Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 84072 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84072 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Everyone hated me here but none more than Briggs Weston, and he has vowed to make my life a living hell.
Briggs is as gorgeous as he is unhinging, sinister, and untouchable.
But If he thinks I’m going to bow down to him without a fight, he is going to be in for a rude awakening.
*This is the first book in the Wicked Falls Elite series, but it can be read as a standalone. Please be advised that this story includes many triggers. A complete list of triggers can be found inside the book. This story ends in a HEA.*
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
1
WREN
One thing is for sure, as I walk through campus on the first day of classes, holding on tight to the strap of my backpack and trying to stay out of everybody’s way, I do not belong here.
“Looks like somebody picked over the racks down at Goodwill.” Soft, high-pitched laughter follows me across the quad, which is surrounded on four sides by tall, stately buildings. The sort of buildings you see on TV, in movies, with ivy on the outside walls and everything. The entire place practically drips money. I keep my gaze trained on the ground, expecting to see cash oozing up through the few cracks visible in the pavement—very few—everything around here is close to perfect.
Again. I do not belong. I’m anything but perfect.
I don’t want to be here. That’s the only thing I know for sure. Most people would kill for the chance to attend Wicked Falls University, which is usually reserved for kids from the town’s wealthiest families. In other words, it’s not the kind of school I ever would have dreamed of attending, but then life has a way of doing whatever it wants sometimes. It doesn’t matter what I want. How I feel.
Somebody wants me here.
“It’s official, kiddo. You’re going to college with all the rich kids. They won’t look down on us after this.” I can still hear Mom’s laughter, can see the way her eyes sparkled when she gave me the news during one of our rare visits. It didn’t matter that this was a bad idea. That she was basically condemning me to spend time with people who hate me. Because of her. That’s the worst part; they hate me because of what she has done, what she is known for… sleeping around with married men. Which is coincidentally the reason I got into this school. There she was, laughing it up and swirling red wine in her glass, not realizing she basically signed my death warrant.
I tug the hem of my washed out T-shirt, which used to be a dark purple but is now more like a faded lilac. It’s shrunk a little bit, and I keep feeling it ride up over the waistband of my worn-out jeans as I walk to the building where my next class is held. I had calculus earlier, and it was actually okay. I expected a bunch of dirty looks and whispers, but most people didn’t seem to care, even if they did notice me.
My luck is not going to last for long. It never does. Over the years, I’ve learned it’s better not to get my hopes up. If you expect the worst, you’re always prepared when it comes.
“Who’s that, one of the janitors?” This time a guy asks the question, laughing like he just told the funniest joke ever as I walk past where he and his friends are hanging out on the grass. I won’t bother looking. I won’t give him the satisfaction of knowing I heard him.
“Are you kidding?” a girl demands like she’s offended. “Don’t insult the real janitors like that!” Now there’s more laughter, and somehow it hangs on me like a heavy cloak, waterlogged, dragging me down. It makes my feet heavy, but I keep moving with my head low and my eyes on the ground. I can’t believe this is my life.
My Early American Literature class is held in a normal classroom versus a big lecture hall with stadium seating. I was kind of hoping to hide in the back and be the first one out the door when class is over, but there’s no such luck. Rows of desks are arranged on the linoleum floor, and the bright fluorescent lights overhead mean I might as well be walking under a spotlight as I enter the room.
I would swear the temperature drops ten degrees when I enter, and it definitely gets quieter as my presence is registered by the people who are already waiting for class to start. I have every right to be here. I’m just as good as they are. My lame affirmations didn’t work very well last night when I was trying to fall asleep, and they’re not doing much better now. When am I ever going to be able to stop paying for somebody else’s choices?
Don’t let them see. Don’t let them know. Honestly, it doesn’t matter. This entire town has made me their mascot in some sick, twisted game whose rules they never bothered teaching me. They get off on tearing me down, laughing at me, making me the symbol of everything beneath them. Because what else do a bunch of rich, bored people have to do with their time? I don’t even know why they bother going to college. They’ll just live off their family money forever. If I had that kind of money, and I was set for life, I wouldn’t bully other people who don’t have it as good as me.