Brutal Bully (Bad Bullies Book One): A Dark High School Bully Romance

by Fox, Logan

  All the eyes in the entire fucking school.

  In an instant, my cheeks are burning. My feet try to tangle under me before I can sort them out, but luckily I spot an empty seat almost right by the door.

  Which happens to be the exact same time I see Briar. Because he’s the reason there’s an empty seat.

  He pats the space beside him, giving me a smile that does perverted things to my insides.

  “Take a seat,” Denard instructs behind me, and I swallow hard and force myself to go sit beside Briar.

  “Morning, Angel.”

  I shift on the seat, grabbing both straps of my backpack and wishing I could worm my way inside it and disappear.

  “Morning,” I murmur back, keeping my eyes fixed on Denard as he heads over to the middle of the gym floor.

  Nothing like my dream. There’s a podium here, and a guy that has to be the principal standing nearby, talking with a teacher I’m not familiar with.

  I flinch when a hand lands on my thigh.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’d consider it pretty obvious,” Briar says.

  “Stop touching me.”

  “You weren’t complaining yesterday.” He inches his hand up, and I shift close enough to the edge of the bench to risk falling off. But Briar’s got long arms and the stubbornness of a mule, so he doesn’t seem to notice.

  Wanna know what does notice? My fucking vagina. As if expecting action right here and now — in the middle of an assembly — I start tingling.

  I consider standing, but that would mean drawing attention to myself, and that’s the last thing I want.

  Briar leans closer. “I have something for you.”

  I glance at him before I can stop myself. “Let me guess. An assembly I’ll never forget?” I say dryly.

  I wish I had the words back — it makes me think of my dream.

  “You’ll see.”

  Around us the benches are quietening down. The principal has taken his podium, but he’s busy conferring with Ms. Parsons now.

  “But first, I want you to promise me something.”

  I let out a soft snort. “Nope.”

  “You haven’t even heard—”

  “Don’t have to. Not promising you anything.” I cross my arms over my chest, and my body language screams for an end to the discussion.

  “Morning, Lavish Preparatory,” comes the principal’s voice over the audio system.

  The school sends back an unenthusiastic, “Morning Mr. West,” but Mr. West nods as if he’s been received by a standing ovation.

  Briar squeezes my leg, and I glance reluctantly at him, shrugging.

  He smiles as he takes a rectangular, dark velvet box from his blazer. My eyes fix on it suspiciously as he puts it down on my knee.

  “What’s this?” I whisper.

  “Look.”

  My mouth twitches to the side. I glance up, making sure no one in authority is looking in our direction, then I lever open the lid.

  Light catches the blue sapphires inside and makes them sparkle. I snap the box shut again, my eyes boring into Briar’s. “What the fuck?”

  “Not as self-explanatory as I thought,” Briar says, barely moving his lips, “But if you need me to elaborate—”

  “I don’t want it.” I ram the box into the side of his leg.

  “Sure?”

  “Positive.”

  “Not even if you get to wear it to Dylan’s party tonight?”

  I glare at Briar, but he’s staring at the principal, a faint smile on his face.

  I’d forgotten about the party. About my promise to Addy. Does it matter that she’s pulled a disappearing act if I swore that I would uncover Briar for the savage we both know him to be?

  But something’s not right. This is too convenient, the timing too perfect.

  “Why?”

  Briar’s smile hitches up, but he doesn’t look at me. “I think it would look good on you.”

  “I mean, the party. Why do you want to go with me?”

  Briar lets out a low chuckle. I fumble with the box as Briar pushes it back onto my lap. “I haven’t said—”

  “But you will.” When he finally looks at me, a thrill chases through my body that converges at my core. “Because we both know what’s going to happen tonight.”

  * * *

  A Simple Affair

  Hosted by Dylan Steward

  15 Serenity Lane, Devil’s Creek Golf Estate

  22h00 till Late

  Strictly black-tie

  I stare at the image messaged to me by an unknown number a few minutes after assembly this morning. Fuck knows how the person who sent it got my number, but that’s not really top of my mind right now.

  A Simple Affair? This party doesn’t sound simple at all. And what high school kid arranges a black-tie party? Or is that code for something else…?

  I would have asked Addy, but she isn’t at school today, and her phone is still off. I went to the office to ask after her, but they refused to hand out any details.

  Guess I’ll have to figure out the logistics by myself. It sucks, because my plan involved her as my accomplice. I have no idea how I’m supposed to pull this off without her.

  I should be paying attention to Mrs. Winslow’s lecture on sanitation policy in developing countries, but I swear she’s speaking Ancient Sumerian or something equally as cryptic. All I can think about is the jewelry box in my pocket. When Mrs. Winslow starts writing out our homework on the board, I slip the box from my pocket and take out the delicate bracelet with its mesmerizing stones.

  I let the bracelet slip through my fingers, twisting and turning the sapphires so they catch the light.

  God, it’s beautiful.

  Which brings up so many questions, least of all—

  We both know what’s going to happen tonight.

  I squeeze shut my eyes and inhale deep. No, Briar. You think you know what’s going to happen, but you’ve got no fucking clue.

  As I slip the bracelet back inside its box, I feel eyes on me. I put the box in my pocket and take a quick peek around the classroom.

  Marcus is openly staring at me, his dark eyes as unreadable as his blank face.

  I hurriedly face forward again, and start copying our homework into my notebook. As much as I try to ignore it, I can feel those black eyes on me for the rest of the lesson.

  Will he be there tonight?

  Fuck, why wouldn’t he? He and Briar seem inseparable.

  Does he have a date?

  Why the fuck do I care? I have more important things to think about.

  Like what the hell I’m going to wear.

  * * *

  Briar

  When I spot Indi leaning against the wall of classroom 301, a smile twitches at my mouth. She’s staring at something in her hand, and as soon as I come close enough to see it sparkle, my suspicion as to what it is is confirmed.

  “Guess I’m not the only one who likes pretty things.”

  Indi starts, her hand closing guiltily over the sapphires. She slips the chain back into the box and shoves it into her blazer.

  Her glare slides right off when I slip my hand behind her neck, draw her close, and bring her close enough to kiss.

  Stiffening against me, her eyes dart over mine, anger swiftly replaced with confusion.

  “I’ll have to take it back if you say no,” I murmur.

  Her neck muscles tense under my fingers. “I don’t have anything to wear.”

  “Dylan won’t be amused if you arrive naked.”

  Color touches her cheeks, and she drops her eyes. “I mean…I don’t really have—”

  “Now that can’t be true. You’ve gotta have something in your closet.”

  Indi’s eyes narrow. “Yeah, I used to. Then some fucker burned down my house, remember?”

  She steps back, tugs my hand off her neck, and walks away, turning her back to me.

  Shit. How the fuck could I have forgotten about that?

&nb
sp; My hand curls into a fist, and I thump it against the wall a few times as I stare at the back of Indi’s head.

  I step up behind her, and grab her stomach when she tries to step away. Gentle though, just enough pressure to keep her in place.

  “There’s a boutique in downtown Lavish. When we’re done here—”

  “No.”

  “You don’t want a—?”

  “I’ll be at the party, and I’ll be dressed, but it won’t be in something you bought me.” She tugs my hand off her belly and steps forward, turning and watching me warily as if convinced I would try and grab her again.

  What Indi doesn’t know is that I can be patient if I want. So I’ll wait until we’re inside before trying to change her mind.

  Because now I can’t get the thought of me and Indi alone in a changing room out of my head.

  There are a handful of kids ahead of us, some leaning against the wall, others immersed in their phones, waiting for detention to start. One of them murmurs something about Denard being late, and I glance down at my watch. Weird — detention was supposed to start five minutes ago. I’ve never known Denard to—

  “Afternoon, everyone,” a voice calls out from behind us.

  I turn, frowning at Ms. Parsons as she sweeps past us. “I’m afraid Mr. Denard has taken ill, so if you could all please follow me?”

  “Where we going?” one of the kids up front asks.

  Ms. Parsons turns, adjusting her glasses with a finger and giving him a wide smile. “I have a heap of fun activities planned for us this afternoon,” she says, her eyes running over the small herd of students trailing her. “We’ll be starting with some visualization exercises on the lawn. Come on, no time to waste!”

  I’d been walking at Indi’s side. At Parson’s enthusiastic statement, we both break out in a groan. I glance at her, smiling, and she looks up at me and smiles back. But then her face solidifies again, and she surges forward, putting several feet between us.

  Patience is my middle name, Indi, and I’m stubborn as fuck too. I meant what I said — tonight I’m making you mine.

  You don’t get a say in the matter.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Indi

  I thought I had it all figured out, but I’d forgotten one very important element: Marigold Davis. When I arrive home after detention, she’s already home and busy with something in the kitchen. I try to sneak past to my room, but she must have the hearing of an arctic fox, because I haven’t gone two steps before she calls out to me.

  “Indi? Join me, please.”

  I roll my eyes and drop my backpack on the stairs. Sweet cinnamon hangs thick in the air, and I can’t help but inhale a greedy lungful as I step into the kitchen.

  “What you making?”

  “We’re making snickerdoodles. And then shortbread, and some pound cake.” Marigold peers at me over her shoulder. “Hurry and go wash your hands. We have a busy afternoon ahead of us.”

  “I…I have homework.”

  “And the whole weekend to finish it,” Marigold says smoothly.

  Fuck.

  I hurry down the hall to the guest bathroom and wash my hands. When I come out, my eyes track down the hall to my mom’s old bedroom. I glance toward the kitchen. An electric mixer turns on, and I use the noise as cover to race down the hall and try the door.

  Locked.

  Because why on earth should anything ever be easy?

  I roll my eyes and head back to the kitchen. Marigold turns off the mixer, spots me standing idle, and frowns. “Don’t just stand there. Make yourself useful.”

  I walk over to the eye-level oven and peer inside. “Are these ready?”

  “What does the timer say?”

  Back to good old Marigold, eh? I knew our truce was too good to last. “One-minute twenty-five.”

  “Then they’ll be ready in one-minute twenty-five,” Marigold says.

  I roll my eyes again, and start clearing up some of the mess on the countertop. “What’s all of this for?”

  “The church has a fundraiser tomorrow.” Marigold looks around and points at a lined baking tray. I bring it over to her, and her eyes dart up to mine before she starts spooning batter on the tray. “We’ll be selling these.”

  We?

  No, good God, say it ain’t so.

  “You know I have finals coming up, right?”

  Marigold snorts. “You can’t offer up a few hours of your time for God?”

  I blink at her, caught off guard. I never knew Mom to be religious, and she’d never mentioned anything about Marigold’s affiliations either. Then again, she’d only ever mentioned grandmother in passing.

  “I didn’t know you…went to church,” I finish weakly.

  “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, young lady.” Behind us, the timer goes off. “Now get those out of the oven before they burn.”

  Shortbread, pound cake, and snickerdoodles?

  So much for the damn party — I’ll be lucky if I get out of this kitchen before midnight.

  * * *

  Briar

  I stare at my reflection, frowning critically at the fit of my black tuxedo. It’s a bit tighter in the arms than I’d like — I last wore this a year ago, and I’ve been bulking up my biceps since then — but I doubt I’ll be keeping my jacket on for long. One thing about Dylan’s parties? They might all start out as black-tie events, but by the end of the night they usually devolve into wet t-shirt competitions.

  I’ve combed my hair back, but I’m not sure I like the city-slicker look it gives me. I tilt up my chin and adjust my bow tie.

  My phone rings, and I answer it with a terse, “Hello?” without checking who’s calling.

  “Hey, man, you wanna take one car to Dylan’s?”

  I open my mouth to accept, but then I hesitate. I plan on bringing Indi home with me, and it’s gonna be hella awkward if Marcus is hitching a ride.

  “Actually, go on ahead. I have a few things to do before I pull through.”

  “Sure? I don’t mind making some stops.”

  “Yeah, I’ll just meet you there.”

  Marcus is quiet for a second. “Okay, sure.”

  I bite the inside of my cheek. He doesn’t sound happy. He also sounds as if he started the party early. It’s an unspoken agreement — at these types of parties, only one of us drinks. Since the thing with Jess, it’s almost always been him doing the drinking. I’d have thought common sense…

  “Hey, you’ll be keeping an eye on me, right?” I say through a laugh. “Make sure I don’t get too wasted?”

  Marcus laughs too, and I realize I was imagining things when he says, “Dude, of course. This is my last drink for the night.”

  I end the call with a smile, and turn back to the mirror. I guess it’s good for Indi to see me all cleaned up and shit. Maybe she’ll start to realize she’s not dealing with some high school kid anymore, but a man.

  Because fuck, I definitely don’t look like a kid tonight.

  * * *

  There’s a parking spot open beside Marcus’s SUV — my usual spot. I guide my Mustang into the bay and turn off the ignition, taking a few seconds to soak everything in. Dylan’s glass and limestone mansion is almost a mile away from Addy’s house. It sits on a small rise looking out on most of the eighteen-hole golf course in the middle of the estate.

  There are a ton of cars parked out here. I know Dylan has to jump through hoops every time he has one these shindigs just to get the golf course to accept this amount of strangers inside its boomed-off premises, but he gets it right every time.

  I adjust my tie, run my hands through my combed-back hair, and head for the front door. One of the guys from our football team stands nearby, a clipboard in his hand. There’s a line of kids waiting to get in, but I ignore them as I head straight for the door,

  “Hey, man,” I say, walking right up to Jeremiah. “Indi Virgo check in yet?”

  Jeremiah consults his clipboard, and then shakes his head. I pat
his shoulder. “Let me know when she gets here.”

  He nods and steps aside, unhitching the red rope so I can pass. I hear murmured complaints from the queue behind me, but none loud enough for me to make out actual words.

  The bottom level of the house has a few separate lounge areas, mostly intimate, all crammed with girls in whorish cocktail dresses and uncomfortable guys in suits. There are already some loose ties and rolled-up sleeves — and the party hasn’t even begun yet.

  I find Dylan in the game room, playing pool with Zak and a few other guys from our team. The music thumping from the dance floor beneath makes it almost impossible to hear anything over the bass track.

  I check my watch. Ten minutes to eleven. Did Indi honestly chicken out?

  A hand lands on my shoulder, and I’m grinning before I even turn around. “My man,” I say, chest-bumping Marcus. He’s also wearing a tuxedo, but where mine is a little tight, his seems to be hanging looser than it did last year.

  All the drinking, I guess. That, and I barely see him eat anymore.

  “Let’s get a drink,” he mouths, cocking his head back the way I just came in. I slip my phone out, checking the screen to make sure I haven’t received any notifications. Jeremiah has my number, so he’s bound to call or text when Indi shows up.

  “She not here yet?” Marcus says, raising his voice above the music as we head into one of the hallways leading to the smaller kitchen where Dylan keeps his alcohol.

  “Not yet.” I grin at him. “But she’ll come.”

  Marcus doesn’t look convinced, but I ignore him.

  She will be my date tonight. Even if I have to go to her house, throw her over my shoulder, and bring her back here myself.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Indi

  I slide the last tray of shortbread into the oven. Marigold is snoring quietly, head in her arms on the countertop. I set the oven timer, push a strand of hair from my face, and bite back a sigh of relief.