Bad, Bad Bluebloods (Rich Boys of Burberry Prep #2)(30)

“Well, friend wouldn't quite be the right word.” It takes physical effort, but I resist the urge to tell Charlie that Harper is one of the ones who beat me, and that it was on her orders that it happened at all. I had that chance, last year, when I was questioned by the staff. They all saw what the boys did, how they threw the panties, but hardly anything came of it. Ratting the girls out would likely do little to nothing. No, I'll take my own revenge, thank you very much.

As things stand, the only punishment the boys received was a slap on the freaking wrist. They had their honors and letters from first year rescinded, and I’m pretty sure the academy squeezed some fat donations from their parents. Once again, their money saved them from facing any consequences for their actions.

“Oh?” Charlie asks, looking between Harper and me with a confused expression on his gently wrinkled face. Harper smirks at me, but I could give a shit less. Instead, I reach under my shirt and pull out the necklace. When Tristan ripped it from my neck, the clasp snapped, but I simply tied the chain into a knot. Crafty, right?

When her blue eyes land on the pair of roses dangling on the end, I see her face light up with fury.

“Dad, among other ventures, Harper's family runs Myler Medical Technologies,” I begin as Harper glares at me. “Her sister took over as CEO about ten years ago, and slowly raised the price of the epinephrine injector pen from fifty dollars per injector to six hundred for a two-pack. It raised the company's profits to a record-level two billion dollars per year, and her own salary to nineteen million.” I look from Harper to Charlie. “You know how our neighbor was allergic to bees? And how her insurance wouldn't cover the price difference, so they went without? And then Erica ended up dying from—”

Harper steps so close to me that I actually have to move back a space to keep her from touching me.

“Did your daddy tell you yet how he's got late-stage colon and lung cancer? My family has kindly offered up medical care, free of charge, to help see him through it. Good luck, sweetie.” Harper leans in and kisses me on the cheek as my head spins, and I end up sitting on the bricks without even realizing that I've fallen.

My knees are bloody and Dad’s trying to talk to me, but I can't hear anything but a ringing in my ears.

Zack is there suddenly, his mother by his side, and they’re both trying to help Charlie get me to my feet. I sag in their arms as they lift me up, my head spinning, my stomach twisted with nausea.

“It’s not true,” I whisper, looking up and into my dad’s brown eyes, so like mine that it’s as if I’m staring into a mirror. His hair is tousled by the wind, his smile so sweet and genuine that it feels impossible. It’s impossible. My dad is not dying. He’s not. I refuse to believe it. “Please say it’s not true.” I’m sobbing now, and Zack’s trying to put an arm around me. I jerk away from him and stumble.

“Honey, please sit down,” Dad says softly, but I need a minute. I just need one minute. I turn and run across the courtyard, passing a smirking Harper as I go.

“Please say it’s not true,” she chortles as I sprint past.

My feet skid on the bricks, and I whirl around, tears streaming down my face.

“What did you just say?” I grind out, and Harper tosses her hair.

“You heard me: your dad’s dead without my family’s charity. Try to be a little grateful, bitch.” Red flashes across my vision, and before I can think better of it, I launch myself at Harper. My right fist flies forward and hits her in her pretty face. There’s a satisfying crack of cartilage before blood begins to pour from her nose.

I’ve just broken Rule #1: No Violence.

But … my dad …

“Charity!” a familiar voice calls out seconds before Zayd’s arms wrap around me from behind. I flail and struggle against him, throwing an elbow back that nails him right in the ribs. He grunts, but his tattooed arms stay tight around me. I hit him again and manage to break free before I’m launching myself at Harper and knocking her to the brick walkway.

“Marnye, stop!” Miranda and Kathleen Cabot appear with Creed close behind. He watches with that bored, lazy look of his as the two women yank me off and haul me back several feet. Harper pushes up to her feet, smirking, blood running over her lips. She looks happy about what’s just happened.

And then I realize the mistake I’ve made, and a small, sad sound slips past my lips.

“You are so done, Working Girl,” Harper crows, using the post near her to stay upright. I notice that nobody offers a hand out to her. My eyes dart around the gathered crowd, from Dad, Zack, and his mom, Robin, running up to us, and then over to Miranda, Kathleen, and Creed. Zayd is behind me, panting, his uniform as disheveled and wrinkled as always, his tie hanging loose and crooked. “I’m reporting you.”

Harper reaches up to rub some blood from her face.

“No, you will not,” Kathleen snaps, her voice so fierce that Harper’s attention snaps over to her. “There may not be an official report, but I know what you and your little friends did to Marnye last year. She had broken ribs and a cracked tooth. I’m not usually a supporter of an eye-for-an-eye justice, but young lady, if you don’t walk away and clean yourself up right now, you’ll be expelled right alongside her.”

Harper gapes, her attention going from Kathleen to Robin to Charlie, and then back to me.