Here Lies a Saint: A Dark Bully Academy Romance Read online

Her name makes my skin crawl. My dad has never been faithful, not to anything but his wallet and dick, but of course, for a ceremony that matters, he would bring his mistress.

  The cunt.

  Memories of her cross my mind. Goosebumps break across my body, a silent chill, making sure to hit me where it matters most. I shake the feeling every moment with her brings, hoping all the contempt I cart will somehow evaporate.

  "Are you inept?" Dad's tone brooks no argument. I must've not caught what he said.

  "I'm sorry?" I wonder aloud.

  "You know how much I dislike repeating myself, Lennox."

  "I'm sorry, Dad. There's been a lot of stuff happening."

  "I was making sure you had everything ready for tomorrow. Nothing can go wrong. No matter how you feel about the girl."

  I close my eyes, swallowing the bile, praying for strength, and hating my father more and more.

  "Understood. Everything has been prepped for weeks."

  "Excellent. We'll be seeing you. Edgington will be there as well. Do not disrespect me.”

  He doesn’t even have to add the or else. I know what he's capable of, what he'll do. My body is a monumental moniker for the scars he's given me.

  He hangs up on me, and when I place my phone in my pocket, I feel like I can breathe for the first time.

  "What did he want?" Jordan bristles, his face untrusting. I didn’t notice him come to my room, but he leans against the door frame like a nuisance.

  Do I blame him for being untrusting? No. Do I want to divulge about the conversation? Not preferably. Do I hate him? Abso-fucking-lutely.

  “Just stating the obvious. The founding families will be here tonight. He wants the tower set up for them."

  "That all?" he prods, crossing his arms.

  "That's it." I sigh, running a hand through my hair.

  "What about that kiss with Jay?"

  I can't resist the laugh that bubbles from me. The fucking audacity. Is he my keeper now? "Jealous, Walker?"

  His eyes narrow, and he's closing the distance between us. He's gotta stop doing that.

  "And if I am?"

  Our bodies are close, too close. His intoxicating scent infiltrates my senses, my panting a response of nature. Has to be. I'm not affected.

  "Seems like your expectations are too high."

  He grabs my collar, the same move he seems to be subjecting me to every time we're close. Luckily, I'm wearing a cheap Henley and jeans, not a private collection Bespoke suit.

  "I'm not gay, Walker."

  Jordan snorts, his face amused, and I hate the smugness of it. "Not gay," he mocks snidely. "Just likes dicks in his ass, mouth, and hands."

  Hard muscle meets my palms as I brace to push him, but he's faster than me, grabbing them and slamming them above my head.

  "Tell me not to kiss you, passerotto," he rasps. Little sparrow. Why a bird at all?

  My momentary lapse of being stalled on a pet name, he takes it as acceptance and claims my mouth.

  He bites into my bottom lip, and I groan at the sting of his fierceness. He's addicting, salacious, everything I could hope for in a partner.

  But he's not my partner.

  I hate labels.

  I hate his power over me.

  I hate him.

  Aggression meets my wrists as I try to fight his pressure. In turn, he groans and grinds into me. Returning the favor, I bite his lip, hissing with victory when the salty flavor of his blood hits me. Take that, dick. When he pulls back, a churlish smile sneaks onto his face, his eyes alight with pleasure.

  "Stay away from me," I revile, my words almost a slur.

  This makes his grin widen, passionate chaos twinkling in his eyes. "Scared you'll like me better than my brother, Lennox?"

  His words alone are enough to make a man weak, and I'll be that man because the words fucking hurt.

  Something in his mind clicks, and his enthusiastic nod is about to make me deck him in the nose. "That's why you two were near fucking." A smirk curves his lips. "He wanted to taste what's left of Maxim?"

  "Fuck you," I spit, my voice higher and more aggressive than necessary.

  "That's what I want, passerotto." He touches my wet lips slowly, tracing them with measure. "To fuck you until you realize my brother is dead and my cock is right here."

  Anger fuels me to push into him. "The more you talk about Maxim, the less likely I am to do anything with you."

  "Ha!" he jests. "Your dick is hard as fuck at the prospect of me filling you, Lux."

  Narrowing my eyes at him, I allow myself to feel the desire in my bones. My erection presses against my jeans, begging for anything. Friction, touching, a fucking kiss...

  "Kiss me," I demand, and he raises his eyebrows and then leans forward. "But know that even Justice kisses better than you."

  Cruel words for the cruel boy. He doesn't stop his pursuit, though. If anything, his tenacity is harsher, more deliberate.

  He crushes me against the wall, our lips battling a war neither of us truly know the meaning about. "Fuck, Lennox. You taste so bitter it's addicting." His momentary need for words gives me the power to flip us and force him against the wall.

  Bare your teeth.

  Spill your blood.

  Taste them both on my tongue.

  "No one ever claimed I was sweet," I tsk. "You should listen to them. I'm no one's bitch, Walker."

  He smiles up at me in a happy daze, and I hate how perfect he looks.

  Leaning into his throat, I take a bite at his pulse point. He groans, and I lick it. Then my mouth powers against him, desperate to leave a mark so he's unable to forget, just like the one he left me after he sucked me off.

  "Want everyone to know you want my cock, passerotto?" Jordan muses, his voice husky and lustful.

  Begrudgingly, I pull back to see the smug look on his face. "Maybe I want them to know you want mine so badly you attack it every chance you get."

  "Attack it?" he mocks, "I haven't even begun to graze the surface of what I want to do to you."

  I wave a snide hand. "If you're so fucking inclined, Walker. Show me."

  As if triggering a switch in his head, he forces me to the bed and throws me down onto it.

  "Don't act like this wasn't your intention, Lux. Either way, I'm going to punish your ass." He presses into me.

  I relax backward, folding my arms behind my head. He huffs and removes his shirt. I'm caught completely off guard, hissing in a breath at the sight of him. Usually, you can only see the tattoos across Jordan's arms. Since coming back, I haven't seen him shirtless once. Now, with his bare chest, tattoos splayed across, and that fucking trimmed waist, I'm ogling.

  "If I knew being shirtless was all it'd take for you to have my dick, I'd have walked around naked," he jokes, but I see the pride in his eyes. He works for his body, as do I. It's one of those things that boosts our egos to be stared at with awe.

  "Shut up." The words are reactionary.

  The amusement doesn't leave his eyes. He leans down, indenting the bed with his weight. His knees are on either side of me, holding me hostage in a way that makes me crave more. I can't help my hands going to his hips, wanting to feel the muscles and veins beneath my fingertips, but I tread lightly, worrying about how fast this is moving, how much I want it, and how Colt will see me if she knew I planned on fucking another guy or, more so, letting him fuck me.

  "Why do you look worried, Lux?"

  The question isn't callous or demeaning. He caught the little bit of nerves from me. I haven't had sex—like this—since Maxim. No one, and I mean, no one, has ever touched me intimately like this.

  "I-I, uh," I stumble over what I need to say, but the only thing that comes out sounds bad even coming from me. "Are you even clean?"

  Flinching at my own words, I watch his worry turn into shock but not the offending kind. "Are you offering to let me take you bareback?"

  It's soft, a whisper, a promise. That's not what I meant. I didn't even let Maxim go bar
e inside me. It was more of me stumbling over my anxiety than anything else.

  "T-that's—"

  "Chill, Romeo. I was joking. Yes, I'm clean. I'm guessing that's why you had me wear one with Colt?" He deflects my own discomfort like a pro.

  Giving him an appreciative glance, I nod.

  "Guys!" Ross opens my bedroom door, seeing the position we're in. Jordan above me, shirtless, me holding onto his hips... it looks bad even to me.

  The glint in Ross’ eyes, the envy and discourse, it hurts me. I've always told him no to fucking around. Always. Even when I wanted him.

  "I'll be whatever you need," Ross admits.

  Our faces are flushed. We’ve ran five miles, and I'm trying to erase the pain Maxim's death brought me six months ago. His brother is here, offering me comfort, but what the fuck does he know? He didn't lose the first guy he ever fucked.

  Turning to my best friend, I see the need to help me in his eyes. "You are, Ross. Surviving this wouldn't be—"

  He stops my words with his mouth, his lips crushing mine with the weight. He tastes exactly how I imagined he would—tangy, frantic, lively, Twizzlers and sugar, a sweet concoction of all I’ve ever wanted.

  I let his tongue trace my lips before I pull him back. "We can't," I plead. "Don't make us ruin what we have."

  His eyes fill with shame, and he gets up, rushing off to the tower.

  "Fuck," I hiss, hating that he has any sort of feelings for me.

  Shaking the memory, I glance at my best friend. Before being able to say anything, he glares, his scorn visible. "Fuck this shit. I'm done."

  I'm about to rush after him when Jordan presses a hand to my chest, flattening me. "Let him be."

  "He's hurting," I argue.

  "And seeing you with a fucking hickey will help that?"

  I nearly forgot already. Jordan left one. Colt cut me, and Justice made sure his mark was present too.

  The fuck is happening? How did I go from wanting one girl to wanting every single person who has ever meant something to me?

  Chapter Twelve

  Colt

  "Do you remember that time we were visiting Valentine's Edge and those tools thought they could tell us what to do?" Cass asks, his face filled with beguilement. We’re sitting in our bunker, it’s the summer before school starts.

  His question makes me think back to the moment we met the Logans. We'd met at the Sin Bin. Vivian Logan had been sipping a margarita, and Cass and I had been lost, trying to find where our mothers went.

  She immediately recognized Cassidy. The Valridge Trojans were always tied with Arcadia. Their rugby teams had so much venom toward each other.

  She called Cassidy hot, and he'd flirted back with her. It was the first time I'd ever seen him enjoy the attention from a girl.

  "Her brothers were not a fan of you." I laugh at the face he makes at the mention of Vivian’s three brothers.

  "That's because they were worried I'd dick their sister," he mutters on a sigh. "She's definitely not my type."

  I stare at him. We may be best friends and siblings who tell each other everything, but Cass has never talked about his love life.

  "Who is your type?" I bravely implore, wondering if he'll shut me down.

  He scrunches his nose as if it's displeasing to speak of such things, but I'm his sister. He should never feel the need to hide from me.

  "Hot, aggressive, takes what they want," he finally admits and takes a drink of his coffee. “A little nerdy, perhaps.”

  Cass and I couldn’t be more different in personalities. He’s an athlete, someone who constantly gets fawned over. I’m popular by default. He's my ticket to the highest table, and I don't like it there. Being mellow is more my place, but accepting friendships is comforting. I no longer have to go shopping alone and deal with assholes.

  "That's pretty specific," I mention, biting the inside of my cheek to stop me from asking more questions that aren't my place.

  "It's a specific person, so it makes sense, little sis."

  Little sis. He's barely older than me! I roll my eyes, not wanting to make him stop talking to me about what matters.

  "What about you?" he questions.

  Shit. That's my biggest fear. I'm only sixteen. I shouldn't be fawning over guys, but here I am, obsessed with several. Moms calls me boy crazy, Yang, too, but Cass is so protective telling him would make him upset.

  "Douchey seems to be my type," I joke, but in reality, it's true. If there was a sticker on the foreheads of the guys who make me smile a little too much, a little too often, it would label them as tools.

  He groans and runs a hand through his hair. "You know, I'm sad I asked. You dating anyone isn't something that brings me joy." With a scrunched face, he shakes his head. "How about you stay single for life and be the best aunt?"

  Smacking him lightly, I laugh, unable to keep the happiness at bay. "You're such an ass, Cassidy Amos."

  "Oooh, I'm in trouble, little sis called me by my middle name."

  I smack him again for that comment, and he tickles me.

  "Stop it!" I shout, squirming away from him. "Okay, okay!" Another round of tickles and giggles resume. "I'll be an amazing aunt!"

  He chuckles with mirth and smiles broadly. "You'll be an amazing anything, Col. I have no doubt."

  I wake up to the memory I placed somewhere safe, but I don't smile. It's one of those cherished moments of happiness, which don’t happen, not since Cass is gone. They're as painful as they’re bittersweet.

  Knowing he's gone drains me, but knowing I got some of the best moments with him is heartwarming in a way I never knew I needed.

  I don't know what time it is. I'm not even sure if it's the same day, the next, or anything more. After Bridger threatened me and left, I passed back out. The need to just release the stress and deprivation out of my system was alarmingly necessary.

  Slow but surely, I sit up. My body feels stiff, stuck in a position too long I'm sure. I've cut on so many occasions this isn't exactly a routine I'm unused to.

  Hell, I didn't even eat.

  Fuck. I didn't eat.

  My pills.

  Shit.

  Trying to push myself, I feel dizzy almost immediately.

  "I wouldn't do that," a dark and deep voice sounds out. It's not one I'm used to or one I recognize, but it invites the shivers and goosebumps all the same.

  "Who are you?" I question, my voice raspy with sleep and dry from lack of sustenance.

  "Don't remember me, kiddo?" The man stands, and fuck, he's tall and broad with hair as dark as the blackest night in Arcadia, short and nearly buzzed. I'm struck stupid at the thought that he's a student or even resident here.

  This man is the type of scary that offers nightmares and imagery of him slaughtering people with his fists in his spare time. He's covered in tattoos from what I can see, at least. His throat has an emblem that looks vaguely familiar, vines traveling toward his shirt line.

  Sporting a plain white tee, dark fitted jeans with rips, he appears like a hipster, but the age around his eyes, the teardrop piercing, and aggressive frown has me questioning his intentions. There's not a thing familiar about him.

  "No, I really don't," I bite. It isn't aggression but more annoyance. What is it with adults thinking they’re special and should be recognized?

  "That's too bad," he ponders aloud, bringing a thumb to his lip.

  His hands are covered in ink, much like mine. His fingers readout, "Grim." What that means, I'm unsure, but I can't look away. He has a large ring on his other hand. It's covering another tattoo. If a mobster or gangster had a stereotype, it would be this man standing in front of me.

  "Is there a reason you're here?" I ask.

  Why am I not scared? There’s not a single part of me that fears this man. He’s invading my space, is off-putting, and is flagrantly trying to get something from me. Whether it's information, my life, or something else entirely, he wants something.

  He smiles. It's small, al
most amused in a larger sense, but it doesn't seem awkward. His smile morphs him from scary to soft, like his appearance is meant to make others fear him, but to those around him, he's meant to just be himself. Ink adds to that personality. Much like me.

  "Just wanted to see you before I'm off," he comments. He comes to the bed, crouching so we're eye-level. "Don't trust anyone, luce dei miei occhi."

  Italian? Shit. That's one language I never felt the need to understand.

  His hand takes a toxic green strand between his fingers, placing it behind my ear with a tenderness I'm not used to.

  "And you?" I can't help but ask as he stands.

  A smirk molds itself on his face. “Especially not me,” he answers, and as soon as he was here, he’s gone, and it takes me too long to chase him. There's no sign of him anywhere.

  Shit.

  There's no sign of anyone. Why did they bring me here? I stare at the place that haunts me, the one I've never been fond of, the one I'd obliterate from my memories if I could.

  The place where my brother's life came to an end.

  "Why here?" I mutter cruelly to the main room. "How could you?"

  I search for my phone for a good ten minutes before finding it on the kitchen counter, displaced. Worry sets in that they've somehow hacked it. I've had a password for as long as I can remember, but I also have a fingerprint scan. They could have used my hand in my sleep state to open it.

  There's nothing too sketchy on here. I don't even have the pictures the boys used to send me, except the twins.

  Fuck.

  The twins are probably worried sick.

  Wait... Pru was here. My mind travels back to my foggy memories of Cass visiting me, Bridger carrying me, Prudence cuddling me, and Bridger threatening me.

  My heart thumps erratically, each morsel of memory making me on edge. Why would I conjure up my brother? Was my weed that heavy?

  Unlocking my cell, I notice the influx of messages, mostly from Moms, Mel, and a random number.

  Mel: Where are you?

  Mel: Justice said you were coming here?

  Mel: Are you okay?

  Mel: Please text back. I'm worried. After Yang...

  Mel: Just text me back, Colt. Please.

  Moms: Where is my precious?