Bad, Bad Bluebloods (Rich Boys of Burberry Prep #2)(69)
Tristan glances irritably in his direction before turning his silver eyes on me. His attention makes me want to shift uncomfortably which just makes me rub against Zack, and then it makes Zack … Well, he’s hard again. Pressed right up against my back. Help me, RuPaul, I pray, because I’m really not all that religious, and I’m not sure who to ask for advice.
“What happened today?” Tristan says, his voice cold and authoritative. Everyone in that room perks up to listen … except Windsor. He yawns and flops down in the chair again, swinging one leg over the arm to watch.
Sucking in a deep breath—air never tasted so good—I quickly relive the story. Only Zack’s warm, muscular arms keep me grounded as I talk about those horrific few moments. They felt like freaking hours, though I know based on my level of consciousness at the end there that it was probably only two or three minutes max.
The Idols listen and then exchange glances.
Zayd’s the first one to speak up.
“Jesus fucking Christ, Marnye.” He sits down on the edge of my bed, refusing to acknowledge any sort of social grace or any boundary between us. He looks at me with those emerald green eyes of his. “Why the hell did you come back here?”
“You guys keep asking me that damn question!” I shout, and the words come out much stronger and harsher than I intend them to. I’m panting as I close my eyes and force myself to breathe. “Why do you think I came back here? I earned a scholarship to the best prep school in the country. Why wouldn’t I come back?” I open my eyes to glare at them. “Despite what your rich idiot asses might think, poor people do not want to be poor. Everyone dreams of being able to feed and clothe their family, to live without having to worry that the electricity is going to be shut off, or that their debit card won’t work when they’re trying to buy groceries. Why did I come back here? Because I want to graduate, go to college, and get a good job. I want to take care of my father, and I want to have a life where I can have kids and take care of them, too.” I pause in my rant and notice that the entire room has gone silent. Even Miranda is staring at me with a new sense of understanding.
It’s shocking, the level of privilege these people have, and they don’t even know it.
“I came back here, so I could get back at you for what you did to me,” I add, and then I just give in and relax against Zack. Even if his dick is digging into my back, I don’t care. He’s clearly not doing it on purpose. “So please stop asking me that question. It’s ignorant and asinine, and it’s not going to get you anywhere.”
“Marnye,” Zayd says, ruffling up his pale blue hair with inked fingers. He glances up at Creed and Tristan before turning back to me. “There’s so … fucking much. I don’t even know where to start or how to tell you without breaking all sorts of Club rules, but …”
“The girls have a bet,” Tristan says, very matter-of-factly. He tucks his fingers into the pockets of his slacks, and gives a tight, unhappy little smile. “They want to see if they can do what Zack and Lizzie couldn’t.” My heart stops beating for a whole minute there, I swear. It’s like it’s been replaced with a cube of ice.
“They didn’t act like they were trying to get me to kill myself: they acted like they wanted to kill me with their bare hands.” Tristan exhales, but it’s Creed who answers, his eyes sliding from me to Miranda and back to me again.
“Well, that’s definitely the bet. The Infinity Club is all about those with power changing the world with the flick of a single finger. If the girls can’t get you—an average commoner—to kill yourself or leave the school, then clearly they aren’t ready to step into the shoes of their respective family businesses.” Creed sounds like he’s discussing the weather, not a disgustingly corrupt and secret billionaire Club with no morals, and an even dumber name. “That’s the gist of it, anyway.”
“Fantastic,” I say, feeling exhausted all of a sudden. But then suspicion starts to creep in. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Despite what you might think,” Tristan snaps at me, “we never wanted you to die.” He turns on his heel and heads for the door, slamming it behind him.
“You should just leave before you get hurt,” Zayd says, pauses, and then adds, “again.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” I snap, glancing over and catching Windsor’s gaze. He winks at me with his pretty hazel eyes.
“There’s not a single club member who doesn’t have the resources to bury you, Marnye,” Creed drawls, leaning back against my wardrobe. “Face it: you’re outnumbered, outranked, and can be out bought at any moment.”
“Not necessarily,” Windsor purrs, standing up and heading for the door. He opens it wide and holds out a hand, indicating to the two remaining Idol boys that it’s time to leave. Reluctantly, they both do. I watch them go, feeling my heart pound like crazy in my chest. This is nuts; this is absolute insanity, I think. I’d heard high school was hell … but I didn’t expect this. “With me by her side, Marnye won’t have to worry about silly things like money.”
Zayd and Creed both glance back in surprise, but Windsor’s already slamming the door in their faces.
Guess they’re surprised I bagged a prince as a friend.