've established a rapport.

  "So, I took a look at your Instagram." I pull my phone out of my pocket, carefully pushing the credit card down so it doesn't fall out too. "And one thing I noticed is that you like doing very feminine outfits and scenes to go with your gore. There's a real juxtaposition there. I thought it might be nice for the Hallow's Eve Festival."

  "Because you want to look sexy," she says, tossing her long, dark hair over one shoulder, her legs crossed in front of her. "That's the thing I hate about Halloween: girls are always afraid to go scary and wind up looking weird. It's like that scene in Mean Girls. Everyone's in lingerie with little kitty ears on top of their heads."

  I can't help smiling at her comparison, biting my lower lip and confessing, "I haven't seen that movie."

  "Really? But it's a classic." She shakes her head at me. "You'll have to watch it."

  "I was like, a baby when it was released. But I'll give it a try."

  "Do. High school never changes, not really. Not for certain girls."

  Her words make me even more curious about her, and I decide to really pitch this thing in earnest—not just to get close enough to find out the truth, but to be her friend. "I actually wasn't planning on doing sexy for the haunted house. I want to go all out and really make everything scary. I even have an infamous figure from history who I want to go as."

  "Oh yeah? Who?"

  This is the part I'm not sure will land well. "Martha Hayes."

  "The Coleridge Martha Hayes?" Her eyebrows raise sky high. "The one who burned to death on campus? The one who everyone says haunts Hayes Chapel?"

  "Exactly."

  "Bold choice." She's studying me. "But if we put a little bit of brown temporary hair dye wax in your hair, powdered you up a bit, put you in a 1960s school uniform and added some burns to your hands and face... it could work. You could be her ghost."

  "I love that idea." Beaming at her, I add, "But I won't be able to do it without you."

  Mariana is staring at me, considering. Then, with a nod, she concedes. "I'll work the haunted house with you. I'll even do SFX makeup on the other girls."

  "Yes! Thanks so much."

  Standing up, I hold out my hand—and she pulls me forward with a roll of her eyes, jumping off the bed and throwing her arm around me.

  "Don't be so businesslike."

  Pulling back, she stares down into my face, studying me. There's a little frown on her mouth like she sees something she doesn't like. My heart skips a beat as I wonder if maybe she recognizes Silas in me; Mom always said we look alike.

  Then she looks away, and adds, "I should get going soon. It's a bit of a drive back to my apartment. Meet me Friday in the art tent after class. We'll do a test run of your makeup, see if we can really get the scare on. That way you'll haunt the shit out of the whole campus by playing the one ghost these kids actually believe in."

  "Sounds great." I'm relieved when I realize she was just looking at my face to brainstorm her makeup. "They won't know what hit 'em when I come around the corner and say boo."

  It's a fitting costume, I think.

  Nothing should scare these rich, spoiled kids more than the ghosts of the bullied past.

  I can't stop thinking about Mariana, and the credit card is burning a hole in my back pocket, so I tell Holly I'm going to study and flee our shared room with my computer bag. As I'm walking down the shade-lined paths of the campus, though, I realize that I have another meeting with Lukas to finish up our shared project. I was so caught up in my own shit that I almost forgot it, so I make a beeline for Carthage Library, glad I haven't stood him up.

  Despite everything—and Cole's continued, petty little pranks—Lukas has actually come through for me. Our shared project is the only one I'm not worried about. We made our first presentation last week, and have another planned for the end of the semester, right before the Blind Ball. With his help, I might actually pass English—and scrape by in my other non-art classes.

  Of course, it's not like he's an angel. He's still friends with Cole, and he doesn't seem to care that Blake keeps trying to sabotage my Calculus I grade, or that Tanner tried to use me for sex then blew me off. He says nothing when the boys stop by the table where I eat with Chrissy, Tricia, and Hector on non-Rosalind days and they make fun of all of us. He didn't do anything at all when Blake knocked my lunch tray off the table yesterday, forcing me to buy a new lunch with my stipend. Lukas always just sighs and looks away or ignores their antics entirely, like he thinks it won't affect him if he doesn't acknowledge what they're doing.

  In the library, at least, none of the rest of that exists. He treats me well enough and almost has me convinced that he doesn't deserve revenge—after all, unlike the other boys, his only noncommittal response to what my brother was accused of was to retweet a few things and make some social media post about how survivors of sexual assault should be believed. He didn't send Silas anonymous texts or threats. I know that if nothing else because Lukas's spelling and grammar is perfect, unlike all the shitheads who told my brother he was worthless.

  If this were another life, another world, I could almost like Lukas DuPont.

  But it isn't, and it never will be. Brenna Cooke may get along well enough with him, but he doesn't seem to know yet that I'm Brenna Wilder. And if Legacies gets any info on him, I'll publish it far and wide, no matter the cost.

  We're not friends.

  We're just not enemies, either.

  "Hey Brenna." He greets me as I fast-walk into our meeting place in the middle of the second story stacks, his pale brows raised. "You're nearly fifteen minutes late."

  "Sorry, I got caught up in something."

  "Rosalind duties?"

  Putting my bag on the chair opposite him, I frown at his prescience. "How did you know?"

  "Because you're all caught up in them lately." He pulls his glasses out of his bag and puts them on, where
they perch on the bump in his nose, his only flaw. "I heard your friends complaining about it the other day when you were sitting at the Rosalinds' table."

  Thinking back, I note sourly, "Was that when Cole decided to put Menthos in Chrissy's soda and laugh at the way it spilled everywhere?"

  He shrugs nonchalantly. "Maybe. Cole does have an obsession with carbonated beverages. They're his favorite low stakes way of fucking with people he hates."

  I want to say something, call him out on his Switzerland-style stance, but the truth is that I find it hard to care much these days what happens to Chrissy. I've grown tired of listening to her gossip and complain about her love life.

  "I guess it could be worse," I admit as I pull my computer out of my bag. "He's just so juvenile."

  Lukas frowns at me. "I thought we were going to keep all of that out of our project together. Cole is an arse, but he's my friend, and you know I can't say anything about him to you."

  "I know. It's just frustrating."

  "What's frustrating is how high they've turned the heat on even though it's barely cold at all yet." He tugs on the collar of his fancy sweater, frowning. "Days like this, I miss England."

  I have to look away to hide the flush that I feel when he tugs the sweater up over his head. It snags on his Coleridge button-up, yanking it up too and revealing the pale, lean torso beneath. His waist tapers down towards his hips, setting off his wide shoulders and subtle musculature.

  My heart twists wildly and traitorously inside my chest, even long after he's tugged the shirt back down, a mumbled apology on his lips.

  Absentmindedly, I reach across to the snake bite scar and squeeze on it, trying to use the pain to center myself. But it barely hurts anymore, even when I dig in.

  Revenge feels so far away in moments like this. And I'm so tired of feeling the fire inside me, the one that's hungry to hurt me as much as hurt others.

  So I set it aside for a moment, open up my laptop, and talk to Lukas about our next presentation, pretending for a moment that I'm a normal girl at a regular school for reasons that have nothing to do with wanting to hurt others.

  I hate how much easier it feels to pretend like this, because I know it can never last.

  Chapter 32

  "Alright. I think we're almost done." Lukas takes his glasses off and puts them back in the case. "We'll just have to meet up again in a few weeks and swap research notes."

  "Sounds good." Clicking open the calendar on my phone, though, I frown at him. "Except that I'll be preparing for the Blind Ball with the Rosalinds that whole time."

  "Oh, right. I forgot about that." He looks up at me as he slides his expensive, top-of-the line computer into his bag. "Who are you going with?"

  "It's a blind ball," I remind him. "No one is allowed to know who their date will be."

  "Spare me, Brenna. Everyone knows that the Rosalinds pick the dates. I'm sure you'll get to pick yours." He studies me. "I know you and Tanner almost had a thing, but that was a while back, and I haven't seen you with anyone since then. So who will it be?"

  A blush starts on my cheeks and spreads down to my neck. "You've been watching me enough to know about my love life?"

  Lukas shrugs, like it doesn't bother him at all to be caught noticing me. "I wanted to make sure Cole and Tanner didn't go too far with their pranks—or Blake, for that matter, though he seems to be too busy to do much. So I've been watching you, where I can. I'm surprised you didn't notice."

  Looking back, I can suddenly spot patterns. The way he sometimes hung back as the others walked by our table and watched us. How he was almost always outside my Calculus I class as I headed out to World History. Bumping into him as I left the tent after Visual Arts.

  But I thought it was just because Coleridge is a small place. He never did, or said, anything to me. And he's never intervened.

  "If you've been watching me, why haven't you done anything to step in?"

  "I thought about it," he admits. "But to be honest, it seemed like you could handle yourself. Cole told me about the spiders thing—very inventive. And he was frustrated that you weren't frightened by the snake. I also worried... well, I shouldn't say."

  Sensing something, a little fracture in his relationship with the others maybe, my instincts say to push. "Tell me. Whatever it is, shouldn't I know?"

  Those blue eyes study me. The space between us is silent but somehow filled with unspoken tension. He leans forward in his chair, and I mirror him, suddenly aware of how close we are—and how good he smells, like warm cedar chips and fresh apple cider.

  "To tell you the truth, I worried that if I intervened, Cole might... ratchet things up a bit. Sense more of a competition. As long as it's three against one, there's no reason for him to escalate things. But if I switch sides, and he resents you for it, I worry what he might do."

  I take a deep breath in, weighing my next words—and also, as a bonus, inhaling his sweet autumnal scent.

  "If you're worried about what your friend might do, isn't that a sign of something?" Chewing on my lip, I resist the urge to mention what was done to my brother, and how his life ended. "A sign that maybe he goes too far, and someone should stop him."

  "I..." Lukas opens his mouth, pauses, and looks at me. Then he reaches out and places his hand on my knee. "I swear to you, if he ever crossed a line, I would be done with him. Forever."

  I feel like my heart is being torn in two. I'm being pulled between the present and the past, what the world is and what it should be: a world with my brother in it. "Don't be so sure he hasn't crossed lines already."

  "He wouldn't," his voice is soft, his eyes meeting mine steadily. "Cole knows what it looks like when a man like him crosses the line. He's seen the consequences up close and personal." My mind flashes back to Cole outside the rock climbing locker room, his shirt off, a giant scar twisted from his hip to his shoulder. "He has his faults, but at the end of the day, he's fighting for something bigger than himself."

  "And that is?"

  "Justice."

  Lukas DuPont really, sincerely believes this with all his heart and soul. I can tell by the expression on his face, the steadiness of his gaze, and the conviction in his voice.

  What happened to my brother isn't justice.

  But if I tell Lukas the truth, and he doesn't already know, I'm afraid he'll turn against me. I know how he feels about liars. The thought of him seeing me that way, looking at me differently, is almost too much to bear.

  I'm in traitorous waters.

  "Well?" Lukas asks. "You look like you're thinking pretty deeply. Shilling for your thoughts."

  I can't think of anything to say that wouldn't reveal every secret of mine, every lie, every traitorous impulse. Even now, I've got a stolen credit card in my wallet and an appointment for a hair makeover I can't afford. Whatever lines there are that separate what I'm doing from a search for justice, I've lost sight of them somewhere in the expensive bowels of Coleridge.

  So I do something other than speak.

  I lean forward and press my mouth against Lukas DuPont's plush, perfect lips.

  At first he's unmoving beneath my touch, startled and still as a statue. My heart does somersaults as I wonder if I've misread him, if these past few weeks together I've been mistaken about his intentions.

  But then all at once his mouth moves, and it's like a symphony coming to life, every instrument playing at once. He parts his lips to mine, leans forward and opens my mouth with his tongue hungrily.

  One of his hands comes up to cup the side of my neck, palm curving against my fast-beating pulse. He guides my head into a tilt, and the kiss grows deep and passionate. His chest is firm beneath my hands, his pulse nearly as erratic as mine, those lips of his perfect and skilled.

  It's like kissing a Greek god come down from Olympus. A thousand girls would stab their own mothers to be right here where I am, mouth against Lukas DuPont's, his hand playing with their hair. I feel transcendent, more alive than I've ever been.

>   Until a distinctive voice clears behind my head. "You too, Lukas? Here I thought only Tanner was weak."

  I jump, draw back from the kiss all at once, nearly falling off my chair. My laptop slips out of my still-open computer bag and falls to the ground, bouncing once, twice, its thick plastic frame making a crunching sound. I wince and moan at the sight of it sitting on the ground, then sweep it up and whirl on our intruder.

  "Blake." I scowl at him, then flick my eyes over at Lukas, suddenly afraid what he might say in front of the boy I was just kissing. Damn me, but despite everything, I actually like the blond, filthy rich European. "How long have you been standing there, perv?"

  "Long enough." He's looking at Lukas, who is sprawled back in the chair, running his hands through his hair. "So, it's really true then. You've chosen this one over your own friends."

  "It's not like that."

  "Isn't it?" Those cold eyes narrow, and he stalks towards us, eyes sweeping our little study area. "It sure seems like you've picked a side. And to think, we were going to back off this one and let her take herself out like the trash she is simply by failing enough classes."

  "I'm not failing," I object, standing up and clutching the laptop to me, despairing at the thought that it might be broken now. "I'm passing. And I have an A in art."

  "For now." Blake tilts his head and smirks at me. "But do you really think that you'll pass your finals at the end of this semester? They count for most of your grade. Don't forget that I've seen your calculus work. You don't have a chance in hell of surviving this semester, much less the rest of the year."

  He has a point, and I know it, because it's something that's occurred to me myself. But I don't want to give him the satisfaction of admitting how much I'm struggling in my classes, despite studying in the library for hours every weekend.

  Looking into those cold eyes of his, though, I realize that so far I've played light. I've been exposing their sordid pasts, getting them in trouble on social media and with their parents, and in Cole's case, played a few pranks as a tit for tat. But none of it has really had any lasting impact.