Wicked Heartbreaker: A Dark College Bully Romance (Westforde College Book 1)

by Serena Lyons

  “Okay, okay, I’ll do it.”

  “I love you, Faith. You’re the best!”

  “Damn you, Millie.” I swear then immediately feel guilty.

  She promised that she’d only use my essay as inspiration, not steal the damn thing, but she must have shown my version to Callum.

  It didn’t seem fair helping her secure a place that so many other applicants wanted. And I knew she could do a great entrance essay herself, she just always lacked the confidence in her own abilities.

  Not that she stole it in the end—there’s no way I’d have gotten in with an essay that had been used before. The deadline for applications was December, and she was gone long before then. But she must have shown it to Callum for his advice. It’s the only explanation that makes sense.

  Fuck, how am I going to get past this? Callum must have guessed that I know Millie, he’s never going to let his guard down around me again. All my plans, pointless because I was too stupid to write another entrance essay from scratch.

  I jump up from the log. It’s like an ice-block beneath my legs now, my jeans are damp and cold. It’s nearly dark, I shiver wishing I had a scarf then turn towards the tow path. I just want to get to the warmth of my room and think how the hell I can salvage this shit storm.

  The river is still now, no more boats cutting through it. It’s a cloudy mirror reflecting the leaves from overhanging trees and the rapidly darkening sky. It should be beautiful, but it’s almost too quiet, too empty compared to the bustle of an hour earlier.

  I pick up my pace. If my gran could see me right now, she’d give me a talking to about being all alone in such a dark and secluded place.

  Stop scaring yourself. I can almost hear footsteps behind me. I’m such an idiot, creating monsters in places where none exist. The only monster around here is Callum, and he jetted off on his bike a good twenty minutes ago.

  A twig snaps.

  Someone is walking behind me. Someone being incredibly quiet, too deliberately quiet for it to be normal.

  My pulse quickens. Something isn’t right. I should look around, but what happens if I don’t like what I see? I quicken my stride, walking faster still, as fast as I can without turning into a run. If someone is following me, I don’t want them to realise I’m on to them. Every step I take brings me closer to the crowds of the city and safety.

  Leaves crunch behind me. Someone’s definitely there. This is ridiculous, freaking myself out over nothing. It’s probably someone else rushing to get out of the dark. I should look behind, then I’ll know what I’m dealing with.

  Dread makes my heart sit high in my throat. I’ll turn in three, two—.

  “Faith.” A voice I don’t recognise calls out my name.

  Oh fuck. This definitely isn’t a coincidence.

  I spin round, but all I see is the shape of a man in a dark hood. He’s close, too close. He lurches towards me.

  I try to move, but I’m not quick enough. A thunderbolt of pain cracks against my head and then everything goes black.

  21: Callum

  Faith is crazy. The thought dominates my brain all the way along the tow path and up the hill to town. She accosted me in front of my crew, accused me of sending her some threatening note. Sure, I want her gone from college—even more now that I know that she must have some connection to Millie—but I wouldn’t sink as low as to send her anonymous threats. She probably sent it to herself.

  Ugh, the thought makes me press down harder on the pedals, my thighs already aching after the long training session. God, she’s so annoying. Usually I finish a work-out like this feeling calm, the rush of endorphins making everything that little bit easier, funnier, happier. Faith bloody Davies did away with that today.

  I turn the sharp corner at the top of the hill, and minutes later I’m fastening my bike to the railings outside college.

  “That was quick.” Sam, our cox, walks out of the lodge as I’m going in to check my pigeonhole. “Didn’t have you down for a PE guy…”

  “What are you talking about?” I glare at him.

  “You mean that sexy little first-year didn’t meet you after practice for a quick bang?”

  “Of course not, like I’d touch her.” Despite everything I feel guilty for saying that about Faith. That first night we met, at the freshers’ fling, I definitely wanted to touch her. Back before all her craziness started. Her lips made me feel things I’ve never felt before.

  “Your loss.” Sam brings me back to the present. “Can I have the keys?” Despite being a foot shorter than me, he’s not afraid of issuing demands to me. I don’t mind, it’s refreshing to have someone stand up for themselves and he needs to be boss on the boat, so it makes sense for him to continue on land.

  I reach down to my pocket. Fuck, the keys aren’t there. “I left them in the lock.”

  “Christ, Callum, what the hell?”

  I glare at him, he’s pushing his luck now. “It wasn’t on purpose, shorty.”

  He reddens. I’m not a man that anyone on campus wants to make an enemy of, especially not a vertically challenged guy who’d be consigned to the geeks if it wasn’t for his coxing skills. Still, I know he’s right, I shouldn’t have left the boathouse open. Bloody Faith distracted me.

  “It’s okay, I’ll go back down and lock up. It’s my bad.” I sigh, spinning on my heels to unlock my bike again.

  “See you at the pub, then,” Sam slaps me on the back. “I’ll have a pint waiting for you.”

  The streetlights are already on, it’s nearly dark. It’s going to be pitch black by the time I get down to the bloody boathouse, so much for an easy Friday evening in the pub.

  At least it’s downhill on the way back. I swoop around the end of day traffic and in ten minutes I’m already back on the towpath. I have to go slower here, there are no lights and it’s dark between the trees and the water.

  I’m used to it though. Before a big race, we start our practices at sunrise, so I know every curve on the path without needing to see it properly. The light from my headlamp stretches about six feet in front of me, but I’m barely looking at the path. Anyone coming in the other direction should have their own lights.

  My phone beeps. I pull it out, holding it with one hand while keeping the bike steady with another. It’s just a message from Jess. That can wait.

  The crew got to me earlier. They’re right, I shouldn’t be stringing her along when I know she wants more. I’m never going to change my mind about her.

  The boathouse is quiet when I pull in. There are no signs of anyone having noticed the keys in the lock and taken advantage. I don’t bother locking my bike to the rack, I simply stick my head into the boathouse and flick on the lights. Everything’s exactly as we left it. I lock up and pocket the keys.

  “Idiot.” I sigh. Still, it’s not the end of the world. I check my messages properly not I’m off my bike.

  Sam: What pint do you want?

  Callum: Guinness. With a whiskey chaser. Be there in 10.

  Might as well open Jess’s too.

  Jess: Hope you’re joining us. I thought we could pick up where we left off the other night…

  I can’t be bothered to reply. I’ll see her when I see her. It’s good she gets the message that I’m just not interested in her in the way she wants me to be.

  I jump back on my bike, going slower this time. The emergency’s over and there’s no need to rush for the drink.

  It’s quiet out here, no lights and so empty I could be in the middle of the Scottish Highlands, not ten minutes from the city centre. It’s properly dark now, but the moon is fighting its way through the heavy clouds, occasionally turning the river into a silvery ribbon.

  I’m going around the first bend away from the clubhouse when I hear a moan, or what sounds like a human moaning.

  Stop being stupid. I’m turning into a scaredy-cat like my sister. Still, I can’t help, but look around over my shoulder down at the river and then across to the bushes. I stupidly move my
handlebars as I turn and I wobble as the wheels hit the rough rut of a puddle. The beam from my headlamp ricochets from side to side and then I see it; a glimpse of bright turquoise deep down in the undergrowth.

  I slam on my brakes. It’s exactly the same colour as Faith’s hair. And the same texture.

  I sit straddling my bike, reluctant to set off. I’m an idiot if I go back and check, it’ll just be a crisp wrapper, or some other bit of rubbish dumped years ago and rotting in the undergrowth. But I can’t bring myself to just peddle on up the hill to the warmth of the pub where my friends are waiting. I won’t be able to concentrate if I don’t check what I saw. I’ll spend the entire night wondering if crazy Faith is okay, and I don’t even have her bloody phone number to check up on her.

  Sighing, I swing my leg over the bike frame and prop it up so it’s mostly off the path. Then I walk the metre back to where I think I saw the flash of colour, turning on my phone’s torch as I go.

  Something bright and shiny catches the light, I move closer, my heart thumping. It’s a Ribena bottle. Ribena light. The regular purple bottle covered by a pale blue label marking it as low sugar.

  Christ, why the hell did I see it as Faith’s bright hair? It’s a completely different shade, it must have just been a trick of the twilight. And my weird obsession with the crazy woman.

  I turn to go, but then I notice something next to the bottle. Something that looks remarkably like a Converse shoe. I rush forward, my eyes and torch quickly working from the sneaker up the jeans and leather jacket, to the mistakable platinum blonde and turquoise hair splayed out across the rotting leaves and mud of the undergrowth.

  “What the fuck!” I jump down. It is Faith. I feel sick. I left her alone down here as it was turning dark. This is my fault.

  She’s dead still. Bile rises up my throat, as I reach out to touch her.

  Please let her be okay. Please let her be okay.

  Thank God, she’s warm, she’s alive. Her eyes flicker as I touch her and she mewls like a hurt animal, but then her body goes limp again.

  Now I’m closer I can see the sticky blood matted in her hair, smell its acrid metallic taste. What the hell happened here?

  Fuck, it’s not the time for questions, she needs help. I dial 999. “I found a girl, Faith, she’s bleeding and unconscious. We’re on the towpath, just down from Folly Bridge…”

  “Just relax, Sir, you’ve done absolutely the right thing calling us.” The matronly voice on the other end of the phone reassures me, then starts giving me first aid directions.

  At her urging, I pull off my hoodie and slide it under Faith’s neck before moving her into the recovery position.

  “I’ll patch you through to the first responders,” she tells me. “Tell them if anything changes, you need to watch her vital signs.”

  The ambulance woman tells me what to look for and that they’ll be with me in five minutes. I stare down at Faith as I run out of useful things to do, then see her blood on my fingers, smeared on my white t-shirt. This doesn’t look good, I look like I’m the one who attacked her. It’s not what matters now, I try to push the selfish thought out of my mind.

  Thank God, I bumped into Sam and came back here to lock up. I shiver at the thought of Faith having been left here all night. Hidden. Hurting. Maybe even dying.

  “Callum?” A stuttering voice brings me out of my reverie.

  “Shh, don’t worry, I called 999. The ambulance and police are on their way.” I reach down to squeeze her hand.

  Her face is a mask of fear; whites of her eyes wide. “Please don’t kill me, please.” Her hand shakes in mine. “Please don’t kill me like you killed Millie.” The fear in her voice is real.

  Kill Millie? What the hell?

  “I didn’t—” I shout and then realise I shouldn’t be yelling at an injured woman. So, she does know Millie. I’m about to ask her how, but when I look back down, she’s passed out again.

  She’s a deathly white and her hand is colder than the freezing river. Where the hell is that ambulance?

  I yank off my t-shirt and drape it over her icy body. The fucking ambulance should have arrived already, she doesn’t look like she can last much longer.

  22: Faith

  A rhythmic bleeping completely eradicates my ability to fall back asleep, despite my limbs feeling heavier than they ever have.

  “Callum…” His eyes, flinty with something dark—fear, rage?—jump into my head. I don’t know if I say his name aloud, or just remember him. I’m woozy, like my brain, the lining of my brain and skull are all whirring in different directions at slightly different speeds.

  “Where am I?” I try again as my eyes blink open to a blueish-white ceiling and painfully bright strip-lights.

  “Faith? Don’t worry, Faith, you’re safe now, me love,” a syrupy voice chimes somewhere above my head. “Just relax, love, and don’t rush to say anything. I’ll just get the officer.”

  Footsteps echo to and from and the world starts coming into sharper focus every time I blink my eyes open. Blink one, a dark navy mass emerges to my left. Blink two, the shape of a woman forms out of the navy. Blink three, I see a fussy red halo, could it be…

  “Gran?”

  Blink four, it’s not Gran, it’s a policewoman that I’ve never seen before. She has the look of Gran though; her short red hair and steely expression. “You’re not Gran… Who are you?”

  “I’m Detective Constable Taylor, I’m glad you’re feeling better now.”

  “What happened? Where am I?”

  “You’re at the John Radcliffe hospital, you were brought here after a nasty bump to your head,” her voice trails off like she’s waiting for me to jump in and take over the next section of the story.

  It works. Images and sounds invade my mind. “He hit me, with something hard, on the tow path.” Goose-pimples erupt on my arms and I wish I had a comforting blanket or jumper to give me sustenance.

  The Detective Constable nods, her eyes soft with empathy, but stays silent.

  “I was at the boat house…. Oww.” I try to sit up, but my head hurts when I move too fast. “I went to see Callum, he hates me, he did this…”

  “Callum?” The policewoman leans in towards me, only slightly, but her entire body is stiff with anticipation. “Do you know Callum’s surname?”

  “Callum Carter-Wright.” I try to ignore the pang that clutches my heart.

  Detective Constable Taylor leans even closer, so her musky perfume fills my nose. “Ms Davies are you saying Callum Carter-Wright did this to you?”

  “He must have.”

  “Must have is different from did.” She stares down at me, her hands steepled. “This is important, Faith, tell me exactly what you remember, don’t leave anything out.”

  “There’s not that much to tell,” I speak more slowly than usual, just thinking is draining the energy from my body. “I went down to the boat house to speak to Callum Carter-Wright. I knew I’d find him there after his rowing practice.”

  “Why did you want to find him?”

  “He’s the TA on my course and he’s supposed to be helping me with an important essay, but… well we don’t exactly get on.”

  “Is there any reason for that?”

  I close my eyes. I could tell her everything, all about Millie and the note she sent me the night she died. How I’m sure Callum has something to do with her death.

  But the memory of the police in Northumberland keeps me silent. How they sneered and told me if I bothered them again, I’d find myself getting charged for wasting police time. If I mention Millie, Detective Constable Taylor will just call them and hear their opinion that I’m crazy.

  “We hooked up my first night here and I ran away because things were moving too fast… maybe that annoyed him?”

  The policewoman’s lips tighten, like she’s heard stories of guys frustrated because they can’t get their way too many times. “So, what happened at the boat house?”

  I tell her everyt
hing that I remember; heading down to the river to confront Callum, our argument, the person following me, seeing his eyes staring down at me as I lay in pain.

  “I need to call the station now.” She smiles down at me, a much softer woman than my gran now. “You close your eyes and get some rest, you’ve been exceptionally helpful.”

  My eyes feel like they roll back into my head as I sink into the pillow. I drift and wake, drift and wake, unable to tell whether it’s midday or midnight as the artificial lights blind and confuse me. Meals get wheeled in, but I refuse them all. I don’t want to eat, I just want this pain in my head to stop.

  “Miss Davies.” I open my eyes to see another blurry figure in navy, but with a harder voice, a man. It only takes one blink for me to focus this time. He’s middle-aged, with deep frown lines and an annoyed expression on his face. “You created quite a bit of—” He pauses like he’s searching for the precise word. “Bother for my team yesterday. Was it just for attention?”

  “You what?” My mouth is uncomfortably dry, but something tells me this man won’t kindly get me a cup of water.

  “You told my colleague, Detective Constable Taylor, that Callum Carter-Wright had attacked you. Did you lie because you thought it would win you some brownie points on campus? The intrigue, the glamour.”

  “Glamour?” I parrot back foolishly.

  “Because of his family connections. Just another teenager looking to have her fifteen minutes of fame.” He looks at me with such condescension, that anger flares inside me, despite my aching body.

  “I didn’t lie. He attacked me.” I push up to sitting so I can look him dead in the eye.

  “Miss Davies, there’s no way he could have attacked you. We’ve found mobile, CCTV and witness intelligence that he cycled back to college at the time you were attacked.”

  “But I remember him arguing with me and then the pain and then his eyes floating above me.” My pulse races, why is he calling me a liar?

  “There is no way Callum Carter-Wright could have attacked you unless he’s developed the ability to be in two places at once. The CCTV footage clearly places him in an entirely different location at the time you were attacked.” He pauses. “The person who attacked you appears to have been a random stranger.” He delivers the final sentence like it’s a final verdict.