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

by Rachel Jonas

  “…And?”

  It’s rare to humble Vin Golden, but that’s exactly what I hear in his tone right now. Humility.

  “I didn’t look through it.” This lie is particularly easy to tell because it suits me to have him think I’m in the dark.

  “It isn’t that there’s anything on it worth hiding. I just—”

  “Save it.”

  He drops his sentence at the sound of my voice, and I’m relieved not to have to listen to his bull anymore.

  A heavy hand falls on my shoulder and I glance toward it, choosing not to make eye contact with the man I just lied to.

  “I love you and your brothers equally,” he shares, “but I’ve always held you to a bit of a higher standard, West. By you being older and all.”

  “Didn’t realize being born two minutes earlier than them granted me infinite wisdom,” I snap.

  He doesn’t immediately react to the tone I’ve taken, probably because he’s on super thin ice right now, knowing I at least know he keeps a secret phone.

  “It’s more than that,” he continues. “You’re just a natural-born leader. I’ve seen that in you from day one.”

  My focus is honed in on the sleeve of the dress shirt he wore home, and I barely hear what he says next.

  “You do know that everything I do is for you boys and your mother, right?”

  The question echoes in my thoughts, and his brow tenses when I reach toward the studded cufflink on his wrist. His gaze follows me as I pull a long, blonde hair off him.

  “What about her?” I ask, placing the strand on the dashboard. “You do her for us, too?”

  His hand falls away from my shoulder and he slumps in his seat.

  “Guess I know why you were an hour late getting home,” I add.

  Of all the reactions the man could’ve had, he laughs. Because our family is such a joke to him. The sound of a defeated sigh follows, which means he’s about to forego the obvious route—lying—opting instead for the truth. So, I brace myself.

  Here it comes.

  “Listen, I never pretended to be perfect, West. None of us are perfect. I’m a man and I do what all men do,” he claims. “Is it right? No. But it’s just the way things work. Live long enough. You’ll get it one day.”

  A memory flashes in my head and I’m forced to close my eyes. It’s a vision of the time I wanted to spend his fortieth birthday with him—back when I still thought he was the greatest dad in the world. I was only eight, but remember it plain as day. Down to every detail. Even the moment I climbed into the back of his truck, smelling his cologne still clinging to the interior. But what’s most important is that I remember the chick he drove to see, not realizing I hid in the back.

  They talked for a little while. Long enough for me to gather they’d been involved for a while. Long enough to know she was an attorney somehow associated with my father’s firm.

  Too shocked and emotionally raw to turn away, I sat by as she proceeded to suck him off in the front seat.

  I watched in silence from the shadows, listening to the combination of his lust-filled moans and her loud slurping. All the while, eight-year-old me was trying desperately to wrap my head around how he could do something like that. Mom loved him so much, and always had.

  Naturally, I never got that explanation.

  When the woman finished, she spit his remnants into an empty fast food cup she grabbed from the cupholder. Then, after attempting to kiss him and getting rejected, she climbed out and disappeared inside a tall office building.

  I got found out when I moved and accidentally kicked the windshield scraper into the side panel. Suddenly, he realized I’d been there the whole time, realized I’d seen him cheat on my mother with my own two eyes. And maybe he even knew he didn’t deserve the pedestal I put him on.

  His response to this flagrant fall from grace?

  His response to seeing me bawl my eyes out?

  A lecture.

  Mostly, he insisted that me telling my mother would ruin our family and break her heart, convincing me that her pain would be all my fault. According to him, our family dynamic was a bit more complicated than I understood, and me telling what I’d seen would cause it all to fall apart. At eight, I believed that shit, and the bastard bought me ice cream before taking me home. As if that fixed everything.

  To this day, I’m still broken in places no one can ever possibly repair, carrying the guilt of not doing more back then. But one thing my father said that night was not a lie. My mother is every bit as fragile as he said she is. Only, that doesn’t change the fact that someone deserves to pay.

  So, if not my father—for fear of it inadvertently breaking my mother when his indiscretions come to light—it has to be the women.

  Every single one I’m made aware of if I can help it. Now than I’m older, I can at least do that. My mother deserves that much.

  “Tell you what,” he pipes up again. “How about we resolve this whole thing right here, by just calling it even. You keep this whole little talk between us, and I don’t raise hell about you using my card. Sound like a plan?”

  I say nothing because I have nothing for him.

  “I’ll take that as a yes,” he concludes. I don’t miss the confidence in his voice, either.

  Like nothing happened here tonight, he reaches to turn up the radio. Then, after checking for traffic, we merge back onto the road.

  He was with Southside tonight, before coming home to sit at the dinner table where he pretended he’d done nothing wrong. Pretended to be some kind of family man. An act I never bought.

  I could only imagine what kept him so long, what kept him out an hour late tonight. I know I’m not wrong. Especially with what I know about south side girls.

  They’re only good for one thing.

  And, apparently, my father knows this all too well.

  Chapter 21

  Blue

  “I hate everything about this school. Literally,” I add, just to make sure Jules gets the point.

  “You have a thing going with one of the hottest boys at Cypress Prep,” she reasons on the other end. “How bad can it really be?”

  “You have no idea.”

  Her view on my experience here is incredibly distorted, due to a number of factors. Starting with Pandora getting the rumor going about me and West. Then, he only made things worse when he stopped by uninvited during the block party. No one knows what he actually puts me through.

  “And to add insult to injury,” I go on complaining, “I’m stuck doing this stupid journalism crap, which I have zero interest in, by the way. So, my day is even longer on the afternoons we meet.”

  “Well, at least you don’t have to double-down by working at the diner, too, right?”

  I know she means well, but I’m not in the mood for her upbeat outlook on life today. So, “I guess,” is my only response.

  The halls are completely empty as I turn the corner to my locker and grab my backpack. All I want to do is go home, eat something, then crash.

  “You still there?” Jules asks as I push through the metal door that leads to the parking lot.

  “Barely,” I say with an exhausted laugh, fishing my keys from the pocket of my jeans.

  “Things won’t always be so bad,” she assures me, and it’s exactly the reminder I need. But, as I get halfway to my parking space, a sizable cluster of football players surrounding my car makes my anxiety spike.

  “Jules, I’ll call you back,” I say in a rush, hanging up as I pick up speed.

  The fatigue I felt a second ago evaporates as adrenaline replaces it. My feet thud against the pavement as I full-on sprint now, hearing laughter coming from the guys. It isn’t until I’m within a few feet that I see what they find so funny.

  Several of them back off, and Austin raises his hands in the air. “Hey, wasn’t us,” he says in surrender. “You and Golden get into it or something?”

  I don’t bother answering as I stare at my car—a hand-me-down from
Uncle Dusty, and the only thing in this life that’s completely mine. It’s sitting on bricks, and to make sure I know he’s proving a point, and that this isn’t some criminal act, all four tires are stacked neatly on the trunk. Beside them, the lug nuts rest neatly in a pile. The bastard even left me a jack and a four-way lug wrench to reassemble it all myself.

  Heat sweeps up my chest and neck, finally reaching my face. I’m seeing red as I take it all in, consider the time and energy that dick put into this stunt. After football practice, at that.

  “Where … is he?” I ask through gritted teeth.

  Five of the players standing by point toward the field house, but not Dane and Sterling. Instead, Sterling sprints to step into my path when I start toward the building to kill their brother. He towers over me like West, and he even stares down on me with those same green eyes like him. It only infuriates me more that he looks so much like him.

  We’re out of earshot now, so no one can hear me snap at him.

  “Move.”

  “Just thought you should know it’s a bad idea for you to go in there,” he warns with a smirk. His voice drags over the words, unhurried, making light of my car sitting on freakin’ bricks right now.

  It’s so clear he doesn’t care, has no idea how exhausted I am. I worked nearly every day after school last week, on days I didn’t have Journalism Club, that is. Then, on top of it all, I had to be at another game this past Friday to get pics for the paper. Add to that the two double shifts I worked Saturday and Sunday, and I feel like I haven’t had a break in forever.

  I glare at him when his massive hands land on my shoulders, holding me in place.

  “If you’re fond of your nuts not rolling across this parking lot like tumbleweed, I suggest you get your hands off me and get out of the way,” I hiss.

  His brow quirks in that smug way West’s does, and I want to do him bodily harm. But he does let go, so I don’t make good on my threat just yet.

  “I’m looking out for you,” he insists. “Not sure if you’ve figured out how things work around here yet, but the more you screw with West, the worse you make things for yourself.”

  “Your brother isn’t some sort of god,” I remind him. “He doesn’t scare me.”

  I pray he bought that, because some days I’m not so sure it’s completely true.

  “Just sayin’, if you’re smart, you’ll just piece that death trap back together and take your ass back across town,” he adds, pointing at my car.

  The nerve of these dicks is unbelievable. Does he really think I’m just going to let his brother get away with this? Absolutely not.

  Sterling freezes when I lean closer, invading his space like his psycho brother loves to do. As much as I hate it, the rush of power I feel in this moment explains why West uses this as a tactic.

  “Not sure who your brother thinks he’s dealing with, but he can count on one thing,” I warn. “When someone fucks with me, they can expect me to throw it right back at them. And that especially goes for your brother.”

  My shoulder slams Sterling’s when I push by him. He doesn’t bother trying to stop me this time, and I don’t miss the half-cocked smile set on his lips when I glance back.

  I storm toward the fieldhouse and drop my bag in front of the door the second I enter. My sneakers squeak across the white tile and I hype myself up while passing rows of benches and lockers where some of the team still linger, but no West. I don’t acknowledge the sideways glances and questioning stares I pass, because I have one goal in mind.

  I’m going to find and hurt West Golden.

  Stomping toward the back of the locker room, I try to ignore the fact that I hear running water. It’s a wonder I’ve made it this far without their coach spotting me from his office, but he’s nose-deep in what I guess to be the team playbook and doesn’t notice.

  For a fraction of a second, I’m tempted to turn back, imagining what I might walk in on when I reach my destination, but fuck that.

  I force myself to charge full steam ahead, but I can admit I’m not nearly as confident as before. For some reason, it hadn’t dawned on me that some of the guys might not be decent. I’m too deep in to quit now, though.

  Then, I soon realize I should’ve followed my gut and waited in the parking lot. Because when I turn the corner, I walk in on several members of the team still showering. Even with them all fully exposed, I swear I barely even notice once I spot West.

  All … of West.

  His back is to me, but I see enough. Skin that still holds his summer tan, ink that wraps around his solid biceps and across his shoulder blades. There’s hard muscle everywhere. I sigh a little, releasing the pressure that’s built up inside me. However, it doesn’t help at all because I still haven’t turned away.

  He’s soaked and lathered from head to toe, like some sort of wet dream playing out before me, in real-time. Half a second passes before I gather myself and remember why I’m here. Then, the soles of my shoes slosh through water that pools near the drain, and the second I’m within arm’s reach, I gather all my rage and frustration from the past few weeks and slam my fist right between West’s shoulder blades. Having been taught to fight, I know I’m not weak by any means, but the hit barely moves him. However, it does get his attention.

  Pissed and confused, he whirls to face me. I know he doesn’t miss the fury in my expression, either.

  “Too far!” I shriek, and before I can stop myself, I swing on him again, but this time I aim for his face.

  Just as fast as I fire off, his hand catches mine in midair and I’m not sure what pisses me off more. That I swung and missed, or that I’m having to try so hard not to look down at his junk. Even not lowering my gaze, I see way more than I should.

  His chest heaves with rage and his eyes reflect it. A sharp tick in his jaw has me equal parts angry and turned on.

  “Get the hell out,” he growls, but the command isn’t meant for me. It’s meant for those who were just showering in peace before I strolled in. But now, they’ve taken heed to their king’s orders and I’m left alone with the magnificent beast himself.

  The rims of his nostrils flare with anger and mine at least matches his.

  “You ruined my car!” I shout.

  A sick, twisted grin slowly touches his lips, but he doesn’t let my fist go.

  “What’s wrong? Didn’t like my little surprise?” he teases. “At least I left the tools you’ll need to get that piece of shit back on the road.”

  My chest tightens and I’ve, without a doubt, never hated anyone more. Which makes it super confusing that I’m finding it more difficult not to peek at his package by the second. To fight the urge, I swallow hard, staring instead as water rinses down his face and chest, washing away the soap that once covered him.

  Dark strands of hair cover his forehead, drawing my attention to the pair of eyes now blazing a hole through me.

  “You must be used to this,” he rasps, “coming outside to find your car on bricks? Has to be a regular thing in your hood, right?”

  He’s so damn snide and arrogant. It’s amazing he can even stand it himself.

  “You crossed the line,” I hiss.

  His grip on me tightens and, before I can react, he has my other wrist and yanks me forward, bringing me beneath the scorching water with him. It rushes down my arms, soaks my hair and clothes, but I don’t even flinch.

  “Do I look like I give a shit what you think?” he seethes.

  “Fuck you, West,” I say back, and the statement leaves my mouth with a rough edge.

  There’s so much hatred in those words, mine and his. In his eyes, even. But, for some reason, amidst all this swirling tension and negative energy, this is the precise moment I lose the battle, glancing down the rolling hills of his abs, blinking droplets of water from my lashes as my gaze slips lower.

  I only gawk for a moment, admittedly startled by his impressive size, but when I lift my eyes again, that wicked smirk of his is back. I’m already rolling
my eyes before he speaks, at the mere idea of what his reaction will be to catching me in the act.

  “See something you like?”

  His deep voice is low and penetrating. I feel it everywhere when he leans in to speak.

  The words, “Go to hell,” pass between my lips.

  He’s close, staring down his nose at me, and I see the war. It rages inside him. He hates me, yes, just as much as I hate him. But there’s more to it than that.

  More to us than that.

  It’s uncomfortable to even think that word—us—but it fits. Because there is an us. Even if what we are is warped and ugly, lust wrapped in such intense loathing that it runs bone-deep.

  But … it’s still real.

  As real as the monster standing before me. The one who’s just brought me another step closer, making this space feel small and suffocating.

  “You didn’t answer my question,” he says, his voice rumbling low. “Do you see something you like?”

  My lips part, but no words come out.

  “Or is ‘like’ the wrong word?” he questions. “Maybe you see something you want.”

  These words fall from his lips and I swear the water gets hotter as we stand beneath it. Unprepared for such a bold statement, I, again, don’t immediately have a response. The effect of being called out passes quickly, though, and I come up with a snide remark.

  “I didn’t answer because there isn’t much to see, King Midas.” My brow quirks with the lie I’ve just told.

  The cocky smirk that follows means he knows I was only protecting my pride.

  “Come on, Southside,” he says against my ear, “just admit it. You love this.”

  I scoff, and with how he’s invaded my space, my mouth nearly touches his shoulder.

  “What kind of sick person loves being tormented? Loves coming outside to find her car in pieces?”

  A low, primal laugh vibrates in his chest and, for some reason, the sound of it sends a chill streaking down my spine.

  “The kind of girl who’s just as fucked up as I am,” he answers. “The kind who always wants who and what she shouldn’t.”

  I feel exposed, like he dug down to the core of who I am, found the strands of depraved DNA my mother marked me with, and forced me to own it. Only, his statement has the opposite effect I think he intends for it to have. It jars me out of the trance our bizarre energy always puts us in when we make the mistake of venturing too close to one another. For once, I’m the one who breaks the spell, putting distance between us.