Bad, Bad Bluebloods (Rich Boys of Burberry Prep #2)(14)
“This is your last warning: take your meal and go back to your room.”
“Or what, Vanderbilt?” a disturbingly dark voice asks from behind him. Tristan and I turn to find Zack Brooks leaning against the wall with his eyes slitted, his mouth turned up in a crooked scowl. “You gonna beat her like your girlfriend did? Leave her covered in bruises and blood?”
Tristan’s entire body is so stiff that I have to wonder if his muscles hurt, being held like that for so long. He just stares Zack down, and then finally, moves several steps closer. The two boys are toe-to-toe, and honestly, I’m content to watch. Maybe they’ll beat each other up right here in front of everyone, and then start the year with a suspension on their records?
“You think you’re so different,” Tristan purrs, reaching up to run his long fingers through his raven-black hair. “You think because you’re sorry that you’re somehow better than us?” Zack’s hands curl into fists by his sides.
“I never said I was better; I said I was on Marnye’s side. That’s it.” He flicks his gaze past Tristan’s shoulder to meet mine. “I’m already an asshole. I’m already tainted. I won’t let her sully herself to try to combat you. I’ll take you down first.”
Tristan turns, smirking and raising his brows at me.
“You? Take us down?” The laugh that spills from his throat tears my heart in half, but I let it happen, let myself bleed. He never cared about me, not when he was kissing me on the steamboat, not when he was giving me the necklace, not when he defended me in the vice principal’s office. Every single second was fake … wasn’t it? “Please. With what resources? That change I tossed in your piggy bank?”
“I’m going to make you sorry,” I whisper, but not because I’m scared, but because my voice is husky with determination and menace both. Tristan simply laughs at me.
“You and what army?”
“This one,” Miranda blurts, and I jump in my seat. I turn to look at her, my mouth dropping open as I realize she snuck in while I was preoccupied with the boys. Her bookbag is held over one shoulder, her blue eyes hard, mouth set in a thin line.
Creed is standing behind her, frozen in the doorway with his eyes jumping from me to Tristan to Zack, and finally over to Miranda. His mouth curls down in a frown.
“My family has more money than yours, Tristan,” Miranda snaps, dropping her bag to her side as she waltzes into the room, just as much a Blueblood as the rest of them. Her eyes glitter with frustration. “And if I have to give Marnye every cent to bring you down, I will.”
“Creed, put a leash on your bitch of a sister,” Tristan drawls, waving his hand absently. Creed’s face tightens up, and I can see a muscle in his neck working as he tries to push back the rage. “If you don’t, then she’s out of the Inner Circle. I’m done with this crap.”
“Leave it, Tristan,” Creed hisses, taking a few steps forward. “Miranda is off-limits, period. I won’t fight about this again.” Mm. Creed versus Tristan. That’s going to be a useful tool.
“Then kick me out,” Miranda says, reaching under her shirt and pulling out a set of keys. I wonder what those are for and then remember the Gallery and the locked door. A special set of keys, just for the elite members of the school. She chucks them at Tristan’s chest, and just like with the necklace, he manages to catch these, too. “Good riddance.” She moves over to my table, stares Tristan dead in the face, and then hip bumps him out of the way while the Idol girls gasp and squeal like stuck pigs. Miranda grabs her menu, tosses her hair (or tries to anyway), and then looks across the table with a smile. “I have soooo much gossip to tell you,” she begins, and then I know for certain that things are going to be okay between us.
We have a lot of work to do, hard conversations to be had, but this is our new beginning.
I focus on my menu as Andrew moves into the room and takes the third seat. Zack moves for the fourth, but my hand lashes out, and I curl my fingers around the back of the chair.
“I’m not ready,” I tell him, and he nods. But then, of course, he takes up a table one over from us, watching and waiting.
“She’s eating in The Mess,” Zack says, lifting his eyes to look up at Tristan, and then Creed. Zayd comes in a moment later with Becky clinging to his arm like a leech. My blood goes cold at the sight, and I whip out my journal again, scribbling furiously in it. My eyes lift from the page to find Tristan’s gaze locked on me. He scowls and turns away, storming out of the dining hall and slamming the door behind him.
Zayd and Creed say nothing, moving past me to sit at the Bluebloods’ table in the corner.
I glance at Zack, and he gives me a small, private little smile that Miranda notices, sucking in a deep breath.
“You have so much to tell me,” she whispers, and I grin.
It’s good to have her back … even if I don’t trust her. Not yet anyway.
My room is much the same as it was last year with the exception of one thing: new locks on the door. Not that I think it’ll stop the Bluebloods completely, but it should buy me some extra time.
Miranda takes a spot on the end of my bed, and this strenuous silence falls between us. I bite my lip and lean my back against the door, searching for the right words to say.
“There’s so much I need to tell you,” she starts, taking the words right out of my mouth. Her blue eyes flick up to mine, and I hate that her gaze reminds me so much of Creed. I don’t want to think about Creed unless I’m thinking about how to destroy him. “First off: have you heard about Windsor York?”