The Envy of Idols (Rich Boys of Burberry Prep #3)(17)
“Creed and Tristan, they know you're telling me all this?” Zayd shrugs, and then looks back at me, mouth tight.
“I don't care what they think.” Zayd releases me and steps back, just before the doorknob jiggles, and Miranda calls out to me. I turn away from Zayd, grab my phone, and head outside, pushing the door closed behind me.
“What did he want?” she asks, but I just shake my head, and we go downstairs together.
The party is beautiful, the full indoor-outdoor living of the house brought to life with paper lanterns, tables full of food, and soft but upbeat music. People mill around in swimsuits and expensive gowns both, talking and laughing. For the most part, the crowd is older, but there's a small group of students out back, near the open gate that leads down to the beach.
The boys are all there—Tristan, Creed, Windsor, and Zack—as well as Andrew and Lizzie.
In the corner, huddled together for protection, there's Ben, Harper, and Becky.
“Seeing the three of them standing on my property,” Miranda starts, narrowing her eyes and flipping Harper off when she turns our way, “it's just infuriating. It makes me sick to my stomach. My mother knows the things that girl has done. She knows it, and yet …” Miranda sighs as we pick our way between the party guests. “She can't exactly stand up to the Infinity Club by herself. We might be rich, but sometimes those old money bonds are impossible to break.”
“It's okay,” I say with a slight smile, “I get it.”
Really, I'm standing there thinking that growing up with Charlie in the Train Car in the Cruz Bay Trailer Park was the best thing that ever happened to me. These people are insane. All they care about is money, appearance, and power. There's a total lack of compassion or empathy or care. My stomach starts to hurt again, and I think that at the very least, maybe I made some kind of impact on these boys?
Maybe Tristan, Zayd, Creed, and Zack will think a little differently about how they behave in the future?
“From now on, I'll try to be a better man. It wasn't Marnye’s job to teach me how to be one, but she already has anyway.”
My eyes lock on Zack's as we move across the small stretch of lawn toward him. He smiles at me as we approach, and I take up a position on his right side.
“You and Zayd were up there a long time,” Creed remarks, leaning against the short white fence like he can barely keep himself upright. “Find anything interesting to talk about?” I give him a look, and there must be something to my expression because he quickly stands upright and shuts his mouth.
“We were just discussing Ben Thresher,” Windsor says, enunciating the boy's name to the point that it'd be impossible for him to miss it. “His family owns Thresher Chicken, a big factory farm conglomerate.” The prince tilts his head to one side as he studies me, hazel eyes burning. “You did say you'd like to get Ben before the week was over, didn't you?”
“What—” Tristan starts to say, but there's a sudden hubbub amongst the other partygoers as several cars pull up, one of which is a police car. The other has a man and a woman in plainclothes, but they both very quickly bring up their badges, and nod to be let through the side gate.
We all watch as they make their way straight over to Ben.
“What was you said?” Windsor asks, drawing my attention away from the spectacle and back to him. “Hang them with their own rope?” The detectives—because that must be what they are—start talking to Ben. In the meantime, several other cars and vans pull up, and out climb news reporters with cameras rolling.
“Hang them with their own rope,” I repeat in awe, as Windsor grins and taps his fingers against the side of his glass.
“Well, I may have called several news stations and let on that Ben Thresher, son of the CEO of Thresher Meats was being hauled in for sexual assault.” Windsor shrugs his shoulders and gives me this wicked little smile. “That was my special, little touch. Well, that and I've guaranteed he won't be paying off or intimidating the girl he assaulted. She's safe, and well-taken care of.”
“He hurt another girl?” I ask, and the idea is just too terrible to put much thought to. Windsor nods and looks me straight in the eye.
“I didn't make that up; I wouldn't make that up. Look, there, milady, I'm learning from you.” Windsor grins and grabs a pair of hor d'oeuvres off of a passing tray. “Mini beef wellington?” He holds it out to me, but I'm locked in place, watching as Ben is dragged from the party in handcuffs.
“How on earth did you find out about that?” Tristan asks, turning to look at Windsor. The prince stops smiling, setting the beef wellingtons on a plate that's been abandoned on a nearby table. He wipes his hand on his shorts and stares Tristan down.
“I have my ways, Mr. Vanderbilt. If there are skeletons in the closet, I'll find them.” Windsor's eyes track across the group as Zayd makes his way over to us, pausing as he senses the tension in our little gathering. “That goes for everyone here: if there's something you want to confess, I suggest you do it before it's too late.”
I shiver.
Windsor York is scary.
No, not just scary, he's terrifying.
At least he’s on my side.
Summer back home with Dad is much less eventful than my single week in the Hamptons. I only just barely glimpsed what next year’s going to be like and already, I’m gearing up for all-out war.