Malice: A Dark High School Romance (Angelview Academy Book 2) Read online

  Copyright © 2020

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events, places, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  For information message [email protected]

  Contents

  Note From The Author

  Playlist

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  About the Author

  Note From The Author

  MALICE is a dark high school romance with enemies-to-lovers and bullying themes. It is not recommended for readers under 17 as it contains dubious situations and triggers that some readers may find offensive. As it is the second book in the Angelview Academy series, it is recommended to read book 1, SAINT, first.

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  Playlist

  You Should See Me in a Crown – Billie Eilish

  The Promise – In This Moment

  Roses – Benny Blanco ft Juice WRLD and Brendon Urie

  I Fell in Love with the Devil – Avril Lavigne

  Sweet Little Lies – bulow

  Don’t Start Now – Dua Lipa

  I Miss the Misery – Halestorm

  Heartless – The Fray

  Can’t Pretend – Tom Odell

  Heathens – Twenty-One Pilots

  Heaven Knows – The Pretty Reckless

  I Hate Everything About You – Three Days Grace

  Gods and Monsters – Lana Del Rey

  Exit Music (For a Film) – Radiohead

  1

  I can’t stop watching as fire ravages the dorm building.

  His dorm building.

  My arms are wrapped firmly around myself, as if I’m chilled, but it’s really just to hold myself upright because physically? Physically, I don’t feel a thing. Not the early December night air wafting smoke into my face. Not my nails digging into my palms or my teeth sinking into my bottom lip, even though I can taste copper. I don’t even feel my stomach, which I know is pitching violently.

  I am numb as memories from last year surface, and I’m mentally hurtled back in time to the night James died. The flames clawing at the dark sky are just like the ones that consumed my tiny house back then. I half expect there to be an explosion, but I have to remind myself there isn’t a meth lab in the basement of Angelle House. Still, a shudder courses through me, then my first physical sensation—a vicious wave of nausea that sends my world toppling over and my mind whirling with more jumbled thoughts and excruciating images.

  There’s only two that seem to matter right now: Saint and Liam.

  Where are they?

  They should be here. They should be out here, staring up at the carnage. Saint would look unconcerned, as if all his possessions going up in smoke didn’t bother him. It probably wouldn’t, truthfully. There’s nothing he wouldn’t be able to replace.

  To boys like Saint, everything and everyone is disposable.

  I’d learned that tonight.

  Liam, on the other hand, would simply appear annoyed at the inconvenience this would cause him, tugging at his sleeves in agitation to hide the tattoos that are against school regulations.

  So why can’t I find them anywhere among the crowd?

  You know why, the voice in the back of my head taunts me, its tone crueler than ever before.

  Panic halts my breath. They can’t be in there. They just can’t be. I’m not done hating Saint, and I’ve just started a solid friendship with Liam.

  They can’t be dead.

  Please, God, don’t let them be dead.

  I’m so consumed with my thoughts that it takes me a beat too long to realize that the tone of the crowd around me has started to shift. It goes from concerned and frightened to accusatory. Then enraged. And now … it’s just savage.

  The whispers morph into mutters, and the noise grows louder and louder until it’s a buzzing crescendo in my ears that I can’t ignore. I catch a few words here and there, and a tendril of fear seizes me by my chest.

  “…Saint actually fucked that slut…”

  “…heard what she said to him, right?”

  “…can’t believe the stupid bitch is actually showing her face!”

  I scan my surroundings, my heart giving a harsh jolt at the dozens of eyes shining fury directly at me.

  What the hell? Why are people looking at me and not the fire?

  “Fuck you, Ellis!”

  Something comes flying out of nowhere and hits me in the face. I cry out in shock and pain as my head lurches to the side. My cheek throbs, and I squint at the ground to find a half-empty Gatorade bottle laying at my feet, its clear blue liquid still sloshing around inside the plastic. Looking up again, I catch the second projectile out of the corner of my eye, but once again, I’m too late to dodge it.

  The force of the blow sends me stumbling back—against someone who immediately shoves me away with a hissed, “Eww, slut”— and this time I’m shocked to see a glass Perrier bottle shattered on the ground.

  “What the fuck is your problem?” I scream, cupping my aching jaw. If that had nailed me in the temple, it probably would have knocked me out or worse. Judging by the sneers and pointed fingers, something tells me they were aiming for much worse.

  “She did this!” someone shouts.

  “Cunt!”

  “Murderer!”

  As they close in around me, my muscles freeze, and shallow breaths explode from my mouth. I’m fucked. These people are insane, and they’re turning every ounce of their crazy on me. My heart clenches at the thought of leaving without knowing if Saint and Liam are safe, but I can’t risk another Perrier bottle to the head. I spin around, intent on getting myself out of this situation, but my path is blocked by a swarming mob of contorted faces and hands reaching toward me.

  Pulling. Hitting. Their nails digging into my skin and their breaths hot on my face.

  “You’ll pay for this, you white trash piece of shit!”

  Now, they’re all shouting and pelting me with dirt clods and pebbles they snatch up from the ground. I try to get away as I shield my head and face with my arms and lash out whenever I can to force them away from me. Everywhere I turn, though, I’m met with more hate. More poison.

  “You should be in that fire!” I recognize this voice. It’s the girl with the frizzy hair that I’d defended against Saint all those months ago. So much for his remark that all us sch
olarship kids stick together because I think she’d be the first to volunteer to push me into the flames.

  “Someone call the cops!” Another girl shouts with a sneer. “Throw this baby-killing cunt in jail!”

  “That’s too generous for the bitch! She needs that pretty face fucked up.”

  Panic swells inside me, making my body feel as if it’s moving in slow motion, as I desperately search for a means of escape. There is none. I’m trapped, and my skin is growing tender and sore from the onslaught of dirt and pebbles and hands. So many hands. A decent sized rock hits my shoulder, and I swallow the cry of pain. It’s like I’m living in the sixteenth century or some shit. An innocent woman, accused of witchcraft, about to be stoned to death by an angry mob.

  And the most screwed up part of all this?

  Even as I legitimately fear for my own life—because this was a losing fight from the moment I stepped foot in front of this building—there’s a part of me that’s still searching for Saint and Liam. I dare to glance up now and again to try and find them, but each time I do, dirt flies into my face.

  I forget my phone is in my hand until someone snatches it from my grasp. The guy who stole it is a football player that I have English with, and he smirks at me, dangling it out of my reach when I lunge forward. “Don’t—”

  But he pushes me back, so hard that it rattles the air around in my chest. I watch helplessly as he slams my phone to the ground and smashes it beneath the heel of his tennis shoe. Hot tears prick at the corners of my eyes. I can’t even call for help now. I can’t let Carley know if I’m alive—or dead.

  And I have the feeling that soon, I could definitely be dead.

  “What the hell is going on here?” a loud, authoritative voice suddenly booms.

  The abuse stops almost immediately, and the crowd goes oddly silent and shifts away from me, giving me space to breathe at last. I glance up to find a campus police officer making his way toward me, his expression a mix of concern and aggravation.

  I’m so relieved, I could cry. I won’t, though, not in front of these animals.

  If they sense weakness in me, they’ll attack again, and they won’t stop until they’ve torn me to millions of tiny shreds.

  “Mallory Ellis?” the officer asks, his tone firm.

  I bob my head, gulping down the sob in the back of my throat. “Y-yeah, that’s me.”

  “I need you to come with me.”

  He takes my arm and begins to lead me through the crowd. I should feel relieved by the rescue, but my stomach knots as I follow the man. Why did he know my name? Why was he looking for me specifically?

  The other students murmur and hiss their speculations as I pass, some even grinning triumphantly, as if they’ve figured out what’s going on. That only makes me more nervous.

  When we’re free of the angry mob, I manage to mumble, “Wh-where are you taking me?”

  “The administrative building,” he answers without sparing me a glance.

  “But why?”

  “You’ll be informed once we arrive. Just come along.”

  “Y-you saw that, right?” I sound so hysterical that I have to drink in a deep breath before I continue, “What they were doing to me back there?”

  He makes a noise. Once again, he doesn’t look at me, but thanks to the lights from a news helicopter flying overhead, I witness his jaw clench. “We’ll be at the administrative building shortly.”

  I’ve been through this type of situation before, so I know there’s no use asking any more questions. He’s not going to tell me a goddamn thing. Very likely, he doesn’t even know what’s going on himself. He’s just meant to deliver me to higher authorities, who’ll no doubt question me extensively.

  Why, though? Why are they bringing me to the administrative building? Did the officer hear what the other students were saying? That they’re blaming me for the fire at Angelle House?

  If he did, I may be more screwed than I realized.

  When we finally reach our destination in the center of campus, he doesn’t slow his pace as we bound up the stone steps to the main entrance, and I take extra-long strides just to keep up with him. The interior of the building is buzzing with activity, a weird sight at this time of night, but not surprising given the fire. The officer guides me through the frantic chaos as teachers and staff rush back and forth, warding off concerned calls from parents and inquiries from the press. We go up a wide staircase to the second floor, and he turns me in the direction of the guidance counselors’ suite.

  My heart is pounding as he escorts me inside and then leads me to a conference room. There’s a long shiny wooden table, and he pulls one of the chairs in the very middle of it out and tells me to take a seat. I do so, hesitantly, staring up at him with wide, uncertain eyes.

  “Please tell me what’s going on,” I try again to get more information, even though I know it’s a useless effort. Sure enough, he just looks at me with a raised brow, then turns and leaves the room without another word.

  Shit.

  I’ve played this game before—the waiting game. The accident with James wasn’t even my first time interacting with authorities. That’s one of the unfortunate results of having Jenn for a mother. I became fairly familiar with the cops back home, having been regularly interrogated by CPS and the authorities about Mom and her drug using, drug associates, and drug dealing.

  By the time I was twelve, I was already a fucking vault and the cops eventually gave up questioning me with their obligatory social worker tagalong. They knew it was a waste of breath and energy trying to get me to snitch.

  At least, until James happened and all of Rayfort demanded blood for blood.

  Then they were very interested in what I had to say.

  Dread begins to settle in, turning me into a jumpy and impatient mess. I remember what comes next. The hours of questioning. The allegations. The good cop, bad cop bullshit as they try to break me down. I’ve been through it all before, except the very last time I was recovering in a hospital bed while they questioned me about the death of my best friend.

  I can’t understand why I would be a suspect now, though. I wasn’t anywhere near the dorm when the fire started.

  My innocence might not matter, though, since the whole campus seems to think I’m guilty. For the first time in almost a year, I wish I were back home. At least I knew how to handle these situations in my own world. And Angelview Academy sure as fuck isn’t it. I’m just a visitor here, playing pretend among the rich and powerful, and it’s obvious they’d all love to see me nosedive into oblivion and shatter to pieces—just like that water bottle they’d thrown at my face.

  Hauling in a deep breath, I fist my hands on the table and squeeze my eyes shut.

  “Calm down,” I whisper over and over as tears of frustration trickle down my cheeks. I swipe them away, along with the dirt from my classmates’ assault, then rake my hands back through my long, disheveled hair. “Calm the fuck down, Mal.”

  I haven’t done anything wrong, but my heart rate won’t come down, and my stomach won’t stop gurgling like it’s going to explode at any moment. I’m having a hard time breathing again. More than anything in the world, I wish I could call Carley. She would know just what to say to help me settle my nerves. She was the first person who ever gave me true stability, but I don’t feel that now. Not even close. I’m out on a ledge, all by myself, one step away from tumbling into an endless abyss. There’s no one to pull me back from the edge and save me from myself.

  No Carley to comfort me.

  No Loni or Henry to have my back.

  No Liam to engage me.

  No Saint to infuriate me.

  Saint. Fucking Saint.

  Thinking of him doesn’t help the tears disappear. It only makes it worse. I’m so terrified that he’s dead, my chest feels like it’s caving in. I gasp in air and slap my hands flat on the table, as though it will anchor me from the spiral I’m about to fly into.

  He can’t be dead.

/>   The thought of Saint anything but thriving and arrogant and larger than life just seems so … wrong. There’s so much that’s unresolved between us. So much fury and desire and longing and sorrow. If he’s gone, what happens to all that? Will I be forced to carry it with me for the rest of my life, with no hope of closure? Am I going to be stuck with this giant hole in my heart, just because I never got to know why he did what he did to me?

  Finally, the dam breaks, despite my best efforts to hold everything in, and my slow falling tears become a downpour as I recall my last interaction with him.

  Saint had blown up my whole world without blinking. Without looking like he cared at all. I’d hated him more than ever after he did that. I’d struck him and threatened him, and…

  Fuck.

  I threatened to kill him tonight.

  And at the time, I’d meant every word as people stood around listening to me say it.

  I’d slapped him, threatened him, and his dorm ended up burning down just hours later.

  That’s why I’m here. They all think the worst of me anyway. Why wouldn’t they think me capable of killing someone, especially him?

  But I didn’t. This isn’t like last time. This isn’t James. This time, I really had nothing to do with it.

  I hear the door click, and I tense, my fingernails digging into the top of the table as I wait to see who’s coming inside.

  A breath of relief rushes past my lips when Headmaster Aldridge and Mrs. Wilmer, the senior guidance counselor, stroll through the door.