Dirty Little Secret: A Dark High School Bully Romance (Reighton Preparatory Academy Book 3) Read online

  Dirty Little Secret

  __________

  A Dark Reverse Harem High School Bully Romance

  Reighton Preparatory Academy, Book 3

  __________

  USA TODAY Bestselling Author

  Belladona Cunning

  COPYRIGHT © 2020 by Belladona Cunning

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without prior written consent from the author, except for quotations in a book review.

  All places, people, and instances are merely coincidental and are in no way a direct reflection of persons living or deceased.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Dirty Little Secret

  COPYRIGHT

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  DEDICATION

  SYNOPSIS

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  QUICK NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR

  WAYS TO STAY CONNECTED

  OTHER BOOKS BY BELLADONA CUNNING

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  To be the FIRST in the know about titles, blurbs, release dates, and more, sign up for my Newsletter: Belladona Cunning Newsletter

  DEDICATION

  To the person who feels

  like everything is falling apart …

  You are strong.

  You are worthy.

  You have this!

  SYNOPSIS

  A supposedly dead girl going against three alpha assholes.

  Nothing can go wrong, right?

  Everything that can go wrong will go wrong.

  Starting with the guys that put me in this situation to begin with.

  But what they don’t realize is … I know a secret.

  One I came across by pure accident.

  One that will shake the ground they walk on.

  What I know shouldn’t be possible.

  It seems this is a family of tricksters,

  Except this time, I’m determined to get the last laugh.

  CHAPTER 1

  Fury engulfs me; completely overtaking my body as I stare down at the newspaper in my hands. The anger steadily flows through my veins, feeling like the blazing summer sun beaming down on my back. My body splinters in half, allowing jagged pieces of my heart to pierce through my flesh repeatedly.

  Surely, I’m seeing things. Surely, no one in this home would stoop to such depths of depravity.

  Glancing down once more, I read the notice. My head starts shaking back and forth on its own accord, not quite believing it, yet rationally, I know that because it’s right in front of me it must be true.

  It’s in black and white. Printed at the top of the obituary notices on page three.

  I’m dead. But if that’s the case, how am I still here? How much influence does a man need to bend reality to their will?

  “Ariyal Marie Nikohls (18), native to New Jersey, passed away late Friday night due to a motor vehicle accident. Nikohls, a student at the prestigious Reighton Preparatory Academy, was driving under the influence. She departs this world, leaving behind friends, family, and a fiancé, Brett Kingston (21). Reighton Funeral Home is in charge of arrangements, and any donations toward the Ariyal Nikohls memorial fund …”

  The need for an explanation practically eats me up inside, slithering around my soul like thick tar. Every goddamn person in this house had to have known about this. Every last one of them took away what little chance I had at a future. And for what? Because they have some archaic belief that I belong to them?

  Before this, I could have gone along with it—maybe even learned to tolerate the thought of being ‘owned.’ However, that was prior to this little stunt. The guys, yeah, they’re not so terrible. Trust me, I’ve seen far worse. It comes with the man sitting in front of me wearing a Cheshire smile on his disgusting face.

  So, their little actions at RPA? They’re nothing compared to what I’ve been through. People can adapt to a scenario if they want to. But now, I don’t muster the gumption to even try.

  They’re fucked if they think I’m going to go along nicely now.

  “Joaquin, would you like me to get her a drink, sir?” the butler asks, and by the tone of his voice, I know he’s just inquiring because it’s expected of him. Honestly, he can shove that shit up his ass.

  “No.” The man I now know as, Joaquin, barks, leveling the butler with a sneer.

  “Who did this?” I demand angrily, throwing the newspaper down onto the coffee table in front of me as if it burns to simply touch it. Regardless of how they feel about my sudden display of disobedience, this is my life they’re screwing with.

  I’m not dead, not even close to it.

  I’m in my prime.

  I still have to find the right man to marry, have babies with, and grow old together. I know he’s out there somewhere, but damn, I won’t find him if I’m being trapped here.

  A breeze of cynical laughter drifts over from Joaquin. My eyes shift, watching his merriment at my expense, as he makes his way toward the armchair situated to the left of Brett.

  That’s when I stop. All movement—possibly even breathing. This is not one of those moments where everything gets hazy and quiet, and you can only focus on one thing at a time. But it is one of those moments where you inwardly understand that you need to step away and take in everything around you.

  Now that I look at it a little better, even I see Brett watching his father with fire blazing in his aquamarine eyes. That’s something else entirely. Something I’ve never seen him do to someone he’s supposed to revere and respect. From what little I’ve overheard, and seen on more than one occasion, they all cower to this man and what he symbolizes. They never show an ounce of dominance or disobedience.

  They act how I’m expected to.

  “You speak out of turn like that once more, little girl, and I will reiterate what the term discipline means,” Joaquin spits out, before settling himself, with a pleased sounding huff, into the chair. He gives Brett a mean side eye, continuing, “It seems my son and his little cohorts haven’t done a good enough job.”

  He makes it sound like I don’t have a say so in my life, which is absurd. Those guys may think they own me, but I’m the only person who gets to make that call. In order for me to hand myself over to them, they have to earn it. I’m not just going to give it to them.

  They simply cannot come in all willy-nilly and demand it, including the one time that Brett and I were intimate with each other. During that moment, he didn’t make me feel like we were unequal. He made me feel desirable; that he was a man starving and I was the one thing that could whet his appetite.

  While it may take my sanity into question, I can’t deny I didn’t want him, even if it was from a mere biological standpoint.

  Gritting my teeth, my eyes narrow in one him, as if the act alone can shoot a dagger through his heart. “Sir, you speak as if I do not have a say in my life.”

  His cold eyes meet mine. “You do not. You live and die by the courtesy of your owner, my son, Brett.”

&n
bsp; “Father—” Brett goes to butt in, but with a slash of his father’s hand, Joaquin cuts him off mid-sentence.

  “The other two hooligans, too, of course.” I see Chaz mean mug him out of the corner of my eye, but once again, say nothing to stand up for themselves.

  My hands ball into fists at my side, knuckles cracking and popping. The nerve of this guy. There have been many times in my life that I’ve been pissed, but those times are nothing compared to the way I feel now.

  I’m livid.

  Give me an iron chain, and I’m sure I’d be able to bite that shit in two and chew it up. Especially with as upset as I am right at this very moment. Just seeing his face pisses me off.

  You know, I knew the guys got their rocks off at my expense, but I didn’t expect them to concoct such a farce to get their way. Surely, they know it will never hold. People will talk if they see me outside this house. And they will see me, because there is absolutely no way, I will be trapped within these walls for the next … however, long I live on this earth.

  What are they going to think when a supposedly dead girl wanders through their streets? I’ll be the talk of the town. No one, let alone these powerful men, will be able to keep my survival a secret. They will soon be caught in their lie, and I’ll relish the thought of their look that will overtake their faces.

  “It’ll never take. Also, what about when I was younger, hmm?” I seethe. “When you took it upon yourself to brand my privates and …” I can’t even bring myself to finish that thought.

  Already, I feel the searing heat and aching between my legs from the iron. I feel the loss of my dignity and innocence from that night as well. But instead of reacting, I force myself to focus on the here and now. It’s the only way I’m going to get through this. “I wasn’t their property then.”

  His boisterous laughter echoes throughout the room, bouncing off the walls with cynical splendor. “Oh, my dear child—yes, you were. Sadly, your mother never told you. Then again, I honestly don’t give a damn.”

  No, she did not. The only thing she did was tell me to run. She gave me no other information than that. But now, I know what I was supposed to run from. Them. This. The entire existence that resides East of La Jolla. It would have been easier if she gave me a hint before my father delivered me to—as the devil so kindly states—these hooligans.

  “I should have fucking ran when she told me to.” My offhanded comment seems to get their attention.

  Good.

  They need to realize that was an option that I chose not to heed. While they may be uber rich, I can assure them, no amount of money would be able to track me down. Not where I was going. You don’t live most of your teenage years on the street not to procure a few connections.

  I have options.

  I have friends in low … low places.

  I could have easily disappeared into the night with no one any wiser.

  “What was that?” Joaquin breathes fire toward me, eyes narrowed in menacing anger. I’d rather die than answer anything that comes out of his mouth in the form of a question.

  I turn my attention to Brett. According to his father, Brett is the leader of this little triumvirate. He shouldn’t be, in my opinion, because it’s obvious that Brett is not leadership material. I mean, if he bows down to a man like Joaquin at every turn, then he is nothing more than a terrified child.

  Something like this doesn’t need a child trying to navigate its testy waters. It needs a man with the courage and self-discipline to make it work. Brett has just enough training to keep him in this life, but I fear there’s no end goal in sight.

  “Brett—” When Joaquin looks at me harshly, I quickly rescind my words, addressing Brett the correct way, “Sir Kingston, did you know about this?” My eyes peer down into his, hosting a level of fire that supersedes hell.

  After a moment, without answering me, his eyes break away from mine and drop to the floor. His hand covers his mouth, fingers scratching at the five o’clock stubble growing in. That’s when I know. He can’t even bring himself to look at me, let alone answer a simple question.

  He knew; probably planned it from the get-go to get me away from all those people. What’s even worse, I’m pretty sure he planned it with his father.

  “I’m eighteen,” I state, flabbergasted. “What will happen when I go out in public? People will know my death was a farce the second they see my face. They will know the Kingston, Ivy, and Mikaels families lied to the public.”

  Chaz growls low in his throat and stiffens in his seat as if readying for action. His abrupt demeanor has my eyes snapping to him. I barely keep myself from taking a step back from the darkness and anger I see swirling in his depths. “You won’t be going anywhere.”

  He laughs at my dumbfounded look, before continuing his explanation, “Did you honestly think this was just for the summer? No, we’ve been planning for a long time. I’ll be glad we don’t have to return to that goddamn school. We finally have you right where you belong—with us.”

  Why wouldn’t they go back to …

  My eyes widen. “Everything in that obituary isn’t a lie, is it?” I address Brett this time, watching as his eyes finally … finally meet mine. “Our ages. That’s the only truth in that whole newspaper clipping, isn’t it?”

  With a subtle nod of his head, he murmurs, “Yes and now.”

  “Yes and no?” What else can be correct?

  He takes his lip between his teeth, before releasing it. “The only thing you need to worry about right now is our age. We’re all nearly twenty-two.”

  My entire world tilts on its axis, the room spinning. My hands fall out in front of me, grabbing at the back of a chair. It gives me the balance I need as I heave in each lungful of air. My lungs feel like they are trying to close, and there’s this sticky, ink blackness closing in on all sides. I can barely breathe—barely think—or even keep myself from passing out.

  Not only are the guys of legal drinking age (which is why they knocked them back like it was going out of style), but they literally just graduated RPA with their college degrees last year. And if that’s the case, then why …

  “Why were you all in the same classes as me; why were you in school at all?” I inquire. “Being almost twenty-two, you all should have graduated last year.”

  Chaz scoffs. “The dots are pretty clear to connect, Brat.”

  It can’t be that simple. Not with them.

  Until now, all their justifications have been like navigating a difficult maze. And that’s if you can get them to explain anything. They’ve never even lied to me when it was something as menial as this, and I think that’s what worries me the most.

  In fact, they’ve never lied to me. Period. Maybe omitting the truth, a little in some things, but if there was anything of importance, I could count on from them telling the truth every fucking time.

  Whenever I think I have it all figured out, it always leads me to a dead end. Then I’m left to figure out another way to get out.

  “Y-You went through …” I gulp hard, not quite believing it. I try my best to push back the nausea burning my throat. “You went through an entire year of unnecessary drama and going back and forth with the headmaster because of me.”

  “Ding-Ding,” Chaz jokes distastefully, but even from here, I can tell his obnoxiousness is all just a ploy. From the shadows in his eyes, it’s clear he’s hiding something.

  He quickly props his feet up on the coffee table, his shoes landing right on top of the newspaper. Propping his hands behind his head, it’s hard to keep my eyes from drifting downward when his shirt rises, showcasing his washboard stomach. A delicious, yet infuriating sight.

  “Why?” I scrunch my face, like something putrid drifted up my nose.

  This time, Brett answers. Only, he doesn’t remain seated like the other two, nor does he remain standing where he is. My eyes follow him as his body unfolds to an upright position. My mouth dries when I catch the hard glint in his eyes as he struts toward me.
My heart thumps in the base of my throat hard and fast, and by the time he’s standing inches from my bent over position, it feels like I’m about to have a heart attack.

  “Enough questions. All you need to know is this is your new home, and someone shall show you to your quarters,” he sneers, peering down the end of his nose at me.

  “You don’t have to be an—”

  He steps into my side, his heat blistering the surface of my skin. “I’d be careful how you finish that sentence, Brat.” Then he leans close, his nearness causing my eyes to fall half-mast and a shudder to race through me as he presses his lips to the skin of my ear. “We may have fucked, but I will not tolerate disobedience. Not here. Understood?”

  Ugh. I hate him.

  Can you hate and love someone at the same time?

  I lick my lips, damn near panting like a dog in heat. “Just answer one more,” I whisper, and it takes all of my courage to peer up at him. “Please.”

  All of this oppressive weight is disgustingly heavy on my shoulders. Joaquin, Brett, Chaz, and even the goddamn butler, is pushing their dominance my way. The bastard in the corner next to the bar may have kept quiet the entire time, but that doesn’t mean his silence can’t be louder than words.

  A chair crinkles and groans under someone’s weight, like their shifting out of discomfort. “You think you can demand anything from your owner?!” Joaquin barks out in a loathsome tone, but there it is ... that undertone of discomfort in his voice

  “Father,” Brett raises his voice just a smidge to get his attention, his gaze meeting the hardass, glacial ones of Joaquin’s. “You should know that after everything, our Brat is more pliable if we entertain her desires.” Then his attention turns toward me as he murmurs, “To an extent.”

  “This is simply not how it is done!” Joaquin thunders in return, slamming his fist down on the arm of the chair. “They only get what you are willing to give them.”