Page 140 of Broken Doll

Not him.

Beside him, standing straight and tall right behind the car, stands a taller, more muscular version of the same guy, his square, broad shoulders commanding even from a distance. His sleeves are rolled up, revealing a tattoo on golden-tanned forearms, which are currently crossed over a broad chest. He glares at us, his blue eyes icy cold.

A swarm of butterflies explodes inside me.Him.

Oh, fuck. Definitely him.

On his other side, another blond slouches against the trunk of the car, leaning back on it with his elbows while he scrolls through his phone, paying us no mind.

I have plenty of time to take them in before we arrive at the front of the lot. I bring my attention back to our insomniac neighbor, the angry-looking guy. He’s the driver, the center, just as King is ours. And he doesn’t look like he’s here to throw us a welcome party. I glance sideways at King, wondering how we’re going to play this. If he’ll speak first, if he’ll make nice.

“Parking back in the nosebleed with the scholarship kids?” the glaring guy drawls in a smooth, silky voice that sends a little shock of electricity through me. I didn’t expect that. I didn’t expect that gorgeous voice, like warm honey melting over my bare skin. And I didn’t expect what my body did when I heard it.

“Someone’s in our spot,” King says, nodding to the Bel Air. For a second, no one speaks. The guy on his phone lifts his head, shaking a fringe of shiny blond hair from his eyes. A few people have gathered around, curious about the new kids and ready for a showdown.

“You think this is your spot?” the angry guy asks. He’s good-looking, with a sculpted jawline and a square chin with the hint of a dimple in the center, but his eyes are hard and mean. The guy on his left has sharper features, a pointed chin and a sharp nose along with bright, curious blue eyes, but I peg them as brothers.

“It will be tomorrow,” King says, and he keeps walking, so we keep walking.

We stride up the set of wide, shallow steps to the high front doors. The building is a huge brick thing with the entire name of the school—Willow Heights Preparatory Academy—carved into a long slab of marble high above the doors. Just over the entrance is a smaller marble inset bearing the school motto:Inis Origine Pendet.

We enter the building and find the office, where we collect our schedules and meet our guides for the day. They’re introduced as the student council, a group of pretty, preppy blondes who look like clones with perfectly straight, smooth, long hair and high heels. As we disperse, I notice my guide, Lacey, gazing after my brothers with longing. Guess she drew the short straw.

“So, what’s the deal around here?” I ask.

Lacey strides ahead we make our way down the hall away from the office. “The classes are hard,” she says. “So if you’re from the ghetto or something, you better expect to spend a lot more time than you probably spent on your classes in Brooklyn.”

There is so much wrong with that sentence that I don’t even bother to correct her. I have bigger things to worry about and limited time to learn what I need to know.

“I’m not worried about the classes,” I say. “Tell me about those guys out front. The blonds in the Bel Air.”

“The Darlings,” she says without hesitation, as if she was expecting that question.

“Brothers?”

“Cousins,” she says. “They’re one of Faulkner’s founding families. Their great-great-great grandfather of so many generations back settled here in the 1700s or something.”

“I’m more interested in the ones that go here now than their ancestry.”

She gives me a pitying look. “This is the south, honey. Family means something here.”

I already don’t like this bitch, but I keep my mouth shut. She doesn’t have to tell me about the importance of family. But I need information, not an enemy.

“Got it,” I say. “So, they’re royalty in this school because of their name.”

“They’re royalty in thistown,” Lacey corrects. “They get whatever they want. You’re new, so one of them will probably want to get in your pants.”

“You don’t need to worry about that,” I say, sensing her resentment in that statement. “I don’t date.”

“If they want to date you, you’ll date,” she says. “They get whatever, and whoever, they want. Their family pays the salary of everyone who works at this school. Learn the way things work around here, and you’ll be fine.”

“Well, thanks,” I say. “Guess I’ll figure it out soon enough.”

Lacey stops at my class, having pointed out the others along the way. “You want my advice?” she asks, planting a hand on her hip. “Say yes to whatever they want, try to keep your dignity when they’re done with you, and move on. Don’t be fooled into thinking you’re special. You won’t be the first girl to get screwed by a Darling boy, and you won’t be the last. Don’t take it personal.”

“Even less interested now,” I say. “My brothers are protective. They’d never let me date a guy like that, and I wouldn’t want to.”

“You’d be lucky to land one of them. Devlin doesn’t really do the whole dating thing, but the others have a short attention span. If you play your cards right, you could be a Darling Doll. The Dolls are set for their entire time at Willow Heights.”

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