by R. A. Smyth
My name is Hadley Parker, and today I take control of my life.
Today I start school at Pacific Prep. This is my new lease on life, and I won’t be wasting it.
I need this, now, more than ever. I need the education, the promise of a future that I wouldn’t get anywhere else.
These rich kids don’t like me though.
When Hawk Davenport decides he doesn’t want me here, his friends back him.
Along with Hawk, Westley Warren, Cam Rutherford, and Mason Hayes rule this school and nobody dares go against them.
They don’t know the real me. I won’t back down.
Broken Trust
Broken Trust Copyright © 2021 R.A. Smyth
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
ISBN: 9798526869829
Cover & Interior Design by Nikki Epperson. All Rights Reserved.
Editing by Heart Full of Reads Editing Services.
Formatting by Rachel Smyth.
Broken Trust Playlist
Popular Monster – Falling in Reverse
Fuck Away the Pain – Divide The Day
I Scare Myself – Beth Crowley
Letdown – Letdown
Let it Burn – Citizen Soldier
My Monsters – New Years Day
Cruel World – Tommee Profitt, Sam Tinnesz
Last One Standing – Icon For Hire
Dancing with the Devil – Demi Lovato
Silent Scream – Damien Dawn
We Fall Apart – We As Human
Hard To Kill – Beth Crowley
Hatefuck – Cruel Youth
Warrior – Beth Crowley
Maniac – Conan Gray
Middle Finger – Bohnes
All Eyes on You – Smash Into Pieces
…And many more
Play Now
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This book is a dark romance. As such it does come with trigger warnings for abuse, bullying, violence and graphic scenes.
The book also ends on a cliffhanger.
The series will ultimately have an HEA.
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Epilogue
Prologue
He’s back. I knew he was coming—he always does—same day every month. Not once in all the years I’ve been here has he missed a visit. When I was younger, I used to enjoy it. He’d bring me a toy and I’d get to play with it all day. We never got toys here.
Things have been changing over the last few years. Now, instead of toys, he brings jewelry and dresses. He likes me to get all dolled up for him, even though we don’t go anywhere or do anything. The way he looks at me when I do as he says? It’s not how you should look at someone over half your age. It’s dark and possessive.
It’s not just the gifts and the looks. It’s the way he drags his seat right over beside me, the slow trail of his fingers down my arm, the casual graze on the side of my breast.
It’s the way he talks about the future, like it’s a given I’ll be in it, with him. He says I’m going to go live with him some day. He’ll buy me whatever I want and we’ll visit places all around the world. I’ve never gone anywhere before. I’ve never left this place. The thought of seeing the world sounds unbelievable. This place is not somewhere any kid should grow up, where any human should live. His promise could be my ticket out of here. I’d finally be free.
Yet, I don’t miss the domineering way he fixes the necklace around my neck, making sure it sits perfectly. I don’t miss the low timber of his voice as he whispers, “Mine,” and rests his heavy hand possessively on my thigh.
He might be my escape out of this place, but he would only cage me in a different type of prison. I wouldn’t be any more free than I am right now. If anything, the things he says he wants to do to me would only ruin me faster.
Chapter 1
I readjust my duffel bag on my shoulder while I take in the towering wrought iron gates in front of me. Who knew a set of gates could hold such significance? Most of the students here probably don’t bat an eye as they pass through them, the cold iron representing nothing more than the start of a new school year. To someone like me, it symbolizes so much more. The opportunity for a private education. The chance at a new life, a future. Freedom.
Taking in the school crest branded on the gates, my eyes hover over the three words the school has chosen to embody everything they stand for.
Felicitatem. Patientiam Operatur. Dignitate.
Prosperity. Perseverance. Prestige.
No, I sure as hell do not speak Latin, but I do know how to do a google search. Only one of those words resonates with me. Perseverance. I’ve endured my fair share of shit so far in this reasonably short life. As for prosperity and prestige? Well, only the wealthy can afford that shit, and I’m sure as fuck not that.
Ignoring the judgmental eyes from the passing chauffeur-driven cars as they make their way through the gates and up the tree-lined drive, I trail after them, taking in the campus as I walk.
The campus is vast and fancy as hell, with its grandeur buildings, perfectly manicured lawns and trimmed hedges. I can just about make out a football field and tennis courts, as well as some sort of sports center in the distance.
I walk past a large building that is somehow even more prestigious looking than the others. It’s got more steps leading up to it than any normal building needs, meaning it towers above me, with its large glass windows and dramatic floor-to-ceiling columns.
Above the large wooden doors, a plaque reads ‘Davenport Hall’. Well, whoever the Davenports are, they have more money than they clearly know what to do with. What school needs a hall like that? I bet it’s only used a few times a year. What a waste!
Strolling on, I watch as cars stop in front of another building up ahead of me. Students climb out, most of them with their parents, looking around warily before following their parents up the steps—freshmen kids, I bet. As they disappear through the front entrance, uniformed men rush over to the cars and start lifting luggage out of their trunk, placing them on carts and, I’m assuming, taking them off to the students' accommodations.
Older students who have their own car—which appears to be everyone over the age of sixteen—climb out of their vehicles in the parking lot opposite the main building, greeting their friends, laughing and joking with one another as they slowly make their way toward the school. They all look perfectly presented in their school uniforms, not a crease t
o be seen or a hair out of place. With their white teeth, flawless makeup, and expensive haircuts, they look like models or celebrities, all of them oozing the sort of confidence that only comes with having money.
I cast a quick glance down the front of my white shirt. The school had it delivered to me for today, but, despite it being exactly the same as everyone else's, it doesn’t hug my slim frame or accentuate my boobs like it does on other girls.
I run my hand over the shirt, smoothing it out, pulling on the ends of my green, gray, and black tartan mini-skirt so it sits a little lower. I’m not used to wearing short skirts and it feels like a light breeze would give everyone a firsthand view of my basic white underwear.
Approaching the main school building, I follow behind a group of girls, only half listening to them as they catch up, ranting and raving about their summer vacations spent in far off exotic countries, while my eyes roam over the building.
It goes without saying that this is yet another fancy as fuck, ostentatious structure that resembles what I imagine a 17th century manor house would look like. I have to crane my neck back to see all the way up to the roof, the three stories looming over me. It’s built in the same fashion as the hall I just walked past, composed of dark stone and large windows.
Walking between two large columns, I ascend the stairs, making my way through the large entryway into the open foyer beyond. The atrium is the depth of the building, with large glass doors, providing an unobstructed view of an enormous courtyard beyond, lined with shrubs. There’s a massive marble fountain in the center, with picnic tables and benches placed around the open space.
Glancing around, I notice there are corridors branching to the left and right, and a staircase leading up to the second floor, with a balcony overlooking the atrium. Students and their parents are dispersed around the room, saying their final goodbyes, while others move out to the courtyard where I can see others milling around.
“Finally,” a tall girl with perfectly curled brown hair, way too much makeup, and sky high heels snaps, striding toward me, her hips swaying seductively, her tartan skirt swishing against her thighs with every step she takes. “It’s about time you showed up.”
“Me?” I ask, looking behind me in case she’s talking to someone else.
“Yes. You. Who else would I be talking to?”
She casts her eyes over my appearance, her lips pursing in disapproval as she takes in my curly blonde hair that’s impossible to tame and face clear of makeup. Self-consciously, I run my hand through the mass of curls in a vain attempt to flatten them a bit. I don’t get a chance to say anything, not that I have any idea what to say to this weirdo who’s snapping at me, when her eyes fall on my worn duffel bag.
“What is that?” Her nose scrunches up in disgust as she waves her hand toward my bag, her dislike of my non-designer, tattered duffel written all over her face.
“Uh, my bag?”
“Why do you have it here? You’re supposed to leave all of your belongings with your driver for the bellboys to collect.”
Drivers? Bellboys? What fresh hell have I subjected myself to?!
Seeing my look of utter confusion, she rolls her eyes, sighing in exasperation before glancing around the hall.
“You,” she calls out, waving over some guy in a uniform as he passes by us, heading out toward the parked cars. He looks like he should be working in a high-end hotel, not a high school.
Barely sparing him a glance, she gestures toward my duffle bag, “Take this...thing,” she sneers, “to, uh”—she glances down at a page in her hand—“Hadley’s room.”
The guy goes to grab my bag and my hand instinctively tightens around the strap, preventing him from taking it from me. We remain in a standoff for a few seconds, him giving me a weird-ass look before I relax enough to let go, letting him walk away with every single thing I own in this world.
Turning back to the annoying girl in front of me, eyeing her up with a critical gaze, I ask, “Eh, who are you? How do you know my name?”
Her lips pinch together in disapproval as she looks down at me. At five-foot-six, I wouldn’t call myself short, but between her height and the six inches her heels give her, she’s a good head taller than me.
“I’m Bianca,” she responds snootily, with all the arrogance of a rich brat as she tosses her hair over her shoulder. She acts like I should already know who she is. Placing her hands on her hips, she sighs. “I’m supposed to show you around today.”
Well, that statement was overflowing with enthusiasm. I’m guessing she wasn’t given much of a choice in the matter, and I can’t help wondering how she ended up stuck with the job. I have to bite my tongue to stop myself from letting her know I’m just as thrilled to have her as a guide as she is. “I take it you got a welcome pack? With a map?” she snarks, not really sounding like she cares one way or the other.
“Yeah, I did.”
“Good, then I’m sure you can work it out for yourself.” She raises an eyebrow at me. “You are here on an academic scholarship after all.”
Barely holding back my retort, I roll my eyes at her as soon as she turns her back to me, taking off across the foyer, not bothering to check if I’m following her. I am, of course—I don’t see I have a choice. She forced me to hand over my bag, with my map and everything in it, to that guy. And I have no clue where the accommodation building is, or what I’m even supposed to be doing this morning.
“This is the main building, where most of your classes will be. There’s an east and a west wing,” Bianca explains, pointing to her right to indicate the East wing before pointing out the West wing on our left. I’m honestly surprised she’s bothering to tell me anything, but I guess she feels like she needs to at least explain the basics. “The east wing is where all the science, math, and computer classes take place; while the art classes, English, history, languages, all that sort of stuff, is in the west wing. The music department has its own building, and anything drama related is held in the auditorium.”
She pulls open the door into the courtyard, the buzz of other students chatting and calling out to one another reverberating around us, drowning out the noise of water trickling from the fountain. By now, the quad is filled with students from all years. A few of them hang back, lazing on picnic tables and laughing with friends, but most of them have joined the throng of students slowly making their way into what I’m guessing is the auditorium—a large stone building on the far side of the quad.
Bianca and I join the back of the crowd, slowly inching our way onward. I can feel the press of bodies around me, people jostling me as they join the crowd behind us. The more they push and shove, my heart rate starts to spike and my chest feels tight. Why the fuck can people not respect personal boundaries. The quad is fucking huge, you don’t need to be shoving against me. I scowl at the girl behind me as her shoulder knocks into me for the third time, my dark glare succeeding in getting her to back up a step as Bianca scans the crowd, oblivious to the students around us as she looks for someone in particular, most likely her friends. She doesn’t spare me a glance when she says, “Stay in your lane, and you’ll get through the year without any problems.”
“My lane?” I question, confused about what she means.
She sighs, and I don’t miss the snooty bitch rolling her eyes at me before penetrating me with a deadpan stare. “There’s a you, an us, and a them,” she explains, as though it’s obvious and she shouldn’t have to clarify any of this for me.
“A what?” I shake my head slightly, not understanding her at all.
“You,” she sneers derisively, her voice making it clear she thinks she’s so much fucking better than I am. She roams her eyes over my less-than-perfect uniform, scowling, before dropping her gaze to my combat boots, her nose wrinkling in disgust. Yeah, okay, the boots aren’t exactly school attire, but they’re sturdy, and I could do some damage to her with them if she doesn’t stop looking at me like I’m shit on the bottom of her designer pumps. “The schol
arship students.”
Ah, yes. Us common muck scholarship students that are unfortunate enough not to be born into a life of luxury, and have to actually work for everything in life.
“Us refers to every other student. The ones that actually pay to attend this school,” she says pointedly, once again emphasizing—in case it wasn’t already obvious—that we’re lesser because we don’t have buckets of cash to spend on an education. I doubt she would be open to seeing my point of view if I tried to explain that hard work and dedication make me just as entitled to be here as her precious money does.
“And them?” I ask curiously, wondering who she could possibly be referring to. She’s just lumped the entire school into the ‘you’ and ‘us’ categories...so who is left?
Her eyes flash up to something behind me. “Them,” she repeats absently, her tone breathy, her eyes glazing over at whatever has caught her attention.
Spinning around, I see exactly what has her so distracted. Or more specifically, who. Striding through the crowd, who part for them like they are gods, are four of the most striking guys I’ve ever seen. I’m not sure if the whole courtyard hushes, or if I just become so focused on them that everything around me fades into the background, but all I can hear is the blood pounding in my ears as I soak up the mouthwatering sight in front of me.
All four of them confidently strut through the crowd, looking like one of those sexy-as-hell TikTok videos. All they need to do is remove their tops and flex their muscles, except I’m pretty sure more than a few girls around me will faint. I can’t even be sure I wouldn’t be one of them.
I focus on the guy to the far left, who’s tall and lean, perfectly put together in his gray slacks, white shirt, and forest green blazer as he strides across the courtyard. Every step is filled with arrogant confidence. My eyes roam over his face, noting his short, blond haircut, narrowed eyes, and pinched lips. Everything about him screams ‘stay the fuck out of my way’.
