The Resurrection of Us: A High School Bully Romance (Albany Nightingale Duet Book 2)
Title Page
Copyright and Legal information
Copyright © Rachel M Raithby
Publish date March 23rd 2020
All rights reserved.
Cover & Interior Images by Rob Smith
Formatting by Kat Smith
CreationInspire
Editing by
Hot Tree Editing
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise—without the prior written permission of the copyright owners.
Other Titles
THE NEW DAWN NOVELS
(YA Fantasy)
Winter Wolf
Wolf Dancer
Wolf Sight
Lost Wolf
Wolf Clash
Wolf Queen (coming May 2020)
THE DEADWOOD HUNTER SERIES
(Adult PNR)
Lexia
Whispers of Darkness
Holocaust
Betrayal
Surrender
STANDALONE
ADULT NOVELLAS
(Fantasy)
The Beast Within (Woodland Creek)
Deaths Echo (The Complex)
ALBANY NIGHTINGALE DUET
(High-School Bully Romance)
The Destruction of Rose
The Resurrection of Us
Dedication
For Sabrina.
#FUCKARTHURBISHOP
Was the best hashtag ever made!
Reader Group & Newsletter
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Note to Readers
This book has been written with the spelling and language that reflects the characters,
It contains some spelling, euphemisms and slang that form a part of the British spoken word.
Please note this book contains scenes that some readers may find disturbing.
Contents
Title Page
Copyright and Legal information
Other Titles
Dedication
Note to Readers
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
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
Author Bio
Chapter 1
Rose
In the weeks up to the night I delivered my revenge, I pictured Sophia’s face many times, imagining my glee and satisfaction as she fell from grace. And the reality is so much better. Her shock, her humiliation, her pain—it’s so raw I can almost touch it. Tears roll down her face as her father demands an explanation, his stance rigid as he struggles to control his rage. Red stains Sophia’s cheeks as she searches the sea of people whispering and staring, reveling in her downfall.
He’s old enough to be her father. What a slut. How disgusting. Deserves everything she gets. Our queen isn’t so saintly after all. Can you believe she cheated on Ashton with his own stepfather?
I all but sense her discomfort from across the room, and when our eyes lock, silent realization dawns on her face.
She knows this is my doing, my revenge for what she did to me.
Visibly paling, Sophia’s glassy eyes widen as the color over her cheeks creeps over her entire face. Smiling, I cross my arms, mouthing my final parting words, “Game over, bitch.”
Turning on my heel, I saunter away without a backward glance as her screams vibrate through the air, threatening retribution, but her words are empty. Hollow. Powerless. There is no coming back for Sophia. Her crown is mine. And as much as watching her demise excites me, I know this will be a fleeting victory.
Because as much as I wanted this, as much as I craved to see Sophia ruined on her knees, the pleasure doesn’t outweigh the pain. Below my sinful smile and arrogant swagger, there’s a broken girl, mourning the loss of the boy she loved and regretting his mother being collateral damage.
And yet I wouldn’t go back. I wouldn’t change a thing. I was pushed down this road and I took the only option available to me. It might hurt to accept what I’ve done to Ashton, but he threw the first stone. We are both as guilty as each other.
War is messy, unpredictable, and even if you win, there’s a price to pay. So, shallow or not, I’m going to enjoy my triumph. Because if life has taught me anything, it’s that nothing lasts forever, and sooner or later, my enemies will rise again.
“Rose!” my mother hisses, rushing toward me as I exit the school hall. “I’ve been looking for you.”
“I was enjoying the show,” I reply mildly, ignoring the fact she’s frantic.
“Have you completely lost your mind?” she all but growls, the sound more vibration than words. “Do you want to get caught?”
Glancing as we walk, I internally roll my eyes. “I think fleeing the scene like a madwoman would be more condemning, Mother. So I suggest you take a breath and relax.”
She does, but she’s concerned nonetheless. There’s an edge to her gaze; she thinks I’m slightly unhinged, and maybe I am. After all, there’s nothing but an empty ache inside of me. I’m hollow, and my interaction with Ashton tonight has only made it worse.
There was a part of me hoping the hole inside me would heal after the elite got what they deserved. Or at least soothed some of the bitterness coursing through my veins, but honestly, it hasn’t. The second I turned away from Sophia, all I could picture was Ash’s expression as the video played. The hurt and betrayal in his cinnamon-dusted eyes, and as much as I hate myself for putting those emotions there, I hate him more for pushing me to the point of losing all my morals.
“The car should be waiting out front for us,” my mother murmurs. “I’d rather not hang around for any longer than we need too.”
“Did you see Arthur or Grayson?” I ask. I’ve been so focused on Ashton and his mom to notice the Bishop men in the room.
“Yes. Arthur slipped out the second the video started. He was long gone before it finished and realization hit the room.”
Joy spurs to li
fe as my lips lift into a smile. I wish I’d seen his face. Maybe it makes me evil for finding happiness from other people’s suffering, but really… Arthur Bishop had it coming.
“And Grayson?” I prod.
“He stuck around a little longer. Followed his father out before Arthur’s poor wife fled in tears.”
A twinge of regret slices my heart, but the muscle is so battered and bruised, the pain doesn’t register for long.
Pushing into the cool night, we come to a stop, finding a small crowd has gathered. Parents and students mill around outside the school watching the spectacle that is the Bishop-Cole family showdown. Some students have their phones out, recording the act, and soon enough, it will be up online for the world to see. Their chatter and whispers buzz around my head, making me dizzy.
Can you believe this? He’s a self-righteous prick. Hope they lock him up. Never thought it would last; she is from Brooklyn. I bet he gets away with it. She was the same age as his son, wasn’t she?
The excitement, the thrill everyone is getting from seeing someone else’s pain makes me sick. I did this… and yet I don’t enjoy it as much as I should.
“Let’s go,” my mother whispers, taking my hand and dragging me through the crowd toward the lines of waiting vehicles ready to collect their people. But as she tugs me along, I can’t tear my attention away from Ashton and his family.
Summer’s crying as she screams at Arthur. Ashton is seemingly torn between calming his mother or giving in to his rage. While Grayson watches from the sidelines almost as if he’s a spectator and not a member of the family at all.
It’s Arthur though who holds all my focus as he straightens to his full height, his dark gaze hardening and lips thinning as he looks Summer up and down. “Get a hold of yourself, woman,” he grinds out. “Surely you weren’t delusional enough to believe I’d actually love someone from Brooklyn?”
Arthur’s words are the spark to ignite the bomb, and as Summer’s voice dies in her throat, Ashton becomes fueled by his anger. Lunging forward, Ashton balls his fist, aiming for his stepfather’s face, and before anyone has a chance to stop him, he’s knocking the man to the ground.
It’s Grayson who eventually peels Ashton off, nearly receiving a blow of his own for the trouble.
“Enough,” Grayson bellows, ducking as Ashton flies again. “He’s got what he deserves. Now leave it, Ashton.”
Heaving, Ashton glares, his temper not the least abated, but he doesn’t attempt to fight again.
“We are leaving, Rose,” my mother snaps, pulling harder on my hand as we find our way out of the crowd, and as I crane my neck, looking back, I get one final glimpse of Arthur Bishop, pulling himself up off the street, readjusting his tie, and climbing into his car as if he’s not the one in the wrong.
My mother pushes me into our vehicle and as our driver pulls away, my last view is of Grayson as he’s left on the street, his father disappearing into the night without him, and Ashton and his mother, jumping into a hailed cab. And as I take in Grayson’s face, regret consumes me. He deserved this as much as the rest of them; after all, Grayson was the puppet master, and yet when I’d pictured his defeat, he’d looked angry not lost.
It was never supposed to be this chaotic. This complicated.
I was never supposed to care.
Chapter 2
Ashton
“Where are we supposed to go?” my mom wails as the cab drives us away.
Flexing my hand, I grimace as it protests. Arthur Bishop had a harder jaw than I’d imagined. And I’ve imagined knocking the prick out several times. What he said to my mom, the way he’d looked at her as if she was nothing… the bastard is lucky he’s not in the hospital.
Good Job his dick of a son came to his rescue.
“Oh no, what will Josh think? We need to go get him, Ash,” my mother continues.
The cab driver eyes us in the rearview mirror, probably regretting pulling over.
“Josh isn’t a kid anymore, Mom, and we are going home.” I lean forward slightly, tell the driver to take us to the penthouse apartment that has been my home for some time now.
“It’s not our home, Ashton. It’s Arthur’s,” my mother replies.
She used to have more spine. A little fire. The mother from my childhood wouldn’t have broken so quickly, but that woman died along with my dad, and I think Arthur knew it. Summer was the perfect woman to mold and shape—the ideal touch to soften his image.
I guess a part of me had known what my stepfather wanted from us, and while I’d hated it, I’d also gone along with it because I’d not known what else to do. My mother had seemed happy, in a plastic kind of way; she’d stopped crying about my dad’s death every night, quit drinking, and the pressure I’d been under had lifted once Arthur and she married. I no longer worried if Josh would have a roof over his head or be able to go to a decent school. I no longer felt like it was my sole responsibility to take care of them both, so I’d ignored the niggling voice in the back at my mind and had gone along with our too perfect, fake life.
And for a while, I’d convinced myself it wasn’t fake at all. Then Rose had come along and shaken the ground beneath my feet, awakening a part of me that I’d lost along with my dad. That was the real reason I’d pretended not to know her on the first day. The fear, the shock of seeing her face, it had hit me like a lightning bolt to the heart.
I was a coward. I ran and hid instead of facing the lie that was my life, and now I’m paying for the consequences of my actions. Yet even as I understand why Rose did this, I can’t seem to shut off the hate and betrayal flowing through my blood. I can’t forgive her. Revenge on the guilty is one thing, but Rose, she dragged my mother into it, and I’m not sure I can forgive her for that.
“You’re his wife, Mom,” I answer as gently as possible, taking her hand. “And after what he’s done, he can go to hell if he thinks he’s kicking us out on the streets.”
“I signed a prenup, Ash,” she whispers gravely.
“I don’t give a shit,” I growl, clenching my jaw. “He was fucking Sophia, Mom. We’ll hire a whole team of lawyers if we have to, but that asshole is going to pay.”
I still can’t get my head around the video—the image making me queasy. The amount of times Arthur would invite Sophia to our home without even asking me or she’d simply already be there when I’d returned home were countless, but not once did I suspect what was really going on.
I’m an idiot. Blind. How could I not know what was happening right under my nose? I bet Gray knew; the sick bastard probably thought it was funny. At least I know where Grayson learnt his whoring ways from and can keep him away from my brother. Josh has always been closer with Grayson than I ever was, yet while I’d never quite seen Grayson as my brother, I’d seen him as my friend. I’d loathed him at times, gotten angry at his scheming ways, yet at the end of the day, I’d thought Gray had my back.
I’d thought when he’d called me his brother, he’d meant it.
Clearly, I’m getting stupider with age.
“I’m not sure I have the strength for any of this,” Mom whimpers from beside me, leaning into my side.
Sliding my arm around her, I pull her close, absently noting how much smaller she seems as I press a kiss to her head. “Don’t worry, Mom,” I answer, resolve filling my body and flushing out the pain. “You don’t need to have the strength for it, because I’m going to take care of us and make sure Arthur Bishop pays.”
“You’re so much like your father,” she whispers, taking my hand. “I wish he was still with us.”
“Me too,” I murmur. “Me too.” And maybe if he was, I’d have taken Rose into my arms on that first day and showed her just how much my thirteen-year-old self had loved her, and none of this crap would be happening.
But wishes and maybes are useless against cancer and death. I should know, I spent long enough wishing my dad wouldn’t die. And yet here I am, nothing but rage and regret, my hopes as dead as my father. With
a life I can’t see a way out of.
Chapter 3
Rose
I wake to the sound of my phone ringing. The endless noise hammering through my skull and sending me upright with a groan. It stops briefly as I blink sleep from my eyes and scan the dark in confusion, wondering if it had been a dream, but not long after, it begins to ring again. As tired and as groggy as I am, I reach for it to answer.
“Hello?” I croak, my throat dry.
“I’m at your door,” Grayson responds before ending the call.
I stare at the now silent phone in my hand. He’s at my door? Why? There was a hitch to his tone that worried me, and it doesn’t have anything to do with fear for myself. Climbing out of bed, I pad quietly out of my room, thankful my mother sleeps like the dead. Rain pounds against the floor-to-ceiling windows, nearly blocking the twinkling lights of the city from view as I make my way to the door.
Pausing for only a second, I listen to make sure my mother is still soundlessly asleep and then flick the latch and open it to find Grayson on the other side. He’s soaked to the skin, his dark hair even darker as it sticks heavily to his face, droplets of water rolling over his skin and collecting on the floor.
“Gray?” I gasp as his hauntingly pain-filled eyes meet mine.
“I didn’t know where else to go,” he answers emptily.
Against my better judgment, against the screaming voice inside my head, I slip my hand into his, noting the chill of his skin and the slight tremor as he shivers, and pull him onto the apartment, closing the door behind us as silently as possible.
Grayson doesn’t mutter a word as I lead him into my bedroom and into the en suite. He sits robotically as I push him down onto the closed toilet seat and pick up a towel to dry the rain from his hair.
“Did you walk here from school?” I ask, remembering the last time I’d seen him as he’d been left behind.
He nods.
“But that was hours ago, Gray. It’s two o’clock in the morning. Surely you haven’t been walking around outside all this time?”
Dropping the towel into the sink, I slip my hands down Grayson’s body and under the hem of his sweater, to pull it up over his head. The material is heavy and hard to remove and when it drops to the floor, it does so with a wet slap.