Fragile Things (Folkestone Sins Book 1)

by Samantha Lovelock

  He knows something’s up. He can feel the tension coming from this end of the table, but he doesn’t know why. All he knows is his boy is pissed, and that it has something to do with me.

  Under the weight of his stare, my lungs suddenly feel like two lead balloons in my chest, and I need to get out of here and catch my breath.

  “I need some air,” I mutter. “I’ll see you guys in a bit.” Breaking my promise to Cecily about not being alone, I slide my chair back and stride out of the room before anybody has time to say anything to stop me. Once in the hallway, I spot Hali walking toward the courtyard doors cackling and squealing with her bitchy friends, so I choose the opposite direction and the student lounge instead. During lunch, it seems to be empty usually, so I’m hoping to sit for a minute and figure out some kind of a plan to neuter Malibu Ken without getting caught.

  Staring in shock at the spectacle on the wall, tears of embarrassment and rage burn the back of my throat.

  Fuck, no. I will not cry. Not here. I might puke, but I will not cry.

  My nails dig bloody half-moons into the soft flesh of my palms, and my teeth clamp together hard enough to cause an instant tension headache. Everything in me twists, and the hollow, burning emptiness in my chest threatens to swallow me whole.

  The bulletin board in the student lounge covers most of one wall. About five feet high and seven feet wide, its cork face is usually reserved for random event announcements and club sign-up sheets.

  Not today, though.

  Today, nearly every square inch of the stupid fucking thing is plastered in grossly enlarged photos of me. A half-naked and very messed up me. I have been trying unsuccessfully to dredge the events of Saturday night out of the dark, drug-induced fog surrounding them, but to no avail. Seeing them on display like this is a sharp knife splitting open the belly of a fish. The guts of it all come pouring out, and suddenly I’m back in that dank, dirty barn again.

  My eyes flick over and back from one lewd and disturbing image to the next in quick succession, almost like my brain is trying to keep me from focusing on any single harrowing scene for too long.

  Flick.

  A close-up of my upper half, shirt pulled up and off one arm entirely, bloody teeth marks in the underside of my bicep.

  Flick.

  Drug-fogged violet eyes smeared with runny black, fear dripping down my face along with my tears.

  Flick.

  Heavy industrial-looking scissors, frozen in the seconds before they jaggedly bite through my beautiful dark hair.

  Flick.

  Legs splayed out, my leather pants a shredded ladder up one thigh, another bite mark visible through the holes, small cuts oozing into a single crimson thread and pooling beside me.

  Flick.

  Aggressive, meaty, masculine hands digging their way under my dirt-streaked waistband.

  Wait.

  Stop.

  Go back.

  Even though everything in me is screaming in revulsion, I move closer to the nightmare on display in front of me. Focusing on one of the images of my hair in particular, my eyes don’t see the scissors at all anymore.

  They see nothing but the hands.

  I know those hands, just like I knew Bingham was too bland and stupid to think up this plan on his own.

  The architect of this little scheme did a shitty job of hiding her identity. Right at the very edge of the image, I can make out just enough of the rose gold and emerald ring on her third finger. The heat of freshly kindled rage spreads within me, burying the shattered pieces of my heart, and fanning the flames of revenge.

  “What the fuck?” Poe’s soft exclamation of shock comes from about a foot behind me, his bag thudding to the floor as it slides off his shoulder, causing me to jump. Usually, I’m so attuned to his presence that he can’t enter a room without me feeling it, but apparently, my Poe-dar is malfunctioning today, which sucks. I fucking hate being caught off guard, even on a good day, and this sure as hell wasn’t a good day.

  “Poe, please, just leave,” I plead, not ready to have him witness my shame on display.

  “Fuck that, Stella! What is all of this shit?” he demands, confusion and anger warring for dominance in his voice. Shoving me to the side to get a closer look at the scenes papering the board, he rakes a hand through his thick dark hair, making it stand up in messy spikes and whorls before spinning around to face me. The darkness swirling through his stare, coupled with the rigid set of his jaw, would probably scare somebody else. But not me. Matching his pissed-off glare with my own, I stand my ground.

  “Just leave it alone, Poe,” I snarl. “It doesn’t concern you.” Flipping him my middle finger, I turn to leave.

  “DON’T YOU FUCKING MOVE!” he roars. Closing the distance between us in two long strides, he purposely grabs my upper arm right where the bruises from the bite mark are turning a lovely dark purple under my white button-down. “Let me see your arm.”

  “Ouch! You asshole! Let me go!” Trying to jerk my arm out of his steel grip hurts like hell, and I realize I’m at his mercy until he decides to release me. I hiss out an angry breath and look him straight in his stormy blue eyes. “What? You have something to say, Poe? Some pearls of rich boy wisdom for me?” With every biting word, I step a little closer until I’m nose to nose and toe to toe with him. “Or do you want to finish the conversation you started on the staircase at Roxy’s?” He visibly flinches, a crack opening in his menacing façade.

  “Cut the shit, Stella,” he warns. “I want to know who the hell did this.” Keeping hold of my injured arm, he reaches up with his free hand and gently wraps a strand of my now chin-length hair around his index finger. “Now I know what happened to your long hair.” Seeing my lips press tightly together and my violet eyes darken even further, Poe leans down and whispers next to my ear. “Don’t worry, it looks good. Sexy as hell.” Letting go of my hair, he trails his finger softly along the underside of my jaw to my chin, which he holds tenderly between his thumb and forefinger. My breath quickens involuntarily as his beautiful mouth feathers over mine just once. Quietly, so quietly I’m not even sure I hear him correctly, he speaks his promise in three words. “They will pay.”

  With that, he lets go of my arm and steps back, grabbing his bag off the floor and stalking up to the images on the board. He pauses for a few seconds as if committing them all to memory, reaches up and rips one down, studying it carefully as if for confirmation. Swearing a blue streak under his breath before crumpling it in his fist, he turns to meet my gaze straight on. My heart pounds as he drops the mask and lets me see all of the desire, the pain, and the apologies hidden underneath, then turns and tosses the torn photo in the trash can next to the door on his way out. I hear Sunday’s voice as he passes her outside the door on her way into the lounge.

  “Poe? What’s wrong?” After the past few days, I can’t blame her for the fear coloring her voice.

  “Go and take care of your girl, Sunday.” He snarls and takes off down the hall.

  “New Girl? You in here?” She pokes her head in and sees me standing stock-still, shocked by the real face he let me see. Did that just happen? Reaching up to touch my lips where his brushed only a minute ago, I feel my cheeks flush.

  Poe Halliday’s mood swings are going to give me a nasty case of whiplash.

  “Stell! Earth to Stella!” Sunday laughs. “What happened between you two? Did he apologize? You guys finally admit you’re hot for each other?” Reaching down, she grabs a piece of partially crumpled paper off the floor. Straightening up, she glances at the glossy image in her hand and then shoots me a big sassy grin.

  Wait for it.

  She pauses.

  Her grin falters and falls slowly off her face as her brain registers what she just saw.

  “Stell?” she asks soberly, a quiver creeping into her voice. I close my eyes briefly and take a deep breath, then jerk my chin toward the bulletin board she hasn’t noticed yet. Sunday meets my gaze with uncertainty, then slowly
turns her head in the direction of my nod. Her gasp is harsh and painful as she absorbs what’s on display. The moment the awful reality of what happened to me the other night sinks in is palpable. When she finally turns back to me, her eyes are shining with tears. “Oh my God. I am going to fucking destroy Bingham Ramsey. I’m going to rip his fucking dick off and shove it straight up—” I cut her off and reach for her hand, pulling her to stand beside me. Together we stare at the remnants of that night in front of us.

  “First off, no, you’re not. That honor is all mine. But, Sun, it wasn’t just him.” I point out the photo of my hair about to be hacked off. “Look at the fingers.” It takes about seven seconds for her to recognize the ring, and she squeezes my hand in hers hard enough to make me wince, vengeance lighting up her tawny eyes.

  “Hali,” she spits out the name like a mouthful of acid.

  “Hali,” I confirm. “Fucking Barbie is going down too.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Sunday and I are on our way out of the lounge when we hear the unmistakable sound of a body hitting a locker. Hard. We both start walking quickly toward the fight, the crowd parting smoothly to let us through.

  The scene in front of me is straight out of a movie. Poe has Bingham up against the lockers, feet dangling two inches off the floor as he holds him there by his throat. Raff, Heller, and Payne form a half-circle behind Poe, almost begging one of the football players to try to step in and help their quarterback.

  The tendons on the sides of Poe’s neck stand out from the strain of holding Malibu Ken in his current position. His clenched jaw and dark, lowered brow convey just how badly he wants to pop the idiot’s head off his neck like a human Pez dispenser. Bingham’s face is turning an unattractive shade of mottled purple-red under his California tan.

  “You are one sick fuck, Ramsey. How many other girls have you done this to? Or was Stella special?” Poe’s eyes darken further, and the smirk that twitches across his lips is cold and threatening. “You knew you’d never get anywhere with her, that she’d see right through to your shitty, rotten core, so you decided to fucking drug her?”

  A collective gasp runs through the crowd at that revelation, and Poe purposely loosens his grip for a split second, just to have the honor of smacking Malibu’s head off the locker again. “I’ve had a really bad weekend, fuckface, and you just gave me the best reason in the world to take it all out on you. I will gladly fucking end you.” His forearm tenses, the muscles rippling under his tattoo and making it appear alive. Payne turns away from crowd control and faces the shitweasel currently pissing his pants while hanging from Poe’s fist.

  “Ramsey, you may be a nasty fucker, but you are way too stupid to have done this all on your own. What I want to know, before Halliday here feeds you your own ass, is who else was in on it?” The creepy quiet voice is one I haven’t heard from Payne before.

  Malibu looks like he wants to say something, but is currently fighting for enough air just to breathe, so I step forward, Sunday backing me up.

  “It was Hali. Her ring. It was her holding the scissors.” Bingham’s eyes look like they are going to pop out of their sockets at any second, but he still manages to slide them in my direction while trying to nod his head in confirmation. Poe doesn’t glance my way at all, but I can see the muscles in his jaw flexing, and I know he heard me.

  Shit. He’s going to snap Bingham’s neck. I need to stop this.

  As pissed as I am at Poe, I care about him way too much to let him ruin his life for me. This was not how I thought it would play out when I came here to Folkestone to meet my mother’s younger sister. Enrolling at Woodington, meeting the Heirs and learning I’m one of them myself, finding a place where I belong—none of that was on the agenda. And him. Poe Halliday was not something I expected, and despite his mood swings, and the awful things he’s said to me, my heart tells me there’s far more to our story. At this moment, the choice is mine to make.

  “Poe.” His name is soft as it crosses my lips. His jaw twitches again, but he still won’t look at me. Sunday nudges me, and I step forward, slipping my right hand into his left as it clenches and unclenches by his side, ready to start throwing punches. The electricity between us picks up again, little tingles running up my arm. Not releasing the chokehold on Malibu, he turns his head toward me, the fire in his eyes tempered by the faintest glimmer of hope.

  “Star?” he murmurs, so that only can I hear him. My hand tightens around his.

  “Come on, let’s get out of here. Take me for a drive so we can talk, okay?” I keep my voice light and coaxing, but firm. Not taking his eyes away from my face, he slowly lowers Bingham until his feet are on solid ground again and relaxes his grip around his throat slightly. Of course, Bingham being the stupid ass he is, decides this is a good time to start talking shit.

  “What the hell, Halliday? You take orders from your bitch now? Pussy.” His laugh sounds just like the jackass he is. “Speaking of pussy, hers was real ni—” Not giving Poe time to react, I step in between them, right up in Malibu’s face.

  I am so very over this shit.

  “You really are dumber than a box of fucking rocks, aren’t you, Bingham?” I ask, the level of his stupidity blowing my mind. “You have no idea how nice my pussy is, and you never will, you lying sack of shit,” I state. “What the fuck kind of name is Bingham anyway? Were your parents just hoping you’d get your ass kicked on the regular?” His pretty-but-bland face twists like he’s got something to say, but I’ve had enough, and I raise my voice for the crowd to hear. “By tomorrow morning, the Heirs will make sure the fathers of every teenage girl in Folkestone find out that you like to drug unsuspecting females.” He pales noticeably, and I feel Sunday take a step closer to me as Roxy and Aylie move out of the crowd to join us. “I’d be trying to find a place to hide, fuckwad, because those daddies will stop at nothing to protect their little girls from a rapist-in-training like you.”

  There is silence all around us as Bingham looks like he’s going to choke on his tongue.

  “If you ever even think about pulling that shit again, it won’t be Poe coming after you; it’ll be me. By the time I’m done with you, you’ll be pissing sitting down for the rest of your pathetic life.”

  Released from Poe’s brutal grip and stinging from my threats, Bingham scurries off like a cockroach in the revealing light of day.

  The eight of us are gathered in the parking lot, having decided as a group to skip the last two classes of the afternoon.

  Now that the rest of them know what happened to me on Saturday night, I’m strangely relieved. I was sure all I would feel from them would be pity and blame once they found out, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. All I feel is their strength, support, and pride.

  “New Girl, you are badass. I could disappear that fucker and Hali both for what they did, but the way you handled yourself in there was awesome.” Raff wraps me in a giant hug, his face beaming like a proud daddy. “I’m not sure who Ramsey was more afraid of, you or Poe.”

  “My money’s on her,” Heller interjects from his spot leaning against Sunday’s Rover, his arm loosely around Roxy’s shoulders. “He was pissing his pants at the threat of physical violence from Halliday, but when New Girl here threatened him, he turned white as hell and nearly shit himself.” From her spot cross-legged on the hood of her car, Sunday coughs anything but delicately, making us all laugh as we turn our attention to her.

  “So, threatening him with the Heirs, huh?” she asks. “Does that mean you’re staying? That you’re a part of us?” The hopeful note in her voice is something she can’t entirely hide, and something that makes me smile indulgently.

  “Yeah, if my aunt is okay with it, I’d like to stay.” I tap my lip thoughtfully. “I wonder if anybody around here is in the market for a permanent pain in the ass best friend with a little New York flavor?” With a happy scream, she scrambles off the hood and launches herself at me.

  “You’re hired!” Hugging me
tightly, she sniffles a few times and whispers in my ear. “I’m so proud of you, Stell, for standing up to that asshole, and I’m so happy you want to stay.” Suddenly, Roxy and Aylie fling themselves at us too, and we’re a knot of four laughing, weepy girls all hugging each other. The guys give us a few minutes before Payne clears his throat.

  “Hey, Sun, we have that thing this afternoon, remember? We should probably get going.” Sunday looks over at him like he’s lost his mind until his raised eyebrow and subtle head tilt toward Poe clue her in.

  “Right! That was today, wasn’t it? That thing. Almost forgot about that.” She coughs. “Uh, Poe, Stella came with me today. Can you give her a ride home?” Grinning and rolling his eyes at her utter lack of subtlety, he nods.

  “I think I can manage that.” He looks directly at me, a hint of challenge flaring in his expression. “You okay with that plan, Star?”

  “Sure. Sounds good.” My cheeks heat at the public use of his intimate nickname for me. With a last squeeze, Sunday tells me she’ll call me later, and her and the girls pile into the Rover, waving as they pull away.

  “Welcome to the family, New Girl.” Raff gives me one of his blinding smiles and plants a kiss on the top of my head before joining Payne and Heller, walking off in the direction of their cars, and leaving Poe and me alone. He slides smoothly to his right and opens the passenger door.

  “You still want to go for that drive? Or I can just take you home if you’d rather do that.” His hesitancy is endearing. Like he’s afraid I’m going to tell him to go fuck himself and disappear in a puff of smoke.

  Straight-faced, I sidle up beside him and slip into the passenger seat without a word. He makes an appreciative sound low in his throat and closes the door for me before coming around the other side and getting behind the wheel.

  “I’m sorry, Star.” Without starting the engine, he puts both hands on the wheel and keeps his head down as he talks. “Those things I said, I didn’t mean…” He falters.