Page 72 of Depraved Boys

That generated a few giggles from the crowding sycophants and made hot anger flare across my skin. Hadn’t they hurt me enough without dredging up Mom and Dad’s deaths?

“That’s what the police believe happened,” added Bianca with a triumphant smirk. “And one of the officers even agreed that it was impossible to force someone to drink to such excess!”

The girls in the background muttered their agreement.

Liars. Even I could think of ways to intoxicate someone against their will. I’d also told the female police officer about Bianca’s order to give me the foie gras treatment, which meant to feed me through a funnel.

I pushed those memories aside and focused on the most important thing. Bianca had whispered her intent to kill me that night.

“Then you said you’d drive my sister to do the same. Drive,” I paraphrased.

My gaze darted around to the crowd of sycophants. They had fallen silent and now watched me with wide eyes and slack jaws. One of the girls even clapped her hand over her mouth. A tiny spring of triumph bubbled up in my chest. Hopefully, it was because not all of them had meant for me to die on that night.

“You have something nasty planned for her, don’t you?” I asked.

Bianca pointed the horse whip between my eyes. “Drop dead, you lying hog.”

“Why, so you can drive another girl to death?” I snarled.

Her nostrils flared. “What did you say?”

“I know how Corrine Gibbons died. Alcohol poisoning. Did you force your swill down her throat and set her loose on the mountains like you did to me? She must have stumbled and fallen. Fallen. Down. A. Ditch.”

Gasps filled the hallway, and the other girls exchanged scandalized looks. Even Geraldine’s face fell slack. I swallowed hard. Panic had made me throw out wild speculations, but my presentation of events made sense.

While the others had wanted to hurt and humiliate me, Bianca really had whispered her true intentions. She didn’t want me anywhere near the wealthy boys. Most likely because she wanted to snag one for herself.

“You filthy liar.” Bianca cracked the horse whip through the air and slashed me across the face.

Pain sliced through my cheek, but my fight-or-flight response had pushed me to a point where I no longer cared about minor injuries.

Everything made sense. Why the queens had told both Corrine and me that we were victims of the pull-a-pig game. Why Bianca had whispered those horrible words in my ear. They were clever girls whose parents had well-paid and prestigious occupations, but that didn’t mean they were stinking rich. But each member of the kings was part of centuries-old dynasties. Snagging one of them meant a comfortable life, and girls like me stood in their paths.

I bared my teeth. “Is that what you do to the scholars who attract the attention of the boys you want? Drive them to their deaths?”

“Shut up.” Another slash from Bianca sliced across my cheek.

My back hit the wall. “Horse whips won’t stop me from telling everyone what you did.”

Bianca’s face turned purple. “You ugly, fat cow. You lying pig!”

I sprang to my feet and tackled her around the middle. Bianca fell hard on her back. Then I straddled her torso, trapped her arms between my legs, and pressed my full weight on her ribs. Her eyes widened, and she opened her mouth in a silent scream.

“Don’t think I won’t forget about what you did, pervert!” I slapped her so hard across the face, her arrogant head whipped to the side.

“Someone, stop her!” Geraldine slashed me across the back.

I smashed my fist into Bianca’s cheek, and Geraldine continued to lash out at me with her whip. Stinging blows lanced through the fabric of my blazer, through my hair when she slashed the back of my neck, and onto the side of my cheek, where the string at the end of the implement curled around to my face. The pain was nothing compared to the satisfaction of pummeling Bianca’s face.

The shrieking girls crowded around us. Booted feet kicked me in the sides, and hands pulled at my hair, but I poured every ounce of pain, every ounce of hurt and humiliation and heartache into battering Bianca’s beautiful, arrogant face.

She spluttered. “S-stop, y-you pig.”

“Call me a pig one more time.” I punched her square in the nose, revelling in the crunch of cartilage against my knuckles. “Call me a pig one. More. Time. You murderer!”

“What the fuck is going on?” barked a voice.

The girls scattered away like startled rats, revealing a furious Prakash striding toward us through the hallway. His black hair shone like polished jet, and red tinged the olive of his beautiful skin.