Page 17 of Bitter Rivals (Bitterwood Elites)

NINE

Remi

The sound of birds chirping and acorns falling greets my ears as I slip into awareness. It takes my brain a second to process the noise but when it does, a profound relief washes over me. It was all a dream—a terrible, fucked-up dream. Bitterwood, the principal, the pit, Professor Vaughn were nothing more than a horrible nightmare induced by God knows what.

I stretch, the soft sheets flexing under my form, reaffirming that I’m at Oakwood. Chuckling at the absurdity of my mind, I crack an eye open to my darkened room. Soft light filters in gently from the window to my left, and I ease off the bed to open the curtains fully. The sight that greets me makes my heart stutter to a stop.

Bars.

When I look through them and the glass to the world below, my stomach plummets. Because it’s not California. Hell, it’s not even the United States. Stretching beyond the limits of what my eyes can see is a tropical wonderland, not a single oak tree in sight. Nearby, workers are vigorously chopping at palm leaves, the sound similar to acorns when they hit the ground. My frozen heart surges back to life, racing a mile per minute as I stumble back from the window in horror. It wasn’t a dream, meaning...

This nightmare is real.

Robotically, I turn away from the window and gaze at the other side of the room where an awake and alert Bianca glares at me, adding the cherry to my misery sundae. A very small part of me aches that this girl is now my enemy, but the bigger part reminds me that this is Principal Windsor’s sick game of survival. I couldn’t be Bianca’s friend if I wanted. Friendships at Bitterwood are foolish, moreover, dangerous. I can’t imagine what the principal will do to anyone who forms even a semblance of a bond.

My mind jumps to the cocky blond boy and his dark-haired companion from the night before and at the assembly. They’re obviously friends, and I wonder if this will bring them closer together or ultimately tear them apart. If I were them, I would separate and keep my friendship a secret.

Nothing good can come of having someone you care about at this place.

This thought brings a vision of Professor Vaughn as I glance back over at Bianca. My visceral dislike of her is shared with my loathing of the odious man, but underneath that hate lies an attraction like I’ve never known—that I never want to acknowledge.Professor Vaughn sets my body on fire, but I have no respect for him. He drugged his own damn girlfriend, dragged her into this hellhole, and then fucking kissed me while she slept.

Honestly, I don’t know why Bianca is so pissed at me when she should be directing all that energy into killing the man herself. She might save me the trouble so I can focus on escaping. Frowning, I walk back over to the windows, assessing the bars on the outside. There’s no latch to even open the glass, so I presume the bars are an insurance policy should we somehow break the windows. Or maybe they’re for keeping things on the outside from getting in—another very unsettling idea.

My lower lip trembles imperceptibly, and I close my eyes, reminding myself that I escaped the hellish hole I woke up in last night—if I could do that and make it to Bitterwood, I can do anything. Across the room, Bianca is getting dressed in the uniform that’s laid out for us. It’s similar to Oakwood’s—plaid skirt, white, button-down blouse, knee-high socks, and a navy blazer with what I assume is Bitterwood Prep’s crest.

I snort at the absurdity. This school doesn’t deserve a freaking emblem. It isn’t even a real school! It’s a farce hiding behind an academic facade. There will be no classes taught here, only fighting sessions for The Gallery to enjoy. None of us will graduate onto better and brighter things. If we’re lucky to survive and leave this place, we’ll carry the trauma and baggage with us for the rest of our lives that I doubt even our individual wealth will be enough to pay for the therapy needed.

Pushing everything aside, I force myself to get dressed and look presentable. Bianca and I cast angry stares at one another as we sit and wait for what, I have no clue. A knock at the door has me jumping off the bed and rushing to open it before Bianca slams into me. Her face is white with fear, and I realize she’s afraid of what awaits us on the other side of the door. Shame mixed with guilt mixed with hate creates a swirling ball in the bottom of my empty, rumbling stomach, and I don’t meet Bianca’s accusing stare.

Only a fool would run to open a door at this place—and apparently, I’m that fool—but I’m hungry, anxious, and even a bit curious. Anything to get out of this room and away from my silent but judging roommate. Our bedroom door flings open, and there stands the female guard from last night—the one who got all touchy-feely. My shoulders curl forward as I attempt to make myself invisible until I remember who I am. I’m Remington Radcliffe and I don’t cower before assholes. Straightening up, I meet the guard’s gaze, refusing to look away. A smirk creeps across her face, but I don’t back down, only steel my spine more.

From the corner of my eye, I see Bianca do the same. Another time, I would’ve been proud, but I’m too broken on the inside to celebrate her strength. We’re both putting on a good show, but I know last night fucked us up bad in the head—the pit, this school...Professor Vaughn. Mentally, I shake myself and snap that I need to get it together. My emotions are all over the map this morning, and I can’t afford to be distracted by them. That’s how people die. I summon all my hate for Principal Windsor, Bitterwood, and the man who I seduced last night. It floods my veins with renewed vigor.

“Yes?” I ask the guard imperiously.

“It’s time for breakfast. You’ve been asleep for nearly thirty hours.”

I blink at the woman’s words, wondering what time—or even what day—it is. My cramping stomach doesn’t care much though. All it wants is food, and now, so I follow the guard as she escorts me out of my imprisonment. Behind me, Bianca follows, and I wonder if I should watch my back—she might stick a knife in it—literally. Wouldn’t The Gallery just have a field day over that? The thought has me slowing down to adjust my uniform so that Bianca walks past me.

In truth, I feel safer with Bianca in front of me. The guard looks behind her occasionally to make sure I'm still keeping up—and I am—I'm not giving the woman any reason to taser me. Yet, at the same time, I also take a moment to inspect my surroundings. To the outsider, it might look like I'm appreciating the decor of Bitterwood. Honestly, in another time and place, I might actually do that because the place is gorgeous, if not sinister. The dark walls are paneled and lined with golden frames of very famous paintings that I don’t doubt are real. I try to gather as much information as possible, wondering what floor we’re on. Nothing in the long hall indicates this information, and we haven’t passed the stairs I climbed last night.

From the outside looking in, the mansion appeared many stories tall, but it was dark when I first arrived. Recalling the view from my dorm window, I assume we're at least on the third, maybe even fourth, story. I struggle to remember how many flights I dragged myself up from the night before… that seems like forever ago.

“Stop lollygagging!” the guard barks, and I snap back to attention.

I don't want her to report back to Principal Windsor that I'm scoping out Bitterwood Prep. The only way to successfully escape is to know this place like the back of my hand, search it for weaknesses, and then exploit them. Even more importantly, Imustlook innocent. Principal Windsor is expecting students to try and run away. I might have played my hand early last night by rocking Carrot Top’s face with my elbow, but I doubt anyone thinks I’m actually capable of much more.

That’s what’s priceless about it all—I haven't made it this far in the world because people thought I could. No, I've made it this far because of how they've underestimated me, and that's exactly how I'm going to survive this hellhole school. Everyone's going to underestimate me until I'm forced to show my true cards. Until then, I will hold them close to my chest.

Hopefully, I'll get out of here before anyone knows what I'm really capable of because once they do, it'll be on.

The guard takes us from one side of the wing to the other before pressing a panel in the wall. It swishes open to reveal a completely hidden elevator. The guard ushers Bianca and me in and presses another button. I notice that everything is scanning her fingerprint. There's no way I can have access to any of this unless I cut off her finger.

Fucked up, but the idea has merit.

Sweeping a wayward curl off my forehead, I scan the walls of the elevator. Of course, there are no numbers to indicate what floor we're on or how many we’re going down, so I close my eyes and silently count. I end at three. I tuck the information away that my room is on the third floor as the elevator slides open. The guard directs Bianca and me out and down another hall that's too dark for me to make too much sense of.

Clearly, Principal Windsor doesn’t want us to know anything about Bitterwood at the moment.

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