Jerk (Saint Bonaventure University #2)

Chapter 1

ONE

RYE

Junior Year: Fall Semester

Cut off.

Two deadly words from my father glow on my screen, gutting me worse than the headlines stacked below it.

Fallen Crown: Rowen Scandal

—The Hill Herald

Captain Cut from Team Amidst Controversy

—SBU Magazine

Locking my screen, I push my phone in my pocket and grasp the glass vial next to it. Nights like this used to belong to me. To us. The Crowns. This is different. This feels like a funeral.

It was a mistake. She was a mistake. Everyone has a moment of weakness, and every buzz in my pocket reminds me of it.

A-grade powder doesn’t soothe the burn in my chest. Gin doesn’t calm the ache in my mind.

If I were a different man, a more level-headed man, I’d walk away.

That’s hard with my father’s voice swimming in my head.

“When people see you, they’ll see failure. You’re not one of us.”

His words hit like a bullet, cold and final.

No advice. No support. He would much rather compile a long list of reasons I’m a disappointment.

The smart move is to walk away. But I’m a Crown.

And when you fuck with us, you get what’s coming to you.

Revenge is the only thing I can control.

So instead of doing the right thing, here I am, waiting for her.

“Rye?” Gray leans closer to me, using the nickname students gave me when they couldn’t wrap their tongue around ‘Ryung.' Considering how much whiskey I drank freshman year, it’s fitting. He takes the vile from my fingers. “You look worse than you looked in Ibiza. You alright?”

I nod, but I’m not. I haven’t been alright since she shattered my world, and I know I sound dramatic, but believe me, it’s warranted. Because of her, my life isn’t what it used to be. My family doesn’t trust me, and my status? She’s fucked that too. So I’ll fuck her right back.

My body senses her before I see her. I can tell by the way my heartbeat picks up, faster than the bass bumping through the room. That voice fills the air. Her voice. Clear. Poised. Loud enough to make every muscle tense.

“Don’t worry, everyone.” Confidence drips off her silver-spooned tongue as all eyes turn to her. “The main event has arrived.”

Hannah Alfonso is a filthy display of luxury, using daddy’s card to adorn herself in Dior and Chanel.

Her favourites. A furry coat hangs off those slender, tanned shoulders, her collarbones as sharp as her bite.

If I imagine what’s under that pink dress clinging to that body, I’m in trouble, and I can’t fuck this up.

I’ve counted down the minutes to this very moment.

Art surrounds us, displayed on walls and easels, but all eyes are on her. Hands still in my oversized slacks, my back against the brick gallery wall, my gaze moves to one of the many bottles sitting on the table near the entrance.

As a loyal Crown, I shouldn’t be the one approaching the table knowing what I’m about to do. Mac, my fellow Crown, would kill me if he knew my plan. It’s his girlfriend’s gallery opening, and it’s a pretty big deal.

So I’ll ask for forgiveness later.

My hand wraps around the neck of the Belvedere bottle, the sounds of laughter and chit-chat muffling around me.

CRASH!

The bottle shatters on the stone gallery floor, right before those honey-brown eyes land on me.

She looks confused. No, nervous. Whatever it is, I’ve knocked the confidence right out of her. The way her throat moves when she swallows, the subtle bite of her lip, the tightening of her fists. It’s all porn to me.

Crouching, I pick up a shard of what’s left of the bottle, vodka dripping off it.

“Hey, Ember,” I say, loud enough to make sure I have the attention of every fucker in here. “I have an art submission.” This is my moment. Our moment.

Hannah’s gaze sticks to me as I approach her, every step making that deadly, floral scent harder to ignore. She’s about to open those glossy lips, but oh no, Kitten, you won’t speak until I let you.

“I call this one, ‘Mine.’” My words ring around the room as I slip behind Hannah.

My arm lands in front of her neck, but not to strangle her.

I only want everyone to see that she’s my possession.

Her back slams against my chest, her mink against my silk shirt, only heightening the heat from our bodies.

“Rye…” Her voice is soft, far from her usual assertive tone, and I ignore what it does to my guts. “Wh-what the hell are you doing?” Hearing her stammer, feeling her body shake even a little against mine, only fuels me. She lowers her voice, her tone sharper. “Everyone’s watching.”

That’s the point.

The glass in my hand is dull, jagged and slick with vodka. I press it against her skin, just enough to see her flinch, just enough to leave a single faint line right below her collar. This isn’t about breaking her skin, it’s about breaking her.

“I have nothing to lose, and that’s on you.

” I make sure my words catch her ear. She doesn’t squirm when I curve the line into a heart, slow and careful.

Deliberate, like she’s my canvas. She falls deeper against my chest, like she’s melting into me.

Like she already knows her fate. Dipping my head further to her level, just at my chest, my lips brush her ear.

“Congratulations, Hannah, you’re my new favourite plaything. ”

Moving my arm, I let the glass drop to the floor. Hannah stumbles on her heels when I step back, phones pointed at us. So I take a bow, a smirk on my face as the crowd watches on.

Pushing my hands in my pockets, I stride towards the door, leaving Hannah exactly where I want her: out of control.

Hannah

Want to hear something really messed up?

If I were to move right now, it would only confirm how damp it is between my legs.

“Plaything.”

His words hang in the air, broken shard by my Versace pumps, the edge shining under the gallery lights. My heart thumps in my ears, the silk lining of my fur jacket sticking to my skin. He’s gone, but I can still smell him. Smokey. Decadent. Intense. Tom Ford never made me this weak before.

I can still feel the kiss of the glass on my skin. I thought this would hurt, but there’s a feeling I’ve never felt curling in my stomach, and it isn’t fear.

Everyone’s still watching.

My lips stick together. My cheeks still burn, and if they’re red, there’s no hiding it. Everyone saw him do that. Everyone saw me let him. For the first time, in a room of people, I can’t speak. The whispers start, my throat closing in.

“Did you see the look on her face?”

“She got what was coming to her.”

“Look at her. Helpless.”

My eyes land on the group of girls who stand by my side. Correction: who usually stand by my side. Right now, they won’t budge, glancing between me and the rest of Ember’s guests like they’re waiting to see if my crown slips. It won’t. I’ll make sure of it.

“Stunning performance.” Mac’s voice breaks the silence, mocking me with a solo applause.

My ex kicking me while I’m down? Expected. I’m sure he’s thrilled to see someone try to put me in my place. A snort comes from one of my so-called friends, but I don’t need to see who. It’s Marisol. That wannabe, style-stealing, clout-chasing—

Get it together.

Straightening my stance, I lift my chin and raise a sparkly nail to a nearby server who promptly brings me a tray of champagne.

I thought what I did would make him back off.

I thought I left no chance of retaliation.

Clearly, I messed that up. Now I need to fix this.

I need to get them back on my side. ASAP.

Raising my glass, I tip it to the crowd. “To Rye Rowen.” Then I smile into the lens of the nearest phone. “My biggest fan.”

“Fan?” Marisol snorts again from the side. “He doesn’t look like a fan.” She’s pushing the shard in, reminding me she’s always waiting for me to falter, but tonight’s not it.

The chilled champagne slides down my throat. It doesn’t help. Ember signals her DJ, house music filling the room. The pulse of the bass matches my heart, while my usual spotlight is lava.

Don’t let them see it.

I’m determined to keep this smile on my face as I take my wobbly legs to the bar, my head lifted higher. “Martini. Dry. Lemon.” The bartender nods before I turn around and rest my elbows on the bar. Some people still stare, whispering, but I won’t let them think he got me. Not for a second.

My phone buzzes again, and I know I shouldn’t look, but I do. And when I do, that fire fills my chest.

My face is already plastered on social media, Rye behind me, that shard to my skin.

SBU Ice Queen Melts Under Crown Pressure

— The Hill Local

Hannah Alfonso Disgraced by Fallen Crown

— SBU Spotted

My eyes narrow on the caption of the most-liked photo.

Someone put Hannah Alfonso in her place.

And the most liked comment?

It’s about time!

The insides of my stomach curdle. This is how they really feel.

My martini appears right on cue, and I’m quick to bring the glass to my lips.

“Interesting night.” Vince Margoni slides up to me, swirling a glass of clear liquor with a smile far less sweet than the chocolate empire he’s set to inherit. “Whatever did you do to get a royal treatment like that?”

“Whatever makes you think you have the audacity to speak to me?” I bring the glass to my lips, but this drink doesn’t taste as good as usual.

I blame it on being in The Valley. It’s below our home in Paradise Hill.

Literally. And it shows. Somehow, Ember got most of the student population here, but I regret making the trip.

Vince lets out a laugh. A mean chuckle. “Rowen finally made you interesting. That look on your face? I’d give a lot to see it again.”

My grip on my glass tightens. “Shame. Nothing makes you interesting enough to stand next to me.”

“You’re not embarrassed?” he asks, and I want to take my heel to his skull. “The way he carved into you like a piece of clay?”

“He didn’t hurt me.” My response is quick. Too quick if I’m trying to be calm. Too fast if I’m trying to pretend like what he did doesn’t matter. “He’s just being dramatic. It’s embarrassing. You know how men get when their egos are bruised, don’t you?”

“Well, if you’re into sharp edges, I'm up to the challenge, sweetheart.” His eyes land on where Rye left his invisible mark. “Unless Rowen has something to say about it.”

“I promise you, you’re not up for the challenge.” I laugh, taking another drink. It’s been a while since I’ve dated anyone, but Vince is far from a candidate. The men here are as delusional as Rye’s performance, hopped up on cocaine and misogyny. Boring, really. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

His smile flattens. “Remember, Hannah, you’re not untouchable, and we all just saw that.” He lingers before I turn my back on him.

My reflection greets me in the bar mirror, my fingers trailing where that shard touched me. An invisible scarlet mark.

What I do from here is crucial.

My eyes land on a small empty easel on the bar, then they move to the tablet behind it.

Wiping the invisible heart away, I reach for the tablet when the bartender’s busy.

Once the bar app is closed, it’s easy to find a picture from just moments ago, social media eating up his twisted performance.

Ignoring the stunned look on my face, I fill the screen with one of the posted photos.

After placing the tablet on the easel, I lean over and grab the bottle of Veuve behind the bar and pop the cork. It’s loud enough for guests watching me to notice. They think I’m shaken, but I’ll rebuild. I’ll be better. I definitely won’t let him stop me.

“Perspective is everything.” Raising the bottle, I address the crowd once more, their attention back on me. “I call this piece, ‘Desperation’.”

That gets the crowd talking again, murmurs filling the room as I take a long swig from the bottle. I let the bubbles tickle my throat as I own the scene before I stride towards the doors, leaving the tablet on display.

My posse scrambles to their feet. The Paradise Posse. My crew of untouchable, fashion-forward girlies that help make me unstoppable. They finally land where they’re supposed to. By my side.

As I push open the gallery doors, my phone vibrates, the screen lighting up again.

Ryung: this is just the beginning

My grip tightens around my phone as I type out a response before my finger stalls, hovering over the ‘send’ icon.

If I know men from The Hill, he wants a reaction. Narcissist. I delete my message. I won’t give him that.

Ryung Rowen can choke on his delusional expectations and his sorry attempt to take me down.