Reckless Hate: A Bully High School Romance (enemies-friends-enemies-lovers-enemies) (Westbrook Blues Book 1) Read online

  When push came to shove—and it was a petty, insignificant push like a fucking break-in that caused it—she up and left just like that. Never once turning back to see the flames of her absence burning down this wretched city.

  She fucking named us, brought us together, then she just. . .fucking left. I always thought that she would be stronger than that. That she would at least be able to take the shit that is my life—our lives—and stay. But she proved me wrong on the worst day of my fucking life.

  No matter, she is back and I have so much shit in store for her. I know for a fact that she isn’t ready for any of it.

  “She’s going to blame us for his death.” Emmett says, predicting what might happen in the near future. I know where he is going with this.

  We’ve been keeping tags on her from here. We practically know everything that she did in London. Who she hung out with, all the suicide missions she decided to take up while she was there.

  We also know that she is smarter than most and her connection with her twin brother cannot be comprehended or underestimated. I know for a fact that once she hears all the stories and what supposedly happened to George, she will have a sinking suspicion in her. When it doesn’t immediately add up, she will go digging. And when that doesn’t prove to be fruitful, she will blame us, George made sure to plant the right seeds.

  “That’s if Richard and Amanda do their part and make sure that she doesn’t go anywhere.” I say after a while as we drive through town all the way to the cemetery.

  “So, she is already enrolled at Westbrook Blues High?” Noah questions after a while and I frown.

  “You are still on the line?” I grit out. He isn’t taking any of this seriously.

  “What? I like to stay involved and on top of things, if you know what I mean.” He says with a chuckle. “Besides all that, I have to look like I’m not paying attention to these boys in black so I can grab that copy.”

  “You have the false one with you?” Emmett questions because we all know how unfocused Noah can be and when that happens, he forgets important steps, jeopardizing the entire operation. It’s a wonder that when we were younger, he was much sharper, much smarter. That was all before Astraea just up and left. Leaving chaos and wreckage in her wake like it never mattered to her.

  “Yes asshole, I got it. Oh, and speak of the devil, here comes my newest friend with a passion for my wheels, Officer Lang with the report. Stay on the damn line.” With that the line crackles, we can hear Noah talking to the Officer, telling him that he was an old friend of the deceased and wanted to know what happened to him. Asking about how he died.

  “You think we should let them investigate?” Emmett asks. I shake my head.

  “No. That would be playing directly in their hands.”

  “You do know that this has everything to do with the fourth clause right?” Emmett points out and don’t I know that.

  The fourth clause, something that my shithead of a father introduced years ago as some kind of factor in which the powers that reign supreme over Westbrook Blues would expand from being just three families to include to a fourth family.

  Since that asshole, Philip King introduced said clause, families from all over America and of course, the top, wealthiest families from Westbrook, have been fighting tooth and nail for that fourth family spot. Selling their first born children, their souls and anything in between for that coveted position of immense power. However, my father being who he was, knew what he was doing all along. First, he allowed the word about the fourth clause to spread to all the continents but even then, he had his eyes set on exactly who he wanted to take that fourth position. And not for reasons of equality, no, my father wanted a puppet and he got it.

  It all started eleven years ago when he had the Fields move in.

  “Yeah. We need to find out which families were the finalists in that fucking dog and pony show my father pulled all those years ago.” It’s got to be one of those sour asshats. “You know how the great Philip King likes people to battle it out like gladiators for his approval.”

  I say that with all the sarcasm that I can muster but really, I hate him. I hate my father so much that now all I’m doing is biding my time until I act. His fucking time is coming.

  “That fucktard is messed up.” Emmett says with a frown, his jaw clenched as we think back to the many things my father made us do when we were younger—things that benefited him and his empire. Then when the Fields moved in, he pounced on the opportunity of having four boys—heirs—to do his dirty work for him. Now because of him, George is gone.

  “Okay, I got it!” Noah’s triumphant voice floats through the speakers again. Shit, I almost forgot, again, that he was there to begin with. Shit, she hasn’t been back to Westbrook longer than a few hours and already my concentration has gone to shit.

  “You do know that she is now the queen of rebelling, right?” Noah questions.

  “George did say she was a whole lot different now. She is going to fight us.” Emmett agrees. I drive through the church gates and park the car at the very back where no one will notice my car. We need to get what we need before the service starts.

  “Alex?” Noah’s voice filters through again, snapping me back to attention. I can’t seem to shake her face out of my head. “What should we do if she fights?”

  I think back to just a few minutes ago when I saw her. Unbeknownst to my friends and her, I have kept a close eye on her over the years. I know that she is different, hell she does feel different—she is a hell raiser and she just lost her twin brother.

  From what George told us, she never planned on coming back here, ever, so her presence although not planned, is a sign that she will do anything for her brother. We made sure to take the necessary precautions over the last year and if she is smart, she will pick it all up. I know for a fact that she will always side with George, so if he told her that he was not speaking terms with us, she will most likely not bother talking to us.

  Not that she ever bothered to established some kind of fucking communication after she left.

  “She will fight.” I conclude, thinking back to that look in her eyes when we were behind the SUV that her butler drove from the airport. I know what she was rummaging around in her luggage for, but that’s something else I need to sort out before it gets out of control like it did a year after she left. When she. . .

  “So, what do we do then? But wait, if she fights us then it means she would be suspicious already.”

  “She will hear the rumors at school, about all the supposed fights and arguments we had with George last year.” Emmett states, rolling his eyes. He never really liked that plan in the first place.

  “Then she will put two and two together, then come up with the wrong answer.” Noah finishes with a chuckle.

  “Yeah but whatever we do, she can’t go around snooping. Who the fuck knows who is watching her now?” Emmett says. On that, I agree. But I also know her. She will fucking snoop around.

  “Should we talk to her?” Noah asks.

  Pause.

  Before she left, Noah and Astraea were fucking best friends, not that I ever understood or supported that shit but Noah was happy then. He fucking cared for her—turned to her for comfort and a kind of understanding that only she could give when our lives would be shot to hell. Noah was sensitive and at times, no one understood him—not even Emmett, George or myself—but she did. I remember back when some shit would happen to Noah, she would just take one look at him and knew exactly what to do—knew what he needed. That shit used to mess with my head so bad, I used to find ways to deal with them both.

  Noah was so fucking attached to her. They did everything together but she left when he needed her the most. After that, he all but spiraled out of control. I know he is bitter about that.

  Emmett on the other hand, revolved around her like she was the fucking moon and the sun for him.

  She got him out of his speech problems, worked with him on school matters. She was eve
n his number one cheerleader for everything Emmett did, much to my annoyance. She never looked at me the way she looked at her Noah or Emmett. George, I would understand, they fucking shared a womb together but the fuck would she care more about them than she did me? But then, there would be these moments. . .

  Astraea understood and supported Emmett’s passions like they were her own. The dude fucking needed that, after all, his particular brand of aspirations was not the kind that an heir of Westbrook could ever have. Apparently, none of us are supposed to be looking into a future in anything other than dominating the world, furthering the reach and dominance of Westbrook Blues families. Something Daddy dearest planned out—or was that his fucking father, or his father before that? I don’t fucking care.

  But Emmett had different interests—expressing himself in a way that pissed his father off but Astraea cheered them on. Until she up and left like the demons of hell were chasing her—leaving Emmett starved for her attention in a way that had him turning towards something that will eventually end his life if he keeps at it.

  But who am I to talk? We all found ways to cope without her, including George.

  Though Emmett has managed to keep his cool so far, seeing her a few minutes ago brought back remembered abandon, making him tense with anger. I know he has always felt something deeper for her but she is fucking mine.

  The thing is, both Noah and Emmett have always been closer to her, they have never been able to resist her since the day the Fields family with their set of twins moved into the old mansion next door to Noah’s. They both quickly became friends with George, and just as quickly, they fell at her feet, brought down by her smile that can set fire to kingdoms.

  They have never been able to turn away from her but she left at a time they needed her the most. At a time when I thought she would take me as I am—after all the years I spent breaking her apart. For me.

  “No. We don’t.” I finally say after what seems like an hour when it’s really just a minute of flashbacks.

  I hear Noah’s sharp intake of breath, can feel Emmett’s hard glare as he looks at me, but I ignore them both.

  “We leave her for now. She will come to us.” I say and then open my door. I need to get all of this over and done with.

  “How do you know that?”

  “Same way you know she will fight.” I say and then end the call.

  They both know I’m right. She is different we all know that, but we also have all the time in the world to find out just how much she has changed—if at all. After all, I fucking made sure that she won’t leave. Ever.

  Blue Star.

  Mine to break and teach the error of her ways.

  Only this time, I won’t keep her.

  CHAPTER THREE

  ASTRAEA

  WALKING THROUGH THE halls of this new to me mansion is more than weird.

  I swore I would never come back here. All I want is to have absolutely nothing to do with this place ever again. Nothing good ever comes from this place. Nothing sane and pure ever survives in Westbrook, and within these walls. I’m not going to just drop my guard down just because the house is different, and after the warm, amazing welcoming I just received from my awesome mother, I am not staying long at all.

  “Excuse me.”

  “Yes, Miss?”

  “What’s your name?” I question her.

  “Emma, Miss.”

  “Emma, please call me Raea.” I hate being called Miss. It’s as if that is some kind of superior link that ties me to this place. I have no desire to be linked to this huge ass shithole and I’m sure as hell not the “miss” of the house. I roll my eyes and think of George, he always told me that he hated to be called Sir or Mister by the staff. I have to say, I now see why.

  “I’m sorry Miss—err—Raea.” She quickly corrects herself.

  “Say Emma, where is my brother’s room?” I question because really, that’s all that matters to me at the moment. I just want to be in the space he was in.

  “Oh, umm.” She begins fidgeting like I’ve just asked a forbidden question. “We are not allowed to go there.”

  My eyebrows rise, looking at her with confusion. Emma is unable to hold eye contact, turning quickly on her heels she begins walking briskly down the long corridor, as if her skirt just caught fire and she needs to put it out. I watch her go in confusion, why are they not allowed to ‘go there’? What does that even mean?

  We just went up three flights of stairs and now we are walking down a long corridor but my mind is in a haze now, not at all the doing of my anxiety pills.

  Something tells me that I’m the one not allowed to venture to my brother’s room. The staff have simply been instructed—by my dearest mother no doubt—not to entertain any such request. She is also smart to know that there is no way I will just roam the halls today, seeing that everything and I do mean everything, about this mansion is new, different and monotonously dull. I could easily get lost if I’m not careful.

  Fucking hell.

  The mansion is super huge. I don’t even know which side of the house we are in right this moment. I mean, I have been following Emma for a good three minutes now and we still haven’t reached the room that has been assigned to me.

  Each painting on the wall, each ridiculously expensive antique piece of furniture is just. . . dull. Probably priceless but dull, almost like the type of style my father is into. Could it be that my mother styled this house under the dictation of my father? But no, that’s probably my sharp imagination reaching for straws.

  In all honesty though, I can’t distinguish anything apart. Even if I wanted to mark out points and turns from where we came from to where we are going by using my surroundings, I would still be lost.

  Something tells me that it’s been done on purpose.

  It doesn’t matter though, I will get to my brother’s room, even if it means going about it in a sneaky manner.

  “Here we are. This is your living quarters.” Emma announces.

  There is a set of cream double doors at the end of the long corridor where Emma stands, waiting for me to catch up. Once I do, she steps away, gesturing for me to open the doors first.

  It’s almost feels like it’s some kind of great reveal, which makes me roll my eyes. I don’t have the emotional strength or the time for all of this. Somehow, I get the vibe that Emma thinks I will be staying here forever, talking about ‘living quarters’, girl please. I will definitely be out of here in less that seventy-two hours so I don’t plan on making myself comfortable in these living quarters. Not in this house and definitely not in this town. I don’t care about what lays behind these doors.

  I open the doors and my jaw drops to the carpeted floor. It’s as if I’ve just been transported to another universe all together. I gasp as I take two hesitant steps in the room, my eyes wide open like a little girl, as I take in the huge ass room.

  I just can’t believe this. This can’t be real.

  This is not just any room. This is my dream room. Or rather—this used to be my dream room before everything went to shit in my life. Before I lost myself at a tender age of thirteen. Fuck, I don’t even want to go there.

  “What? Who?”

  I can’t even articulate my words fully as I take in the large room—or rather, my living quarters as Emma put it.

  There is a huge four poster queen bed in the middle of the main room, with various shades of blue sheets and bed covers. As I spot them, a shiver races up and down my spine, making me pause.

  I immediately think back to the blue Lambo that I just saw, idling outside the gate. Now my room is filled with all sorts of blue items that scream of intimate knowledge of me. Or the kind of me that I used to be.

  A sinking feeling starts taking root in the pit of my stomach as I take in the rest of the room. The walls are expertly painted in swirls of deep blue and a soft black tone. I swear, it looks like a 3D version of the actual sky but not the sky during the day no. It’s the sky with dark greyish smoky clou
ds during the night, taking my breath away with the way it’s been done.

  As I follow the pattern with my gaze, I notice that the almost real sky extends from the walls, all the way to the ceiling where my jaw drops—again. My palms start getting sweaty, my heart starts pounding and I can’t speak, tongue tied, stream of consciousness halted.

  Because right there, filling the entire space of my ceiling are—stars.

  The smaller stars glitter in the sky but the biggest star there, directly over head of my supposed bed, is a blue star.

  I don’t know what happens but I lose it right there and then. All my calm, all my unbothered behavior just goes right out the window just at the glance of that damn blue star on the ceiling. Maybe it’s because I know it’s not my brother who put it up there, or maybe it’s the fact that the damn thing is there at all.

  Whatever the reason is, I lose it because I know exactly who put it there. I collapse to the carpeted floor as my heart starts pounding and I start gasping for breath, because it’s presence there is both a comfort and a warning. He is warning me, he knows I’m back. Holy fuck.

  Blue Star.

  At one point in my life, just being called that by a certain boy made my entire life worth living. I never really fit in with the girls at school, even when I was six.

  For George, social settings were so easy and natural for him meanwhile, I was just terrified of everything. The huge mansions, the cool kids with the designer clothes. The girls with their perfect hair, no gaps in their teeth—though I never understood how that was possible.

  Then there was the agonizing Middle school age, I always got picked on for reasons that I never understood. I thought maybe it was because of my braces—but then Noah got them and all the girls would swoon. Then I thought it was probably my choice in wardrobe, so I completely changed my style but nothing changed, in fact everything grew worse than before.

  To make matters worse, I terrorized in private by the same boy that gave me butterflies.

  He never called me by name, yet he started calling me Star because of my actual name, Astraea.