Rich Riot Read online

  It comes back clean. It’s on. I dive for the fucker, wrestling with him on the ground as he struggles, and eventually manages to gain dominance.

  “You get off fucking other guys’ girls, huh?” Richard hollers as he slams a fist into the side of my head.

  I dig a thumb into his eye socket and push him back. “I can’t help it if they like what I have to offer.”

  He cries out, jerking free of my hold on his head. I dive to the left, narrowly missing the next fist. He tugs me back into place, one knee to my stomach as he pins me down. I throw sucker punch after sucker punch into his ribs, hoping he’ll let up or at the very least get breathless.

  Yet he figures out my weakness, diving for it with the precision of a lion in for the kill.

  Setting the heel of his hand on my black eye from the weekend, he presses down. His manic grin fades in my vision, the pain blinding as it tears through my skull. It feels as though my eyeball is reduced to pulp, the agony unbearable as the spikes pulse into my neck and shoulders.

  “Enough!” Arthur hollers.

  Richard’s weight disappears, replaced with the flowery smell I know to be Greer’s perfume. I used to hate that shit, but for the first time, it brings me peace.

  “What the hell is happening out here?” Principal Rochester.

  Greer scoots back on her knees to give me room to roll to my side. I spit out the bloody saliva in my mouth and search for Ingrid with my good eye.

  The bitch has escaped.

  “Take it easy,” Greer settles her hand on my topmost shoulder, leaning down to check my eyes—probably wondering if I’m concussed.

  “Richard Shepcott, and Colt Williams. To your feet.”

  I push to a seated position and wince at the stab of pain that compresses my head.

  “Here.” Greer offers her arm.

  “Ms Roberts,” Principal Rochester commands. “You may leave.”

  “But he needs assist—”

  “Leave.”

  Greer lets out a disgusted huff and pushes to her feet. I rub my good eye as she strides away, disappearing into the halls.

  “Quickly, please, Mr Williams.”

  Using the palm of my hand, I press down on the ground and shunt myself to my feet. My head rings, the pavers unsteady as I straighten my legs and rise to my full height.

  For all of two seconds.

  “Richard! Get the nurse.”

  LACEY

  “I don’t see how you can repeatedly blame me for all of this,” Alicia cries, a look of sincere shock twisting her features. “I’ve done nothing but give her what she needs to succeed.”

  “By whose standards?” Dad counters. “Yours? The fucked up circle of ladies you bitch and gossip with daily?”

  “Because they’re so much worse than the criminal pricks you would drink with every Friday.”

  I exchange a bored look with the therapist, Dr Thorpe. He gives me a tight smile before sighing and shifting his attention to Mum.

  “Please, Mr and Mrs Williams.”

  I smirk, pretty damn positive he used their wedded titles to frustrate Alicia.

  “This doesn’t help us address the issue at hand: Lacey’s best interests.”

  Mum folds her arms over herself—unusual for the coiffed and proper woman she is.

  Dad leans back in the seat with a sigh. “I apologise.”

  “We’ve established that Lacey will stay with you, Mr Williams and that she will return to school at Arcadia.” Dr Thorpe makes out he’s reading the notes on his tablet. “We’ve addressed the fact this will allow her to finish tuition without the distraction of social politics, as far as the bullying she received at Riverbourne Preparatory.” He presses his lips together, making his moustache roll. “Lacey? Are there any areas you would like to cover in today’s session?”

  I shrug. They seem to have cemented what Dad had already initiated. “I guess I’m wondering what happens with the lawsuit against me.”

  Dad stares at Mum. She makes an immature “What?” face, lifting her eyebrows high.

  “You have the funds to fight it, Alicia,” he grits out between clenched teeth.

  Her glare settles on me. I feel the burn as it leaves a permanent yet invisible scar beneath the surface. “I’m convenient when you need me, aren’t I?”

  “I’m your daughter,” I spit back. “It shouldn’t be a question of what you get from it, or whether I deserve it. You should want to help me because you love me.”

  Her tinted lashes flash once as she shifts her gaze to the window behind Dr Thorpe. “I’m undecided.”

  The doctor sighs, shifting his legs so that they rest crossed at the ankle. “You understand the lifelong implications such a charge can have for Lacey?”

  Alicia nods.

  “And yet you’ll let her wear it,” Dad states. “Why? She didn’t have a thing to do with it.”

  “Maybe not this time,” she argues. “But what other worms will rise out of the wood if we set fire to it, Lacey?” She returns her focus to me. “Can you say you’ve always been an angel at Riverbourne Prep? Because the lawyers will dig down as far as they can go to discredit your character.”

  “She has a point,” Dr Thorpe cedes, lifting his brows at Dad.

  My father looks to me for the answer.

  I swallow rocks. “I never hurt Gayle before, though.”

  “But you did bully other girls?” He asks as though he hopes I’ll prove him wrong.

  I wish I could. I answer with my silence, choosing to look at the ornately patterned carpet beneath us all.

  “Fuck’s sake, Lacey,” Dad sighs, tossing his head back.

  Alicia smiles in my periphery. She won. Her card trumped all else.

  “Are you willing to take the chance?” Dr Thorpe asks.

  “I don’t invest in such tumultuous ventures,” my dear mother answers, choosing now to rise from her seat. “I take it we’re out of time?”

  Dr Thorpe checks his watch. “Three minutes to go.”

  “I’ve said all I need to.” Alicia starts for the door; purse clutched before her. “I’ll instruct Colt to let you in after three to collect your things, Lacey.” She lifts her phone from her purse. “I’ll remain elsewhere until four. You have an hour to be gone.”

  “Lizzie,” Dad pleads, using the nickname for Mum I’ve barely heard him say a dozen times in my life. “Be fair.”

  “I am.” She lands a scathing glare on him. “If it were up to me, her things would have been dealt with the day we moved. I’m sure the Salvation Army would have appreciated the donation.”

  I have nothing left. My mother’s arrogance doesn’t shock me anymore, nor does it upset me. I expect it. She wears her ignorance like armour—thick and impenetrable.

  With glazed eyes, I watch Dr Thorpe finish off his notes and slide the stylus onto the side of his notebook. Mum and Dad continue to banter back and forth before she finally strides out of the room; the door left open behind her.

  Dr Thorpe leans forward during the altercation, ignoring my parents’ behaviour when he sets the very tips of his right fingers carefully on my knee. “I have full confidence that this is a good change, Lacey.”

  I lift my gaze to his.

  “Allow yourself the time and grace to let things settle into a routine, and I promise assurance and joy will return.”

  He leans back, hand lifting away as my eyes drop back to the floor.

  I wish I had the same foresight.

  I wish I had the same confidence in what remains yet unproven.

  I wish I cared.

  GREER

  “You scared the hell out of me.” The stackable chair makes a loud screech as I pull it across the small infirmary room to where Colt lies flat on his back. “What did they say?”

  A sardonic grin twists his full lips. “That because I have been—and I quote—an exemplary student to date, this incident will be written off as an out-of-character outburst following what’s happened with Lacey, provided I don’t
do it again.” He snorts, one arm slung over his forehead.

  I roll my eyes. “Not about the scrap, you fool. About your head.”

  He throws both arms above himself to rest on the pillow, staring up at the spackled ceiling. “The nurse thinks the pressure from his hand just inflamed already bruised blood vessels, and some shit about how that meant the pain was worse than usual because they were constricted further—” He sighs, rolling his head to face me. “More or less, don’t touch it and it’ll be fine.”

  I frown a little, taking stock of the damage done to what is usually such a handsome face. The bruising has spread since this morning’s incident, a rosy blue that edges into his temple; a split on his nose sits prominent—a souvenir from the weekend; his ordinarily bright eyes are hauntingly dull.

  “Do you think it’s time to admit defeat?” I whisper.

  Colt looks away once more, lightly chewing his bottom lip as he thinks. “If I did, what would all of this have been for, Greer?”

  I reach out, only aware of what I do when my palm touches the cotton over his solid chest. “I understand. I really do. But maybe this doesn’t have to be your fight?”

  He frowns, sharp gaze finding mine. “She’s my sister,” he whispers through broken chords. “And I was so wrapped up in my own gain that I let them do this to her. This way, their focus is on me.”

  My nostrils flare, the hurt in his eyes palpable in the small room. Yet I will myself not to cry. I hate to see my friends in such pain, such torment, but weeping won’t solve a thing.

  I lean back, hand sliding from his chest to rest in my lap. “You aren’t the only one at fault.” I gaze down at my recent manicure, idly checking the tips for signs of wear. “I should have spoken up sooner, too. I stood by that night and let them play their sick game just as much as you did.”

  Colt groans, the protective cover on the narrow bed rustling beneath him as he rolls to his side. His eyes close, a grimace on his lips as he jerks his elbow beneath him for support.

  “Is it your head?” I right the sheet, untangling it from his hand.

  “Yeah.” He blinks a couple of times and swallows. “Don’t dwell on this, though, okay?” He implores me with a concerned stare. “We can’t change what we did. We just have to make amends as best we can.”

  I offer him a weak smile, taking the hand rested on the bed in mine. He gives my fingers a squeeze and sighs.

  “Did I do any damage, though?” Colt grins mischievously. “I haven’t seen Ricky-Dick since Principal Rochester gave us both our rights.”

  I smirk, leaning closer so that my elbows rest on the edge of the bed, Colt’s hand still entwined with mine. “I think you bruised his ribs. He was a bit slower this afternoon.”

  Colt curls his lip. “Had hoped to mess up his face, though. His mum would have had a field day with that.”

  I giggle. “She would have been straight down here to have you sent home on suspension the same as Lacey.”

  His smile fades. “Yeah.”

  I touch beneath his chin with my free pointer finger, coaxing him to look at me again. “What really happened in Arcadia with Mandy?”

  Colt holds my gaze, searching for something. Perhaps reassurance he can trust me, that this isn’t another trick played by our twisted clique.

  “Nobody sent me if that’s what you’re thinking,” I say. “I just want to understand what it is you’re defending.”

  His shoulders rise, the school shirt twisted over his torso from how he rose off the bed. “I didn’t rape her, Greer. I was drunk and angry, yeah, and I gloated like a complete tool afterwards to brag to Christian, but I didn’t force her.”

  He glances to the floor, yet stays connected through our touch.

  “I believe you.” I can’t explain why. There are just times in your life when your gut sings louder than your heart, waving a hand at the obvious conclusion before you.

  A guilty man wouldn’t hold this much remorse—this much pain.

  “I should have told Richard at the time,” Colt rushes out on a sigh. “I should have manned up and admitted that I slept with his girlfriend to spite him.”

  “Hey.” I lean to the side to catch his eye. “She didn’t speak up either.”

  “Because I told her not to.” He lifts his eyes to mine. “I swore her to silence so that I wouldn’t be cast out of the pathetic fucking outer circle I wanted to break through so damn badly.” He scoffs. “I wanted what Lacey had, to be one of the Chosen.”

  I curl the corner of my mouth. “Look how that turned out.”

  He chuckles. “Pathetic, right?”

  “We all are.” I give his hand a wiggle, suddenly aware how quiet the after-school halls have grown. “How are you getting home?”

  “They phoned Mum.” He rolls away slightly, still on his side, and still holding my hand. “I asked them not to, but apparently it’s school protocol to notify a guardian if you see the nurse.”

  “She’s on her way then?”

  He nods, eyeing the ajar door. “Should be here any minute.”

  I ease my hand from his, moving back onto the seat correctly. “I should probably go then.”

  His gaze searches me out, the irises noticeably lighter compared to when I arrived. “Thanks.”

  “For what?”

  His lips tilt the tiniest amount. “For caring about me.”

  Damn it. There’s a line between us right now, a bright strip of tape that reads “BEST FRIEND’S BROTHER”. The longer I stay in this room, the more that line flickers and threatens to tear.

  “We all care about you, Colt.” I offer a wan smile, rising from the seat to guarantee my exit.

  I speak the truth: we do all care about him. At least we did. That’s why the Chosen let him hang around us even though he wasn’t officially a part of our inner circle. He has no idea how close he was to crossing over into our domain—how damn close.

  “Tell Lacey to give me a call, okay?” I take a step toward the door, wondering where the hell these feelings for her big brother hid until now.

  What changes a day can make, huh?

  “I would, but …”

  Hand to the door, I turn back and frown.

  He grimaces. “Mum kicked her out. She’s with Dad now.”

  “What?” Mixed emotions forgotten, I dart back to the seat. “When?”

  “Sunday.” He rolls to his side again, resting his head in the palm of his hand.

  I stare at the floor, doing the math. “She left my place on Sunday.”

  He shrugs. “It was a bit out of the blue.”

  “You don’t say.” My hand flies to my head, nervously fussing with the loose strands of hair above my ear.

  “I was thinking about visiting her tomorrow,” Colt admits. “You can come if you want.” He reaches out and touches my arm, fingertips trailing a path across the back of my wrist. “Meet me at the gates after the final bell. I think she’d like to see you.”

  I watch his hand as it travels toward my elbow, eliciting goosebumps in its wake.

  He’s taken my frail crime-scene tape and torn it to smithereens.

  “I’m not sure.” I have to think about this. I need to come to terms with what the actual fuck is happening here. “I’ll let you know.”

  Colt’s hand retreats, his body making a loud thud as he flops back on the bed, dejected. “Sure. Whatever.”

  My eyes briefly close as I say a silent prayer. Give me strength. “Don’t be like that.”

  “I’m not being like anything.”

  Damn, his face is a mess. The bruising and swelling are enough that I can’t read his expression properly. “I’ll message you later, okay? See how you’re feeling.”

  I make it as far as the door before he sledges the last word. “It’ll be the same, Greer. It has been for a while.”

  LACEY

  The tyres of Dad’s truck crunch over a discarded soda can as he reverses into a parallel park outside Nonna and Poppa’s city house. Or as I should sa
y my mother’s new house.

  I wonder if Mrs Mayberry knows to look for her husband here, now?

  “I can do this myself, if you’d rather stay in the car,” Dad offers.

  I stare up at the vine-dressed brick and shake my head. “I’m fine.” With a jerk of the handle, I step out into the mid-afternoon sun before he can say another word.

  A mild wind whips up the street, disturbing the branches of the oriental trees that overhang the footpath every two or three properties. The area is picturesque—a mask of pure architectural art to hide the ugly beast beneath.

  From what Mum said at Dr Thorpe’s, Colt should be expecting us. I make my way up the narrow, rolled-edge concrete steps to the door and press the bell. The tinny rattle of the ancient system rings out through the foyer.

  “This feels odd,” Dad murmurs behind me. “Waiting to be let in like strangers.”

  “You don’t say.” I huddle my arms over myself and tap my foot.

  Surely he’s home by now. Dad reaches around me to try the bell again when the rattle of the chain has him pulling back once more.

  The door edges open, Colt with his head down as he greets us both. “Sorry. I can’t move all that fast right no—”

  “What the hell?” Dad barges past me, near knocking me off the step. He sets his hands on Colt’s shoulders to inspect the damage. “She said you had a scrap, but fuck me, son, this is serious.”

  “Your injuries look worse than they were Sunday,” I note, closing the door behind us as we shuffle into the foyer.

  “I thought I’d give you two something to talk about,” he sasses.

  I shake my head and then peer in the front rooms to check for any sign of Mum.

  “She’s not here,” Colt assures as Dad lets him go. “I’m supposed to send her a message when you’ve both left.”

  “I have a right mind to wait until she gets back in and discuss this,” Dad says, waving a hand at Colt’s face.

  “Don’t.” My brother’s shoulders sag, his brow furrowing. “I’d hoped to get another half hour to myself after you’d gone so I could get some peace.”

  I snort.

  Dad frowns.

  “Your belongings are all in there.” Colt gestures to the vintage-styled sitting room to our right. “She had the removalists place whatever feminine looking stuff remained in Christian’s room in boxes, so if anything’s not yours in there, send it back to the Mayberry’s.”