The Punk and the Plaything (When Rivals Play Book 3) Read online

  Copyright © 2019 B.B. Reid

  The Punk and the Plaything by B.B. Reid

  All rights reserved.

  Chief Editor: Rogena Mitchell-Jones of RMJ Manuscript Service

  LLC Co-editor: Colleen Snibson of Colleen Snibson Editing

  Both of Two Red Pens Editing www.tworedpens.com

  Cover Design by Amanda Simpson of Pixel Mischief Design

  Interior Design/Formatting by Champagne Book Design

  All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the author or publisher constitutes unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use the material from the book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained from the author.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual events, locales, or persons living or dead, are coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Also by B.B. Reid

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Epilogue

  Also by B.B. Reid

  Acknowledgements

  Contact the Author

  About B.B. Reid

  This book is dedicated to the original Jamie Buchanan, who ruined everything by finding her happily-ever-after, marrying some douchebag named Brian and becoming a Johnson. Cheers.

  Broken Love Series

  Fear Me

  Fear You

  Fear Us

  Breaking Love

  Fearless

  Stolen Duet

  The Bandit

  The Knight

  When Rivals Play Series

  The Peer and the Puppet

  The Moth and the Flame

  Evermore (novella)

  The Punk and the Plaything

  “WE’RE HERE, MISS.”

  I could feel Joe, my father’s driver, watching me through the rearview mirror as I stared out the back window of the Escalade. What was it about the sun shining brightest on the darkest of days? Was it irony or did the universe have a sick sense of humor?

  There was nothing special about today if you didn’t count orientation. Traditionally, it was a rite of passage reserved for freshman, but at Brynwood Academy, the seniors also had one. It was no secret the future upper echelon would pass through these doors, so the board wanted to ensure that none of the academy’s prestigious diplomas were squandered.

  Still, I was unable to silence the doom roiling in my gut since the moment I opened my eyes this morning.

  Joe came around to open the backdoor, and the moment my patent nude Pigalles touched the brick, a hush fell over the crowded lawn. If Joe noticed, he didn’t remark, but he wouldn’t have even if he had. My parents didn’t treat him as a member of the family. Their insistence on decorum had long surpassed nauseating, becoming stifling and often condescending.

  “Pick you up in a couple of hours?” he inquired. I didn’t miss the concern in his gaze, though there was nothing he could do. A tight smile was all I could offer him before facing the school.

  Shoulders back.

  Chin high.

  One foot in front of the other.

  I didn’t dare take a page from Dorothy’s book and click my heels together—home was the last place I wanted to be. The building seemed to stretch further and further away with each step I took, but, eventually, I reached it, and the group crowding the front doors parted like the Red Sea. I didn’t acknowledge any of them, and they didn’t dare greet me. They weren’t my peers. They were my subjects. And they didn’t just fear me—they hated me.

  “Bitch,” someone daring enough whispered as I stepped inside the air-conditioned building.

  I didn’t even flinch. It wasn’t the first time I’d been called such, and as usual, I pretended to be oblivious.

  Bitch.

  Barbie.

  Snake.

  It was all true.

  Keeping my strides long and my head high, I strutted into the nearest bathroom. The moment the door closed behind me, however, I finally let my shoulders sag. Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath as I rested my head against the door.

  It was just one more year.

  I couldn’t turn back time, but I could look to the future. In ten months, I’d be eighteen. In ten months, I’d be free.

  The sound of three short vibrations had my eyes snapping open. I quickly dug through my father’s gift for my sixteenth birthday last year. Most kids got a car, which was pretty extravagant. I got a baby Birkin that I’d nearly thrown up in when my father boasted about the price. If you’re curious, I’ll give you a hint—my father could have bought three cars with the money he’d spent on this bag.

  Pulling my phone, I read the message.

  Ever: Be there in five, dear.

  My lips twisted in a wry smile as if I hadn’t just been close to tears. At least one of us was enjoying the irony of our relationship. Once upon a time, I thought… maybe…

  Shaking my head, I typed my response.

  K.

  Moving to the mirror, I studied the reflection staring back at me. The seconds stretched into minutes, but still, I waited, hoping for a glimpse of the girl I once cherished.

  Nothing but barren blue eyes stared back at me.

  I told myself it was for the best as I lifted a tube of lipstick from my purse and applied a fresh coat of dark cherry until my lips appeared fuller. Mother hadn’t approved of my choice, preferring I wear a softer shade. One that said I took people’s shit with three sugars. Yeah, no thanks. Ask anyone, except maybe Ever, and they’d tell you there was nothing peachy or coral about me. The lipstick contrasted the paleness of my strawberry locks that was red to some and blonde to others. It made me appear unapproachable. Unattainable.

  Thanks to my father, that was no longer true.

  Satisfied I wouldn’t besmirch the Montgomery name with a single strand of hair out of place, I left the bathroom and followed the brightly colored signs.

  Tables filled with informational pamphlets about the ACT/SAT tests and financial aid, as well as swag from various colleges, lined the walls of the hallway. I bypassed them all and headed to the long line marked M-O, where a team of administrators and teachers were handing out class schedules from behind tables pushed together. I was there maybe a minute or two before I felt gentle yet strong fingers grip my elbow.

  Glancing up, I met eyes that could have been melted pools of gold and fanned by long lashes. They did nothing to soften the harshness of an impossibly hard jawline and pronounced chin dimple, but, man, w
as he still a pretty sight. His lips were so thick they formed a perpetual pout. I often felt their softness brush my forehead or cheek. Ever McNamara should have been on someone’s magazine cover. Unfortunately, he’d never welcome the attention. Unlike someone I once knew.

  “Been here long?” he inquired.

  “No. Just a few minutes before you.”

  He nodded before groaning when he noticed the slow-moving line. It seemed like everyone had a list of questions to ask and waited until now to do it. “Fuck, this line is long. Why are you even standing back here?”

  I frowned. “What do you mean?” Where else was I supposed to wait?

  Gripping my elbow tighter, he wordlessly steered me toward the front of the line. Scorned gazes followed us as we blatantly cut the line, but no one dared protest, not even the whispers I was subjected to often.

  Ever’s wrath was a motherfucker. Just last year, his new stepsister had learned that the hard way. Barely a month after she blew into town, Four Archer had been sent to some reform school in Europe. According to Vaughn, our best friend and Ever’s right hand, Ever had personally handed his father the pamphlet.

  We reached the table just as a guy stepped away with his schedule in hand and another was ready to step forward. With one look from Ever, however, he stepped back in line.

  “We need our schedules,” Ever told the woman waiting behind stacks of folders. He hadn’t even bothered offering our names. I didn’t recognize the woman whose name tag read Mrs. Thomas, so I assumed she was new. Still, if she wanted to survive this job, she’d learn ours and quickly.

  “Young man—”

  “I don’t have all day,” he said before she could finish reprimanding him.

  Nervously, I began to tap my heel against the linoleum tile. I was sure everyone assumed it was with impatience. Most of what people knew or thought about me was based on assumptions, and nothing I did would ever change their accustomed view of me. I’d long ago decided they weren’t worth the effort. It’s not like any of them had ever bothered to know better.

  Mrs. Thomas looked ready to try scolding again when Mr. Stalls, a freshman lit teacher, leaned over and whispered in her ear. After a few seconds, she searched through the stack marked M with pursed lips and pulled our schedules.

  Ever accepted them without a word of thanks before pulling me behind him down the hall. Eventually, we stopped in front of the boys’ bathroom. “I gotta take a leak. Will you wait here? We need to talk,” he added at my questioning look.

  “S-sure.”

  My stomach turned and tightened, threatening to fold me in two at the wary smile he flashed me before disappearing inside.

  Oh God…had he had enough? Was he ending this?

  My mind began to race as I attempted to figure out what I would do. I hadn’t prepared for Ever breaking up with me. I knew him. He was loyal, almost to a fault, to those he cared about. And what’s more, he never gave me any reason to doubt him—until now.

  Feeling like the walls were closing in on me, I looked around for an escape and realized my distress hadn’t gone unnoticed. The whispers were back.

  Barbie. Bitch. Snake.

  It was all true.

  All around, people watched me as they gossiped to one another. I never understood the point of talking behind your hands if you were only going to stare. They made no secret that they were whispering about me. They wanted me to know.

  I was a queen without a crown. A fraud. Alone.

  Forgetting Ever’s request that I wait, I rushed for the front doors and straight into a thick cloud of smoke that sent me into a coughing fit. My eyes stung for a different reason now as I fought to clear my lungs. I was pretty sure it was from more than just cigarettes, too.

  I turned toward the source—a crowd of four or five huddled in the corner enjoying their smokes despite the campus being a nonsmoking zone. I met each of their gazes, allowing them to feel my fury. That rage turned to sheer panic when my gaze connected with the tallest offender.

  Suddenly, I couldn’t breathe for a different reason entirely. My only solace was that he looked just as shocked, although he recovered much quicker. Nostrils flaring, he took a threatening step forward before stopping short and blinking as if remembering where he was…and that there were witnesses. With curled lips, his gaze swept over me from my heeled feet to my perspiring hairline.

  I stood perfectly still, knowing that if I tried to run, he’d chase me. It was all for the best. I wasn’t so sure my legs wouldn’t give out the moment I tried to get away.

  “Well, isn’t this the most delicious surprise.”

  My head confirmed what my eyes were showing me, but my stubborn heart still refused to believe. Jamie was back from Ireland? Why hadn’t Ever told me? Neither of those answers seemed to matter as much as why Jamie was back.

  The short sleeves of the button up he wore were rolled and bunched at the shoulders, displaying the muscles he’d grown since I’d last seen him four years ago. The white cotton only pronounced his tanned skin. He’d left the buttons undone, allowing anyone who laid eyes on him to see his hard chest and defined abs…and the many tattoos that covered them. Most of them were angry and aggressive, almost scary as if he were showing off his demons for anyone to see. Recalling my sweet Jamie from long ago, and what happened the last time I’d seen him, I knew I was responsible for every one of them.

  Gone was the gentle boy next door with a full mop of hair, a lanky body, and an easy smile. This boy standing before me was darker, edgier…more tragic to my lonely, fragile heart. Was that yearning burning in the pit of my stomach or fear of the unknown? Because I didn’t know this Jamie, and judging by the wicked gleam in his eyes as he flashed that mocking grin, I didn’t want to know.

  “What the hell are you doing back here?”

  “Is that any way to greet your first love? I got to say”—his gaze slowly traced every dip and curve of my body—“I love how well you’ve grown up, Bette.”

  “First love?” I scoffed, even though it felt like he’d stolen my breath. “You were hardly that.”

  “Then what was I?” he challenged, backing me against the opposite wall. “I’m breathless to hear more of your lies.”

  “You were nothing.”

  He flashed me that sad, beautiful smile I hadn’t realized I’d missed so much. I stood perfectly still as his wolfish gaze ate me up. As close as he stood now, he wouldn’t miss a single fucking flaw. There were many, but no one dared looked close enough to see. I might as well have been Medusa. As he ran his gaze over me, I took the time to study him as well, noting the silver bar piercing his right brow and the small diamond in his right nostril. I could have sworn I’d even glimpse a flash of metal piercing his nipples. Jamie had taken all that sinful deliciousness he naturally possessed and multiplied it by ten thousand. As if the world didn’t already have enough injustices.

  “You’re so beautiful. Did it hurt?” He kept his gaze on me as he turned his head and blew out smoke.

  “Did what hurt?” I could feel the heat from Jamie’s cigarette when he defiantly brushed his thumb across my bottom lip. To Jamie’s knowledge, I belonged to his cousin now, but he clearly didn’t give a damn.

  “When you fell from heaven, Satan.”

  I slapped his hand away while telling myself to get a grip. Jamie might have surprised me, but he was nothing I couldn’t handle. “Get lost, Jameson.”

  Tapping the end of his cigarette, he sprinkled ash onto my designer blouse. A piece of the flame had fallen, burning through the sheer material, scorching my skin. Before now, I’d never thought Jamie capable of hurting me. The truth was now so blatantly blazed into our history that it could never be unwritten.

  Without warning, he pressed closer until I could see nothing but the angry blackness of his eyes. “I’m afraid I’m not going anywhere. By the time I’m done with you, Barbette Montgomery, you’ll be crawling back to me… but I doubt I’ll want my cousin’s sloppy thirds.”

  �
�I wouldn’t hold your breath.” I wasted little time pushing him away. Tragically, the moment my hand connected with his warm skin, the electricity threatening to make my broken heart beat again became too obvious to ignore. I tried to run from it, but some inexplicable need to seal our fate had me spinning on my heel to face him again. “Better yet, Jameson, do us both the favor, won’t you?”

  This time, when I walked away, I didn’t dare look back. With every sorrowful step, I could feel him watching me. I didn’t dare let my shoulders sag as I kept my chin high. After all, it wouldn’t be the first time we turned our backs on one another.

  A year no longer seemed like such a short time away, and I had a feeling by the end, my heart will have been broken a thousand times more. Pathetically, there was nothing I cared to do about it. I deserved every bit of the pain Jamie had promised.

  Eight Months Later

  “YOU WANT ME TO DO what?”

  I stood in the farmhouse kitchen, biting down on my lip as I gave Lou my best bedroom eyes. Never mind the fact that her boyfriend sat a few feet away with one eye wisely on me and the other on the large breakfast he was wolfing down. Lou couldn’t cook for shit, so I had one guess who was responsible. The sweet thing Wren was lucky enough to call grandmother. She’d been staying with them for the past couple of months. Considering Wren and Lou were still in the honeymoon phase of their relationship, no one outside of the three of them knew why. The moment I tasted Winny’s cooking for the first time, I stopped caring. Hell, I hoped she never left.

  Winny hadn’t had any trouble making friends in Blackwood Keep, so it was anyone’s guess where she was right now, but my guess was she was with the elderly gentleman up the street who I’d witnessed flirting with Wren’s grandmother a few times. I was willing to bet my entire inheritance that Wren knew nothing about it.

  “Buchanan,” Wren slowly said as he chomped down on a cinnamon roll, “what did I tell you about that flirting shit?”

  “Me? Flirting? With Lou? Not sure I’m daring enough to fuck my best friend,” I teased. “Too slippery a slope for me.”