Page 2 of Cruel Hearts

Bitch could have at least taken off her helmet before she rolled her eyes. Or given me a verbal answer. What the fuck was her problem?

This journey was interminable, but at least what I could see of the scenery was nice. Stars twinkled in the cloudless, black sky, and the moon backlit the craggy mountaintops. Nice and romantic, unlike my current situation.

“I can’t go to prison,” Maxwell moaned.

“But it’s good enough for me?” I snapped.

Maxwell didn’t answer. Probably because anything he said now would be an admission that he had spent the past few weeks in disguise, setting me up for this moment. Everything he said or did as his brother had been designed to have the police drag me away from the academy in disgrace.

The worst part was that it had been completely unnecessary. Elizabeth or one of her sycophantic knights could have snuck into my room, planted the cocaine, called the cops, and sat back to watch the mayhem. But they’d designed this for maximum carnage. They had wanted me to fall in love with ‘Kendrick’, only to find out that he was my betrayer.

Scratch that. The worst part of the plan was to dredge up past history and share my location with those who had genuine grievances against me. Like my stepfather and ex-boyfriend, both of whom I’d gotten arrested for drugs.

I turned to Maxwell, who hunched in his boxers. A little part of me delighted that he hadn’t been allowed the dignity of shoes or a shirt or even pants, but that’s what a person got for strutting out in their underwear to gloat about having shagged a girl before shafting her.

“Was it you who contacted Billy Hancock?” I asked.

“No,” he replied. “I didn’t even know those thugs would be at the fashion show.”

A weary breath heaved out of my lungs. Why was I even asking him questions when he’d proven himself the most prolific liar since Pinocchio and Keyser Söze?

“So, what was the plan?” I asked. “Dinner at the Glaswegian then a drug bust?”

He stared into his clasped hands, not offering me a reply.

Realization hit me upside the head like a bushel of rotten fish. “There was no reservation, was there?”

Maxwell remained silent. His lack of response was an admission that every word, without exception, that had slithered from his lips had been a lie.

I couldn’t even get upset. This was one of those situations where a blanket of shock had wrapped around my heart, leaving me to operate on survival instincts and fury.

Right now, I was in the biggest trouble of my life. Dwelling on who shagged who under false pretenses was a waste of time. Someone had planted a fuck-load of cocaine in my wardrobe and convinced the police to raid my room. While I was naked and still in it.

The fact that a bunch of villains from Richley had turned up at the fashion show and the fact that my details were all over the police database wasn’t helping my predicament. I leaned forward, resting my forearms on my knees.

They’d assign me a duty solicitor, but they were crap. The more times I got arrested, the longer it took the solicitors to get up to speed with my sordid history. And half the time they just bluffed their way through the interviews or stayed silent.

I had no money to hire a criminal lawyer and no knowledge of the good law firms in Scotland. A frustrated breath huffed out of my nostrils. I was screwed. In more than one sense of the word.

A jolt of panic shot through my heart.

Mr. Burgh.

My throat thickened. Someone would have told him by now. Of course, they would. He was the headmaster of the academy, and my grandfather. Trepidation crawled across my skin like an army of armored ants each holding sharp-as-needles trekking poles.

Mother had put him and his late wife through a bunch of scandals—the teenage pregnancy, not revealing the identity of the father, and stealing a precious heirloom from the Templar estate—now I was doing the same.

I imagined Mr. Burgh thought history was repeating itself in glorious technicolor. All I needed was for Maxwell to admit he’d sabotaged the condom to get me pregnant, and this would be the fate Mother faced eighteen years ago.

Shit.

“Lilah.”

I was too lost in my own thoughts to bristle. For the first time in my life, I had a father figure, one I longed to impress. These past few weeks of accompanying Mr. Burgh to the village and having him proudly proclaim his long-lost granddaughter to everyone had been a dream. As had the cozy dinners and fireside chats.

My stomach sank to my feet like a rusty anchor.

This arrest would break Mr. Burgh’s heart.