Shattered Kingdom: A Dark High School Bully Romance (Royal Falls Elite Book 2)

by Kristin Buoni

  “I think that’s one of the ways they hide it,” I said. “They find girls they want from poorer backgrounds, and then they give them scholarships to RFA. But only if they have good grades. That way it’s not obvious that they’re actually just trying to recruit girls for their creepy sex cult.”

  Hunter shook his head and exhaled loudly. “This is so fucked up. I can’t believe this has been happening right under everyone’s noses, right here, and no one has any fucking clue.”

  “I think quite a few people do know, but they either help to keep it covered up or they’re too scared to do anything in case of the repercussions they might face,” I said. “Like Professor Fox.”

  “What about him?”

  “Do you remember when you and your Prince friends hid my stuff in his office, and I had to sneak into Royal Hall in the middle of the night to get it?” I asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “When Sanders caught me, he brought Professor Fox with him. I managed to get out of trouble for the most part, but before we all left, Fox gave me a weird warning.”

  “What did he say?”

  “He put a hand on my shoulder and whispered something like, ‘Be careful’. I asked him what he meant, but he wouldn’t elaborate. He just told me to stay out of trouble or else I’d regret it.”

  “So you think he might have an idea of what’s happening with the scholarship girls here at RFA, but he’s too much of a pussy to take a stand?”

  “Maybe, yeah. Like Camila said, the Network is filled with powerful men. So it makes sense that people would be scared to cross them, even if they’re aware of what’s going on with them.”

  Hunter scrubbed a hand over his face. “Jesus,” he muttered. “Makes you wonder how deep it all goes, doesn’t it?”

  “Yeah. Anyway…” I paused and flipped back to Vera Everett’s page. “What do you think this means?” I asked, pointing to the red line through her name.

  Hunter frowned and traced his finger down to the financial section in her dossier. “Hardly any money was spent on her,” he said. “I guess it means she left.”

  “Or she died.”

  He nodded, face arranged in a grim expression. “I wonder if she’s the girl from that old story.”

  “You mean the story about the body some students apparently found at RFA in the nineties?” I asked.

  “Yup. It’s around the right year,” he said. “And all the rumors say she was a Medusa girl. Maybe she didn’t like what was happening in the society and she tried to leave.”

  “And then they disposed of her so she couldn’t tell anyone what she knew,” I murmured, fingers twisting in my lap.

  “I guess we don’t know for sure,” Hunter said, squeezing my arm again. “Maybe she died in a car accident, or something like that. Or maybe they let her go, as long as she signed an ironclad non-disclosure agreement.”

  I nodded slowly. “Yeah. Maybe.”

  “Go back to the first section,” he said, leaning his head closer. “I want to look at those letters and numbers again.”

  I did as he said and flipped back to the start. Hunter ran his finger across the top of the first page and tapped on the first column.

  “This looks like it indicates the year,” he said. “The first ten say 1985, and then it goes on from there.”

  “If they’re years, then the letters in the next column could be names,” I said, following his lead. “So this third one on the list—CRC. Could that be your dad?”

  He nodded. “His middle name is Robert, so yeah, it could be him.”

  “What about the symbol?” I asked, glancing at the third column. His father’s row had an intricately-drawn Tudor rose in it.

  “I don’t know. I guess it could just be—” He stopped midsentence, brows rising. “Actually, I do know what it is.”

  “What?”

  He held up his right hand. “You know how I have this signet ring?” he said, nodding toward his ring finger.

  “Yes.”

  I used to think his ring might be some sort of Prince-related thing, but now I knew that it was just an RFA sports club ring.

  “My dad has a silver signet ring that he wears all the time. I always thought it was like mine—something from school or college. So I never paid much attention to it,” he said. “But I know it has an engraving on it, and I’m pretty sure it’s that.” He pointed back at the Tudor rose symbol.

  “So this first part of the book could be a record of the Network members,” I said excitedly. “And each of them has a different symbol assigned to them for some reason.”

  He nodded in agreement. “Judging by the first year on the list, it looks like they started the society in 1985 at RFU, with my dad as one of the founding members.”

  “He would’ve only been twenty-one or twenty-two at the time,” I said, shaking my head. “That’s crazy.”

  Hunter’s jaw clenched. “I know.”

  I looked at the fourth column in the book. “What do you think this string of numbers is?” I asked. “It’s way too long to be a year.”

  “Phone number, maybe?” Hunter suggested. “The one in my dad’s row is definitely not his number, but I’m guessing they all have burner phones.”

  “So this isn’t just a record book for the society. It’s also a way for the girls to contact the men if they need to.”

  Hunter nodded. “I bet most of them aren’t allowed to know the men’s full names, so if they need to contact a certain one of them, they get this book, identify them via the symbol, and match it to the phone number in the next column.”

  “Yeah. The men probably only let the most trusted Medusa girls know their names,” I said. “Like Camila. She seems totally brainwashed by them, but she also seems to know who they are. How else would she know that the Network is filled with very powerful men?”

  “That’s true,” Hunter said, brows furrowing. He pulled out his cell phone and held it out to me. “Anyway, there’s one way to find out if we’re right, if you’re up for it.”

  “You want me to call the number in your dad’s row to see if it’s really him?” I asked, brows shooting upward.

  “Yeah. I can’t do it, because he’ll recognize my voice right away. But he probably won’t recognize yours. Especially if you try to make it a bit higher or deeper.”

  “All right. I’ll pretend to be a telemarketer or something. Is your number set to private?”

  “Yes. Don’t worry, he won’t know it’s my phone.”

  I took a deep breath and dialed the number in the CRC row. A man picked up on the fourth ring. “Yes?”

  “Hello, sir,” I said, affecting a slightly higher voice. “Would you be interested in taking part in a survey? We’re looking for people’s opinions on the upcoming election in—”

  The terse male voice cut me off. “This is a private number. Please take me off your list.”

  The call ended.

  “He hung up,” I said, handing the phone back to Hunter. “But I’m ninety-nine percent sure that was your dad.”

  “I heard it,” he replied, eyes narrowed. “It was definitely him.”

  “So we’re right, then. They all have burner phones that the Medusa girls can contact them on if they want or need to.”

  “Yeah. And they only put their initials in the book, so the girls don’t know their full names,” he said. “Also, in case anyone else ever happens to find this book—like a student who decides to randomly pick it up while they’re browsing—they won’t have a clue what they’re looking at.”

  “Right.” I nodded slowly. “I guess we need to try to figure out who all of the initials belong to now.”

  “That’ll take a while.”

  “Yeah, it will. I think we should take photos of the pages, because we can’t take the book home with us,” I said. “Otherwise one of the girls might come to have a look at it, and they’ll raise the alarm when they see that it’s missing.”

  “Good idea.”

  Hunter started photogr
aphing the pages with his phone. When he got to the third page of Network members, I frowned and pointed to a row that was crossed out with red ink. “What do you think this means?”

  Hunter stayed silent for a moment, forehead creasing as he mulled it over. “I think I might know,” he finally said. “The initials are RAZ, and I remember my dad used to play golf with a guy named Richard Zane. He died of lung cancer in 2017. I’m betting if we Google his obituary, we’ll find that his middle name started with A.”

  I did a quick search on my phone. “Yup. Here it is,” I said, showing the screen to Hunter. “Richard Alan Zane. RAZ.”

  “Thought so.”

  “So the red line means they’re dead,” I said. “I guess we know what happened to Vera Everett in 1995, then.”

  “We still don’t know if she was murdered. Like I said before, she could’ve died from anything.”

  “That’s true.” I pointed to another row with a green line through it. “What do you think this means?”

  “Alive, but no longer a Network member?” Hunter suggested.

  I nodded slowly. “Yeah, that could be it.”

  He flipped to the next page to take a photo. Near the bottom, there was another row with a green line through it. My stomach plummeted as I scanned the initials, and my left hand flew to my mouth.

  “Laney? What’s wrong?” Hunter asked, lowering his phone.

  I pointed to the initials in the green row. “PGE,” I said in a ragged whisper. “Peter Elton’s middle name was Gordon.”

  “Oh, shit,” he muttered. He dropped his phone and wrapped his arms around me. “It might not be him,” he said softly, rubbing my back. “Those initials could mean anything. It could be a guy named Paul Gerald Embry. Or Pierce Gregory Edwards.”

  I pulled back from his arms, chest growing tight and hot. “No. It has to be him.”

  “Did he have a ring with this symbol?” Hunter asked, pointing to the ornate star pattern in the PGE row.

  “No. I don’t think he could wear jewelry on his hands when he played the piano. Not something as chunky as a signet ring, anyway. But he had a tattoo on his right ring finger.”

  “What was it?”

  Nausea rose in my throat as I recalled Peter’s long, slim fingers guiding mine over the keys during my first few lessons. “It was a little black serpent tattoo,” I said. “Coiled around the base of that finger. And we know the Network guys love snake symbols.”

  “Fuck,” Hunter muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “So he probably was a member.”

  My breath caught in my throat. “There’s something else, too,” I said quietly. “Something I only just realized.”

  “What?”

  “Remember how I told you my parents couldn’t actually afford piano lessons for me, but they were arranged for us for free because my dad did a favor for someone?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I didn’t mention this when I first told you, because I didn’t think it was relevant, but the person he supposedly did the favor for was your dad.”

  Hunter’s brows shot up. “What?”

  “My mom’s car broke down when she was working at your house one day, and he drove her home. He ended up sitting out the back with my dad for ages, chatting and sharing some drinks, and then they called me over. My dad said that your father wanted to know if I had any hobbies or interests, because he’d like to give me something in return for Dad helping him out with something,” I said. “I said I’d always wanted to learn a musical instrument, and your dad suggested the piano. He said he knew a great teacher who used to teach his own daughter.”

  Hunter stiffened. “Lindsay never learned the piano,” he said. “She was never interested in music.”

  I threw up my hands. “That basically proves it, then. Your dad didn’t know Peter Elton from using him to teach his own kids. He knew him from somewhere else—the Network.”

  “Jesus,” he muttered, nostrils flaring. “This whole thing keeps getting worse and worse.”

  “Yeah.” I nodded grimly. “I think that actually might be how my dad met Peter in the first place. Through your dad. It makes sense, because when he got drunk that night and told us that he already knew Peter before my lessons started, he never actually explained how they knew each other. Only that they did.”

  Hunter lowered his eyes. “So he didn’t just decide to sell you to that asshole Elton by himself,” he said quietly. “My dad probably convinced him to sell you to one of his sick friends and brokered the whole deal, and then they made up a story for you and your mom about your dad earning the free piano lessons for you.”

  I nodded again. “That way they had a plausible explanation for why I suddenly needed to go to this man’s house every week.”

  “But then it all blew up in their face, and Peter went to prison,” he said with a contemptuous curl to his upper lip. “I’m guessing all the Network members take some sort of secrecy oath when they join, so he never ratted on the others.”

  “Yeah. And then your dad decided to try and pull me into the whole thing again, by giving me the RFA scholarship and getting the Medusa girls to try to recruit me a few years later,” I murmured. There was a lump in my throat now, and it hurt to breathe or swallow.

  Hunter rose to his feet, left hand curling into a fist at his side. The other hand grabbed at a row on the opposite shelf, squeezing it so hard his knuckles turned white. His neck was corded, and his face had turned bright red.

  “I’m going to kill him,” he muttered. “I’m going to fucking kill him.”

  I stood up on shaky legs and went over to him. “Hunter, no. You can’t.”

  He turned to look at me through narrowed eyes. “He’s the reason that sick fucking sack of shit raped you,” he growled. “He’s the reason you suffered so much.”

  “I know, but you can’t kill him. You need to calm down,” I said.

  Hunter took a deep breath, eyes shuttering. “I’ve been trying to stop being so angry lately. All for you,” he muttered. “But this… I can’t just let this go.”

  “I know. But now isn’t the time to strike at him,” I said, grabbing his arm. “If you do something to hurt him, the rest of the Network could realize that we’re onto them and come after us. And right now, we don’t have enough evidence to take them down before that happens. All we have is this book, which doesn’t actually prove much in the end. We need more. Something completely undeniable.”

  He let out a frustrated sigh and unclenched his hand. “I guess so,” he said quietly, rubbing his tense jaw. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m just so fucking angry. I seriously want to destroy every last one of those assholes.”

  “I know. I want to hurt them too,” I whispered, reaching up to stroke his face. “But we need to be smart about it.”

  “Yeah. You’re right.”

  I tentatively wrapped my arms around his waist, leaning the side of my head against his chest. He responded by pulling me even closer and holding me flush against him, head resting on top of mine.

  Our embrace was warm and comforting, but even then, I couldn’t stop picturing the initials in the book and wondering exactly who they belonged to.

  Were those evil men at home right now, having an afternoon snack with their kids or playing with them out in the yard? Kissing their wives or giving them flowers, smiling to themselves all the while as they thought about what they might do to the innocent young girls they’d forced into their dark scheme?

  It was horrible to even think about.

  The school bell suddenly rang, disrupting my quiet moment with Hunter. I pulled away and took a deep breath. “What do you think we should we do next?” I asked.

  “We need to finish taking the photos and upload them to a cloud-based thing so we can’t lose them, even if our phones break,” he said. “And then I think we should go to my house.”

  My stomach lurched at the thought of bumping into his father. “Why?” I asked.

  “I want to see if we c
an find anything in my dad’s study,” he explained. “I also want to get into that room you told me about—the secret one behind the bookshelf that I never even knew was there. There might be something in there that we could use as evidence. Something the society left behind after their last party.”

  “Oh, right. That’s a good idea,” I said, nodding slowly.

  He rubbed the side of my arm. “Don’t worry. My dad won’t be home.”

  We returned to photographing the pages of the Network-Medusa record book. Just as Hunter snapped the last photo, my phone vibrated in my pocket. I pulled it out to see a message from Adam in the group chat I shared with him and Trina.

  I let out a groan as I read it. “Oh, shit.”

  “What’s wrong?” Hunter asked.

  “I was supposed to meet your brother and Trina after school today, because they were going to show me some sort of sunken garden in the middle of one of the abandoned buildings near the lake,” I said. “We’ve been planning it for ages, but I totally forgot it was today.”

  “Go and meet them,” he replied. “I can look through Dad’s office and everything else on my own.”

  “No, it’s okay. I can just cancel.”

  He shook his head. “They might get suspicious if you do, and I don’t want them to know anything. I think we should keep all of this to ourselves right now,” he said, gesturing to the book. “Just in case.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah. Go and explore the old buildings with your friends. They’re really cool,” he said. “We can meet back at your dorm later and go over everything.”

  I smiled tightly. “Okay. I’ll go.”

  “Where are you meeting them, anyway?” he asked.

  “At the top of the path leading to the lake.”

  “All right.” He slid the book back into its slot on the shelf. “I’ll walk you down there.”

  I shook my head. “It’s in the total opposite direction of your car, so I’ll just walk down there by myself, and you can head home to start searching. The more time you have, the better.”

  “I don’t know,” he said reluctantly, brows furrowing. “I really don’t want you walking around alone anymore.”

  “It’ll only be for a few minutes, and there’ll be other students everywhere, because the bell only just rang a few minutes ago,” I said. “Trust me, I’ll be fine.”