Bad, Bad Bluebloods (Rich Boys of Burberry Prep #2)(34)

I toyed with this for a while, wondering if it broke rules two and three: No friendly fire and No innocent bystanders. But … all I did was reveal the truth.

Briefly, I close my eyes. I don’t need to see the video to know that it says.

There’s Zack, telling me to kill myself and filming it. He sent me the video, too, all those years ago, emailed it to me, so I could watch it over and over again. I never told anyone. Not once. But I still had it, buried under years of other emails.

It’s followed by his voice, from just a few days ago. When I made that bet, I didn’t think about the name and face of the girl who would die. I’m sorry. A hundred times over, I’m sorry. But I did it: I made that bet to get you to kill yourself, and I came at you relentlessly. There is no such thing as forgiveness for me.

Let’s see how this zero tolerance bullying policy works.

Zack’s face falls as his mother turns to him, looking at her son like she doesn’t even recognize him. His helmet falls from his fingers, and within minutes—minutes—phones all across the stadium are pinging with the link to the video. Students share it with each other, leaning their heads together and whispering. Parents see it. It’s out there, and it can’t be taken back.

My heart is racing so fast that I feel dizzy, and everyone is looking at me now.

“May I use the restroom?” I ask Coach Hannah, and she blinks stupidly at me. There’s pity and sympathy in her gaze now, but I don’t care. She nods, and I push past the other girls, heading for the long, dark tunnel that leads from the locker rooms to the field.

As soon as I’m hidden in its shadowy depths, I lean my back against the wall, my breath coming in panting gasps.

When I hear footsteps, I don’t expect to see Zack storming down the hall, his face dark and drawn in. He sees me and pauses close, too close, so close that I can see the pain in his eyes. I expect, like Zayd, for him to throw his hurt back in my face.

“I’m not playing in tonight’s game,” he whispers, and we both know that that means: Burberry Prep will lose. “And I’m off the team.” I purse my lips, and he closes his eyes, his head sagging, chin falling to his chest. “In-school suspension, at a minimum. No off-campus privileges. My Mom’s going to disown me.” He groans and crouches down, putting his hands over his face. For a moment, I just watch him. “They’re going to discuss the rest of my punishment on Monday.”

“You deserve it, every single scrap of it,” I tell him, pulling back a few inches, like I’m afraid he’s going to strike out at me. Zack stands up suddenly and tears his jersey over his head, dumping his shoulder pads to the floor with a growl.

When he turns to me, he’s shirtless and sweaty and glorious.

Too bad I hate him.

“You’re right,” he blurts suddenly, and my eyes go wide with shock.

“Ex-excuse me?”

Zack takes several steps towards me and pauses, swiping his palm down his face.

“You’re right. Marnye, you’re right.” He drops his hands by his sides, and it’s freaking impossible for me not to notice how muscular his arms are, how rounded his biceps, how flat his chest. My breath hitches as he takes a step forward, and I cross my arms over my chest to keep myself in check. Zack’s eyes drop down to my waist, and his brows go up. When he reaches out to me, my heart stops in my chest. He takes the edge of my skirt and with a little tug, pulls me forward. His fingers dive under my waistband, searing me with wicked hot heat and dragging my waistband down just far enough that he can see my tattoo.

He lets out a long string of curses, his voice so dark it’s almost scary.

“Marnye, what is this?”

“The Infinity Club,” I start, sucking in a deep breath and puffing out my chest. I wish he’d take his fingers away. It feels good for him to touch me like that, and that’s the last thing I want. I won’t let myself get soft on these guys. There’s nothing sexy or cool or endearing about being an asshole. If this were a bully romance, well, I’d probably end up marrying Miranda because I just don’t abide by bullies. “They’re going to learn that they can’t treat people like collateral damage.”

Zack rubs his knuckles against my tattoo, and curses again before lifting his eyes to mine.

“You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into,” he whispers, and I purse my lips. I know that, and yet … I can’t seem to control myself. These rich a-holes need to learn that a person is a person, no matter the size of their bank account. There’s no such thing as Social Darwinism or royalty or Idols, it’s all a fa?ade, a bunch of bullshit that lets certain people get a free pass for throwing away their humanity. “You don’t have the resources or the insider knowledge to take down the club.”

“I don’t—” I start, and Zack leans in toward me, so close that I can see his pulse thundering in his throat, can trace the beads of sweat running down his muscular chest.

“But I do,” he says, and his eyes fall to my lips. My body trembles as his huge form towers over me, his knuckles stroking my tattoo. Damn hormones. He leans in a little bit closer. “I can help you, Marnye.”

“I’m never going to fall for you,” I blurt, but my eyes can’t seem to look anywhere but the thickness of his lower lip. “Never.”