Bad, Bad Bluebloods (Rich Boys of Burberry Prep #2)(21)

I look back at Andrew.

“What are you planning?” he asks me, and I shrug. I’m sort of playing things by ear. I mean, I have a list, but … this is much better, this new idea I’m cooking up. “What do you need from me?”

“Can you help me find Tristan’s and Zayd’s keys?” I ask, and he raises both brows before Zayd pops into the kitchen and interrupts us. It’s awkward as hell when he pauses next to me and sighs, holding a beer bottle in his tattooed right hand. He clears his throat and tosses his chin in the direction of the living room.

“Beat it, Payson,” he says, and Andrew frowns, but exchanges a quick look with me before heading in the direction of the staircase. I’m hoping he’s off to find Tristan’s keys. I turn my attention to Zayd. He returns my stare with a hard one of his own, his hand tightening even harder around the bottle. The motion makes his tattoos look like they’re liable to slide right off his skin like stickers. “Marnye, come on, what are you doing here?”

“I’m partying,” I say, tipping the drink to my lips and swallowing a huge mouthful. Zayd raises his pierced brow at me, teasing his right lip ring with his tongue. He’s painfully beautiful, especially with that silver-gray hair of his. It’s spiked up with gel, and as I watch, he reaches up to tease it with his fingers.

“Did you think last year was a joke? It was a warm-up session, Marnye. You shouldn’t be here.”

“So you keep saying,” I retort, taking another sip of my water. Zayd frowns hard, and tips his beer back. Irresistible by Fall Out Boy and Demi Lovato comes on, and I smile. I don’t know a lot of pop songs, but this is one of Miranda’s favorites. She puts it on a lot when we’re getting ready. “But what are you going to do about it? Is there a medal for destroying me a second time, something to hang up beside your trophy?”

Zayd just stares at and then chucks his beer into the sink. When he steps forward suddenly, I’m so surprised that I move back, my butt bumping into the counter. He puts a hand on either side of me, effectively penning me in. I can smell him now, that sweet tobacco and cloves scent that had me swooning last year. Then I remember that he brought a camera into my room to film us while we made out.

Piece of shit.

“You don’t want to know what the Club will do to you if you don’t leave,” he threatens, using his rockstar purr of a voice. It gives me the chills all over, but I ignore the feeling and narrow my eyes. “What I will do to you if you don’t leave.” He puts a palm on my hip, but I shove his arm off, simultaneously diving into the back pocket of his jeans with one hand while I grab his face with the other.

You can do this, Marnye, you are so badass! I tell myself, but still … doesn’t make this any easier. I kiss Zayd hard and fast, pushing my tongue between his lips at the same time I swipe his car keys. He groans and leans into me, putting his hand back on my hip and squeezing.

Oh my god, no. He tastes so damn good. My body melts into Zayd’s even as my heart and soul remain hard as stone, unyielding and immovable. But those damn hormones … With a gasp, I shove away from Zayd, and stumble, spilling my water all over the floor. I ignore it, crushing the cup under my heels as I flee the room.

Fighting my way through the crowd, I somehow find my way over to Zack.

He takes one look at my face and curses.

“They’re still getting to you,” he growls at me as I stand there with my face flushed, feeling weirdly alien in my short dress and heels. I just look up at him, and I have no idea what to say. That it sucks to be crushing on the very same people you hate? That I know I’m an idiot, that I should be an emotionless badass in a catsuit, as tough and capable as my favorite urban fantasy character.

But I’m not.

“I … I need Tristan’s car keys, and a serious distraction,” I choke out, and Zack raises his dark brows at me. I cannot even believe I’m asking him for help, but there it is. He just stares at me for a moment, and then nods. Without a word, he pushes past me and then pauses when Andrew appears, breathless and holding out a jangling set of keys in his palm. “Thank you,” I tell him, feeling a rush of adrenaline spike through me. I look to Zack, and he smiles with tight lips, pushing forward and finding John Hannibal in the crowd.

John turns to look at him, scowling slightly, and then Zack just hauls back and punches him right in the face.

“Fight!” someone screams, and the crowd surges toward that single point in the room, jostling me and Andrew in the process. I take his hand and push in the opposite direction, toward the back doors and the swimming pool. Once we’re outside, I kick off my shoes and take off running, hauling Andrew along with me.

“Make sure nobody comes out here,” I tell him, heading straight for Tristan’s dad’s Ferrari Spider. For some reason, I want to fuck with him first. Exhaling sharply, and holding strong to that red-hot thread of revenge inside of me, I climb into the driver’s seat, start the vehicle and use it like a bumper car, slamming into the other students’ rides indiscriminately. I don’t go too hard or too fast, just enough to scrape, scratch, and ding as many as I can without making too much noise.

When I get to the edge of the pool, I climb out, put the car in neutral, and then move around behind to push it. Andrew starts to come toward me, but I shake my head, and he goes inside the house. At first, I can’t figure out what he’s up to, but then I hear the volume of the music crank up a few notches. A grin takes over my face as I step back and watch the eighteen million dollar car drive right over the edge, and into the swimming pool.