My Stolen Life: a high school bully romance (Stonehurst Prep Book 1) Read online

  No such luck. I can see his shadow outlined through the frosted glass. He stands on the porch, arms folded, as I crack the door. The chain bites, and I give him the classic Mackenzie Malloy hair toss and withering stare.

  “You’ve broken into private property,” I bark at him – it’s not a question. It’s an accusation.

  “Ma’am, I’m here to inform you that you’re occupying this house illegally.”

  I toss my head so my golden blonde hair falls down my back, and I laugh. I laugh until my throat rasps, until the officer is squirming and looking unsure of himself. His fingers slip from his holster.

  “This is a joke. Who’s your superior?” I hold my phone up so he can see it as I tap the screen. “I’m going to report you for harassment. And for breaking my gate. You’ll be paying for the repairs from your salary.”

  The officer’s chin wobbles, and for a moment I think I’ve got him, but then he steps forward with a new determination. “I don’t know what game you’re playing, girl. This house has been empty for four years, yet neighbors have reported noises inside. Squatting in private property is illegal, and I’m under orders from the city to remove anyone caught on these premises.” He shoots me a triumphant look. “Do you care to explain yourself?”

  “Check your case law, officer. If I were a squatter, the owners of the property are required to send me a three-day written notice. But I’m hardly going to send one to myself.” I lift my chin and meet his surly gaze with my own. “This is my home. I’m Mackenzie Malloy.”

  He staggers back, his hand flying to his chest as if I shot a dagger from my eyes that pierced his ribcage. It doesn’t surprise me – my father always said my don’t-fuck-with-me glare would topple kings. Glaring at people is my superpower.

  “Miss Malloy, forgive me. No one has seen you for four years. Where are your parents?” He knows the stories. They all do. The rumors that flew around the world on the wings of the tabloids after my parents disappeared. After I disappeared. Rumors that the Malloy supplement company was involved in dark and nefarious deeds. That some rival had a hit out on us. That we returned as vengeful ghosts to haunt the hills of Emerald Beach.

  The tabloids spin a web of lies so thick that even the truth gets trapped there occasionally.

  “My parents are sequestered on our private Caribbean island. Mommy’s last plastic surgery went wrong, and she vowed she wouldn’t appear in public again until someone rebuilt her face. Her new surgeon uses this hormone from a rare species of Amazonian monkey, and it takes a long time to milk enough monkeys to fix the crater in Mommy’s forehead.” I shrug, the lie rolling easily off my tongue. “I’m looking after the property until they return.”

  “Your father is no longer the CEO of Malloy International. Doesn’t that seem odd to you?”

  I quirk an eyebrow at him. “It’s illegal for a businessman to take a sabbatical now? Fine, I’ll call our lawyers and they can come down here and explain to your supervisor that you broke our gate to harass me about my father’s business decisions—”

  He holds up his hands, unease flickering in his eyes. “That’s not necessary, Ms. Malloy. If you show me some identification, I’ll be on my way.”

  “Fine.” I slam the door and march across the hall to where I left my ID in a bowl of glass apples that bore the mark of some fancy-ass Italian designer. My fingers seek the pendant around my neck – the gold locket hidden beneath my hoodie, thank fuck, because no way did I want that cop to see me wearing something so unfashionable. I tug at the heart charm on its thin gold chain, pressing my fingers against the familiar stamped surface and sucking in breaths until my heart stops racing.

  This is it.

  I knew the moment would come eventually. Luckily, Antony and I are ready.

  Fuck, I hope we’re ready.

  I crack the door again. The cop holds out his hand for my ID, but I toss it at him. He has to stoop and pick it up, giving me ample opportunity to stare down my nose at him.

  He frowns at my card, turning it over. “You’re only just seventeen, Mackenzie. Why aren’t you in school?”

  I notice he uses my first name now. “I’m homeschooled. It’s a free country. Shouldn’t you be solving some actual crime?”

  “Homeschool? A rich bitch like you? I don’t think so.” He notes something on his pad. “What institution? I’m going to check your enrollment.”

  “I’m not telling you anything without my lawyer.”

  “That line only works if you’re suspected of committing a crime. We’re just chatting.”

  “This feels like an interrogation to me.” I fold my arms. “Don’t make me call Daddy on the island to tell him about the trouble you caused just because some neighbors thought they heard a ghost. He’s already going to be upset about the gate.”

  The cop sighs. He flips his pad shut and shoves it back into his pocket. “Very well, Mackenzie. I’ll be checking up on you. You’re still a minor, so if I can’t see evidence that you’re enrolled in school, I’ll be sending around some CYF officers to talk to you.”

  Quadruple shit. I hunt around in my mind for something to tell him. I grasp for the memories tucked away into the corners of this impersonal home, the little touches that proved actual humans once inhabited it. My mind rests on the school prospectus in the drawer in the mahogany desk in the office. Students in sage-green uniforms, standing around under palm trees and grinning at the camera like smug bitches. “Stonehurst Prep. I’m about to start my senior year at Stonehurst Prep.”

  2

  Mackenzie

  I smooth down the front of my sage skirt. Stonehurst Prep looms in front of me – rows of Corinthian columns jutting from a mock Classical facade, like serrated teeth protruding from the gaping jaw of a monster. Statues of languid gods and bare-breasted goddesses line the wide path leading to the entrance of the school. Students lounge in groups on the perfectly manicured lawn – the too-perfect brochure come to life.

  On the outside, I might look like one of them – perfect hair, designer book bag, perfect smile.

  Inside I’m a Visigoth storming into Rome to sack the shit out of the place.

  I stride up the path, under the colonnade, and into the internal courtyard with its fountain depicting the rape of Leda by Zeus, disguised as a swan. Swans are dicks.

  Whispers swirl around me. They start as a faint buzz – like a fly trapped in the room – but soon swell to a steady drone of gossip. I catch snatches of their conversation as I hunt for the main office.

  “—can’t believe that’s Mackenzie Malloy. I thought her whole family disappeared without a trace—”

  “—on a Caribbean island, and she’s been living in that creepy mansion all by herself—”

  “—I heard she’s actually a vampire, and she’s been sleeping in a coffin in the Malloy’s basement all these years—”

  This is a bad idea.

  I spent the last week re-reading my diaries and searching through every object in my childhood bedroom. I needed to know I could pull this off with only snatches of memory from before the coffin, before my life became a living nightmare. What I read filled me with confidence – not a single birthday card from a friend or photo of me at a beach with another kid. Mackenzie Malloy had no childhood friends. I was a stone-cold bitch back then, and I’ll be that same stone-cold bitch now. It’s the only way to protect myself.

  It’s the only way for Antony and I to get what we need.

  The office door looms ahead. The voices rise to a crescendo around me. After so many years fighting against the silence, all this noise is disorienting. I reach for the handle.

  It’s not too late to turn around and go home. You don’t know for a fact what that officer might do if he doesn’t see you enrolled in school. You can get Antony to put the shits up him. Problem solved.

  Problem not solved.

  My parents are still dead. I’m still a ghost. Brutus is still out there being a smug bastard, thinking he’s won.

  I turn
the handle. My mind flies to my father’s favorite quote from Julius Caesar – the words he spoke when he crossed the Rubicon and started a civil war.

  Alea iacta est.

  Let the die be cast.

  Welcome to Stonehurst fucking Prep.

  3

  Eli

  “—track tryouts are next Thursday, so maybe we could meet after school and run through some drills? I know I have a weak finish in the 400m and—”

  Noah runs his fingers through his perfect hair as he drones on about tryouts. We’ve been friends for so long – since our parents started holidaying together in Nantucket when we were four years old – that I know his tics. Noah touches his hair when he’s nervous, and he’s nervous as fuck about track.

  I’m not gonna be the one to tell him, but Noah shouldn’t even be going out for track. For as long as I’ve known him, Noah’s sport has been swimming. He has a whole wall in his room covered in trophies from state swim meets. His older brother, Felix, was the track star. So three years ago Noah decides he has to be a track star, too, which means he’s on my ass constantly to train with him. As if I don’t have my own shit to deal with – being friends with perfectionist assholes like Noah Marlowe is hard fucking work.

  I listen to Noah with half an ear as I toss my books into my locker. Around us, students yell and laugh as they catch up after summer break. I hear snatches of conversation about film sets and meditation retreats in Tulum and beaches in Majorca. Stonehurst is that kind of school.

  A hand claps on my shoulder. “Did you see Melinda Perez’s new nose?” A familiar British voice coos in my ear. “More’s the pity, her glorious arse is smaller now.”

  “Gabe?” I whirl around. Standing before me, a leather jacket slung casually over his shoulder and the faint smell of weed clinging to his clothes, is Gabriel Fallen in all his glory. He looks like he just stepped off his tour bus, complete with his rumpled hair, eyes rimmed in dark shadows, and cheeky grin. “What are you doing here?”

  “Causing all ladies’ underthings within a mile radius to simultaneously combust.” Gabriel breaks my gaze to flash his smile at two junior girls who are staring at him from across the hall. They break into giggles, because Gabriel Fallen has that effect on people. “I’m taking time off from the band to finish senior year.”

  “What happened to ‘diplomas are for wankers who don’t have groupies’?” I quote Gabriel’s final words when he left at the beginning of summer for his European tour. My mockery of his British accent gets the hint of a smile from Noah.

  “Please. I don’t sound as posh as all that. All your lectures on ‘rock music won’t provide for your future’ rubbed off on me, Hart.” Gabriel shrugs, and there’s a whole world inside that shrug. I know what happened. He might not have answered my texts, but he knows I know what happened. Everyone at Stonehurst has followed the headlines – DRUMMER OF OCTAVIA’S RUIN OVERDOSES IN HOTEL BATHROOM. As much as he’s trying to pretend he’s fine, the very fact Gabriel’s back at Stonehurst and not holed up in a studio in Switzerland recording a chart-topping album of grief music suggests otherwise.

  Yet another problem that will fall on my shoulders this year. I almost have it in me to smooth over Noah’s intensity, but add in Gabe’s unpredictability, and I will not get a moment of peace. But still… senior year would not have been the same without Gabriel. I wrap my arms around him, patting his back, relieved that he’s here and at least… somewhat sober.

  “Oof, since when did you become the Incredible Hulk?” In true British tradition, Gabriel finds physical expressions of joy disconcerting. He gazes around the corridor as if looking for a line to join to restore his equilibrium, then grabs my books from my hands. He frowns at the cover of my AP Calculus textbook. “Just reading these titles gives me a splitting headache.”

  I grab my books from Gabe’s hands. “You’d better be back here to focus on schoolwork, not party and drink yourself into a stupor like last year, because Noah and I refuse to tutor you.”

  That evil grin again. “I passed my SATs, didn’t I?”

  “You passed because you slept with the test assessor.”

  “I can’t help it if my natural wit and charm had the poor woman so overcome that she—” Gabriel cut off, his eyes focusing on something behind me.

  No, not something.

  Someone.

  The only thing that can cause Gabriel to lose focus like that is a chick. One with legs up to her eyeballs and, in his words, a shaggable arse.

  If I’m honest, I could do with a shaggable arse in my own life. I wish I could be like Noah and Gabriel, who’ve both fucked their way through the student body at Stonehurst twice over. Nothing serious. Nothing complicated.

  I’m not that guy, but sometimes I like to pretend I could be.

  I turn around in time to see a blonde bombshell stride with purpose from the school office. Students leap out of the way as she stomps toward us in a pair of black spike-heeled non-regulation boots. Her lips are a bow of crimson. Her face stirs something inside me – a memory. A familiar sense of longing, of loss. What draws me to her is the complete ‘fuck-off’ look in her eyes, like she’s above everyone and everything.

  I always fall hard for the impossible girls.

  But maybe this can be different. She’s new, which means she hasn’t had a chance to fall head-over-heels for Gabriel’s broken prince charm or Noah’s bad boy intensity. But I’d have to work fast now Gabriel has his radar up.

  “Do you know who she is?” I ask Gabriel. Even though he’s been away from the city, he always knows the gossip.

  “Mate, you been living under a rock? That’s Mackenzie Malloy.” Gabe licks his lips. “Crazy looks good on her.”

  My chemistry textbook clatters to the ground.

  “Say that name again,” I whisper. Behind me, Noah’s breath comes out in ragged gasps.

  “Mackenzie Malloy. You know, billionaire heiress to the Malloy nutritional supplement fortune, disappeared along with her parents four years ago, leaving that creepy house abandoned up on Harrington Hills. She’s out of hiding and walking the hallowed halls of Stonehurst. Aren’t we blessed?”

  Mackenzie.

  I didn’t need Gabriel to tell me what happened. I know her story. I read the news articles and police reports a hundred times, trying to find some clue of where she went, of how we could be planning to escape to college together one minute and the next she’s vanished. I can’t count the number of nights I’ve watched her house, hoping to see a glimpse of her ghost.

  And now here she is, strutting down the hall like she owns this school.

  Mackenzie Malloy, flesh and blood.

  Alive.

  No wonder she seems so familiar.

  It all comes rushing at me at once as I recognize her features – memories of the games we played with each other in stolen moments all those years ago. Both of us living our true childhoods in secret. I squat to pick up my book. I need a moment to collect myself.

  A spike-heel slams into the cover, denting the pages.

  I look up, and up, and up. A lump forms in my throat.

  “You’re standing in front of my locker.” From atop legs as long and graceful as an ostrich, Mackenzie fixes me with this demolishing glare – like I’m a bug not even worthy of being stepped on.

  I search those impossible ice eyes for some sign that she recognizes me, but she doesn’t waver. Maybe she doesn’t recognize me. The last time we saw each other was when we were thirteen years old. I’ve changed since then. And Mackenzie… phew. She was always pretty, but now with those legs and curves and that haughty twist of her lip – now she’s devastating.

  “Greetings, m’lady.” Gabriel – who has no clue of the history he’s stomping on – rests his palm on the locker behind Mackenzie and cocks his hand on his hip. He loves to play up his ‘I’m a posh British rockstar, ask me about my friend Prince Harry’ act. “Elias here is merely showing the proper deference to one such as yourself. If he continues to in
convenience you, just stand on him. He likes that.”

  Shut the fuck up, Gabriel.

  Mackenzie brushes past Gabriel like he’s nothing, which is so unheard of that Gabriel’s mouth falls open. He could catch flies with that thing. As I clamber to my feet, I bite my lip to keep from bursting out laughing. Noah isn’t as polite. He chortles – but it’s a sound like a strangled cat. He has his own reasons for being unnerved by Mackenzie Malloy’s sudden reappearance. I look over at him to see if I need to do damage control, but he’s holding it together… so far.

  I scramble out of Mackenzie’s way just as she slams her locker door open, the sound ricocheting down the hall like a gunshot. The eyes of other students slide toward us – a sensation I’m used to. But this time, they’re not staring with envy or longing. There’s the scent of blood in the air.

  “Mackenzie?” I try again. Her name sounds foreign on my lips. Out of place. A name from a fantasy novel – some dark fae queen too perfect and too dangerous to exist in the real world.

  She buries her face in her locker, doesn’t even look up.

  “It’s me.” I lower my voice. “Elias Hart.”

  She jerks her head around to face me, whipping golden hair across my face. She smells the same – peaches and coconut, and underneath something wild and undefinable – and the scent threatens to undo me. She cocks an eyebrow at me. “You say your name like I’m supposed to recognize it.”

  I study her face as she drops her books on the shelf. On top is a battered leather volume – a book of Greek lyric poetry. It looks to be written in actual Greek. Where did Mackenzie go for four years that she developed a taste for ancient poetry?

  “Elias Hart,” I say. “I can walk you to class if you like. We can catch up on—”