12. Addy ⚠
Chapter twelve
Addy ?
T he din of the study area is like a static hum in the back of my mind—white noise so thick I can almost find solace. Even if I am out in the open, surrounded by people. I flip to a clean page in my notebook, ignoring the crescendo of Preston and Cecily's makeout session a few feet away.
Tell me you’re putting on a show without telling me you’re putting on a show. Honestly, no one is that noisy for Preston. He kisses like a fish. I grimace at the thought of his lips on mine.
My pen hovers over the paper. He wants a reaction from me. But, the only reaction I have is relief. I can't escape the nightmares at home. I can't escape the chaos of high school drama. I need an escape.
"Mind if we join you?" The words slip into my bubble of concentration with an ease that makes me tense.
My gaze flicks upward, meeting Saint's dark eyes as he, Dre, and Chess descend on the couch I've claimed as my temporary sanctuary. In a fluid motion that belies his imposing frame, Saint drapes himself over the armrest closest to me. His presence is like gravity; felt more than seen.
"Looks like you've got enough room for us," Dre says with a smirk, his ice-blue eyes glinting mischievously. He plops down next to me, close enough that I can smell the faint scent of mint on his breath. Tendrils of his shoulder-length hair brush against my arm as he leans back, tattoos peeking out from under his sleeves like forbidden secrets.
Chess follows suit, his playful grin contradicting the tension I see lining his every inch. "What are you working on?" He nods towards my notebook, his hazel eyes curious behind the strands of dark hair that frame his face in an artful disarray.
"French," I mutter, trying to pull the notebook closer to my chest without seeming too defensive. My heart races—a tiny bird trapped in a cage of ribs. "Just trying to get some peace and quiet."
Dre chuckles, a low sound that reverberates through the space between us. "Good luck with that around here."
Saint remains silent, his attention seemingly elsewhere, but his body language speaks volumes. There's a tension in him, a coiled readiness that has nothing to do with our current conversation.
I glance around at their nonchalant postures, the way they sprawl with an air of entitlement that contrasts sharply with the unease knotting my stomach. These boys are a force unto themselves—unpredictable and magnetic. Part of me wants to edge away, to preserve what's left of my fragile little life, while another part is drawn to their reckless abandon.
They could offer me an escape.
"Seriously, Ice Princess," Dre's voice pulls me back, "you look like you could use a break. What harm's there in a little chat?"
I know what they call me. I’m not ignorant to the reputation I’ve developed. But, that’s not who I am. It’s the armor I donn. Not that they would know anything about that.
Some day, when I’m free of this and I can lay down my sword and shield, I’ll be able to dig down deep and revive my frozen heart. I’ll be able to find out who I really am in this world. But, that won’t happen here, with these people. No, I needed to get far, far away from her first.
And, right now, I needed to get far, far away from these boys.
"Plenty," I think, but don't say. Instead, I offer a tight smile, one that doesn't quite reach my eyes. "Maybe some other time," I reply, hoping my voice sounded firmer than I feel.
"Ah, come on," Chess cajoles, leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees. "We don't bite. Not hard, anyway." His laugh is infectious, and despite myself, I feel the edges of my resolve softening.
"Unless that's what you're into," Dre adds with a wink, and I can't help the blush that creeps up my neck. Fucking save me from boys who don't understand boundaries.
"Guys, really, I—" But my protest drowns in their easy banter, the familiar dance of their friendship pulling me into its rhythm against my better judgment. They're like a storm, and I'm standing perilously close to the eye.
From my peripheral vision, I catch the flicker of motion that is Wesley's sardonic smirk. The way his eyes narrow, not missing a beat of the spectacle before him. Across the hall, Cecily, too, is watching, her gaze sharp and calculating as she leans further into the boy she thinks she's stealing away from me. My heart hammers against my ribs.
"Guys, I can't," I whisper urgently, my voice barely carrying over the hum of the study area.
"Can't what?" Saint asks, his tone light, but his eyes hold a glint of something more serious. "Talk? We're just talking."
"Easy for you to say," I shoot back, my gaze flitting between them and the watchful eyes of my peers. Wesley's presence is like a shadow cast over us, a reminder of the unspoken rules I live by. Rules that don't concern the likes of Saint, Dre, and Chess.
Rules that will get me in a hell of a lot of trouble because of them.
"Relax, Ice Princess. Cece's just jealous. She's had a hard on for Saint for years. And you're not playing her game the way she wants," Dre says, flashing a confident grin that doesn't reach his eyes. If they knew the stakes would they still be here?
"Jealousy's the least of my worries," I mutter under my breath, the weight of potential consequences pressing down on me. My mind spins with dire scenarios, each ending with the cold disapproval of my adoptive family...and much, much worse.
"Hey," Chess chimes in, his voice smooth as silk but with an edge that cuts through my anxiety, "we're not here to cause trouble for you."
"Could've fooled me," I reply, attempting to slide a bit further away, only to find the couch offers no more room. Their laughter at my feeble attempt to distance myself fills the air, disarmingly genuine.
"Come on, we're not the plague," Saint says. "Just friends hanging out."
"Friends?" I ask incredulously. But there’s no malice in my words, just a thread of worry that I fight to keep from unraveling. Wesley's gaze seems to burn hotter now, as if he can sense my inner turmoil from across the room.
"Or more," Dre suggests, his eyes twinkling with mischief. I can't tell if he's joking or if he truly doesn't grasp the gravity of my situation.
"Friends," Saint confirms. He reaches down to snatch up my bag, opening it and rifling through like he has the right. "What else are you working on?" His voice implies a question, but I can hear the demand hidden beneath.
"Stop," I plead again, my voice a notch louder this time. "You don't understand."
"Try us," Chess counters, leaning in so our foreheads are almost touching. His insistence is meant to be comforting, I realize, but it only serves to remind me how tangled I'm becoming in a web I'm not sure I'm capable of navigating.
"I need to go," I tell them as I snatch my bag back from Saint's curious clutches.
Their collective chuckle is a warm sound, wrapping around me. But I can't let my guard down. I can't. The chill of Wesley's scrutiny remains—ever-watchful, ever-judging.
Dre's fingers are a cool contrast to the warmth of my skin as they brush stray strands of hair away from my temple. His touch is gentle, yet it sends a shiver down my spine—not entirely from the chill. He leans closer, and I can feel his breath on my neck, sending another ripple of unease through me.
"Ice Princess," he murmurs, his voice a low, seductive hum that makes my heart stutter. "You know you're too captivating to ignore, right?"
I stiffen, acutely aware of his proximity and the weight of scrutiny from across the room. My thoughts race with images of my parents' disapproval, their disappointment a tangible thing, heavy and suffocating.
What will they do if they find out about this? What's even left for them to take from me?
"Easy, Dre," Saint's terse voice breaks through the haze of my panic. There's an edge to his tone that I haven't heard before—a flicker of protectiveness?
That can't be right.
I turn slightly to face him. Saint sits rigid, his dark eyes hard, calculating.
Dre takes the movement as an invitation. He leans in and nips at my neck with sharp teeth against my soft skin. I jump, nearly yelping in surprise.
"Back off, man," Chess adds sharply, his hand landing on Dre's shoulder with enough force to make Dre turn his ice blue gaze away from me. "She's clearly not into your Dracula act."
"Dracula act?" Dre echoes with a scoff, but he moves back, giving me space—space to breathe, to think, to steady the tremble in my fingers.
The charged silence teeters on the brink of shattering as Saint's jaw clenches, his stance radiating the barely contained fury of a storm cloud about to burst. Dre's smirk has fades, the icy blue of his eyes now sharp like shards of glass as he faces off with Chess.
"Look, I don't give a—" Dre begins hotly, the tension coiling tighter around us.
"Hey, make some room, would you?" The voice cuts through the brewing tempest, cool and unbothered. Gen, with her raven-black hair and an air of command that seems too large for her petite frame, slides into the fray before anyone can respond.
She nudges Dre with her shoulder, a slight figure moving an immovable object, and he shifts, more out of surprise than compliance. With a fluid motion, she plops down between him and me, her mere presence diffusing the rising hostility.
"Hi," she says, turning to me with a wry smile as if we're meeting in a café rather than amidst a near-altercation. "I'm Gen. You're Addy, right?"
"Uh, yeah." My voice comes out just above a whisper, my brain struggling to keep pace with the sudden shift in dynamics. Gen is an enigma, her easy demeanor belying the authority that simmers beneath.
She's more of a force than she lets on. The boys part for her like water and all she offered was a glance.
"Nice to meet you, Addy." Her tone is casual, but her dark eyes hold mine with an intensity that feels both invasive and oddly comforting.
"Likewise," I manage, my heart still playing a staccato rhythm against my ribs. A part of me wants to bolt—to flee this impossible situation—but another, quieter part is curious about this girl who could so effortlessly dissolve conflict.
Dre recovers from his surprise, the corner of his mouth quirking up in a half-smile. "Jealous, Genny?"
"Ew," Gen shoots back without missing a beat. "Just, ew."
Dre startles, his face crumpling with displeasure. I can't help the laugh that bubbles up, surprising even myself. It's a sound that feels foreign in the grim quietude of my life—a life where laughter often means ridicule or worse.
Saint watches the exchange, his posture relaxing slightly, though his expression remains unreadable. There's a gravity to him that seems to anchor the group, even as Gen's levity lifts the weight of my worries for a fleeting moment.
"Anyway," Gen said, standing up abruptly. "Crowding the girl in front of her ex is too cliché, even for you boys. Come on, Addy. We have better places to be."
With a nod to each of them, she saunters off with me in tow.
"I think we're going to be good friends," she tells me.
I've never had one of those. I wonder if it's true or if this is just another game.
??????
The clamor of locker doors slamming and the high-pitched laughter of my classmates ricochets off the polished floors as I shuffle through the halls, flanked by Sera and Penelope. Penelope is recounting some mundane story about her mother's latest antics, but her words blur into a distant hum in my ears.
"Did she really?" Sera's voice is tinged with amusement. "That's just like her."
"Totally," I murmur, feigning interest, but my mind is tangled elsewhere—the strange encounter with Saint and his boys and the equally strange encounter with his cousin.
"Addy, are you even listening?" Penelope nudges me, her brows knitting together in mock exasperation.
"Sorry, just thinking about the test in English," I reply, forcing a smile. A lie so smooth it might be mistaken for truth. They don't need to know that my thoughts are with three dangerous boys that may just be the end of me.
As we turn the corner, Preston appears before us like an unwelcome shadow stretching across our path. His blue letterman jacket is like a beacon of misplaced pride.
"Addy, we need to talk." His voice slices through the din of the hallway, commanding attention and obedience.
"Can it wait, Preston? We're on our way to class," I say, a hint of challenge lacing my tone. What has gotten into me?
Preston's gaze is locked on me, unyielding and cold.
"Now," he insists, his stare boring into me as if trying to unravel me right there, thread by thread.
"Ooh, Addy, you think he wants to get back together?" Penelope's voice is a bubblegum pop of excitement, her eyes sparkling with the kind of romantic notions that belong in teen movies, not the harsh corridors of our high school. Certainly not with Preston Montgomery III.
"Maybe he realizes what he lost," Sera chimes in, nudging me with a grin that doesn't quite meet her eyes. They're oblivious to the undercurrents, to the fact that Preston's demands are never coated in sugar but dipped in venom.
"Guys, it's not like that," I murmur, my gaze fixed on the scuffed floor tiles as we lag behind the throng of students rushing to their next class.
"Come on, don't be so dramatic," Penelope laughs, flipping her hair over one shoulder. "He's hot, and every girl here would kill to be in your shoes."
"Hot doesn't equate to good," I mumble, though my words seem to evaporate before they reach their ears. They see the surface—a charming pseudo-athlete with a killer smile and a whole lot of money, money, money. I see the riptides beneath, pulling me into depths where the light doesn't reach.
"Okay, Preston," I sigh, steeling myself against the flutter of anxiety in my chest. My friends shoot each other glances that hold words unsaid, their curiosity piqued by drama unfolding. "Let's talk."
"Damn right," he grunts, his grip firm on my arm as he steers me away from the crowd. My skin crawls where his fingers dig in. More bruises for me. I wonder what life with Preston will be like and imagine there are many, many more bruises in my future if I follow this path.
"Preston," I snap as his grip tightens, possessive and unyielding.
"Keep quiet," he hisses, his voice low and dangerous. We move through the halls, my protests silenced by his glare, the wallpaper of lockers blurring past us in a dizzying array of metal doors and combination locks.
"Where are we going?" My voice comes out steadier than I feel—it always does—but the question hangs in the air, unanswered.
"Somewhere private," is all he offers, the word 'private' echoes with a threat that sends a shiver down my spine.
The boys' locker room door looms ahead, its battered blue paint chipped and unwelcoming. I know better than to argue further, understanding that resisting Preston only fuels his anger.
"Fine." The word falls from my lips, flat and resigned. Inside, my mind races, tracing the lines of every possible outcome as if I could somehow prepare myself for whatever confrontation lay ahead.
The scent of sweat and old cologne wraps around me like a noxious cloud as Preston shoves the locker room door open with his free hand. The click of the lock snapping into place behind us feels final, ominous. I swallow hard, my gaze flickering around the empty room—rows of metal lockers stand open like mouths agape in silent judgment.
"Start talking, Addy," Preston growls, releasing my arm to pace before me, a caged animal in letterman's garb. "What's going on with you and those freaks?"
My heart thuds against my ribcage. I rub at the red imprint his fingers have left on my skin. "Nothing's going on, Preston."
"Liar!" His voice ricochets off the tiled walls, and I flinch. "I see how they look at you... how you look back. You think I'm stupid?"
"Of course not," I reply, the lie tasting bitter on my tongue. I hate this—hate that I know just how to navigate his temper. But survival is an art form I mastered long ago.
"Do you think you're funny? Parading around with that trash? Letting them touch what's mine?"
"Oh, but it's okay for you to let Cecily hang all over you?" I scoff before I can stop myself.
Preston's face twists into a cruel smile, his eyes darkening with anger. "Jealous, are we?" he taunts, stepping closer until I can feel the heat radiating off his body. "I fucking knew it."
"Don't be ridiculous," I drawl back, my own anger rising to match his. "I couldn't care less about Cecily."
He laughs, the sound sending shivers down my spine. "Sure you don't." He reaches out to twist a lock of my hair around his finger, tugging it roughly. "You're just like every other girl. You want what you can't have."
"But I can have you, can't I?" I mutter. I just don't fucking want you.
"You're mine ," he demands, closing the distance between us in two long strides.
"Yours?" The word slips out, defiant despite the quake in my knees. "I don't belong to anyone, Preston."
"Oh, I beg to differ. You and I both know you belong to me, Ice Princess. As soon as your father signs on that dotted line. And we both know he will."
His rough hand grasps my cheeks, forcing my face towards his as he slams his cold, greasy lips onto mine.
"Let go," I demand, trying to pull away from him. But his grip only tightens as he brings his face close to mine.
"You know what? Maybe I should teach you a lesson," he sneers, pressing my head back against the lockers with a crash.
My heart races in fear as I realize that Preston is serious, that he intends to hurt me for not giving him what he wants. I should have played his stupid fucking game. He wanted me jealous. He wanted a reaction. And, I gave him nothing.
Stupid. Stupid, Addy. You know how to play this game. You know how to survive.
My breath hitches in my throat as Preston's body presses against mine. I can feel the hard length of him pushing against my belly and my stomach rolls.
"I think it's high time I take what I want from you, what I'm owed you frigid bitch." he growls, his hot breath fanning over my face. "You owe me, Addy."
"I don't owe you anything," I snap back, trying to push him away but his grip on my face is too strong.
"Oh, but you do," he insists, his voice low and menacing. "You owe me everything. Your daddy is going to sign those papers Addy and then no one can stop me. But, I don't think I want to wait."
His hand slides down from my face to grip onto my waist, pulling me even closer until there's barely any space between us.
Preston leans in closer, pressing his lips against mine with an almost painful force. His tongue invades my mouth and I try to resist but he's too strong. His other hand roams over my body, squeezing and grabbing at any part he can reach.
"Stop," I gasp out as tears start prickling at the corners of my eyes.
"Why? You don't like this?" Preston breathes against my ear before biting down on the sensitive skin there.
I struggle against him but it only seems to fuel his desire. He groans and grinds himself against me harder, pinning me against the lockers with his body.
My mind races with ways to get out of this situation but nothing comes up.
“Just give in," he demands. "You know you want this, you little bitch. You think I don't know you've been spreading your legs for those heathens? You think you can just give them a taste of what belongs to me?"
And, there it is. I tilt my head back, my laughter came out strained and forced, as if I'm choking on it. Maybe I am. It's cold and humorless.
"I can't help it if they're obsessed with me, Preston. I've done nothing to stoke that attraction. Nothing. You should take it as a compliment."
"A compliment?"
"They want what you have. Doesn't mean I'm going to give it to them. Virgin until marriage, remember. It's part of the contract."
Preston's eyes narrow, his grip on me still tight. "It's mine to take, Addy. Why should I bother to wait?"
"You are so nearsighted, Preston. You break the terms of that contract before it's even signed, I can guarantee my father will tear it up and throw it away."
I'm bluffing. My father wants this deal and he doesn't give a flying fuck if Preston takes more than he should. He'll punish me for it, not him .
"You think so?"
"I know so."
Preston's eyes flash dangerously, but he seems to hesitate for a moment. I can feel his breath on my neck and the tension in his body as he considers my words.
He lets out a growl, his anger rising. "I won't need to buy the cow if I've already tasted the milk, Addy. Your virginity belongs to me as much as you do."
"And it will be yours, after the wedding." Over my dead body.
"I am in control here, not you," he whispers seductively—at least he thinks so, "And I've always had a knack for getting what I want."
I pull my right hand free from where he's pinned me and swallow the bile as I slide it between us to squeeze his pathetic erection.
Preston has always been unpredictable. Usually I can handle him, talk him down. But the wild look in his eyes has me terrified. No one says no to a Montgomery.
I just need to divert his attention.
"It's not like there's nothing I can offer you, Preston," I tell him with a squeeze.
He grunts, pressing his hips forward into my hand.
"Like what, Addy?" he growls, his voice dripping with hunger and possession. His eyes flash dangerously, but there's a hint of intrigue in them.
I take a deep breath, my heart pounding in my chest. Time to play my hand.
"I have a perfectly good mouth. Why don't you shut me up?"
Preston's eyes widen for a moment, his excitement momentarily tempered by the offer. But his lust for control prevails.
"Is that all you have to offer me?" His voice is still thick with lust, but the challenge is palpable. He grabs my chin roughly, turning my face towards his. "I'm not interested in just your mouth."
"Talk to your father, Preston. Have him hurry along the negotiations. Until then, my mouth is all you get. Shut me up, Preston."
Preston's grip on my chin tightens, and I feel the pain but I don't flinch. I've learned to play this game better than he knows. His eyes flicker between anger and desire, his mind racing as he tries to figure out how to entice me into giving him more.
"Alright, with one condition," he finally mutters. He grips my throat and slams my body back into the lockers. My head knocks into the metal with a loud thud as his hard body presses against me.
I gasp for air, my lungs screaming for oxygen. My eyes water from the pain but I keep my gaze locked with his, daring him to continue.
"What is it?" I manage to choke out.
His lips brush against my jawline, and I can feel the intensity of his desire. "You know what I want," he growls, his breath hot on my face. "And you know you can't deny me."
He leans down, his tongue flicking across the edge of my lips, sending a jolt of revulsion that rolls through my entire body.
I do know. And, when the time comes—if the time comes, I won't be able to say no to him. So, I offer him a nod.
Preston's smile widens, a vicious glint in his eyes as he forces me to my knees. I know what's coming next, but I can't bring myself to resist. It would only make this worse.
After hastily unzipping his pants and pulling out his pathetic little cock, he shoves it into my mouth. My jaw stretches around him and I feel faintly sick at the thought of what I'm doing. But there's no going back now.
It's this or worse.
Preston grabs a handful of my hair and begins thrusting into my mouth with rough, aggressive force. I try to suck him as best I can, desperate to end this humiliating encounter as quickly as possible.
But it's not enough for Preston. He pulls out abruptly and yanks me up by my hair, slamming me against the lockers again.
"You think you can just offer me your mouth and that will be enough?" he sneers, his grip on my throat tightening.
Fuck. I thought I had him.
I try to stifle a gasp of pain, but it slips out anyways. Preston grins at my discomfort before continuing.
"You've been playing games with me for too long, Addy," he growls. "You're going to give me everything tonight."
"I'm not. It's my mouth or nothing Preston." I put every ounce of strength I have into those words. If he tries to take what he wants, I'm not sure I can actually stop him.
"I know what you like. I'll do better," I add hoping to persuade him.
His proclivities aren't exactly unheard of. They're pretty tame considering, but he's embarrassed by them.
I suck my middle finger into my mouth, maintaining eye contact. I raise my brow in question. I can see the war in his eyes before he finally gives in.
Preston's eyes widen in shock as I shove my finger into his ass, but it quickly turns into a moan of pleasure. I can feel his cock hardening even more in my mouth and I use my other hand to grip his balls tightly.
He starts thrusting harder, the force making me gag despite the lack of length. But I don't let up. I need this to be over.
In between gasps for air, I pull back slightly and look up at him. "You like that?" I ask with a smirk.
Instead of answering, Preston grabs my hair again and starts fucking my mouth harder than ever before, my head smacking against the locker behind me from the force. He's getting close and I can tell he's trying to hold back so he can make this last longer.
Preston's eyes roll back in pleasure as I continue stroking him, but then he seems to remember himself and glares at me.
My eyes are watering enough that I know my mascara is running. I'll be a fucking mess when this is over, but at least he won't have stolen the one thing I've managed to keep for myself.
I speed up my strokes in his ass and suck a little harder. He groans, arching his back and gripping my head tighter. I can feel the tension building in his muscles as the moment of release approaches. He's trying to hold back, but I can see the desperation in his eyes.
With one last thrust of my finger into his ass and a squeeze of his balls, Preston's breathing becomes ragged, and I can tell that he's reaching his breaking point. I feel him finish down my throat.
The sound of the door banging open shocks us apart. I quickly wipe my mouth and my eyes and straighten my clothes as footsteps approach. I am so fucked.
As Saint, Dre, and Chess come into view, I feel my heart stop in my chest. It ceases to beat. I cease to exist. At least, I wish I did. Color rises to my cheeks so quickly, I'm worried I may burst into flames.
"Boys," I say nonchalantly, trying to maintain some semblance of composure.
"Ice Princess," Saint sneers, looking between me and Preston with a raised eyebrow.
Before I can even attempt to come up with a clever response, Preston cuts in. "What the fuck are you doing here?"
"You're late, Preston. And we've come to fucking collect."
Late? Late for what?
With their attention on Preston, I take the opportunity to scurry away. I need to clean myself up before someone else sees me. Or I'll be in even more trouble than I already am.