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

by Rebel Hart

  “I know you want to be alone,” she says, making me roll my eyes.

  “If you know…then why do you keep bothering me?” I whine.

  “Because I’m worried about you!” The urgency builds in her voice. “This is such a huge, scary thing to be dealing with, and I don’t want you to go through it alone.”

  “It’s not scary,” I state plainly. “He didn’t do it. They’ll figure that out and let him go. End of story.”

  She sits on the edge of my bed looking even more worried than before. Wringing her hands in her lap, I see new lines forming in her face. She suddenly looks older than I ever remember and it makes me feel guilty. It’s my fault. I’m causing her to age so rapidly.

  “You think he’s guilty,” I blurt.

  She hesitates, but I know what she’s thinking. “There has always been something off about him,” she suggests. “That car crash when you were with him…and then the way you disappeared for those few days not long after that. I wanted to give him a second chance, but Ophelia…if…if anything ever happened with him…If he ever hurt you or scared you in any way…I want you to know, you can tell me.”

  I burst into uncontrollable tears, breaking down the way I did on the floor of Emmett’s apartment. I want more than anything to tell her everything that’s happened. Maybe what I really need is for someone else to tell me Emmett is bad. That I was wrong for thinking I could see good in him or trust him at all. The only other person who knows the whole story besides Emmett and me is Bridgett, and she also thinks he could be the one who killed Malcolm. The one who’s been trying to kill me.

  My mom takes me into her arms and cradles me as I sob. But I can’t bring myself to tell her anything. I just can’t. If I could have, I would’ve done it by now. And what if it turns out Emmett didn’t do this? What if I’m right and they let him go, declaring him innocent? Then I would still be held accountable for everything he did before this. Even if he isn’t a murderer, he did enough to have never deserved a chance with me in the first place. But I’m not ready to accept that.

  She holds me and lets me cry for a long time before telling me that Theo and Brendan are downstairs. “You can come down to eat if you’d like,” she offers sweetly. “Or just come down to sit and talk. Sit and not talk. Whatever you need.”

  For the first time, hearing Theo’s name or that he’s in our house doesn’t fill me with rage. I feel nothing. Just cold, numb emptiness. I follow her down with a blank, dejected look. But as we approach the table, I suddenly feel like running away. I can’t sit with them right now and pretend that my entire world isn’t falling apart. And the only thing I can’t stand to do more than that is actually talk about Emmett.

  Without saying a word, I pivot and bolt for the back door. I feel instantly better the moment the spring night air crashes over me. My heart is still aching with an impossible hurt, but at least I feel less trapped. Less cornered.

  There’s a swing set in our backyard that was left by the previous owners. Sometimes the neighborhood kids come by and play on it. I stare at it under the glow of the distant streetlights and realize I have never once sat on this thing in the nine months that we’ve lived here. I slide onto one of the swings and rock gently, leaning my head against one of the chains in exhaustion.

  I don’t even look up at the sound of the screen door slamming. At first, I’m frustrated that no one can give me a moment’s peace, but then I realize how dark it has gotten and think I must have been sitting out here longer than I realized.

  I avoid looking at the manly figure approaching, taking the swing next to mine. I know it’s not Brendan. I’m not so lucky. Instead I’m just a magnet for fucked-up men, romantic or otherwise.

  “I’m sorry, Ophelia,” Theo says softly. “I’m shocked and hurt too.”

  “Hurt?” I scoff. “Why the hell are you hurt?”

  “I lost my partner in this,” he explains. “I never would have thought Emmett could kill anyone…or try to hurt you at all.”

  I cut my eyes over to him. “What makes you think he tried to hurt me?”

  “Your mom may not want to admit some things to herself, but I’m good at piecing things together,” he tells me. “I know your car crashed off the cliff in the same place Malcolm’s did. And I know how far that spot is from the school. I feel awful. Here I was trying to give the kid a job, thinking he might be my future son-in-law…”

  His words are frighteningly sincere. Maybe it’s because I’m shocked or tired, but my stubbornness breaks down and I start to think he actually cares for me.

  “I know I’m not your favorite person,” he adds. “And I deserve that after being absent from your life and everything with how we finally met again. But Ophelia, you’re my daughter. I may not always get it right, but I love you. I would never do anything to intentionally hurt you.”

  “Ha!” I belt out sarcastically. “Except the time you were planning to kidnap me so the Elites couldn’t use me against you in your little quest for vengeance.”

  His face pans over to mine with a pained stare. “He never told you,” he murmurs.

  “What? Who? Never told me what?” I fire off impatiently.

  A sad smirk slides across his face as he leans over and lets out a heavy sigh. “I was never going to kidnap you Ophelia. That’s just something Emmett made up, and I went along with it because I could see how crazy he was for you. I felt bad for the kid. I know it’s not easy to be a little messed up in the head, but to be in love with a good woman who doesn’t deserve you. He wanted to be your knight in shining armor and I didn’t want to ruin it.”

  I shake my head. “No…No, he said you were going to kidnap me and that he begged to take me instead. He said it was to protect me.”

  “Never happened,” he assures me. “The Elites were going to take you hostage no matter what. I asked them to leave you out of it. I don’t expect you to understand why I needed revenge so badly, but I never wanted you to get dragged into any of it. And I never planned to kill Thomas. I would have if it meant saving your life, but it wasn’t the original plan.”

  “What was the original plan?” I ask, not really caring what the answer is. I’m still not convinced he even knows how to tell the truth and I’m not letting myself fall for this crap so easily.

  “I just wanted to send them to jail,” he insists. “Sure, they had a right to blacklist me after I took their money. I deserved to be cut out of Jameson Automobiles and stripped of my shares. I fucked up. But they didn’t have to rip Lala and me apart…They didn’t have to keep coming after me and destroy my family like that. Even after I made back my money, it still felt like I had lost everything because I didn’t have you or your mother.”

  So much of me wants to believe him. I’ve been clinging to my hatred for him, and only now do I realize how much easier it would be to let it go. I almost don’t even care if he’s lying. It feels better to think it could all be true. Maybe this is how he really feels.

  “I probably still would’ve left them alone to live out their poor, miserable lives…But then I found out about the sex trafficking rings,” he says. “After everything they had done to me, I couldn’t sleep at night knowing the harm they were causing to so many other people. I thought about you…and how I would feel if you went missing into something like that. It haunted me. I knew I wanted to come back into your life, to know you. But I had to put a stop to the Elites first.”

  I start swinging harder. The creaking chains get louder and almost drown him out, but I still hear every last word and feel my resolve slowly breaking.

  “Emmett was the one who asked me to kill his dad,” he says finally, stopping my heart cold. “I never intended to kill anyone. But Emmett told me about Thomas’s escape plan. If it came down to it, he was going to take off with a hidden stash of money and disappear in some other part of the world. I couldn’t let him get away with what he had done, and Emmett pleaded with me to kill him. He didn’t want to wait for Thomas to die of old age before he co
uld take over the company.”

  It all makes too much sense. And the more sense it makes, the more my heart cracks and breaks into a million pieces. I thought Emmett would be glad to be free of Jameson Automobiles, but if what Theo is saying is true, it makes sense why he would be so torn up about losing the company. Why he was so willing to work with Theo on starting a competing automobile manufacturer, even if it meant staying here while I moved away.

  All this time…Was Emmett ever hurt by his upbringing at all? Or was he just trying to win me over and have Jameson Automobiles all to himself? It never occurred to me that might be the only reason he needed for killing his father.

  “Why say all of this now?” I ask. “Why not tell me before? And if Emmett was so determined to kill his dad, why wouldn’t he just do it himself? Especially if you think he killed Malcolm and tried to kill me.”

  “It didn’t matter what Emmett’s intentions were,” he answers. “Thomas was a terrible man who deserved to die. And if someone was going to do it, I thought it should be me. I knew if I told Emmett I wouldn’t do it; he’d try it himself and get caught. Then who knows what would have happened to Jameson Automobiles. Of course, I had no idea then that the Hendersons were waiting for their chance to strike.”

  “I can’t believe it,” I mutter. I don’t know if I actually believe it. It’s more of a plea with myself, begging my heart not to take it all in. It seems it’s impossible to have both of these men be good and loving. If I accept that one of them is, I have to accept that the other one isn’t. Or maybe they’re both bad. But right now, Emmett is the one sitting in jail with DNA evidence stacked against him.

  “It’s a lot to take in, I know,” Theo shifts in his swing to take something out of his pocket. “But here…I got you something. I’ve been meaning to give it to you for a while now, but I didn’t want to do it while you were so angry with me.”

  He hands over a small satin covered box. I open it up to reveal a necklace. It’s the perfect combination of the two given to me by Emmett. It’s a running shoe charm but covered in little sparkling diamonds.

  “I’ve been holding on to that, but with everything that’s happened…I thought you might want something to replace those two necklaces you’ve been wearing.”

  Theo gets up and slowly starts back toward the house. He stops a few times as if he still has a million things he could say, but each time he pushes himself forward. I am left in the darkness, sitting on my swing that has slowed to a stop, staring blankly down at the piece of jewelry. Part of me wants to toss it into a lake. The other part of me wants to wear it and cherish it forever. And no part of me knows what to do with the charms Emmett has given me.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  BOOK 3

  I stare down the dark blue fluffy gown hanging from my closet, feeling bad that my mom even wasted the money on it. Where else could I ever wear a thing like that? The more I look at it, the more I start to think I don’t even like it at all. What was I thinking when I bought it? It’s hideous and prom is stupid and, with or without Emmett, I never wanted to go at all.

  “That’s that,” I slap my hands together and lay back on my bed.

  I try not to think about all of the other girls who are giddy with excitement, slipping into their dresses, doing their hair and make-up. How many of them are like Marissa and will be losing their virginity tonight? Does anyone even wait that long anymore?

  And how many of them are like me…thinking they’re going to prom with the guy of their dreams but will soon discover that he’s a murderer. Or some other kind of monster that threatens to destroy them.

  And how many girls out there right now are with the guy of their dreams…only it’s true love. They’ll survive their college years together and live happily ever after, more in love than ever.

  I fight back tears that threaten to start up again. They come and go, but each time I start crying again it’s harder than it was before to stop.

  My bedroom door flies open suddenly, making me scream. Bridgett freezes there with big, apologetic eyes. And then we do the only thing we can do. We burst into laughter.

  “Jeez,” she giggles. “I was trying to surprise you, but I didn’t mean to scare the shit out of you.”

  “Well you can’t be too cautious these days,” I tell her, only half-joking. “You never know when someone’s going to try and kill you in this town.”

  She howls out with laughter again and I can’t help but join her. “It shouldn’t be funny because it’s true! But why…why is that so fucking funny!?”

  I want to say that if we weren’t laughing, we’d be crying. But I’m buckled over on my bed, rolling around and unable to speak.

  “What the hell are you doing here anyway?” I ask, wiping tears from my eyes as I finally manage to stop cackling hysterically.

  “To pick you up,” she says confidently. “You’re my date to prom.”

  “No!” I argue. “No way. I’m not going. We can’t go anyway, remember? We can’t be seen together. The Elites would have your head on a platter for showing up to prom with someone who’s blacklisted. Especially now. Emmett was already their number one enemy, and now he’s killed their master not once, but twice. I’m not so sure I won’t be killed stepping foot back inside WJ Prep for any reason at all, much less as your date to prom.”

  “Nope, we’re going,” she insists. “I’ve done some reconnaissance on the new order of things. Who knows how the Elites will evolve once everything settles, but for now…with Malcolm gone, they couldn’t care less if we’re friends.”

  I look back over to the ridiculous dress hanging there and think it seems to have regained a little bit of its appeal. No, nothing has gone as planned. Nothing has turned out the way I hoped and my heart is broken. But what remains is that I’m about to graduate from high school. I have worked my ass off for the past four years, and as a reward, I will be going to a college far away from here on a full scholarship. Don’t I deserve to celebrate a little? Not with or for some guy. But for myself. For everything I’ve accomplished.

  “This is our night,” Bridgett declares. “We’re two smart, strong women who are about to graduate from hell. You going to make me dance for that alone?”

  I start laughing again. “No, I guess not.” I admire how good she looks all done up. She’s wearing a white corset and long black tutu, but when I look down to her feet, I realize she’s wearing tennis shoes. “Did you run over here?” I snicker.

  “Well, yeah, but that’s not why I’m wearing these,” she answers. “They’re comfortable, and I like them. They look cute with this outfit and if I have to run away from some attacker at the school, they’ll never catch me in these. You never know at WJ Prep. Besides, all those other girls are just wearing heels so they’ll look tall while dancing with their boyfriends. Not something I have to worry about…I’m way taller than you anyway.”

  “Fair enough,” I giggle. My dress is already revealing around the legs. I might as well top it off with some running shoes too.

  “Hurry up,” she adds. “It starts in a half-hour, and I don’t want to be unfashionably late.”

  I scramble to grab the dress from the hanger. Bridgett helps zip me up into it before I throw my hair up and put on a little makeup. Just before we walk out the door, I turn to the mirror, catching sight of the necklaces Emmett gave me, both dangling around my neck and taunting me. I impulsively unclasp them and toss them on top of my dresser and grab the velvet box Theo gave me.

  “Ooooh pretty!” Bridgett coos from over my shoulder. “Where’d you get it?”

  “My dad gave it to me,” I sigh.

  “Whoa…did I miss something?”

  “That’s to be determined,” I huff. “But what I can say is it’s perfect for tonight. Never mind who it came from.”

  We rush out the door and decide that I’ll be the one to drive. The theme is some kind of gawdy Great Gatsby deal, giving the wealthy parents funding it a chance to splurge on everything shiny and
extravagant. The entrances are all lined with black and gold balloon archways and glittering curtains of metallic streamers. Strings of lights twinkle along the ceilings. Everything is draped with tulle and loose balloons.

  As we reach the table where an attendant sits, taking tickets, I stop suddenly. “Shit,” I grab Bridgett’s arm. “Emmett had my ticket.”

  “I got this,” she assures me, marching up to the table. “Excuse me ma’am…my friend here seems to have misplaced her ticket. But seeing as how I’m in mourning over the loss of my cousin, Malcolm…Surely you’d let her in with me anyway.”

  “Oh, right…Malcolm Henderson,” the woman blushes. “You know what? Sure. Go on in.”

  Bridgett winks at me as she puts her arm in mine and pulls me inside. I’m not sure if the lady let me in because she feels sorry for us, or if it’s simply out of fear since Bridgett is technically an Elite. For that matter, do the Elites even buy prom tickets at all? Their parents are the ones paying for all this anyway. They’re probably exempt, like they are with everything else.

  Music booms out from a booth where a DJ stands spinning records over the dance floor. There’s a disco ball sending glimmers of light around the room, dancing across little circle tables with candles and confetti…a seemingly dangerous combination. I laugh to myself thinking how perfect it’d be if WJ Prep ended up going down in flames tonight. As long as no one got hurt, I wouldn’t be sad to see it go.

  Pretty girls stand around in their gowns and corsages, clutching their purses as they wait in line for the photo booth. Outside of the professional photos, there’s a sea of phones going off around us with everyone taking their own pictures. Friends asking someone else to capture their group or everyone leaning in together with big smiles for selfies.

  The prom at WJ Prep is laxer than the average high school dance, likely by request of the Elites. Small groups of students stand out front smoking for everyone to see and no one bats a lash at the kids pulling flasks from purses or suit jackets.