He ground his hips onto her core and tightened his grip both on her neck and her thigh. "They're not going to find out. Like how no one's going to find out about us. Are they?" He growled into her ear.
Courtney rubbed the hand that was around her ne...
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JASMINE IRVINE WOKE UP TO A JUICY TREAT ON FRIDAY MORNING AND SHE COULD NOT BELIEVE HER EARS. BUT SHE HAD TO. ANYONE WOULD RECOGNISE THE VOICE ON THE RECORDING AND THE NAMES ON THE LIST.
She hadn't even left her bed. There was a reason that gossip spread like wildfire in Belgravia Preparatory and it was all thanks to Jasmine. She had the eyes and ears of a hawk.
Jasmine replayed the recording over and over and over again to the point where she could recall it word for word. The eagle-eyed gossip noticed cuttings in the tape and was sure that there was another person present whose identity was concealed. Miss Irvine would worry about that later.
At the moment, the redhead didn't care as she was in possession of the juiciest gossip Belgravia Preparatory had ever seen. The anonymous sender had left the strict instructions of: If you value, what you call, your reputation, you'll keep this inside the school walls. Have fun x
And that's what she did. She sent the first message at six in the morning and by ten past, she was sure that at least ninety per cent of the school was aware of the recording and the list of names.
Jasmine wasn't necessarily liked by everyone. Who would want to be friends with the gossip? Your secrets would be spilled within the first five minutes of talking. She was only liked when she was needed and she didn't mind that because, in a school like hers, the backstabbing never left.
The redhead walked the halls of Belgravia Prep and there were whispers everywhere. She was proud of herself, knowing that she had executed her job to perfection. It was the talk of the halls - soon to be town.
On a normal day, the conversations would've been filled with Christopher's name - the favourite to win the swim meet later that day - but this would be far from a normal day. Especially for Beckett.
He hadn't met with the remaining Big Six and so he strolled the halls alone. Beckett wore a navy blue turtleneck under his white shirt to hide the fact that he had nearly been strangled to death the night before. His cheek had a tinge of purple which he hadn't bothered to cover up.
The whispers stopped when he entered and all eyes were on him. Everyone froze as he walked past them up to his four friends. I use the term 'friends' lightly.
The terms, "Pervert... pig... disgusting... psycho," were thrown at him along with some much more vulgar. His phone had woken him up as the notifications were endless. The death threats and hate were never-ending.
He arrived at the table where his seat remained empty. Beckett touched the chains on his covered neck for comfort as he went to pull out his chair.
Silas, one would describe him as a gentleman in the streets and a freak in the sheets (if he's not in public, you simply don't want to know what he's doing), kicked Beckett's chair away and made it fall down. All eyes were on their table.
"What are you doing dude?" Beckett questioned, shocked.
"After the actions you've done, you're no longer fit to be here. Fuck off," Silas told Beckett all with a straight face minus his drooping eyes. His eyes flickered away from Beckett's as he failed to retain eye contact.
Beckett shuffled in his place and he hid his hands in his trouser pockets. "Care to tell me who decided this?"
"This cheeky bastard," Christopher muttered under his breath. "What kind of man would I be if I didn't protect our girls," he referred to Genevieve and Mélissandre. "You're a sick piece of work. How could you even think of doing that to your friends, nevermind all those girls?"
Silas' knee repeatedly bobbed up and down at Christopher's words.
Mélissandre didn't spare Beckett a second glance and Genevieve appeared deflated. "How could you do this Beckett?" The blonde was close to tears and she hid her face behind her hair.
Beckett could see that the bond they had all formed was slowly becoming nonexistent. "Right, I'll just be going to the toilet."
"We don't care. Maybe if you're lucky you can figure out a way to flush yourself to hell," Mélissandre spat at him as he walked away.
When Beckett left, the four remained quiet while everyone else's conversations flourished.
After a couple of minutes, Genevieve received a phone call which interrupted their silence. "Sorry, I need to take this. See you at lunch?" She clutched the Hermes bag and dashed outside so she could be alone.
Genevieve answered and waited for the caller to speak.
"... Hello?" He asked quietly.
She smirked and lowered her voice to a sultry tone, "Hello. Welcome to the suicide hotline. How may I be of assistance?"
