Pretty Little Lessons

Chapter Two

*Rory*

“Checkmate,” I said, grinning at him like a blood starved maniac.

A flash of confusion and fear crossed his face as he took a hesitant step back. “You bitc—”

The words were barely out of his mouth when my hand snapped out and struck his cheek with a sharp crack that echoed through the alley.

His jaw jerked sideways, shock etching itself across his face.

“You little—” he snarled, stepping toward me.

I planted my feet, the air between us thick with adrenaline. I then balled my fists tightly, pivoted my shoulder and in one fluid motion, I drove an uppercut straight into his jaw.

His head snapped back with a jarring crack, the force sending him staggering three steps backward. And then, a guttural groan tore from his throat as he clutched his jaw, blinking in disbelief. His mouth hung open, lips split, his breath ragged.

He spat a dark streak onto the ground, eyes watering as fury replaced the shock.

I exhaled slowly as pain shot through my knuckles, a dull throb pulsing beneath my skin. I hissed under my breath and shook out my hand, flexing my fingers as the sting settled in.

“Damn,” I muttered, inspecting my nails, the tips were now chipped but still intact. “Not bad.”

I guess the defense classes I was forced to take while at the hospital actually proved to be effective.

Though I'm never trying this s**t again cause it hurts like a b***h.

The man straightened, jaw trembling and his eyes blazing with humiliation.

“You’re dead,” he snarled, pushing off the wall and stepping toward me again.

But just then, another employee stepped in and grabbed him by the shoulders, yanking him back.

“Jesus, Mark!” the second one hissed, eyes flicking to me with dawning horror. “Do you know who that is?”

He must have then whispered my name to the abuser named Mark because recognition quickly spread like rot across the first man’s face in an instant, his bravado faltering.

I just leisurely crossed my arms over my boobs as the second man practically forced him to his knees and begged for his life which was quite comical considering the fact that he was threatening to kill me half a minute ago.

“Miss Bishop, please forgive his short-sightedness…” he pleaded profusely.

And just then, the club’s manager came barreling out the side door, his face slick with sweat and panic. “Miss Bishop. Oh God. I…apologies. A thousand apologies.”

From behind his shoulder, I watched as the waitress slipped away in the chaos, disappearing into the crowd. Smart girl.

I adjusted my clutch under my arm, keeping my expression cool, almost bored. “Keep your employees in check, Marco. And get rid of that waste of space.” I flicked a glance at the man still being restrained. “Before he learns the hard way how disposable he really is.”

The manager nodded frantically, already barking orders.

Mark stammered, “I’m sorry, I didn’t know…”

I arched a brow, my lips curving into something close to a smile but not quite. “That’s exactly the problem. You didn’t know.”

“Now, if you’ll excuse me,” I added, flashing a smile that didn’t reach my eyes, “I’d like to enjoy my evening without stepping over garbage.”

And with that, I turned on my heel and headed for the front entrance, the thrum of bass waiting to swallow me whole.

***

As soon as I walked inside, I took a moment to soak up the chaos and bass that rattled through my chest. Lights pulsed over the crowded floor—gold, blue, red, like sins dressed up as celebration.

It was perfect.

My kind of perfect.

“Miss Bishop.”

The sound of my name drew my attention to a young man in a crisp waiter’s uniform. He stood straight, eyes lowered just enough to signal respect.

“Your booth is ready,” he said, gesturing toward the staircase that led to the VIP rooms above.

I let my gaze drift past him, up toward the polished glass railings of the VIP section. The lights were softer there, the laughter quieter, the air perfumed with money and self-importance.

Then I smiled. Just barely.

“I’ll stay down here,” I said.

The waiter blinked, clearly startled. “Ma’am, your usual—”

“I want something regular tonight.” My tone left no room for argument. “But somewhere private, secluded even.”

He hesitated, then nodded quickly, gesturing toward a dim corner tucked behind a half-curved wall of frosted glass.

I followed him through the press of bodies and laughter, the scent of liquor and perfume weaving through the air like temptation.

It wasn’t the VIP lounge I wanted tonight.

It was the chaos. The noise. The reminder that I was still alive.

But in all, I also wanted to avoid the spoiled rich brats of Everridge for now who were probably up there partying and sniffing coke.

We got to the dim corner and the waiter pulled the curtain aside and motioned for me to step into the corner booth. Soft lighting kissed the edges of the table, turning the glassware to molten amber. It was perfect—private, yet close enough to feel the heartbeat of the club.

“Will this do, Miss Bishop?” he asked.

I slid into the seat, crossing one leg over the other. “It’ll do,” I murmured.

He waited, pen poised. “Your usual?”

I glanced at the menu I didn’t need, then up at him. “Whiskey. Neat. And bring the bottle.”

His Adam’s apple bobbed. “Of course.”

When he left, I leaned back against the plush seat, fingers tracing the rim of an empty glass. The music pulsed again, low, relentless, hypnotic. The kind that makes people forget themselves.

That was when I felt it.

A gaze.

Sharp enough to slice through the dim haze of the club and find me in the shadows.

I didn’t look immediately. I let it linger, let whoever it was think I hadn’t noticed. Then, with a slow turn of my head, I found him across the room.

Half-hidden by the crowd and watching me.

And it was not the kind of watching that was casual.

This one felt calculated.

A small smile touched my lips as I lifted the glass the waiter had just poured for me. “Interesting,” I whispered into the rim before taking a slow sip.

Attention was something I'd grown accustomed to as a member of the Bishop family but something about this stare unnerved me terribly.

And I don't like it, even for one bit.

Lifting the bottle of whiskey, I tipped it and emptied a little of its contents into my glass. And then, I took out my phone and sent a short message to Marco.

Rory: Table 15. Find out who is there.

His response came in swiftly.

Marco: Yes, Miss Bishop.

As I placed my phone back into my clutch, I picked up my full glass of whiskey and swirled before I threw the contents down my throat..

The immediate burn was sharp and precise but it quickly faded.

“Rory Bishop?” a voice tinged with surprise drawled behind me as I slid my empty glass back onto the table.

My spine went rigid at the familiar voice and my jaw clenched. God damnit.

“It's you!” he chuckled, sounding a tad bit excited. “Back from the dead, I see.”

I didn’t have to turn around to know it was Cole Morgan, heir to a shipping empire and a chronic waste of oxygen.

I plastered on a smile and tilted my head. “Resurrected and looking better than hell,” I said sweetly, reaching to refill my glass.

And oh, did I also mention that he was also a chronic drug addict?

Pretty sure he's responsible for the increased use of hard drugs in Everridge academy.

He leaned in close, reeking of expensive alcohol and entitlement. “Wow, I never thought you’d show your face around here after disappearing for… what? A year? Everyone says you went to rehab.”

My smile tightened around the corners. Oh.

“Everyone says a lot of things.” I picked up my fresh glass, the ice clinking against crystal. “What do you say?”

Cole’s grin sharpened. “I say it’s good to have you back. We missed you, Bishop.”

The way he said missed made my stomach flip—not with nerves, but with disgust. He didn’t miss me. He missed having someone to circle like a shark.

He then made himself comfortable and took the seat opposite from me, his sharp gaze fixated on me.

“Damn! You look good, Bishop.”

My hackles went up as he leisurely dragged his eyes down my body, stopping just a moment to openly ogle my boobs.

It doesn't help that my body has always looked more developed than most girls my age. It was both my biggest insecurity and greatest strength.

Resisting the urge to dig my fingernails into his eyeballs, I instead settled for giving him a coy, seductive smile.

No harm in playing along with him. For now.

It does wonders for my ego.

“Don't I always,” I said, leaning over my chair's armrest and giving him a whole view of my deep cleavage.

He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbling with the effort as he struggled to keep his eyes on my face. .

“So tell me, Cole,” I whispered and leaned even more closer to him, our breaths mingling. “Are you here with someone?”

His eyes darted to my lips before he dragged it up to my eyes. “Yes… I mean no! No. A few of my friends are upstairs, I could call them if you want. The more the merrier.”

The excited twinkle in his eyes made me scoff internally.

Of course, he would think I want to f**k him.

Boys are just like dogs, you dangle a little bone in their faces and they will come salivating after you.

Hiding a smirk, I pushed away from him and downed my whiskey. “Now, what would be the fun in that…” I drawled, my voice breathy and suggestive.

He wants to sleep with me. That much was evident in his dilated pupils and wandering eyes.

But too bad, I wouldn't even touch him with a pole. Like Jesus, who knows how many STIs he's carrying.

He scrambled closer, desperation leaking out of his pores. “That too can be arranged.” He quickly ran his tongue over his parched lips. “Think of it as a welcome back gift from me.”

I scoffed out a laugh and eyed him. “Ahh, that's very funny.” I then c****d my head to the side. “You want to sleep with me, don't you, Cole?”

His eyes lit up and he nodded sharply. “Yes! I mean who in Everridge doesn't want to sleep with the Rory Bishop.”

The Rory Bishop.

So summing it up, he doesn't just want to sleep with me. He just wants the bragging rights that come with sleeping with me.

Like half the male population of Everridge does.

I gingerly reached out and tilted up his face with a finger. “Oh, aren't you a cute sweetheart,” I cooed like I was talking to an infant. “Learn how to lower your expectations first. And the last I heard, the streets were saying you can barely get it up without supplements.”

He flinched as if I had struck him across his face. His expression clouded with shock mixed with shame. “That's not true!” he blurted defensively.

I chuckled, and as I opened my mouth to taunt him further, a bitter aftertaste that didn’t belong on my tongue stopped me.

Shit.

My gaze flew to the bottle of whiskey on my table and then narrowed on the glass in my hand as my head began to spin a little.

Shit.

Someone had slipped something into my drink.

As soon as it dawned on me, my vision began to blur, my heartbeat picking up a little too fast.

Fuck no!

I bunched my hands into fists and gave my head a little shake. Suddenly, everything felt too loud and too clear.

“Are you okay?” even Cole's voice sounded distant.

I set the glass down, my smile never faltering. “Why won't I be?” Ignoring the way the air felt sticky against my skin. I picked up my clutch and stood up. “Excuse me, Cole. Beauty emergency.”

“Want company?” He asked with an arrogant grin.

“Pretty sure I can manage,” I said brightly, turning on my heel and heading for the bathroom. My legs felt steady enough. For now.

The first wave hit as I walked into the bathroom.

The floor tilted and suddenly I couldn't feel my legs anymore.

I gripped the sink with both hands, staring at the girl in the mirror — lips too red, pupils blown wide, dress clinging like sin itself.

I looked high. Scratch that… I was high.

And in the midst of everything, I heard the door creak open.

“You forgot something,” Cole's voice drawled from behind.

I didn’t flinch nor make any overt movement at first.

I turned and there he was with two of his friends. The leader, the muscle, the i***t. Of course they came in threes.

“You lost?” I asked coolly, leaning against the counter like I wasn’t fighting to stay upright. “This is the girls’ room. Unless you’re into lace and lipstick now.”

Cole smirked. “Thought we could finish what we started.”

I rolled my eyes. “You mean your pathetic attempt at roofie romance? Try harder, Morgan.”

His face changed then. No more playboy charm. Just ice.

“You think you’re clever,” he said, stepping closer. “Acting all high and mighty. But you flirted all night. You wanted this.”

“No,” I replied, my voice steady. “I wanted a distraction. Not a gangbang.”

He reached for me and I recoiled out of reach.

“You touch me,” I warned, chin lifted, “and my father will have your house, your spine, and your trust fund in a glass jar by morning.”

His friend laughed. “Babe, we’re not scared of Daddy Bishop. He’d probably thank us.”

That stung more than I expected so I straightened, forcing steel into my spine. “Get out of my way. Last warning.”

Cole stepped closer. “Or what?”

My head swam. The drug was kicking in fast now, edges of the room bending. Still, I held his gaze, forcing my voice steady. “Or I ruin you. One phone call is all it would take.”

His smirk widened—and that’s when the door slammed open so hard it cracked against the wall.

“What the hell is going on here?”