The Ruthless Boys (Adamson All-Boys Academy #2) Read online

Archie wants me here, on this campus of death. Of course he does. He's too selfish to admit that something’s wrong here. Why should he? That would tarnish his perfect work record. God forbid he admit that things are out of his control.

  “I'm not leaving if you're not,” Tobias repeats, and his brother grunts from his position on the landing.

  “Neither am I,” Ranger declares, but Church just crosses his arms over his chest, a slight frown on his face. I wonder what his parents are like, or if arguing with them is even an option.

  Arguing with mine isn't, that's for damn sure.

  Surprisingly, the boys end up getting their way, and the cars that came for them go right back the way they came.

  Fucking spoiled brats.

  I'm jealous as hell. I wish my dad cared enough to let me go. I just want to get away from this stupid school and all of its bullshit.

  Spencer is dead.

  I try to make that sentence compute in my brain, but it refuses to accept it. There's no understanding that concept, no way of making it real. I don't want it to be real.

  As I lay on my bed, I go through the whole scenario over and over again, what the person in the tree was wearing, the shape of his body, the color of his hair … There aren't a lot of guys at this school with silver-ash hair.

  That is … except for Eugene Mathers.

  My mood perks up a bit, and I scramble out of bed, looking for my laptop. I took this one pic of the school to send to Monica way back when, and Eugene just happened to pass by as I was doing it. It should be saved in my messenger somewhere …

  I flip open the top on my computer and scroll back through my conversations with Monica (add another layer of frosting to my depression cake, thank you very much social media).

  There it is.

  I zoom in and squint at Eugene's hair. It's about the same color as Spencer's, like he was trying to copy him and got close, but just didn't execute it as well. The mosaic plagiarism version of a hairstyle. There are parts that look old-man gray instead of silver, like the style is more geriatric than anime-cool.

  And, like, Eugene is an asshole, right? I feel sort of bad for hoping he's the dead guy, but also … maybe it's karmic justice?

  I start up a group message with the guys when I hear a rock ping against my window. Earlier, my dad sent me back to the dorm with Nathan, the creepy security guy, and some uniformed police officers to grab my stuff. I grabbed the bag with the weapons in it, too, so I'm fully armed when I tiptoe over to the window and look out.

  But it's just the Student Council waiting for me in all their glory, moonlit and beautiful, every last one of them. Well, except for Spencer, of course. My stomach twists, and I exhale in an attempt to ward off the nausea.

  Carefully, I crack my door and listen to my dad's snores. I feel like there should be police officers guarding the house or something, but there aren't. There are a few on campus, patrolling for the night, but that's about it. It's like nobody's taking this murder seriously.

  Or else … they don't think the boy hanging in the tree was murdered?

  Quick as I can, I change from the tank top and sweats I was wearing into a new, clean uniform. I still don't want the whole school to know my secret, especially after what I've been through recently. Clearly, someone—several someones, actually—are out to get me.

  “What are you guys doing here?” I ask as I slip out the back door with my bag over my shoulder and my laptop under my arm. I push my glasses up my nose and shiver in the frigid air. It's freezing here, even though it's March. It's supposed to be spring; it's supposed to be warm. Have I ever mentioned how much I miss California weather? The northeast is chilly year round, I swear to god.

  “We're going to look for Spencer,” Tobias says, sighing heavily. He doesn't look very hopeful.

  “For all we know, he could still be off sulking somewhere and maybe he doesn't even know about the guy in the woods.” Ranger sighs and ruffles up his dark hair with his fingers, closing his sapphire eyes for a moment. This all must be doubly hard on him, considering how his sister died.

  “Look.” I take my computer out and show the picture of Eugene to the guys. “He's got the same hair color as Spencer, right? Maybe that was Eugene that we saw?”

  “Why do you have a picture of Eugene Mathers on your laptop?” Micah asks, like he's all butt hurt about it. I give him a narrow-eyed look. As much as I find his tiny spark of jealousy comforting, now is not the time.

  Spencer … We need to figure out what happened to Spencer.

  “I keep all my numbers on the cloud, so even with a new phone …” Church whips out a brand-new iPhone, and I narrow my eyes. See what I mean? Replacing my broken iPhone with a Samsung was a purposeful jab. It’s been half a day, and he’s already secured a replacement for himself. “Yes, I still have Eugene's number. I could text him and see if I get a response.” Church is already tapping his fingers on the screen. He's definitely got the leader vibe, this natural charisma paired with a take-no-shit attitude. He doesn't ask questions; he just takes action. “Now we wait. And while we wait, we search. Let's start with the staff cabins.”

  “Roger that, Mr. Student Council President,” the twins report, saluting Church in unison. Ranger frowns heavily, but doesn’t protest, and Ross claps his hands together.

  “Oh, it’s like a Hardy Boys adventure. Or more preferably Nancy Drew.” Ross pauses then, his smile quivering like he’s about to lose it. I’m assuming the guys have already filled him in on everything that happened. That, and I’m pretty sure he’s at least half in love with Spencer Hargrove. “When I find that boy, I’m going to spank him with a paperback copy of each, just for good measure.”

  “You be sure to do that,” Tobias says with a roll of his eyes, and Micah sneers. He really believes Spencer is dead, doesn’t he? I look away because I can’t stand the hopelessness etched into his pretty features; it’s too much. Hope is the thing with feathers, right? It gives you wings, and I really, really could use some wings right about now.

  The twins each take one of my hands, and we start off toward the ominous darkness of the woods. I'm not particularly keen on going back in there, not after the bullshit from last night. But as I slip my laptop in my bag, I’m reminded that I've got my knife, my Taser, and what’s left of my pepper spray with me. That, and there's no way in fuck I'm going back in those underground tunnels ever again.

  We should be fine, right? The six of us together. It'll be fine.

  Keep telling yourself that, Charlotte. This is a bad idea, and you know it.

  The thing is, Spencer is worth it. I'd … walk into a thousand shady looking forests to find the guy. “You lied to me, and I hate being lied to.” The shock and sadness on his face will haunt me the rest of my life if I don't find him. I can't imagine that being the last interaction we ever have.

  “Fuck,” I murmur, my feet squishing in the wet dirt beneath the trees. That was some rainstorm. The whole campus is soaked, flooded with huge puddles that drown half the walking path.

  “What?” Micah whispers, but I'm having a hard time making words that aren't profanity.

  “I just … Spencer and I … I don't want the last experience he ever had in life to be a fight with his friends. A fight that I started by not telling him the truth sooner.”

  Micah makes a sound, but nobody else acknowledges that I've even spoken. I realize in that moment that I'm an invariably selfish person. Like really fucking selfish. This is not about me, none of this is. In fact, I'm the person who has the least right to Spencer. Chemistry and vibes do not a relationship make.

  Releasing the twins' hands, I scrub my palms down my face as we pause near a row of cabins. The windows are all dark, ominously so, and there are several cabins that look like they're in the midst of construction. Church removes a key from his pocket, just like that, and unlocks the first one.

  “Where did you get that?” I whisper as Ranger turns on the flashlight he's been carrying and sweeps it around the room.
r />   “Spence?” Ranger shouts, not bothering to keep his voice down. I cringe a little, but I figure we've made about as much noise tromping through the woods as a Mack truck driving through a nuclear power plant, so why bother to be subtle now?

  “We stole it from the teachers' lounge,” the twins reply in unison, and I roll my eyes. It's such a normal gesture that I'm instantly overwhelmed with guilt. Things shouldn't be normal if Spencer is … well, dead.

  My stomach clenches, but I push it down, waiting for Ranger to clear the cabin. It's only one story with two twin beds, two desks, and a kitchenette in the corner. It doesn't take a thorough search to see that nobody's here.

  We move onto the next cabin, and the next, and then the next. When we get to the last one, with the tarps over the windows and roof, we find a broken window in the back, and a piece of wood nailed across the front door.

  “Do you think the board was put here to discourage students from breaking in?” I ask as we circle the cabin in a group. This isn't a horror movie, okay. There's no way we're splitting up.

  “No.” Ranger shines his flashlight across glittering pieces of glass on the ground. “The window was broken from the inside. Besides, why this one cabin? None of the others are boarded up.” Ranger and Micah help lift Tobias up and into the window. I'm worried the whole time that he'll cut himself, but he seems okay, no blood just yet. The flashlight sweeps around the room as Church and Ranger boost Micah in next.

  “Spencer was definitely here,” he calls out, and then there's the sound of crunching wood as the front door is kicked open from the inside, tearing the board off its hinges.

  “MMA training,” Ranger explains with a slight shrug. I raise my brows, but say nothing as we come around the front and find the twins going through the garbage on the floor.

  “Doritos wrappers, containers of leftovers from Culinary Club, and some rolling papers. This mess has that stoner dickhead written all over it.” Tobias stands up as Micah tosses aside the blankets on the couch, searching for … I don't know, blood? Signs that he was here recently? I don't know. I'm not a very good gumshoe.

  This cabin is a hell of a lot nicer than the others, larger, two story, and with a huge king-sized bed on the top floor. Seems like this was the model for the construction projects that were started on some of the others. No wonder Spencer likes to hang out here.

  Or liked … Please don't let it be a past tense thing.

  Exhaling, I look around with the others, but there's nothing of real significance, just some garbage and a cell phone charger left in the wall. That's it.

  “Well, he was definitely here,” Church says, leaning against the wall near the front door, chin tilted down, eyes closed. Blond hair slides forward to cover the top part of his face, but there's not much to see there anyway. He's still completely closed-off. “But that doesn't tell us if he's still alive.”

  “No, but it's a good start.” Ranger exhales and turns back to face us, putting his hands on his hips. “Spencer was here. And he always bitches about the gym uniform, says it cooks his balls.” He gives me a look and a slight shrug of the shoulders. “Excuse the language.”

  “No, I get it. Gym shorts cook the ball sack. Okay. So what does that have to do with anything?”

  “Well, after he left us in the hall, he probably went back to the dorms and grabbed a change of clothing. The guy that was hung in the tree was still wearing his uniform. There's no way Spencer would hang out here and smoke a joint and binge in those shorts.”

  “You're grasping at straws, man. A sweaty ball sack isn't exactly the groundbreaking clue we're looking for. That doesn't mean shit.” Micah kicks a soda can across the floor, and it fizzes out.

  Fizzes.

  Like it's not all that old.

  We exchange a look as he bends down and picks it up, taking a sip from the can. Both brows go up.

  “Dude, this is fresh. Like super fresh. It's still fizzy.” He hands it over to his brother first, then Ranger, me, Ross and Church. We all take a drink. It really is fresh, like maybe it was opened just a few minutes before we got here. My heart leaps in my chest, but I know that doesn't mean a damn thing. Spencer Hargrove is not the only student at Adamson that sneaks out to the edges of campus to smoke a joint.

  “I've tried texting the asshole, but no response.” Church runs a hand down his face. “He could still be pissed at us. Maybe his phone is off?”

  “Or maybe he's in the morgue and can't answer,” Micah whispers, and I swear, Ranger growls at him.

  “Why are you so determined to be a pessimistic asshole when the rest of us are trying so hard to be positive?”

  “Because I don't want to get my hopes up only to get fucked again. Dude, I … I don't know how to deal with this. When I saw his body hanging in that tree, I just wanted to die. Don't make me relive that moment. I'd rather … think he was dead until proven otherwise.” Micah closes his green eyes and sits down hard on the edge of the couch. It creaks, like it can feel more than just the weight of his body, like his emotions and his stress are too heavy to hold up.

  There's a long stretch of silence before Church pushes off the wall and stands up straight.

  “We've seen what we need to see. Let's get Charlotte back before the headmaster notices she's missing.”

  We head back out to the front porch, but I can't resist looking over my shoulder one last time, missing Spencer, wondering where in the world he is, and wishing with every beat of my heart that I'll get to see him again.

  If I do, I'm going to give him the kiss of a lifetime, that much I promise.

  Maybe more.

  Yeah, probably more.

  The next few days are these long, awful slogs. Just hour after hour of wondering when I can sneak out again, when Dad might tell me something, when the police might wrap up their investigation.

  Three days into this nightmare, there's still little news coverage, and only a few angry parents to deal with. It's nearly eight in the evening when Dad comes in and sits down at the dinner table, looking at my bowl of macaroni and cheese with a skeptical eye. He probably thinks it's from a box, but little does he know, I learned how to make this during Culinary Club. Spencer's the one who told me the secret about mixing breadcrumbs with butter and sprinkling them on top before baking.

  My eyes water, but I blink rapidly to clear them.

  “What?” I ask, sticking a huge bite in my mouth and watching my father warily. He hasn't exactly been the most forthcoming, more like some sort of prison guard. He hugged me hard that first day, but I think he has intimacy issues, so that's all I've gotten. Just that one hug. And it was only an okay one at that. Ranger's the one who showed me what a hug should really be like.

  “The police have ruled the death a suicide. I just wanted you to know that.”

  “A suicide?!” I shout, accidentally flinging a huge lump of hot mac ‘n’ cheese onto the wall. Both Dad and I cringe, but I can't help it. I'm shaking here. “Are they stupid?! I'm a seventeen year old student, and I could see murder written all over that scene. How could a person even get a rope that high up in the tree, and then hang themselves from it without there being some sort of ladder around?”

  “Charlotte, I'm not a detective. I'm just telling you what the outcome of the investigation was. If you have an issue, you can take it up with the officers involved.” My mouth is quite literally hanging open, and my words have escaped me completely. I'm reeling here.

  “But … someone locked us in those tunnels. Someone wanted us dead.”

  “The door to the tunnels was closed and locked, yes, but it could easily have been an accident or a prank gone wrong.”

  “And the hole in the ceiling in Mark's room?!” I ask, standing up so fast that I send my chair tumbling over. “Was that a prank, too?”

  “There is no hole in the ceiling in Mark's room,” Dad says, and my eyes go wide. What … the … fuck?!

  “What do you mean there's no hole?” I whisper, my voice low and dark. I'm ha
ving a little trouble processing what my dad's just said. “There was very distinctly a hole there before. I told you what happened.” Well, part of what happened. Some of what I said was a lie. I told Dad that we heard loud noises in Mark’s room and opened the unlocked door. I didn't tell him that I was attacked in the shower. Maybe I should have? Although … I swear, I smell a conspiracy here.

  Something isn't right.

  “I don't know what to tell you. There's no hole in his room, Charlotte. And while I agree that what happened in the tunnels was horrible, it was the result of a rainstorm. You shouldn't have been down there in the first place.”

  “Someone closed and locked that door on us.”

  Dad gives me a long, lingering look and sighs.

  “Maybe. But what do you want me to do about it? I've told the police everything you've told me. Unless there's something you'd like to add?” The way he stares at me, it's pretty obvious that he knows I'm holding back. I just return the look, but I don't say anything else. If I do, he might send me to another school like he promised. Until I know what really happened to Spencer, I'm not going anywhere.

  I shove up from the table and storm up to my room. When I'm alone, in the dark, that's when it gets impossible to hold back the tears. Lying on my bed alone, I cry into my pillow for hours.

  Spencer liked me for me. He didn't know all my secrets, and yet even when it came to questioning everything he thought he knew about himself, he was willing to take a chance.

  How often in life does a girl run into a guy like that?

  Ugh.

  My pillow is wet with tears, and I'm all snotty. But it doesn't matter. All I can think about is all the things I wanted to talk to Spencer about that I never got a chance to. Guess all that hokey shit they paint on distressed wooden signs is true, sayings like Live every day like it's your last or You don't appreciate what you have until it's gone.

  With a growl, I throw my pillow across the room and it hits a water glass, spilling it everywhere. Grabbing my laptop, I message Spencer a dozen more times. I tell him all sorts of things I'd never have the courage to say aloud.