Not Your Pawn: A Dark Bully High School Romance (Roman Academy Rules Book 2)

by L V Chase

  "What do you think?" she hisses back at me. She lowers her voice. "You're afraid, aren't you? You're afraid of admitting the truth."

  I lower my face closer to hers. "What truth?"

  "That you're weak. Too weak to do anything about me, or yourself, even." Her eyes are tinged with red now, halfway between fury and tears.

  "A fucking weak daddy's boy," Cin says more loudly. "That's all you are."

  I'm staring into her green eyes, so I don't block her when she slaps me across the cheek. She presses her lips together tightly, satisfied with the slap that I let her give me.

  The scholarship girls make hushed noises. I shake my head. I can't let her get away with that. Not with so many people watching. Word would get out to the others. Word would get to Damian, for all I know.

  I hate myself for doing it, but I grab Cin by the throat. She almost gags once, but I'm careful that I don't actually hurt her. I push backwards, though, forcing her to walk in the other direction or be choked. She backs up until her ass hits one of the mirrored walls.

  I lean forward so that my hand is on her throat, but my forearm is pressed against her body, in between her breasts, my elbow against the top of her stomach.

  "Careful there," I whisper, but still loud enough for the others to hear. "You don't want to make me mad. You know what happens when I get mad."

  We stare at each other, locked in that strange embrace, for what has to be a minute. No one else says anything. My eyes flicker to the other mirror where we were last time, where I took her and she had me.

  She knows what I'm thinking. She remembers, too. I can see it in the way her eyes glisten with hunger. I can hear it in the way her breathing becomes slower and deeper. I can feel it from the way her heart pounds harder against my arm pressed into her chest.

  She wants me as much as I want her. I lower my hand onto her stomach, right on her stitches, when I touch something wet. I look down. There's a smear of dark red on my fingers. Her stitches are bleeding, not a lot, but enough to get on me.

  Damn it. That's probably from when she went crazy just now, trying to attack me, then Hayden.

  I lean in closer. "You need to calm down. You're bleeding."

  Cin glares at me, not even acknowledging what I just aid.

  "Cin!" I say louder. "Crazy bitch."

  I let go of her, then scowl at my fingers. "You're fucking disgusting. Clean that shit up."

  I motion to Hayden, who's back on his feet. He's slightly pale, eyeing Cin like she's the devil. Cin's still leaning against the mirrored wall, glaring at me. She finally looks down at her stitches and sees that its bleeding.

  "Come on," I say to Hayden. "We'll come back later."

  "But—" Hayden says.

  "We're coming back later," I say again, more loudly.

  I leave the dance studio, not waiting to see if Hayden follows.

  15

  Cin

  “Oh. My. Gosh!” Desiree gushes, holding up the dance costume. It’s a white, deep V-neck bodysuit that seems to shimmer as Desiree shows it to all of us. The design is similar to a swimsuit, except a swimsuit wouldn’t have gold chains interwoven with white lace sweeping in cutouts over the chest and the back. Desiree and Dahlia had been gushing over the costumes for the last week, but we couldn’t afford them. I hadn’t thought much about them until Damian appeared with the white boxes, presenting them to us.

  “I bought the pink heels too,” Damian says.

  “The one with the three-inch heels?” I ask, trying to keep the apprehension out of my voice.

  “Yeah.” He tugs me closer to him, his hand lingering on my hip. “Don’t worry. You’re a fast learner. You’ll figure out how to dance in them faster than anybody else

  He doesn’t seem to hear Demi snort behind him. I can’t be too mad at him about it. He’s been trying to cheer me up since the psychology experiment, and there were several worse costumes the DDD girls had been scoping out. It should be the most impressive gift I’ve been given all year.

  But seeing my easel in the back of the studio reminds me that Grayson managed to convince the girls to let me speed paint during the bridge and the final chorus. I have to paint the other three girls on the stage, but it’s a little under a minute when I don’t need to dance and get to do something I’m good at.

  It’s not worth anywhere close to forgiveness. I should reject the offer just to spite him. I should shake my ass into the letters for ‘fuck off’ during that minute.

  But malice isn’t what I feel when I look at the easel. It’s the sense that I’m a crumpled fallen leaf, floating down a river, away from what I need.

  “Thank you so much, Damian!” Demi hugs him tightly, giving me a sideways glance.

  If she wants me to be jealous, she will be disappointed to know I’m incorporating nihilism into my daily ritual. Wake up, change my clothes, brush my teeth, decide life is pointless, eat breakfast, and go to class.

  “Of course, I want Cin to win this,” he says. He checks his phone. “But I have to get going. There’s a Writing on the Wall meeting in a half-hour, and my brother wants me there early to talk business.”

  He leans his face towards me. I give his hand a squeeze instead. “Dinner?”

  “Maybe,” he says. “I might be late.”

  I turn away, but he kisses my cheek. His kiss is slow and intimate. But the nihilism must be working because there’s no flutter in my chest or warmth gathering throughout my body.

  After he walks out, Demi swaggers around me. “I think Damian boy might be the Romeo I’ve been looking for. You know in the play, Romeo is originally lovesick over Rosaline. But he sees Juliet, and he falls in love with her at first sight. A good man knows when things are exactly right.”

  “Oh?” I ask. The words slip out before I can stop them. “So, when are you going to stab yourself?”

  “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” she snarls. “And then convince everyone that I committed suicide.”

  Rage simmers in my chest. Apparently, I’m still capable of emotions.

  “I’d prefer if you lived a long, long life, Demi,” I say. “So that you grow up to see how little you have to offer the world.”

  Her hands curl into fists before she points a finger in my face. It’s undeniably tempting to break it.

  “Listen, bitch,” she screeches. “I am not going to—"

  The door snaps open. We all turn to see Grayson walking in. He doesn’t acknowledge any of us as he walks over to his side of the dance studio, a pair of earbuds in his ears as he stares down at his phone’s screen. He’s alone this time.

  “I am not going to let you ruin this for me,” Demi finishes hissing, but I’m not paying attention to her anymore. Neither are Desiree or Dahlia. They’re blatantly staring at Grayson.

  Fuck them for staring, and fuck Grayson for somehow being a better dancer than I am. From what I’ve heard, he’s only mentoring Hayden Crocker. He’s not participating in the talent show. He has no motivation to do well while I have a scholarship hanging in the balance.

  Demi waves her arms in front of Desiree and Dahlia. “Ladies! Focus. We wouldn’t have so much work if we’d gone with my plan, but since we do, let’s work as hard as Andrew Lloyd Webber.”

  “Who the hell is Andrew Lloyd Webber?” Desiree mutters, but she begins leading us in our choreography.

  As we work on the dance steps together, Dahlia switches between dancing with us and pretending to sing out to a massive crowd. Demi glares at her behind her back but smiles whenever Dahlia turns toward her. When Demi catches me watching her, she flips her hair, her middle finger slipping out first before she turns to Desiree.

  “Rae, you want to join me in the bathroom?”

  “Right now?” Desiree asks. “We haven’t gotten through the whole dance yet.”

  “Yes, Rae, right now,” Demi says. “Unless you want me to tell Grayson how you want six of his children with ample practice in—"

  “Fine,” Desiree cuts her off. “B
ut let’s make it quick. We need to stay warmed up.”

  They skitter off together, two giggling girls. I’ve never understood those types of friendships. I could never laugh with someone who had blackmailed me.

  Except for Grayson.

  I glance over at him. He’s looking in the mirror as he practices some arm movements, and it almost seems like he’s using the reflection to look at me. He rubs his bottom lip. I can still feel him pressing me against these mirrors. His whole body, his hand on my head, and his cock buried in me, bringing me to the edge and sending me over in the most feral and glorious way.

  I turn away from him. No. My mother brainwashed me into getting enamored with men like him, and it’s not going to keep tormenting me.

  I take two ibuprofens from my bag and stretch. Dahlia is winking and sending kisses to the mirror.

  Demi and Desiree return, their arms locked together while they’re practically skipping in.

  “Dahlia,” Demi calls out. “Desiree and I have come out with a new dance move. We’re going to do a basket toss.”

  “With three people?” Dahlia asks dubiously. Demi and Desiree stop in front of us, unlocking their arms. “A basket toss requires four.”

  “What’s a basket toss?” I ask.

  “We’ll have you be the backstop,” Demi says. “It will be, like, at the end of the song. It’s fine. Let’s just try it. Cinnamon is going to be the flyer.”

  I step up to the group. “I don’t know where you think I’m flying, but I’d prefer to stay on the ground.”

  Demi rolls her eyes. “Come on, Cinnamon. Be a team player. Remember, you need this for your scholarship. I’d hate to tell anyone that you didn’t cooperate with the team. Besides, Desiree, Dahlia, and I were all cheerleaders. We know how to hold you up, toss you up, and catch you. You don’t know how to do it. And, with your stitches, it wouldn’t be smart for you to toss anybody up or to catch them. You just need to stabilize yourself. It’s the easiest position. Desiree and I will form the base.”

  Demi and Desiree interlock their hands together, forming a square.

  “You’re going to toss me up,” I say. “Why the fuck would I trust you to do that?”

  “What have we ever done to you?” Demi challenges. “Sure, we don’t get along, but I haven’t done half the shit the rest of the school has done to you. I haven’t even mentioned anything that came out during that little psych experiment. If I wanted to hurt you, Cinnamon, I’d have done it, and I’d have done it for Diana. But I’m not like you. Neither are Desiree or Dahlia. Do you think everyone is secretly a sociopath? Maybe it’s because you are.”

  “I’m feeling particularly sociopathic right now,” I mutter.

  “What?”

  I shake my head. “Fine. Let’s just try it.”

  “Put your hands on our shoulders and lift yourself up high enough to put your feet on top of our hands. Keep your knees bent, so your whole weight isn’t on our hands. Dahlia will keep you balanced. Once you’re certain you can figure that out, we’ll move on to tossing you.”

  “Like I’m a Caesar salad,” I say as Dahlia moves behind me. “Fitting for Roman Academy.”

  “What?”

  “Never mind.”

  After a few hesitant attempts, I push up on their shoulders and get myself up high enough to land my feet on their hands. Dahlia, grasping onto my waist, helps pull me back down.

  “Great,” Demi says, giving me her stage smile. “This time, you can put your weight on our hands. Stay on the balls of your feet. On three, you’re going to propel yourself up, Dahlia is going to lift you up, and we’re going to toss you up. Then, all three of us will catch you.”

  “Do I need to do something, so I don’t land awkwardly?” I ask.

  She shakes her head.

  “With the way we’re tossing you up, you’ll come down the right way,” she says.

  I glance back at Dahlia. She’s watching herself in the mirror. When she sees me watching her, she gives me a reassuring smile.

  “We’ve all done this a million times, Cinnamon,” she says. “It’s actually boring for us.”

  I take a deep breath. They can’t hurt me. I’m a quarter of their act. If it was just Demi, I wouldn’t throw myself at her mercy, but the other two are regular, snotty bitches. Placing my faith in two bitches and one psychopath isn’t the worst decision I’ve made here.

  “Let’s do it,” I say.

  “Cin,” Grayson’s voice cuts through the noise in my head, but the girls are lowering their hands a few inches, and I brace my body, trying to concentrate on the task.

  “Three,” Dahlia counts.

  I place my hands on Demi and Desiree’s shoulders.

  “Two.”

  “Cin,” Grayson’s voice cuts sharper.

  I jump up. Dahlia clasps my waist.

  “One!”

  Dahlia lifts me as I bolt upward. She lets go of my waist as the two other girls launch their arms straight up.

  The second I’m in the air, I expect to feel freedom, but fear runs a lot faster.

  In the corner of my eye, I see Dahlia and Desiree stumble backward as if they’ve been shoved.

  I close my eyes.

  I flail.

  I regret.

  My knee hits the floor first, pain monopolizing my thoughts. I fall over onto my side, air seething through my teeth.

  Grayson is at my side. His hand is on the side of my neck, and he’s peering down at me. Concern is all over his face.

  “Get ice and painkillers,” he orders to the DDD girls.

  “It’s not my fault,” Demi says. “She messed up the jump. She went too far forward.”

  “I saw what happened,” Grayson snarls.

  Demi makes a small noise like a bleat before I hear hurried footsteps. One of them mutters about suspension before I hear the door snap shut.

  “Cin, how do you feel?” Grayson asks. “Is all of your pain in your knee? Can you move your leg?”

  “I’m…" I shake my head. “Yeah. It hurts like a motherfucker.”

  He glances over his shoulder. “I was trying to warn you. Jesus. There’s no way they should be sending an amateur up in the air. They were ready to let you hurt yourself.”

  “Yeah. Sometimes I’m dumb.”

  “I don’t know if they’re coming back,” he says. “Come on. I’ll get what you need.”

  He scoops me up. I grit my teeth as new pain shoots through me from the movement.

  “Sorry,” he says. He almost sounds truly repentant. “But we need to get it iced right away, and the sooner we get some drugs in you, the sooner you’ll feel better.”

  He opens the door, barely shifting me as he does so. The cold night air is a relief to my hot skin, but I tuck my head closer to his bicep.

  “Are you cold?” he asks.

  “Nah,” I mumble. I wince as he adjusts me in his arms.

  “Sorry,” he says again.

  “It’s fine.”

  I stare at the fabric of his shirt, trying to not let my mind wander to the implications of his actions. But that only lets it wander to the way he smells like sweat and pinewood. It’s oddly calming despite the fact that every single one of our interactions seems to be overwhelming and leaving me feeling powerless.

  He stops at another door.

  “Can you reach into my back pocket and get out my wallet?” he asks. “It has the key to the kitchens. I don’t want to move you around more than I need to.”

  I swing my arm around his bicep and move my hand around until I feel his pants. I find his pocket and pull out the wallet. I nearly drop it but manage to swing it back over his shoulder and into his hand.

  “Thanks,” he says, opening it up. I hear the lock beep as he opens the door. When we step in, our memories from the kitchen swim in my head. The midnight meetings. The tension between us. Confronting him about Diana.

  He sets me down on the same table I’d fantasized us having sex on.

  He gets frozen tort
ellini from the freezer. When he presses it to my knee, the pain flares but settles as the cold seeps under my skin.

  “You should have stopped when you heard me,” he scolds.

  “You think I’d listen to you?” I ask. “After what you’ve put me through?”

  “I was right, wasn’t I? Next time, listen to me.”

  Of course, my subservience is the most important part to him. This is where we had the obedience lessons. He was turning me into someone who would be a doormat. It seems like he’d become disappointed by my refusal to obey, but it only seemed to bring him closer. I was a woman he couldn’t tame—a challenge for the kingmaker’s son.

  “I know I’m going to regret asking, but I have to,” I say.

  I place my hand over his hand that’s holding the frozen tortellini on my knee. I had intended to pull the hand off, but when he looks at me, my hand only grasps onto his.

  “Why do you insist on torturing me?” I ask.

  “I’m not. You’re the one who lets yourself get thrown into the air by three people who hate you.”

  “I’m not talking about this,” I say. “At least, not just this. But you bully me, and then you do nice things like this. It’s…do you just like lulling me into a false sense of security? Do you like the idea that you can trick me into thinking you’re good before destroying that delusion? Are you afraid that if you don’t act like you care about me once in a while, I might run away? And you won’t have anyone to play with anymore?”

  His lips are thin as he presses them together. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “You’re a fucking liar,” I say. “That psychology experiment was about humiliating me as much as possible. You went out of your way to prove that. You were playing fucking solitaire the whole time.”

  He tries to pull his hand out from under mine. I tighten my grip, my nails digging into him.

  “Don’t try to run. I want answers,” I say. “What’s your problem? Why won’t you just leave me alone? Do you just want to make sure you can still fuck me, but you don’t want other people to know you’re attracted to me? What do you call people like me? Trailer trash?”