The Golden Boys: Dark High School Bully Romance (Kings of Cypress Prep Book 1)

by Rachel Jonas

  Thirteen feet.

  Twelve feet.

  Elev—

  “Payback, bitch.”

  A hard shove to my shoulder knocks me off balance, and those are the last words I hear. There isn’t time to catch myself or even scream before going under. First, there’s the shock of the cold water rushing over my skin, but then there’s only panic as I struggle to break the surface.

  Still, for all my effort, it’s no use. My limbs flail wildly as I try to grab ahold of something or someone, but nothing helps. Every move I make pulls me under deeper and deeper. It doesn’t make a difference that I’m surrounded by bodies bobbing in this deathtrap, because there are none close enough to touch.

  None who notice I’m in trouble.

  A large gulp of water fills my lungs and immediately feeling the situation become more dire, I fight harder, but it still doesn’t matter.

  I’m going to die here, in this gigantic pool, and no one will know the difference until it’s too late. My vision starts to darken and I’m blacking out. The thought that comes to mind is of Scar. It’s my only comfort.

  I’m starting to fade, but I’m aware of an arm slipping around me, looping across my ribs. Suddenly, I feel weightless and it dawns on me that I’m floating toward the surface.

  Apparently, my appointment with death is now postponed.

  “Move! Get the fuck out the way!”

  The deep voice booms only inches from my ear. And sure enough, at his command, the crowd that’s gathered near the edge of the pool backs off.

  My hands are taken, and someone pulls. Meanwhile, whoever just dove eleven feet down to save me has both hands planted on my ass, hoisting me over the edge. I collapse there on the tile, hacking up both lungs, gagging on the mouthfuls of water I swallowed before being rescued.

  “What’s going on?” Mrs. C. races closer, lowering to her knees to look me over while the sound of rushing water signals me when my savior finally emerges from the pool.

  I’m still too choked up to talk, so someone speaks for me.

  “She fell,” the deep voice answers, sounding winded.

  Despite myself, I turn to confirm what I suspect. That the voice does, indeed, belong to West.

  He’s pretty close, sitting sideways right behind me. His knee gently settles against my back. Slowly, as if suddenly aware of my gaze being set on him, his rises to meet mine. Two emotions seem to be at war within him, if that look on his face means anything. There’s the clear presence of concern, but just beneath it, is anger.

  As if he’s furious because me nearly drowning has been an inconvenience.

  I face forward again, still struggling for air.

  “I watched for her to resurface, but … she never did,” he continues, telling a bold-faced lie. Either he’s just made a monumentally horrible guess, or … is he protecting them? Lying to cover for his cunt of a girlfriend?

  “Good work, Golden,” Mrs. C. declares. “You likely just saved her life.”

  Lexi settles in front of me and this is when I realize she’d been the one who pulled me out a moment ago.

  “Shit, Blue. You okay?”

  “Language, Rodriquez,” Mrs. C. reminds her.

  “My bad, but … dude, you almost died,” Lexi says, stating the obvious.

  Her very accurate depiction of what just took place has me scanning the small crowd. And right there, flanking Parker at either side, are Heidi and Ariana. All three are grinning, satisfied with having nearly killed me.

  One word spoken as I was shoved into the pool comes back to my memory.

  ‘Payback’. The attacker said ‘payback.’

  Ariana flashes her middle finger at me, and their cackling grows louder, but apparently not loud enough to catch Mrs. C’s attention. Instead, she’s focused on dialing down to the office, asking the nurse to come check me out.

  “I’m fine,” I assure her. “Really. You don’t need to do that.”

  She casts an uncertain glance toward me, but after giving me a quick onceover, concedes.

  “Are you lightheaded at all? Feeling out of sorts?”

  I shake my head to that question. “No. None of that.”

  That answer apparently satisfies her, because she dials the number back a moment later, letting the nurse know her assistance won’t be needed. Then she casts a look toward West.

  “Golden, I think I have a special assignment for you this term,” she says with a grin. “Ms. Riley here has until the end of this unit to learn how to swim. And seeing as how you’ve just proven you’re capable of handling her, I believe you’d be just the man for the job. What do you say?”

  “Wait. What?” I croak, still struggling to find my voice.

  “You need to master this by the end of the marking period, and I trust West will look after you. He’s a good kid,” she adds, and I can’t fight the scowl that twists my mouth.

  “So, what do you say West?” Mrs. C. asks.

  My eyes shift to him again, staring as he searches for an answer.

  “Sure,” he says begrudgingly, clearly unhappy with his new assignment.

  “Good. It’s settled then,” Mrs. C. adds, standing to her feet again. “Can you look after Ms. Riley for a few minutes? Make sure she pulls it together?”

  I listen as she asks, wondering just how much West hates me right now.

  When he finally does answer with a polite, “Sure,” there’s a hint of frustration hidden within it.

  Mrs. C. turns toward the onlookers and points to the pool. “Okay, show’s over. Hop back in and get to it.”

  The next second, it’s just us. The crowd has thinned, and West and I are thrust into an awkward silence. Of course, because I’m trying not to think about that kiss, now it’s all I can think about

  He draws his knees toward his chest and props both elbows there, staring out across the pool while I shift beside him to sit cross-legged. Not as close as a moment ago, but still close.

  “You gonna thank me? Or are we gonna just sit here and pretend I didn’t save your life?”

  The corner of my mouth twitches with a smile, hearing him jump right back into character, turning back into the real West.

  “Maybe I’ll thank you when you call off your dogs,” I counter. “Seeing as how someone from your crew is the whole reason you had to … as you say … ‘save me’.”

  He smirks, too. “For what it’s worth, I didn’t give the okay this time.”

  “Ah, so they’ve gone rogue. Telltale sign of poor leadership,” I deduce, hoping he senses that I’m being smug as hell right now.

  “Maybe,” he teases with a shrug. “But let’s say I do like you said, and call them off, who on Earth would keep me entertained all day?”

  I swear, if I didn’t think he’d catch my fist in midair, I’d knock that grin right off his face.

  “Besides,” he continues, “you know what they say. What doesn’t kill you only makes you stronger. So, in that sense, I’m doing you a favor, Southside.”

  There’s the callous dick I love to hate.

  My eyes rise with him when he stands, and I’m still dumbfounded by his logic. Or lack thereof.

  “On that note, I’m out,” he announces, watching our classmates instead of making eye contact with me. “And if you, somehow, find yourself in any more trouble, you’re on your own from here.”

  “I didn’t ask for your help in the first place,” I snap.

  Also, it goes without saying, but I hadn’t asked for his help when he stepped between me and Mike either.

  At the sound of my words, West’s head tilts back until he’s facing the ceiling. He lets out a cocky chuckle that fries my nerves.

  “Well, if it makes you feel any better,” he scoffs, “I was this close to letting your ass drown. So, suffice it to say, we’re both a little disappointed with how things turned out.”

  My blood is starting to pump faster, rushing through my veins like a surging river.

  “So, that’s your plan? You’re
just gonna cover for them after I nearly drowned out there?” I call out. “You’re fine pretending it wasn’t one of your girls who pushed me?”

  “Got proof of that?”

  “Nope, but I have an ass kicking with all three of those bitches’ names on it. That good enough?”

  He’s standing a foot or two away, with his back partially toward me, but I see his smile. The sight of it makes my stomach twist in a way I don’t approve of, because it’s not completely coming from a place of hatred.

  “Do what you gotta do,” are his final words, leaving me to watch as he gracefully dives into the water, showing off for those of us whose swim style is similar to that of a rock.

  Mrs. C.’s decision to pair me with West is the icing on the cake. Seems the more I try to distance myself from this guy, the more the universe pulls us back into one another’s space. I’m not sure what it is, but it’s a cycle I need to break.

  Quickly.

  @QweenPandora: All dogs may go to heaven, but all blonde bombshells in bathing suits CANNOT swim. We blame you for this misinformation, Baywatch. But fear not, my lovelies. Cypress Prep’s fav south side import is still alive and well. And who do we have to thank for that? Why, KingMidas. Not a bad deal, if you ask me. I think we’d all be willing to taste death for the chance to taste … well, you get the point.

  Until next time, Peeps.

  —P

  Chapter 17

  BLUE

  Thank you, Dr. Pryor. Thank you so freakin’ much for making me join journalism club.

  Insert sarcasm here.

  I like the lady and all, but this has to be the worst fit she could’ve ever chosen for me. It’s bad enough the other students have no sense of time, accounting for our half-hour, afterschool meetings turning into a full hour most days. But Mr. Dansk assigning me to cover sports this quarter is going to be the death of me.

  I had to bail on Uncle Dusty to be here, taking stupid pictures at Cypress Prep’s first home game of the season. Friday nights are our busiest at the diner, but he assured me he can get by without me. Doesn’t change the fact that I’d much rather be there, waiting tables, than sitting here on these cold bleachers.

  Jules and Scar, on the other hand, love it. Scar even dragged Shane out here to watch. From the looks of it, I’m the only one who’s miserable. Nothing like enduring the chilled rain and being forced to snap pictures of my nemesis to kick off the weekend.

  Thank God I listened to the forecast. First thing I did when I rushed home between school and the game was grab one of Mike’s oversized jackets from the closet. Which is when Scar and Jules begged to come watch King Midas and crew likely bring in another win.

  These are difficult waters to navigate. So far, I’ve successfully hidden the true nature of my dealings with West. The last thing I need is Scar and Jules intervening. Not when I’ve worked so hard to stay off school administration’s radar. This may stem from some deep-seated trust issues with authority, but I could see it now. I turn West in, his parents strike back, next thing I know I’m finishing out the year at some random, alternative school for troubled children. Goodbye college plans.

  Long story short, I’ve settled on suffering in silence for the remainder of my time here.

  It only helps that West seems resigned to let the world believe Pandora’s ruse—that there’s some sort of romantic involvement between us. Although, for his own reasons, I imagine. Most likely because he knows how the idea of it sickens me. In fact, aside from setting the girls loose on me, no one else seems to know about the toxicity between us. This reminds me of a statement he made last weekend. The one about my only response to being told to “jump” should be “how high”. With how the girls haven’t spread the truth around school, I can only imagine they’d given in to that twisted rhetoric.

  But I digress. Apparently, I’ve got pictures to take.

  West snaps a pass across the field and I capture the image with my phone just as the ball leaves his hand. We’re deep into the fourth quarter and I hate to admit it, but he’s managed to impress me tonight. Although, not nearly as much as he’s impressed Jules and Scar. Both will be hoarse by morning with how they’ve screamed for the team.

  For West, in particular.

  Ugh … traitors. Even if they don’t have a clue that I hate his guts.

  My phone buzzes and, glancing at the screen to see who’s texted, I stare at a snippet of the tenth message Ricky has sent in the last hour. Without opening it, I’m certain it has nothing to do with me having Shane in my care. Because, if it is about that, he’d text him directly. This is something else.

  Like, the same conversation he’s been trying to have with me for weeks.

  I’m jarred from my thoughts when Scar jumps to her feet, screeching in my ear. Dane—who I’ve come to learn is wide receiver extraordinaire—has been on fire tonight. The throw West launched was plucked out of the air so gracefully the whole thing played out like a choreographed dance. They’re graceful and yet fierce, in tune with the game. In tune with each other as they move across the field. It’s no wonder they went undefeated last season.

  “Do you think you can get the Golden boys to sign my t-shirt?” My sister, the turncoat herself, asks. “I mean, since you and West are basically a thing,” she adds. “Their autographs will definitely be worth something one day. Just look at them out there!”

  She’s trying to gut me. She has to be.

  Jules catches my gaze and cracks up, but Shane isn’t nearly as amused by Scar’s newfound obsession with the triplets. If I’m not mistaken, he looks a little bothered by it. Poor kid.

  When Scar turns to face the field again, I don’t miss that those stars are back. The ones I’ve seen in our mother’s eyes over the years. The ones that make me worry Scar will fall victim to some of the same snares.

  The crowd explodes in a deafening roar when Cypress Prep scores another touchdown, bringing the final score to an embarrassing forty-eight to twelve.

  Well, embarrassing for the other team, that is.

  However, our guys aren’t celebrating like I would expect. Instead, they’re surprisingly subdued as the stands empty and fans rush to the sidelines. And the center of their attention seems to be QB-1. West.

  For the sake of my role with the paper, I focus the lens of my camera on him, zoom in, and snap a picture just as he flashes a smile at some kid who’s brought his football to the field to be signed.

  “See? I’m not the only one!” Scar pleads. “Even that kid knows we’re witnessing history in the making.”

  I barely get to roll my eyes when another message comes through. This time, I open it and Jules must see my expression shift, because she speaks up.

  “Everything okay?”

  I don’t answer right away, because I’m suddenly distracted by the roar of a motorcycle engine. Ricky revs it when he spots me from the parking lot, letting me know the text stating that he wasn’t afraid to show up here if I didn’t answer hadn’t been an empty threat. Guess he wasn’t in a mood to be ignored today.

  Jules lifts a few inches out of her seat, just enough to see what I see—a very frustrated Ricky Ruiz pulling off his helmet, likely headed toward these bleachers to speak his piece.

  “Um … need me to keep an eye on these two while you take care of that?”

  Frustrated, a heavy sigh leaves my mouth. “Please.”

  The next second, I’m storming down the bleachers, but not without King Midas taking notice. Amidst a sea of his adoring fans, his gaze is set on me. Already pissed and wondering who Ricky thinks he is showing up here, I take it out on West by giving him the finger. Of course, the bastard finds it funny, lowering his head when a smirk touches his lips.

  Whatever.

  I swear, I’m beyond fed up with the cocky, domineering men in my life.

  Ricky’s eyes are on me the entire time I trudge across the grass, and his glare hardens when I make it to him.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing here?�
��

  “Didn’t you get my messages?” he snaps.

  Sighing, I fold both arms over my chest. “I was busy.”

  Something I say makes him scoff, looking out toward the field when he tips his chin.

  “Yeah, I bet.”

  It isn’t until I follow his gaze that I understand what that means. Apparently, not only do we have West’s undivided attention, but he’s trudging this way—drenched in sweat, toting his helmet in hand.

  “Not that. Not … him,” I say softly. “I had a school thing and …wait. Why am I even explaining this to you?” I ask, remembering that I have zero obligation to Ricky whatsoever. Haven’t for a long time.

  West draws closer and I’m holding my breath, unsure what his intentions are as he approaches, but then he passes by like a storm I narrowly dodged. However, I don’t miss that deadly glare in his eyes. Only, he doesn’t cast that look at me.

  It’s for Ricky.

  It isn’t one of those looks that comes and goes quickly. It lingers between the two until West makes it to the fieldhouse and slams the door behind him.

  It doesn’t come as a surprise when Ricky’s shoulders square with tension. I see it through his dark t-shirt, in the way the veins on his arms protrude, in the tension held in his jaw.

  He won’t even look at me now.

  “I didn’t come here for trouble,” he states first. “Just thought you should know Hunter’s getting transferred. They’re moving him upstate.”

  My eyes widen with the news, as a flash of sadness shoots through my chest. No, I haven’t found the courage to visit since he got locked up, but there’s some small measure of comfort in knowing he’s not so far away. But to move him upstate? That feels like having him taken away all over again.

  I’m aware of the emotion bleeding through my expression, so I correct it before Ricky might notice. Because, truth is, this changes nothing. Hunter’s still gone, I’m still doing this all on my own, and I’m still not ready to see him like that.