Broken Wings (Dark Legacy #1)

Without waiting to hear my protests any longer, he pulled the door shut and locked it with a heavy turn of a key.

“Hey!” I screamed, rushing to the door and banging on it with my fist. “You can’t do this! This is illegal or something!”

“Good night, Miss,” Stewart called through the door, and the distinctive sound of his footsteps faded away down the hall.

I screamed pure fury into my empty bedroom, then threw myself down on the bouncy, king sized bed. All my dark emotions were crowding my brain, making me feel panicked and out of control. Suddenly the prospect of being locked in my room was giving me intense claustrophobia. What if there was a fire? Would anyone bother to let me out or would I burn to death in my gilded cage?

Breathing in harsh pants, I scrambled off the bed and made a beeline for the window. Fuck my broken arm, I needed an escape route so I didn’t die of imagined smoke inhalation.

I threw the curtains open, then fumbled with the latch before unclicking it and yanking the sash window up only to find...

“You have got to be kidding me!” I screamed, slamming my hand on the fine but impenetrable mesh covering my window. It was the same sort of stuff that people used on fly-screen doors so that burglars couldn’t break in. Apparently it worked just as well on teenagers breaking out.

Despair threatened to choke me, and I sunk to the plush carpeted floor in a defeated ball of emotions.





*



I must have dozed off on the floor, because when I woke again the sun was just starting to peek over the horizon and my neck was stiffer than my horny ex-boyfriend Nathan. Sleeping on the floor was partly to blame, but I wouldn’t have been surprised if I didn’t have a bit of whiplash from last night’s crash.

The images of Butterfly’s mangled frame, and of myself spinning out of control in a car—just like how my mom and dad had died so recently—flashed across my mind, and I shuddered. I’d been an idiot, thinking I could race so soon. And now I owed Dante the better part of two hundred grand.

Good thing money seemed to run in my blood—even if I’d never known it.

Stretching out the kinks in my spine, I decided to explore my prison. If I was going to be stuck in my room for two full days, I needed to find something to do.

Thankfully, there was an attached bathroom so I wasn’t going to need to be escorted for toilet break—or worse, use a bedpan like it was the dark ages. On the flipside, though, there was no TV.

When I finally realized this, after searching everywhere, I needed a moment for that to sink in. Surely, given all the Deboise money and opulence, that was a deliberate choice. Probably another of Catherine’s archaic views. It went nicely with her insane “ladies don’t swear” mentality.

“Well shit,” I muttered, turning to the stack of school books. “Looks like I’m learning shit after all.”

The first book I picked up was on calculus. Gag.

I tossed it aside and reached for the next one—A complete guide to Ducis Academy.

“Ducis Academy,” I read out loud, rubbing my thumb over the gold embossed crest on the cover and rolling my eyes at the money that must have gone into a simple about-the-school guide. “Let’s learn about where I’m finishing out senior year.”

I flipped the cover open and started reading. The first chapter was all about the school’s founder—some stuffy old rich dude—but the basic summary when read between the lines was it was a privately owned academy with enough money and influence not to be restricted by the board of education.

The first clear sign of this fact was outlined in the next chapter. According to the guide, Ducis Academy was not a high school at all. It was an academy, and as such it only took students from their junior year of high school, but provided classes all the way up to sophomore year of college. The guide suggested it was incomparable to any other school in the country, as Ducis Academy was “one of a kind.”

“Ugh, uniforms?” I groaned, flicking to the next chapter. “You’ve got to be kidding me!”

The school I’d attended back home wouldn’t have known a uniform if it vomited all over us. It was the sort of school with metal detectors on the entries and armed security guards patrolling the grounds. Without a doubt, Ducis Academy was going to be a culture shock.

Throwing the brochure down, I decided I’d had enough of scaring myself and instead explored the impressive closet. It still took me by surprise, the sheer size and amount of clothing rich people owned. I could wear a new outfit every single day for the next ten years and I probably wouldn’t have worn everything in here.

Moving past my favorite part—the shoes—I stopped on something I hadn’t noticed last time. An entire section of school uniforms. There were dozens of them, neatly pressed and covered in those plastic protective sleeves that I’d seen dry cleaners use. The school colors were a dark blue, with red and gray piping across the pleated skirt, white blouse, with a fancy embroidered D on the pocket, and a jacket that matched the skirt. No doubt there were knee high socks and shiny black shoes somewhere here to complete every dude’s porn fantasy.

With a shudder, I turned away, pausing at a thump which came from outside the clothes room. I was going to call it that from now, because this shit was not a closet. It was a fucking room.

“Miss,” Stewart called, and I hurried out to find him hovering in the doorway. “I have your food.”

I eyed the open door behind him, but Dante’s warnings were still strong in my mind. If I ran, there was no way they wouldn’t find me. I had to be smarter, which meant playing her little game.

And maybe playing an extra little game with Stewart, because I could certainly use an ally in this house.

He walked slowly, but somehow still urgently, across to the small table near the black couch. He placed the tray down and fussed over it for a few seconds, fixing things up and lifting up the protective coverings. I followed close behind, and when he straightened, I pasted the broadest smile I could across my face.

“Stewart, you’re seriously the best,” I gushed. “Thank you so much, I was literally starving to death.”

He stared at me, and it was like he was waiting for me to slap him or something. The look on his face almost had me feeling bad for trying to manipulate him, but desperate times and all that.

“You’re very welcome, Miss. If there is anything else … anything at all.”

Reaching out I patted him gently on the shoulder. “You’re doing a fantastic job. I appreciate you.”

He froze, and for a second I thought I’d laid it on too thick, and he knew I was up to something, but then he straightened his shoulders and smiled. It looked so weird on his wrinkled face that I was almost certain he didn’t smile like that often. If ever.

“I’ll bring you dessert as soon as you’re done,” he promised before he hurried out of the room.

He wasn’t so happy he forgot to lock the door, but that was okay, step one of my plan was already initiated.

I just had to have patience.





6





By the time I’d scraped up the last morsel of food and licked my plate, I decided to be okay with remaining locked in my room if I continued to eat like that. There had been bacon on my plate. Real bacon, like from an actual pig. The last time I’d eaten bacon was when my dad took me out for dinner on my sixteenth birthday. My mom had been on a hardcore vegan kick since I was eight, but both Dad and I still loved our meat in secret. Anyway, back to the bacon. It had been wrapped around chicken breast, which was stuffed with garlic and butter, smothered in red wine jus and it was still hands down one of my favorite meals ever.