ROMAIN
“Ican’t believe the bitch reported us,” Carter moans for the fucking hundredth time. He’s pissed because when his father found out about him skipping class, he took away his car privileges for the rest of the term. He didn’t care about the girl. My father couldn’t give a rat’s ass either, though I still lost my winter skiing trip. Only Zane got off lightly. His parents don’t give a shit what he does as long as he gets scouted for a national swim team.
None of us got any black marks. The school knows not to fuck with our families to that extent, and the assault allegation was never going to stick because Lacey wanted it. Just like Miss James, fucking Arabella, wants it.
“Whoever breaks the bitch gets these,” I announce, throwing a handful of tickets to my father’s private box for the Monaco Grand Prix on the table.
Ever since she walked in on us in the clinic, the boys have been discussing what they can do to pay her back. I get it. It’s a new term, and the lads are already bored as fuck. It’s been a while since Mercia House bet on something interesting. Fucking the new girl just doesn’t cut it anymore. It’s the bitch’s fault for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. And now I have no other fucking choice.
It’s either play or get played.
Every year there’s usually a bet or two at Reynard’s among the Mercia lads. The one who fucks the most girls, or the one who claims the virgin, wins bragging rights and respect. There’s always a slew of first-year girls eager to open their legs. There’s always one more difficult, the most virginal. Sometimes I join in, but mostly I can’t be fucked. I don’t need respect from these pricks; I have it regardless.
By making Arabella’s punishment into a game, I get to set the rules. Not that I care what happens to her anymore after she made it clear she wants nothing to do with me. But this is my school and my house. I get to say who fucks who and where.
And no one is fucking her except me.
The lads all look at me. Norton eyes the tickets greedily while Carter snorts, looking up from where he’s lazing on one of the chesterfields. We’re in the prefect’s study—a private lounge room in the east wing of the school, overlooking the playing fields. It’s the one place the teachers know to steer clear of, and other students wouldn’t dare enter. Not without my permission. We come here to discuss house matters, although usually it’s accompanied by smoking, snorting, and occasionally a sucking. Girls are allowed, as long as they open their mouths for one thing only.
Carter leans back in his chair. “Since when do you give a fuck about house games?”
“Since this is our last year,” I say offhandedly. “If you’d rather fuck first years….” I casually reach for the tickets. I also don’t want to make a big song and dance about this because Arabella is as good as dead to me the moment she ran to Hunt the Cunt and cried fucking wolf. I mean, I hardly touched her.
It took everything in me not to drag her into that office…
…bend her over that desk...
I stopped when I saw the scars on her wrists. Why the fuck did she try to kill herself? And when? She didn’t have them at Little Bird. I would remember.
Carter laughs, instantly killing the fantasy. “Nah, you’ve already put it down. You can’t retract a bet.” His eyes dip to the tickets on the table. “Although, at least throw in your Mclaren,” he taunts.
“I’m not fucking betting my car,” I say in a bored tone.
“Ah, come on. Why not?” Carter whines like a little bitch.
“I’ve never bet my car. I’m not about to start now.”
“Worried you won’t win? Pretty teacher out of your league, eh?”
“Oh, fuck off,” I snort.
Carter chuckles. “Teachers are usually horny little sluts. I’ll have her sucking my dick by the end of the week.”
I give him an empty smile. The lads don’t know that I’ve already fucked little miss uptight more times than I can remember. Those weeks with her in bed were perfection. She wasn’t my first—Penny Wakefield, my mother’s friend from the PTA, was my first, but Bella was the first girl to pique my interest and keep it.
And now she’s acting like I’m a fucking pest.
Like I’m desperate for her.
Like I need her that badly.
Scars or not, I’m going to get the boys to break her, then she’ll see how good I was to her. She’ll come crawling back before the term is out. And then…I’ll discard her as I do with all the others. I’ll publicly humiliate her too. That’ll get her out of my head and from under my skin.
“Do we know anything about her?” asks Norton.
I chuck him my phone. On it are the staff records one of my father’s tech guys sent me after hacking into the school database, among others. Everything about Arabella James is there, in black and white. Well, everything I’m willing to share with the lads is.
Norton scans it. “She’s twenty-eight, unmarried. Straight As. Doesn’t seem to have had a boyfriend. Catholic school upbringing. It says Huntington hired her.”