Barely: Winchester Academy Book 7 Page 2

  No one was supposed to know. No one was ever supposed to know what I’m doing. I cringe as I sink into the crummy sofa, tears pooling in the corners of my eyes as my gut twists. And for the millionth time since I walked into this club tonight, I try and piece together how the hell I got here. How my life turned into this.

  Thanks, dad.

  Some people’s parents get them a car when they turn eighteen. Okay, it might be a beater if you don’t come from the kind of money mine comes from, but a car’s a car. Some people get an investment in their future—maybe money for college, or a fund set up in their name for way later in life when they want to buy a house or something. And if nothing else, most people with parents or even a parent who loves them get a smile, or a hug, or even just a song and a birthday candle to blow out.

  My parents, though? On my eighteenth birthday, four weeks ago, my parents got me a divorce and federal corruption and racketeering charges.

  Happy birthday to me.

  Not everyone really gets what their parents do for a living. Like, there are plenty of kids who go to Winchester with me who’s moms or dads “work in finance” or “work in politics.” But the specifics are vague. That was my dad to me. Frequently gone on business or locked in his office on a call of some kind. Not necessarily absent, but not exactly available, if that makes sense? And my stepmom? Well, my mom’s a whole story by herself.

  But you tend to overlook your parents being gone on business in China or shopping excursions in Paris when your father brings home an annual income that rivals the GDP of some countries. When you don’t just have a horse stabled at the country club, you own the stable. When your first car at sixteen wasn’t a hand-me-down Toyota, but custom-painted Ferrari. When vacations mean private jets, and watches, and whole floors of luxury hotels in exotic locations.

  You overlook a lot when your silence and blindness is paid for from an early age. Maybe that’s why I ignored all the warning lights and sirens. Maybe that’s why I was blindsides when my father was pulled away from the dinner table while I was home for my birthday four weeks ago, in handcuffs by Federal Agents who’d just busted our front door in.

  But hindsight is twenty-twenty. And now, it all makes complete sense to me.

  I always knew my dad worked in investing. He was a money manager of some kind, I guess. Except you don’t get hauled away by the FBI for managing people’s money. You get hauled away for mis-managing it.

  Or stealing it.

  You hear the words “Ponzi scheme” a lot, but when you hear it in the context of charges being levied at your dad, it takes on a whole new gravity. And in the span of twenty-four hours, my entire world changed.

  First, Geraldine, my stepmom, bailed. And she bailed fast. She emptied as much as she could from their joint accounts, took one of my dad’s planes, and flew off to the Mediterranean to one of his yachts moored at Mykonos to start ramrodding through a divorce on the grounds of “mental distress and financial abuse.” Whatever the fuck that means.

  Then, right after he posted his fifty-million-dollar bail, dad bounced, too. And to where is the great mystery that I, Geraldine’s lawyers, his own lawyers, and the United States Government would love to know the answer to.

  But absent or not, dad hired some amazing lawyers who managed to bring gag orders down on the entire thing until he can be found. So, it’s not in the news. No one at school knows that my father is behind one of the largest Ponzi schemes ever, or that possibly even some of their own parents are affected.

  No one knows that one of my father’s lawyers finally reached out to me to let me know that “my father and them” had agreed that the best place for me was to just stay at school until they could “resolve the misunderstanding.”

  Right, “misunderstanding.” Like someone got their facts mixed up about my dad embezzling billions from the fund he ran.

  So, stay at school. Keep my head down. Keep smiling and pretend everything’s fine? Well, that sucks, but it’s doable. Or, it was doable, until the other shoe dropped. Because you know what happens when you’re wanted for fraud, embezzlement, and securities crimes and you skip out on bail?”

  …They freeze your accounts. All of them. And all of a sudden, you start to realize how meaningless those little plastic cards in your purse are with nothing behind them.

  I got one call from one of his lawyers telling me what was happening. But his only advice was to “keep my head down” until they reached out. A week after that though, I sort of stopped hearing from them. No one answers my calls. No one returns emails. Nothing.

  I know, poor little rich girl, right? But when your entire life is credit cards and shopping accounts, it can fall apart real quick, let me tell you. I wasn’t in immediate danger. I mean, I was at boarding school, which has a Michelin-chef-run dining hall. So, it’s not like I was going to have to sleep on a park bench or go hungry. But, that’s only good through the end of the semester. And after that, I’m not exactly sure how I’m supposed to pay the fifty grand for the second half of the school year at Winchester.

  Oh, and if that wasn’t enough to worry about? Well, it turns out it wasn’t just rich country-club types my dad stole from. He also, in his infinite wisdom, decided to steal money from—

  “Well well well! Look who we got here!”

  I cringe, shivering as I look up at the sound of Lorenzo’s voice. The greasy, scruffy, portly Italian man in the ill-fitting suit with a cigar hanging out of his lips, eyes me in a way that makes my skin crawl. It’s that look that makes me want to wrap a shapeless blanket around myself or take a shower.

  “Is it break time already?”

  I swallow thickly, my hands twisting in my lap as I look at him.

  “I—I just—”

  He smiles wickedly. “You just… what, decided to renege on our deal? You want to pay up the other way we discussed?”

  I want to throw up, and he sees the disgust on my face and starts to laugh.

  “No? You sure?”

  “Sorry, I was just—”

  “You were fucking off is what you were doing!” he snaps, the grin vaporizing as he glares at me. He’s got two of his goons with him, lurking over his shoulder, and the two of them eye with me with about as much subtlety as Lorenzo.

  Lorenzo as in Lorenzo Tonelli. As in, top of the food chain in the Tonelli crime family. As in, the mob.

  As in, my dad stole money from the fucking mob. And now that he’s hiding out God knows where, and now that my mother is off in Greece, and now that all of our accounts are frozen?

  …Well guess who’s come to me to collect on what my family owes him.

  So, that’s where I’m at. I’m broke, my father and stepmother have completely abandoned me, I’ve got the mob breathing down my neck, literally, and I just gave my first ever lap dance in a fucking strip club to my fucking high school Principal.

  Shoot me, please.

  “Listen sweetheart,” Lorenzo hisses, glaring at me. “We had a deal.”

  “Lorenzo—”

  “Mr. Tonelli!” One of the goons barks, making me tremble.

  “Mr. Tonelli,” I say quietly. “I don’t know where my dad is, but I know when he comes back, he’ll—”

  “When he comes back, it’ll be in fucking leg irons,” Lorenzo sneers. “And you know who they’re going to make him pay back first? It’ll be the IRS, then the other rich country club assholes. Then the lawyers. You see who’s missing from that list?”

  I swallow. “You?”

  “Smart girl!” he chirps, glaring at me. “So, like I said before, there are two ways here. You work that debt off shaking that nice little jailbait ass up on that stage and in those private rooms. Or?”

  He grins lecherously, and my stomach turns. He’s already made it abundantly clear how else I can pay off the debt.

  “This might be your first fucking night, but you damn well better know by now that walking out on a private show is a no-no,” he snaps.

  “He paid for two songs
, and they were ov—”

  “Uh-uh,” he mutters. “Almost over isn’t ‘over.’ You stopping at ‘almost over’ means complaints, and guys getting pissed about cheap whores like you stealing their money.”

  My jaw tightens, fire sparking behind my eyes, and Lorenzo spots it. He grins widely, wagging a finger at me.

  “Oh, there it is! There’s that fire! You mad, sweetheart? Not used to being talked to like that, huh? Rich girls don’t get called cheap whores, do they?”

  He moves closer to me, and I stand, shivering as he steps right up to me. The sour smell of body odor and cheap cigars wafts over me, and my stomach tightens as he grins lecherously.

  “You know, maybe dancing just ain’t for you. Maybe you don’t want to perform for all those guys out there. And hey, sweetheart,” he smiles a sickly smile. “I get it, really. So how about we go with our other deal, huh? No more dancing for all those other guys. No endless private rooms. Instead?”

  He winks, and I almost throw up.

  “Instead, you just be my personal fucking whore until the debt is settled.”

  I gag, and he grins.

  “So how about this,” he growls, breathing on me. “You lose the panties right here and right now, bend over, and you give Lorenzo a little taste of that sweet little rich girl pussy, huh?”

  “I—” the room spins, and it feels like I’m chained to the floor—like I can’t move at all. Like I’m shutting down.

  “I’ll just keep dancing,” I whisper, shivering.

  “Yeah well maybe I’ve changed my mind,” he growls. “Maybe I don’t want you dancing no more. Maybe I just want you with your mouth open and your legs spread for me any fucking time I want for the next, say, six months.”

  The goons chuckle, and I can feel the tears brimming my eyes.

  “Please, I—I don’t know where my dad is, but the money—you’ll get it back. I’ll pay you back.”

  “I know you will, sweetheart,” Lorenzo grins an oily, horrible smile as he reaches out for me. “I know you—”

  The door to the backroom smashes open, half splintering off the hinges, and my jaw drops. Because barging right through and grabbing the first goon that rushes him, twisting the guy’s wrist until there’s a snapping sound, is Principal Kane.

  The first guy falls to the floor crying in agony, and when the second bodyguard rushes my Principal, he sweeps the guy’s legs and shoves him, sending him head over heels into the wall with a crunch. Lorenzo swears, jabbing his hand into his jacket pocket. But Principal Kane is faster. He rushes the tubby mob boss and snarls, yanking his out and away, wrenching the little revolver out of his grip, and tossing it across the room. He shoves Lorenzo hard, knocking him over before he whirls, his eyes blazing with searing fire as they land right on me.

  I swallow, panting, my skin tingling and my pulse racing as Principal Kane marches over to me. And just then, the room starts to get wobbly, and my legs start to give out.

  He catches me, powerful, muscles arms cradling me as he lifts me effortlessly.

  “The fuck is—”

  “I’m taking her.”

  The words rumble out of his mouth, thundering from his barreled chest as he snarls at Lorenzo on the ground. The mob boss scowls.

  “The fuck you are. You can’t just come in here and grab my girls, dickwad! I’m calling the cop—”

  “Be my guest,” Principal Kane snarls, his face a mask of fury. “You know how old she is?”

  Lorenzo scowls. “Eighteen.”

  “Try again.”

  The mob bosses face falls, paling. “She—she told me. Her ID say’s eighteen!”

  “Let’s call the cops then. I’m sure they’ll figure it out for us all, hmm?”

  The room is silent, and Principal Kane nods. “We’re leaving. Now.”

  He whirls, arms still cradling me and my pulse still racing as the room spins.

  “My—my stuff,” I murmur.

  He stops, and I manage to nod at a purse and a trench coat hanging on one of the hooks on the walls. He grabs them both, draping the coat over me before he storms for the door. One of the goons starts to get up, but Principal Kane kicks him hard in the ribs, making him grunt and collapse back to the floor.

  “You son of a bitch,” Lorenzo hisses. “You’re not gonna get away with—”

  “Yes, I am,” he growls savagely, making my pulse skip. “And I see you following me, it’ll be the last thing you do. Understand?”

  Lorenzo just glares at him.

  “Let’s go,” Principal Kane growls quietly to me, holding me tight as he strides out the door. He heads further down the dark, blue-lit hallway until we hit the back door. He kicks it open and we stride through, marching across the mostly empty parking lot towards a black SUV.

  The whole world in spinning, and I can’t quite catch a breath with how utterly surreal this whole thing is. My eyes swivel up to look at his, and I’m opening my mouth to say, well, something, when suddenly everything starts to go black.

  “Principal Kane…” I murmur, my eyelids too heavy to lift. “I—”

  “I’ve got you, Brynn,” his voice purrs close to my ear, his powerful arms gripping me so possessively and tightly, making me feel so safe.

  “I’ve got you.”

  He holds me tight, the warmth of his body tingles against my bare skin, and that’s the last thing I remember before it all fades away.

  3

  Colton

  What the fuck are you doing.

  What the FUCK are you doing?

  I’m standing in my living room, arms crossed, jaw tight, and eyes blazing as I look down at the gorgeous creature laid out across my couch. She’s still got that coat of hers draped over her, but the way it’s barely covering a quarter of her thighs and barely covering her top, actually makes it worse. It makes it look like she’s naked.

  I groan, my eyes drinking her in. She shifts, her brow furrowing in her sleep as she turns. The coat pulls up, giving me a glimpse of that perfect, tight little ass and the lacy edge of her sky-blue thong, and I growl.

  Fuck. I need to get my shit together.

  I scowl as I reach for the throw blanket on the back of the couch and pull it over her, covering her up before I stand back and assess.

  This is not good.

  I’m a grown man. I’m allowed to go to strip clubs. I’m certainly allowed to bring women back to my house, and if the one I bring home happens to be passed out from shock after I took her away from the creeps who were about to do God knows what to her? Well, so be it.

  Except, we have a problem here. And the problem is that she’s not just “some woman.” Not to me. Just like I’m not just “some guy” to her. No, it’s way worse. Because no matter the circumstances that brought us here, right now, I’m the Principal of a private high school with one of his eighteen-year-old students lying passed out and basically naked on his living room sofa.

  I repeat: what the fuck am I doing?

  But also, what the fuck was she doing? I mean, Winchester Academy is full of rich kids, but Brynn Henley might just be at the very top. The Henley’s are the kind of family that redefine your idea of what wealth is. And I get that rich kids want to act out sometimes—I mean, trust me, I get it. But acting out means getting drunk at a party, or taking drugs, or getting regrettable tattoos, or, fuck, whatever teenagers do to act out.

  …It doesn’t mean stripping at a skeezy strip club.

  I rake my fingers over the scruff on my jaw. I need to figure out what the hell she was doing there. And really, I need to call her fucking parents.

  Brynn starts to stir, and I snap out of my thoughts as my eyes focus on her. She frowns, shifting under the blanket before suddenly her eyes snap open. Her face pales, and she jerks like she’s about to lunge from the couch and run, when I stop her with a calming hand on her shoulder as I stoop low.

  “Hey, hey,” I growl, squeezing her shoulder reassuringly. “Just relax, Brynn. It’s Colto—it’s Principal Kane, a
nd you’re safe, okay?”

  She nods, blinking quickly before her eyes focus on me, and her face burns crimson.

  “Oh, God,” she groans, burying her face in her hands as she sinks under the blanket.

  “Brynn—”

  “Please, Principal Kane,” she suddenly sobs, tears streaming from her eyes. “Please! Just don’t tell—”

  “Hey, hey, c’mere,” I growl, wrapping my arms around her as she collapses into me, sobbing and clinging to my shirt as I wrap her in the blanket and my arms—my mind doing everything it can to forget the way she was grinding on my lap less than an hour ago.

  “Byrnn, you’re safe, alright? Do you want to tell me what the fuck you were doing there?”

  She shakes her head, still pressing her face into my chest as I gently rub her back.

  “Okay, that’s fine,” I say gently. “Look, we should call your parents though—”

  “No.”

  I frown. “What?”

  “No,” she says softly. “We can’t.”

  My frown deepens. “Brynn, I’m not going to—look, whatever you were doing there tonight, I’m not judging and I’m not going to say a thing to them.”

  I shake my head, my jaw clenching.

  “What the hell were you doing—”

  She starts to cry, and I hold her tighter.

  “Look, I’m not telling your parents, Brynn. That’s a promise. But let’s just call them so they can—”

  “You can’t call—”

  “Brynn—”

  “No, I mean you literally can’t,” she sobs.

  I frown, pulling back. “What do you mean?”

  “My dad, he…” she frowns, looking down. “He’s in a lot of trouble. He stole a bunch of money from a lot of people. He got arrested and then skipped out on bail, and I don’t know where he is.”

  My jaw grinds tight. What the fuck?

  “And your mom?”

  “Stepmom,” she whispers. “And Greece, I think. She’s divorcing my dad and she’s gone off the radar until it’s all settled.”