one
Content Warning: This book is extreme. If you have ANY hard limits, do not continue. If you proceed, do so with caution.
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Harper Apple
The Monday after we fuck, Royal ghosts me. I’m not about to act all desperate, especially since he thinks I want to be his girlfriend, so I ignore him back and go about my business. It’s not easy, though. My fucking heart is in knots. I knew sex with him would not be casual. I knew my heart was already too wrapped up in him, and my head too fucked up by him, for our hookup to be meaningless. And the way he acted afterwards only pulled me in deeper.
He said he wanted to do it again, and he took steps to prove it, making me believe he meant it. I should know better than to believe a word from his lying lips. But I did.
I’m pissed and yeah, fucking hurt, but I try not to care about Royal’s disinterest. I try not to panic at the thought that he’s done with me, and not because I’ve caught feelings, but because I need answers. I’m not done with him. I’m just starting. I’ve just barely gotten in with the boys—or I thought I had. He acted that way. Now, he’s giving me the one-and-done treatment.
Last time a boy did that to me, I was thirteen and didn’t know how to handle it. But I’m older, if not wiser, now. And Royal Dolce is not Colin Finnegan. He doesn’t go around school telling everyone I gave it up easy. He doesn’t say anything. And neither does anyone else.
That’s what gives me hope that I didn’t fuck up the whole master plan before I could learn one damn thing about him.
If anyone didn’t already know I’m Royal’s plaything, they do now. There’s even a picture of the stunt I pulled on Friday at the game in Dixie’s blog, or so I’m told. Whatever the case, no one so much as mentions the video or says the word blowjob to me, which is a welcome relief. I can’t help but think it has less to do with my sign proclaiming myself to be Royal’s ho, and more to do with him showing up at the quarry and pronouncing to the whole town that I was his.
Since Dixie didn’t witness the fight on Friday night, I was hoping that part would escape her blog, but apparently Gloria filled her in on the gory details, so now the whole school knows that Royal “rescued” me from some asshats—and of course they think he’s some kind of hero, even though I would have finished them off if he hadn’t come along to mop up the last two for me.
More than that, everyone knows I’m untouchable.
If that’s all I get in exchange for fucking Royal, I’ll take it.
I slide in next to Dixie in class on Tuesday afternoon before the rest of the group arrives and finally have a chance to talk to her alone for the first time in a week. It’s been ten days since Royal almost killed our friend.
“Have you heard from Colt?” I ask, glancing at the door. I know she keeps that on the DL, and I’m not trying to get her in trouble with anyone.
“Yeah,” she says. “He’s awake, but he’s going to have to get some major reconstructive surgeries.”
“Fuck,” I say, shaking my head, as if that can drive away the image of my friend before the attack, his shiny blond hair down to his ears and designer shades that didn’t seem to match the roughness of the beautiful, tattooed rebel boy with bitter eyes and guarded smiles. I try not to think about that face being bashed in by Royal’s fists, teeth snapping, nose caving in, the sound of the blows becoming muted when they were no longer hitting bone.
I grip my desk, trying not to puke up the breakfast I just ate.
“Yeah,” Dixie says. “It’s bad, Harper. He might have to have a metal plate put in part of his face. They destroyed him.” Her voice cracks on the last word, and she wipes a tear away.
“I’m sorry,” I say, feeling all kinds of fucked up that I slept with the boy who did that to Colt just a week later. “I didn’t realize it was that bad. I mean, I knew, but… I thought he’d be back.” My own throat tightens at the thought of never seeing my brave, wounded friend again.
“His family thinks he’s going to finish out the year online,” she says. “That’s what Preston did last year after… You know.”
“I don’t actually know,” I say, lowering my voice to a whisper. I’m a gossipy bitch like the next girl. I want to hear all the whispers about the Dolces. “What did they do?”
“I knew it was coming,” she whispers. “I tried to tell him. The only reason they let him stay was because of Mabel, and even that protection doesn’t last for—”
She breaks off in the middle of her word, and I turn to see Baron sauntering in, his sucker tucked in the corner of his mouth. His eyes skim over us, studied indifference on his face, though Dixie’s sudden silence must give away that we were talking about him. Without acknowledging us, he takes his seat at the table across the room where he sits with Gloria and their friends. He must be used to the attention. I don’t want to wonder or care if he hates it as much as Royal, but I do.
Dixie doesn’t finish her thought, like she’s afraid he has a spy microphone that can carry her voice to the far corner.
“Can I ask you something about the Darlings?” I whisper, leaning close to her so she won’t be afraid he’ll overhear. “Are any of them in prison?”
“Yeah,” she whispers, her eyes widening. “Preston’s dad. He got sentenced for murder, but pretty much everyone knows he was framed by you-know-who.”
Her gaze cuts to Baron, who’s staring at his laptop screen as it starts up.
“Is he the kind of person who would want revenge for that?”
“Oh, yeah,” she says. “Totally. Colt says he’s a real bastard. Why?”