Filthy Rich Boys (Rich Boys of Burberry Prep, #1)

by C.M. Stunich

My three biggest mistakes; my three greatest betrayals. Creed is frowning, like this whole confrontation is a necessary evil. Get rid of the lower-class trash, clean up the school.

They think their money will buy them the world. Maybe, in a way, it will. But it won’t buy them true friendship, and it won’t buy them love. It definitely won’t buy them me.

What they don’t know is that the hardest hearts are forged in fire. With their cruelty and their jokes and their laughter, they’ve forged me into something spectacular.

“Is that my life outside of these walls was already a living hell. This is just another level of Dante’s inferno, and I’m not afraid.” My gaze flicks past Tristan and back to Zayd and Creed. “Not of any of you.”

As I walk, I can feel three sets of eyes on my back, watching, waiting, plotting. I’ll have to make sure I stay one step ahead.

What I don’t know in that moment is that rich boys are far more dangerous than poor ones. The poor ones might join gangs and pack heat, might rough you up for walking in the wrong neighborhood, but the rich ones have all the same instincts wrapped up in pretty faces and designer shoes, white smiles and genteel manners. The thing is, with infinite resources comes the ability to inflict infinite pain.

The Bluebloods of Burberry Prep A list by Miranda Cabot

The Inner Circle: Andrew Payson, Anna Kirkpatrick, Myron Talbot, Ebony Peterson, Gregory Van Horn, Abigail Fanning, John Hannibal, Valentina Pitt, Sai Patel, Mayleen Zhang, Jalen Donner … and, I guess, me! Plebs: everyone else, sorry. XOXO

“Aw,” Harper purrs, pouting her perfectly painted pink lips, “look at you, so smart, using a Marie Antoinette reference.” She leans in toward me, her sweet vanilla-peach smell making me sick. “If you think you’ve got what it takes, bring your pitchforks, peasant, and take my head.” With a laugh like sparkling water, Harper stands back up and flips her hair over her shoulder.

I have to admit, they’ve got charisma, all six of them. Then again, Hitler had charisma, too, and look how that turned out.

“Save it for fall break, dickhead,” Zack snaps, and my brows wrinkle up. When he reaches down for my wrist, I jerk from his grasp, and we end up staring at each other. Family friend my dad might call him, but he was never a friend of mine. Zack’s eyes narrow, but he turns and heads down the hallway where Miranda’s waiting, watching and listening to the verbal scuffle between the boys with her mouth hanging open. “Enjoy your tour, Charity,” Tristan schmoozes, lifting a cocky brow. “Because you won’t be around much longer.”

feel like Harry in book one,” I groan, putting my face in one of the decorative pillows lining the window seat. “Left alone at Hogwarts for break.” Miranda grins, putting her shiny blonde hair up in a high pony. “Creed will be here,” she jokes, and I shudder. I don’t even have to fake it; my disgust for him is involuntary. “But I already warned him to stay away from you. He’ll probably be busy with … you know, whatever it is that he does.” Miranda chucks her bag next to the front door just before we both hear the click of a lock. We exchange a look as it swings open and Creed enters, freezing when he spots me in his living room.

“Don’t wiggle like that; you’ll give me a hard-on,” he drawls, like his words are no big deal. Me, I gape and I wonder if I’ve just lived a sheltered life, or if these guys are just hedonistic as fuck. “Seriously? I thought I was just a useless charity case?” Creed shrugs and leans in close, putting his lips near that sensitive spot between my neck and shoulder. His breath is warm, but I shiver when it feathers across my skin. “Even whores have their purpose.” I raise my hand to slap him, but he grabs my wrist, squeezing just hard enough to make me cry out. As soon as he releases me, I finish what I started and crack my palm against his cheek. Tristan laughs, this low, cruel sound, as he starts up the sweet purr of the engine and takes off at such a rapid speed I’m worried Zayd’s going to tumble off the back into the gravel.

“You’ve been texting my sister?” he asks, and I see both Andrew and Tristan perk up on the opposite side of the circle. Andrew’s friends with Miranda and me, so that makes sense. But Tristan? I still can’t figure out his intentions toward her. He clearly dislikes her brother with a passion.

“This is a terrible fucking idea,” Zack growls. “They might be smiling now, but these guys are monsters.” He tosses a hand out to indicate the three Idol boys on the far side of the table.

“To Tristan Vanderbilt,” he reads, his voice so commanding that most everyone in class stops to listen. “Thank you for being a good friend. I’m glad we could overcome our differences. Love, Marnye Reed.” He snaps my name off his tongue like a curse … or a promise. My heart thunders as I stare at him and wonder if he’s going to chuck my note in the trash next. “Thanks, Marnye. I love it.” Tristan snatches a single red rose from the bouquet, tucks it behind his ear, and then hands the rest to some random first-year girl. He comes over to stand in front of me, and pulls a gold box from his pocket. “Enjoy.” He tosses it on my desk, tucks his hands into the pockets of his jacket, and saunters out. My mouth is basically on the fucking floor.

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, open it,” Miranda chokes out, grabbing the box and practically shoving it into my arms. Everyone in class is definitely staring at me now, even Ms. Felton. “I mean, I pretty much hate the guy, but … Tristan Vanderbilt does not fall for girls. Ever. You’re like, the second coming of Lizzie.” I give her a please shut up look, and crack the box open. There’s a white gold diamond necklace inside with a pair of roses on it. “What …” I start as Miranda gags next to me, fluttering her hands in my direction. “I know this necklace. I saw it at Neiman Marcus. I almost bought it.” When I just sit there staring at it, she takes it from me and puts it around my neck.

“Becky,” Creed says, nice and slow and quiet, but with a dripping menace that makes me shiver. “Go to hell.” She snaps her gaze over to him, but she’s still fuming. “Zayd spent every day after school in the kitchen this week perfecting those chocolates. He ruined over twenty boxes worth. It’s more than just candy, sweetie. Now get.” “You don’t control me, Creed Cabot,” Becky snaps, tossing her blond hair. “You’re no higher on the totem pole than I am.”

When the door opens however, I’m left staring at Creed, wet and hot and steaming, a white towel around his slender hips. He’s combing his hair, and as he glances back at me, the towel slips and falls to the floor. My mouth gapes open at the sight of his firm ass, and that’s before he turns around and shows me exactly what he’s working with. “I’m sorry,” I blurt, but I make no move to leave, and Creed’s mouth turns up in a sharp smile. He takes a step closer to me, leaning over and putting his mouth next to my forehead before brushing it with a light kiss. “Were you trying to join me, Charity?” he asks, his voice a whisper against my skin. I can feel his lips moving and heat shoots through me. Creed lifts his hands and puts his warm palms on my upper arms. I do my best not to look down, but … he strikes a beautiful nude, this boy. “Because I’d happily get back in the shower if you’d join me.”

Later, I text Creed and let him know that I’d like to have our tutoring sessions in the library. He sends me a picture in response that I very promptly delete. And then spend hours looking up how to un-delete. Ugh.

“I just want to be left alone,” I blurt, pushing past them all and heading down the hallway. I end up in the bathroom with the door closed, and I turn the hot water on in the shower, climbing in and huddling underneath it with my hands over my ears. When someone knocks, I don't answer, I just sit there until the hot waters run cold and my teeth are chattering. Then I climb out, grab a towel, and step into the hallway where Zayd is waiting. He doesn’t say anything, just leads me into one of the guest rooms and tucks me in the bed. He gets on top of the covers, curls around me and holds me there for the rest of the night.

“We heard Creed confronting Andrew about being a faggot,” he sneers, reaching up to wipe some blood from the corner of his mouth. I turn to look at Creed, my stomach tightening in knots, but he's already shaking his head. “That’s not even in the fucking realm of what I was doing. I wasn't confronting him. I just wanted to be sure he wasn’t banging my sister.” Creed runs his fingers through his hair. “I thought he was lying to me, so I followed him after our conversation. That's when I found him making out with Gary Jacobs.” Creed shrugs his shoulders. “But whoever gave you the right to beat him up?” Creed’s voice is as sharp as a whip, and he gives Tristan a run for the money in the asshole department. At least this time, he’s using his asshole powers for good. “There will be absolutely no homophobic bullshit on my watch.” His eyes briefly flick to his sister before he looks away again.

I’ve chosen Zayd. It’s done.

“Hello Charity,” Tristan says, taking a few steps forward. He’s got a trophy in his hand, a gold one with a white marble base. “Do you know what this is?” I don’t say anything, not a word. He moves even closer, his gray eyes sparkling with the thrill of the hunt. The way he looked at Harper in The Mess the other day is the way he’s looking at me now, like I’m prey. “This is a trophy.” Tristan turns and hands it over to Zayd. He takes it in his tattooed fingers, and then meets my eyes. There’s nothing there, none of the fun-loving, playful asshole I hung out with on spring break or danced with last night. He’s just … blank. Kind of like my emotions. Inside my head, it’s all white noise. Marnye Reed isn’t even here anymore; she’s checked out completely.

Tristan meets my gaze one, last time, and then reaches out to pluck a tear from my cheek, bringing it to his lips for a lick, reveling in the taste of my pain. The knife of his betrayal cut close, but it didn’t hit its target. I might be bleeding, but I’m not dead, not yet. “I’ve already enrolled in my classes.” The courtyard is silent, watching this moment unfold in all its horrible glory. There’s not a person there that expects me to stand up for myself, to raise my chin in defiance. No, they thought I would crumble. Maybe they hoped that, like the girl in my essay, I’d run away and internalize my pain. Not anymore. All of this pain has changed me. Right now, it feels like it’s changed me for the worst, cracked me in half and spit out broken pieces. But really, I’ve changed for the better. Their cruelty has shaped me into an immovable mountain, a force to stand against howling winds. “Come September, I’ll be the first in line for orientation.” “You wouldn’t dare.” Tristan is furious with me, but he’s triumphant, too. He still believes he’s won, his dark hair fluttering in the wind. He’s gorgeous, but only on the outside. On the inside, he’s a monster. They all are. “I’ll make your life a living hell.”

“Because what you don’t know …” Sucking in a sharp breath, I bend down and grab the handle on my ratty, old duffle bag. Tristan is scowling at me, but he’s already done his worst, wormed his way into my heart and tried to break me. What else is there? “Is that my life outside of these walls was already a living hell. This is just another level of Dante’s inferno, and I’m not afraid—not of any of you.”

The hardest hearts are forged in fire; the weakest bend under their will. And revenge … is wicked sweet.