Wild War Page 3

  When she turned her head and saw me watching her, I smiled unintentionally. She didn’t return it before moving her focus back to the path in front of her.

  “Oh, yeah, Jules gives awesome head,” Troy agreed. “You should definitely hook up with her.”

  Birch lightly smacked Troy’s shoulder with the back of his hand. “He can’t hook up with her, you moron. She’s his stepsister.”

  “Right, right. It’s not blood related, though. They could still get it on, couldn’t they?”

  Birch shrugged. “Kind of weird, if you ask me.”

  “Too bad. She’s for sure the girl you want for no-strings-attached fucking around.”

  “You’re bullshitting me.” I’d spent as little time with Julianna as possible over the last month, which hadn’t been hard since she pretty much stayed in her room and did schoolwork all the time that she wasn’t in school or at mealtime. I had no doubt that my initial impression of her had been accurate—model student, model daughter, model everything. The image of her down on her knees did not fit into that notion.

  It bothered me to even think about it. Which seemed strange. Maybe I had more brotherly feelings about her than I realized.

  Except that didn’t seem right either.

  “No bullshit.” Birch put a hand up as if to swear. “She gets around. Practically a rite of passage to have her lips on your dick.”

  “Have you fucked her?” I sounded more pissed than I’d meant to. I didn’t feel quite angry, though. I felt something else, something I couldn’t quite identify.

  “He wants to,” Troy said when Birch didn’t answer. “He hates it when he’s the only one who hasn’t had access to something.”

  Birch scowled. “Like you’ve fucked her.”

  Troy shrugged. “But everyone else has.”

  I took another drag of my cigarette, hoping it would relax my suddenly tight muscles.

  “Everyone else claims to,” Birch corrected. “I don’t actually know that anyone has. She might be a virgin with loose lips and that’s all.”

  I didn’t exactly feel relieved, but the tension in my shoulders eased slightly. “Does her father know?”

  “That she’s a BJ queen?” Birch stamped the cherry of his smoke out on the shed, then flicked the butt into a nearby trash can. “Fuck no. He’d kill her.”

  No shit, he’d kill her. “I’m surprised she takes the risk. I took her as a straight-liner.”

  “She usually is. Maybe she’s hoping to get caught.”

  “Why would she want to be caught?” Troy seemed less aware of basic psychology than his friend.

  Birch stood up and wiped the ground from his slacks. “I don’t know. Some people get off on the taboo shit.”

  I barely knew her, but from my limited experience in the Stark household, I had a feeling it was less about taboo and more about control. It was the one thing she could decide for herself, and that had to feel satisfying. I could understand that. I could understand her.

  If it was true, that was. I still wasn’t entirely sure they weren’t dicking with me.

  Troy moved into a crouch. “You seen her titties yet, Warren?”

  “Yeah, Troy. She parades around the house naked. Didn’t you know?” I fought the urge to punch the guy in the nuts. I had a perfect opening. Such a shame.

  He grinned, putting out his cigarette on the ground. “A guy can dream.” He stood up. “You coming to Economics?”

  I took a final drag, considering. It was tempting to ditch the rest of the day, but what would I do instead? No car, no funds, and a boarding school campus made for very few opportunities for fun.

  Before I could answer, though, someone else answered for me. “He is not. He’s coming with me.”

  I looked up to see the last person I wanted to see while I still had a lit cigarette between my lips—Headmaster Stark.

  Four

  Cade

  “Hand them over,” Stark said, his palm waiting.

  For a second, I thought he meant the cigarette in my hand, but then I realized he meant the pack and the Zippo. I handed both over, then stood, swaying when I got to my feet. I’d smoked an occasional light back at my last school. The Camel was stronger than I was used to and made me especially jittery.

  The anxiety of being caught doing something wrong didn’t help my blood pressure.

  “Who do they belong to?” Stark asked, eyeing the three of us. He lingered on me, a spark in his eyes despite his cruel expression before turning his focus to Birch. “You’ve been caught with cigarettes before. This brand, if I remember correctly. Are these yours?”

  Logic said they weren’t mine. If I’d brought them from Kentucky, it wouldn’t still be a full pack, and when would I have had a chance to have bought them here?

  But I was the only one still holding a smoke and too new to claim they belonged to anyone else without gaining a reputation I’d rather not have. Then, when Birch didn’t respond, it seemed a clear message that I was expected to take the blame.

  Fuck.

  “They’re mine, sir,” I said, doing my best to keep my chin up and proud. If I was going to take the fall, I was going to be a man about it.

  I swore I heard a note of glee in Stark’s tone when he spoke. “Well then, Cade. It seems you will be accompanying me to my office. The rest of you—” He quickly scanned the small crowd that had gathered along. “Get to your next class.”

  Birch and Troy weren’t even going to get detention for skipping study hall? Didn’t seem fair. I supposed there was a chance he’d let me off as well when we were alone, that this was a demonstration to the school that he wouldn’t play favorites, but from what I’d seen of him the last couple of weeks, the man didn’t think he had to prove anything to anyone.

  And even if he did, I certainly wasn’t a favorite.

  Resigned, I dropped the butt and stamped it out with my foot. Then made a show of putting it in the trash, determined not to add littering to my list of sins before following after my stepfather as he made his way to the administration wing of the main building.

  We walked in silence, but there was plenty being said by others. Class had released, and students flooded the grounds as they hustled to their next hour. No one was too busy to notice the headmaster with a student in tow—his stepson, no less—and intense stares turned into rapid whispering behind our backs.

  It had the potential of being embarrassing, though I couldn’t decide who would be more scandalized by my crime. When I realized it was probably him, that the inability to keep his own stepson in line had to be quite a blow to his authority, the walk of shame became a lot less shameful. Soon I found a smug grin creeping onto my lips, emboldened by the fact that he couldn’t see my expression when he walked ahead of me.

  And what was the worst that would happen? I already spent all my evenings working on homework. I didn’t have any possessions that I could have taken away. If my mother was upset, that might even be a step up in our relationship. It wasn’t like I could get kicked out of school.

  As for my peers, if they thought I was a bad boy, it was no skin off my back. If anything, a little trouble might make me popular. It would definitely improve my ability to get hookups to drugs and booze, and Birch and Troy had to have my back after I proved I had theirs. So I’d have to sit through a lame-ass lecture from my stepfather as punishment. All in all, it seemed worth the price.

  My confidence only faltered when I saw Julianna.

  She was back in her school uniform, a calculus textbook in her arms, her forehead still shiny with sweat from gym class. She stared, as everyone had when we walked by, but there was something else in her face—a flash of panic that had me craning over my neck to look again. Her eyes met mine then, and while I could understand how a goody-goody would see any act of discipline as terrifying, there was something about the fear in her gaze that rattled me.

  My smile dropped, and by the time we got to Stark’s office, my confidence was gone as well.

 
; “Take a seat,” he said, not bothering to look at me as he went directly to the cabinet behind his desk, pulled a ring of keys from his belt, and unlocked the top drawer before putting the keys, the lighter, and the pack of cigarettes on his desk and sitting down.

  I hadn’t yet been to my stepfather’s office. My mother and I had spent an afternoon with the secretary down the hall, getting my transfer in order, but when she’d slipped down the hall to say goodbye, she’d gone alone.

  I took it in quickly—it was dark and wood paneled. Cabinets and bookshelves lined three of the walls, making the room feel especially small and confined. Not that it was a very large office in the first place. The oversized desk took up a third of the space. Beyond that there were three chairs—one large and leather on his side, two plain armless chairs on the other. The only window had the blinds closed, and the overhead fluorescents were turned off, so the only source of light came from the desk lamp and a floor lamp in the corner.

  I turned my neck to find the only wall space was behind me and covered with framed graduation certificates and certifications and awards, and I was still looking in that direction when he spoke again.

  “I said to sit down.”

  His tone was sharper this time, warning me it wasn’t a good idea to point out that he’d actually said take a seat and just go ahead and do it.

  Once seated, with his stern face looking at me disapprovingly across his desk, I felt smaller. His chair was higher than mine so that he had to look down at me—purposely, I was sure—and the way the walls closed in made me feel both on edge and defensive.

  “I didn’t buy them,” I said, excuses coming to my lips without willing them. “I found them. Someone must have left them. The lighter too. I only had that one cigarette. I’m not even a smoker. I just wanted to try it. No big deal. Send me to detention. I won’t do it again.”

  “You found them?” He was obviously skeptical. “Is that the story you’re sticking with?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He leaned forward, putting his elbows on the desk in front of him. “Let’s cut the crap, Cade. We both know these cigarettes belong to Birch.”

  I hesitated, wondering if it was a trap to get me to narc, then settled on something I hoped wasn’t too incriminating. “You think they were his?”

  “I said to cut the crap.”

  My mouth clamped shut. I refused to rat anyone out.

  “You want to know why you’re in here instead of him, don’t you? Go ahead and ask.”

  Him telling me to do a thing made me less want to do the thing, but I was starting to realize that he might actually have the power he was so intent on making me believe he had. “Um. If you think these belong to Birch, why am I here instead of him?”

  He soured at my attempt to twist his instructions, but he let it slip by without remarking. “Antoine Birch is a serial troublemaker. He will spend this year in and out of detention, and each time I’ll call his parents to inform them, and each time they will dismiss his actions with some version of the boys will be boys refrain. It’s their prerogative to blow it off. All they care is that their son graduates and makes it into Harvard, where he will study medicine and eventually become a renowned doctor. His legacy will speak well for Stark Academy, so why should I feel motivated to correct the kid for being on the path that will most please everyone?”

  “You shouldn’t, I guess.” Unless he cared about being an educator that deserved respect instead of just getting by as one, but apparently he didn’t.

  “That’s right. I shouldn’t. It’s a waste of my time and energy.” He brought his hands together in front of him with a clap. “You, on the other hand, stand to harm me much more with your offensive actions than Antoine Birch does. If you’re allowed to get by with even a minor infraction, what sort of effect would that have on the student body? What if word got out to their parents? Can you imagine what people would say if it was reported that I couldn’t manage the behavior of my own stepson? How many would whisper nepotism behind our backs? Have you thought of that?”

  “No, sir.” But I suddenly had a feeling that Julianna had thought about it. Or been told to think about it. Probably several times over her life.

  Maybe labeling her a goody-goody had been unfair. She likely hadn’t had a choice.

  “Precisely. You hadn’t thought of it. Which is why you are here in my office instead of Antoine Birch, because it is you that most requires to be taught a lesson, and acting as both your headmaster as well as your father, it is my duty to deliver that instruction.”

  “You are not my father,” I said, probably more boldly than I should have.

  “I’m the closest thing you’ll ever get, and considering who you are and where you come from, you should consider it an honor to be my son. Place your hand on the desk in front of you, facing up.”

  A slap on the wrist, then—or palm, rather. With a ruler, most likely. It would sting, and it would be over, and I could go to class and forget the asshole shit he’d said and keep my head down for the rest of the year until I was free to get out of here.

  Or I could continue to argue.

  I wasn’t sure if it was because I was smart or because I was scared, but backing down seemed to be the better option.

  With a sigh, I placed my hand out on the desk in front of me.

  Stark then picked up the pack of cigarettes and placed it in my hand.

  “Sir?” I asked, unsure what he wanted from me.

  “How many cigarettes are in there? Count them.”

  I remembered how many had been missing when I’d taken one out earlier, but I opened it and looked anyway. “Sixteen.”

  Next he handed me the lighter. “Smoke them.”

  Now I was definitely confused. “You want me to smoke one? Here? Now?”

  “I want you to smoke them all.”

  It took me a minute, then I laughed. “You’re messing with me. Funny. You had me there.”

  “I’m completely serious, Cade.”

  “You want me to smoke all of the cigarettes in here. All sixteen.”

  “Not at once, of course. One at a time.” He leaned back in his chair. “Better get started. We’re going to be here a while as it is.”

  I paused, still not sure. What if it was a trap? He wanted to see if I’d really do it, and then…

  And then what? I was already in trouble. He didn’t need to catch me in more. Was he trying to turn it into a joke? So that later he could tell my mother, You should have seen him. He actually believed I wanted him to smoke sixteen cigarettes in a row.

  Or he really meant to teach a practical lesson—make me smoke a couple, and then when I was jittery and buzzed and feeling gross, he’d call it good, hoping it would turn me off from the damn things for good.

  He was waiting. Only way to find out his intent was to light up.

  It took seven minutes to smoke the first one. I watched the clock on the shelf behind him, the seconds ticking by at a snail’s pace. When the ash started to fall from my cigarette, he dumped the change from a glass bowl on his desk and told me to use that.

  He didn’t speak again until I’d put the butt out. “Another.”

  I lit up again, already feeling lightheaded. I managed to smoke that one in just over six minutes. When he nodded, I lit the next one.

  Halfway through the third, I’d reached my limit. “Okay. I get it. Smoking is bad.” I rubbed the cigarette out in the glass bowl. “Thank you for the lesson. I won’t smoke anymore.”

  “I told you to smoke all sixteen.”

  “Right. I get what you’re trying to prove.”

  “I’m not trying to prove anything, Cade. Pick up the goddamn cigarette, and put it between your lips.”

  I stared at him. There wasn’t a hint of amusement anywhere in his expression.

  My stomach tightened. “I can’t smoke anymore. I’m already feeling sick.”

  “Should have thought of that earlier. Light up.”

  “Look.” I wiped
my sweaty palms on my uniform khakis. “I can’t. If you want to punish me another way…”

  He stood up immediately. “Put both your hands on the desk in front of you. Palms up.”

  So now the ruler would come.

  But when he stood and opened the drawer he’d unlocked earlier, he didn’t pull out a ruler—he pulled out a long, black, skinny-tailed whip.

  My breath caught in my ribs. Instinctively, my hands curled back toward me as he came around the desk to stand in striking position. The spark I’d seen in his eyes before was back. “Hands open, Cade. Now.”

  I looked at the door behind me, wondering what would happen if I just got up and left.

  “Try it and find out,” he said, reading my mind.

  It would catch up with me eventually, this punishment. I couldn’t escape the man. He slept under the same roof I did.

  Tentatively, I laid my hands out and closed my eyes so I didn’t see the whip as it lashed through the air.

  But, fuck, did I feel it.

  My eyes flew open, and I wasn’t surprised to see bloody stripes along both palms. The sting was incredible. It was the kind of pain that lingered. The kind that I knew would take at least a week before it healed.

  I reached for a Kleenex on his desk and dabbed delicately at the wounds. A whip. Was that legal for an educator? Was that even legal for a stepparent?

  “Still prefer the whip to the cigarettes?”

  “A little late to change my mind now it’s done.” But given the choice again, I wasn’t sure I wouldn’t pick the smoking.

  “Oh, we’re not done. You have thirteen and a half unfinished cigarettes. Either you smoke all of them, or you get thirteen more lashes. Your choice.”

  My head snapped toward him. “You’re kidding, right?”

  “I don’t kid. Choose. Personally, I’m hoping you go with the whip. It will be the messier option, but it will be over quickly, and my office won’t reek like an ashtray.” He didn’t hide his smile. The prick was enjoying this. “Choose.”