The Elites Of Weis-Jameson Prep Academy: The Complete Series (A High School Enemies To Lovers Bully Romance Box Set)

by Rebel Hart

  “What a nightmare!” I gape. “How the hell did you put up with that?”

  “Just like I do here.” He motions around to our secluded spot on the edge of the schoolyard. “I keep my head down and stay out of it all as much as I can. I don’t need to rely on the approval of the Elites. My father built his own fortune and has taught me everything I need to know to run it one day. Nothing we do is dependent on the Elites.”

  “Which is great, considering they just ran everything into the ground,” I scoff, still surprised that Vivian can show up and be so bold after the scandal her family is facing. “How are you and your father’s software company holding up, by the way? I take it the authorities don’t suspect you two of having anything to do with the sex trafficking rings?”

  He shakes his head quietly, seeming disturbed by just how close they came to going down with the rest of the Elites. “We’re free and clear.”

  I study Malcolm leaning back in the sun, closing his eyes against its rays. He seems so above all the WJ Prep drama, and I can’t help but wish Emmett could be more like him. Emmett claims to want nothing to do with any of it, but somehow he always finds himself at the center of it all. I guess there’s no escaping it, considering his father was the Elites’ ringleader, a role that has essentially been passed onto him, only now the rest of the Elites are facing time in prison.

  “Hey, don’t let Vivian and Lily get to you,” he says suddenly, as I realize we’ve swapped roles. Now he’s studying me as I drift away into my own tangle of thoughts. “Those two are just in rough spots because of everything that’s happened. They’re desperate and grasping at straws. They think you and Emmett are the easiest targets to get a rise out of so they can still feel some sense of control.”

  “It’s working,” I confess shamefully. “I know I shouldn’t let them get to me, but that’s why they’re so evil. They know exactly how to push your buttons.” It feels strange to be talking about Lily as if she’s one of them, even though as the day goes on, I’m slowly accepting it as true. “I just can’t believe Lily could turn like that,” I add. “She seemed different. And her family has nothing to do with all this trouble the rest of them are in.”

  “Maybe her motivations are different,” he suggests, just as we see a few groups of students huddling around outside for some last-minute fresh air before lunch is over.

  Lily and Vivian are hiding out in an alley nestled in the middle of the building. Emmett is conveniently not far away, but he seems to be looking for someone. Hopefully he’s looking for me.

  We watch as Emmett’s eyes search through the parking lot and outer campus, before he finally turns and freezes when he sees the two of us sitting together. I expect him to come over, but instead, he awkwardly turns and slowly walks back inside.

  “I guess you two are officially a thing now?” Malcolm asks with a strange smile. I almost hear a tinge of jealousy in his voice, and I hate the way it excites me. I can’t tell if I want Malcolm to be jealous because he is so nice and good-looking, or if I just want to get back at Emmett somehow.

  “You must think I’m a monster.” I shake my head with an embarrassed smile. “You probably know more than I think you do about how he’s treated me…I’m sure everyone does. And now I’m with him like some sick girl with Stockholm syndrome.”

  “I don’t think you’re sick or a monster,” he replies sincerely, with a subtle lean towards me. “People are complicated. Nothing is ever as simple as it seems. You seem like a smart girl, so if you’re with Emmett…I’m sure you have a good reason.”

  His words burn me deep. A few hours ago, I would have thought I had a million good reasons—with just as many bad ones, too. But now the only things that come to mind to explain Emmett’s and my relationship are uncontrollable urges. Like a car wreck I can’t stop staring at. And I know trying to explain that to anyone else would sound like nothing more than teenage hormones that I just can’t get a grip on.

  “What if I don’t have a good reason?” I murmur quietly, half-hoping he won’t hear it. I feel terrible for even saying it out loud, and I wonder if it’s some weird cry for help seeping out.

  Our eyes lock for too long as our faces grow serious. I wonder if I wouldn’t be better off going for someone like Malcolm, who manages to stay far away from the Elites’ pull. Even when their software company was threatened by their wrongdoings, the Hendersons only got involved long enough to keep their names clear so they could focus on their work.

  Malcolm is just as good-looking as Emmett, only nicer. He’s kind in an effortless way that makes me feel safe…and has ever since the first night he took me to meet with his father. And he seems to like me. At least enough to share his food with me and to look at me the way he is now, as if he’s waiting for any hint or sign that it would be okay for him to make a move.

  The only thing that’s missing is the powerful, inescapable, magnetic draw that emanates from Emmett. As much as I want to like Malcolm in my head, because it makes more sense and seems like it would be easier and simpler, my heart and body just don’t feel inflamed in the same way as they do with Emmett. And maybe that’s what makes it a healthier attraction, but it doesn’t make it more appealing.

  Any hint of a spark I want to exist between us quickly falls flat. “Forget what I said,” I announce suddenly, as we both let out sharply exhale at the weakened tension between us. “I do have good reasons. Lots of them,” I lie. “It’s just been a hard day. Emmett’s going through a hard time.”

  “So then maybe you should be with him,” Malcolm bites back, sounding jealous and accusing as he stands from his seat and swipes the grass and dirt from his pants. He seems mad, but that doesn’t stop him from extending a hand down to help me up.

  I put my hand into his in surprise as he hoists me up. But once I am on my feet again, I quickly begin shaking the grass from my own pants and hurrying to gather my things. I don’t want to risk any surprising moments that could happen if we keep looking at each other with my hand in his. I catch a subtle nod of acceptance in the corner of my eye as he begins to gather his things as well.

  “Well, it’s about time for our next class,” I say too loudly, bobbing my head while still standing frozen to that spot.

  “Guess so,” he says, mocking my body language and tone.

  “Okay, then,” I breathe out, as I finally start to walk away, but I can’t stop myself from turning to face him one last time. “Malcolm, you’re a really nice guy.”

  “Hey, Ophelia.” He throws his hands up in surrender. “You don’t have to placate me,” he explains with a nervous smile. “I mean, you’re an incredibly attractive and sexy girl…with the brains and personality to match. I can’t say that I wouldn’t be happy if you and Emmett weren’t a thing, but you deserve to make your own mind up about these things. And I’m not lonely or anything…believe me.”

  His tone turns cocky at the end of it, which should gross me out. But instead I am filled with a surge of burning desire. His complimentary confession makes my heart swell, and the implication that he has no trouble with girls sounds like a challenge. Like I am passing up on goods in high-demand. I shake my head, hating the way my own thoughts are beginning to sound.

  “All of this entanglement with the Elites is fucking with my head, I think,” I confess, blushing over my thoughts in combination with the things I suggested to Emmett earlier. “But you are a nice guy. And you seem like a good friend. Maybe one I need to have around to keep me grounded in all of this.”

  “Deal,” he answers, holding out his hand. “Friends to keep each other clear-headed in this nightmarish jungle.”

  I shake his hand and practically sprint away as fast as I can, before any more revealing thoughts pop into my head, or worse…out of my mouth. The rest of the day feels off, but in a good way. I appear to be momentarily free from Emmett’s sex-hazed state of mind, and instead find it easier than ever to throw myself into schoolwork as an escape.

  For three more blissful periods
, I barely think about him, Vivian, Lily, or even Malcolm at all. It’s as if our short little encounter on the edge of the schoolyard, and the edge of the lingering Elites’ drama, allowed me to come up for air and set myself straight again.

  Chapter Five

  BOOK 2

  I continue feeling clear-headed well into track practice that afternoon. There’s no reason to feel this way, other than that little bit of time with Malcolm, which was surprisingly and inexplicably refreshing. I wonder if that’s how it would feel all the time if Emmett was out of the picture and anything ever happened with Malcolm, or even just someone like Malcolm. Someone who hasn’t tortured and kidnapped me, and then somehow roped me into forgiving him through his own family drama.

  But it really doesn’t matter. My clear head doesn’t make things any less confusing. There are Malcolm’s good looks and kindness to complicate our agreed-upon friendship, and Emmett is still mad at me as far as I know. And Vivian and Lily are likely just waiting for their next chance to strike at me. With Vivian at school again and Lily as her newfound sidekick, sharing a sudden and renewed hatred toward me, I’m forced back to beginning every day in dreaded anticipation of what will happen.

  But all of that easily drifts away as I run through my laps. Fall is setting in, sprinkling orange and yellow leaves across the track that blow up in clouds around us as we run through them, our sneakers crunching across the ground with each sharp step. I love the way the cool breeze feels against my hot skin, and I can barely see faint traces of my breath in the air.

  My thigh muscles ripple with power, my pounding steps in rhythm with my sharp and heavy breaths. The chord to my headphones bounces against my chest as heavy rock beats boom in my ears, drowning out everything else around me. I feel like I could run even faster and keep going like that for hours. It may have been harder to run when things were at their worst with the Elites, but I’m back in full force now and can’t seem to get enough.

  Coach Granger watches me carefully, as he always does, as I continue racing through my runner’s high. But he’s been strangely quiet ever since his and my conveniently-timed, simultaneous disappearances.

  Coach Granger has always been my glimmer of hope in this hellhole. He’s always told me that I could come to him for anything, and I could always count on him for the warmth that everyone else lacked. Which is crazy because he is not what you would call a warm person. He is serious and stern, his eyes always wide and intensely focused, like his head is always in the sport, pushing through another mile.

  We’d both subtly hinted at our suspicions about his family troubles happening right around the same time I was kidnapped, as if someone was trying to get him out of the picture so he wouldn’t be able to help or protect me in any way. But ever since then, he has been strangely quiet towards me.

  He studies me with a distant look in his eye, as if he’s still trying to figure everything out before we talk about it more. I can only guess at what is going through his mind, as I still have no idea exactly what tore him away for those couple of weeks.

  The unspoken words that still seem to hang between us only make me run harder. I need the release. Each sharp breath through my pounding feet and burning muscles seems to push everything a million miles away.

  I am dreading the return of my anxiety once practice is over. I rush into the locker room and go through the motions, hoping to get changed quickly and then breeze through homework and dinner at home before crashing into bed. I’ve learned the key to outrunning my worries about everything that’s been happening is to stay busy.

  I step behind the curtain into the shower and turn on the water, which sends billows of steam up into the air to join what’s rising from the other showers. I try to ignore the gross clump of stringy hair floating on top of the drain at my feet. I can remember when my own hair was coming out in handfuls like this in the shower from all the stress Emmett and the Elites had me under.

  I want to think we’ve come so far since then. That everything is so different between Emmett and me now. But there is a daunting sense that the worst isn’t over yet. I quickly remember these are exactly the kinds of thoughts I was hoping to avoid for the rest of the day and turn the water off, sending the returning cold shivering across my skin.

  After patting myself down with a couple of towels and slipping into my clean, post-run sweats, I am out the door and back to thinking about normal things, like wondering what my mom is making for dinner. When I returned home after that short absence, she finally noticed just how much weight I had lost since starting WJ Prep and quickly took it on as her personal mission to fatten me up.

  As a runner, I can’t afford to be running on empty, and my figure is finally rounding back out to normal as she stuffs me full of her best dishes every night. Even on nights when she works late, she has made a habit of taking long lunches to come home and cook dinner. Of course, Brendan helps when he can. I have told them not to worry and that I’m more than happy to cook for myself, but they insist that it makes them feel good to take care of me in that way.

  I keep a steady pace towards my car as I imagine what she must have baking this evening, but I quickly realize nothing will be as easy as I hoped when I get closer. Emmett is leaning against the driver’s side door waiting for me. The closer I get, the more I can see the furious look on his face.

  “Hey,” I call casually once I’m close enough, hoping to gauge his mood before we’re face to face. He says nothing but his eyes keep burning into me, making me slow down from caution. “Something wrong?”

  With sullen eyes, I can see a suppressed growl roll through his throat. “Have you been avoiding me?” he asks, doing a terrible job at releasing his clenched teeth as he talks.

  “No, I thought you were mad at me.” I move past him to throw my bag into the backseat, wishing he’d move so I could get in and drive away. I want to see him, but not when he’s angry like this.

  “Is that why you were talking to Malcolm?” he fumes, clicking everything into place in my mind.

  “You jealous?” I ask lightly, hoping to pass everything off as no big deal.

  “Should I be?” he barks back. He sharply blows a string of hair from his eyes and crosses his arms. “Is that why you were with him? To make me jealous?” A gentle booming roar rises within every word. I can tell his rage is bubbling up, but he’s trying his best to keep it contained.

  My heart swells with shame as I think of what really happened with Malcolm. I didn’t just flirt with him and think about what things could be like with him. I compared him to Emmett, and that feels like the biggest betrayal of all. He’s already paranoid enough that he’s not what I deserve, and I used his biggest insecurities to compare him to Malcolm.

  Who’s to say Malcolm wouldn’t be just as fucked up behind closed doors? I know that’s not true. Emmett is not my first boyfriend. I know not all guys are like this. There are plenty of them who don’t get physically violent. Plenty who aren’t as fucked up as Emmett. But I feel awful for even thinking about that. And now I am standing here swearing there is nothing going on, when I knew I was flirting with disaster the whole time.

  “I was just having lunch with a friend, Emmett,” I explain sternly. “I’m allowed to do that.”

  “So, you consider Malcolm to be a friend?” He looms over me, pushing his palm against the car on the other side of me, boxing me in with his arms and shoulders.

  “What’s your fucking problem?” I snap finally. “You’re creeping me out. You were the one who got all pissed at me because I expected you to stand up for me against your psychotic ex-girlfriend. Forgive me for wanting a break from all of your mood swings.”

  His nostrils flare as he takes it all in. “A break,” he scoffs. I immediately know I’ve crossed some sort of invisible line. He snaps suddenly, grabbing me by the arm and forcing me away towards his car that’s parked a few spaces down.

  “What the fuck, Emmett!?” I shriek, looking around to see if anyone is nearby to witness th
is. With no one in sight, he shuffles me to his car and pushes me inside. Instinctively, I look to the backseat expecting to see all the things that tell me I’m in trouble. The same kinds of things that made me try to get away from him when he lured me into his car once before. Rope and gloves. But thankfully it appears to be clear.

  “You’re coming with me,” he demands as he slides into the driver’s seat. “We need to talk.”

  “Going with you where!?” I yell out in shock. “Why can’t we just talk here!? I don’t want to go right you right now, Emmett! I want to go home!”

  “No,” he roars back, continuing to drive despite my obvious fear. “I’m taking you to my hotel room.”

  “What hotel room!?” I shout, feeling completely confused.

  “Things were getting too intense at home with Bernadette being missing. Mom’s been acting weird. I rented a room to get away from it all, and it makes me feel safer,” he explains with a strange calmness, which is somewhat comforting. At least he’s not seeing red to the point of wordlessly forcing me to go along with him whether I like it or not, except he is still forcing me along despite my refusal.

  His hands clench around the steering wheel with wide eyes and flaring nostrils. He is completely on edge with tunnel vision focused on the road ahead. He’s determined to get me away as fast as he can. To carry me off to some place where it’s just him and me, and no one else can get to me.

  “I need you to tell me right now if anything happened between you,” he fumes in desperation. “I don’t just mean if anything was reciprocated. Did he touch you in any way? Make a pass at you?”

  “No! Nothing happened!” I insist, but my tone lacks the certainty he needs.

  “I just can’t stand the thought of it.” The veins and muscles in his neck strain and his voice cracks with a guttural roar.