Dirty Dark Prey: A Dark College Bully Romance (Elite Royal University Duet Book 2)

by L. J. Woods

  “For fucks sake,” I groan, rubbing my head.

  Crouching to the floor, I flip to the page listed on the front.

  Photos of Isaac leaving nightclubs and parties fill the two-page spread. The article details his partying lifestyle, his playboy status and it’s … dark.

  They imply he did it, with the trauma he must have from growing up in the shadows of an older famous playboy. And the picture they have of him, handcuffed on the warehouse floor, doesn’t look good at all.

  But that’s not what hits me the hardest.

  “Judge Sidorov seeks a harder punishment for Johnson considering the track record that’s building up.”

  The article even mentions me and how toxic whatever the fuck we have is.

  But they don’t know us.

  They don’t know him.

  Do I even know him?

  Tucking the magazine in my bag, I head to my class. The main thing I’m here for.

  “Hey, Lexi.”

  My body tenses when I see Glenn approaching me. A few of the other boys from the party are with him and before I can get away, they circle me. Taking a few steps back on my slingbacks, my body hits the cold stone wall.

  Girls glare as they pass. Guys hoot and holler.

  But I’m trapped.

  “Heard what you did to Johnson.”

  “It’s not—” The smell of cologne and sweat comes closer, five boys surrounding me. Covering my face, my mind flashes to that night at Isaac's party. “Guys, please. I was fucked up. This is fucked up. I’m sorry.”

  He’s not here to save me now.

  “You will be.” Glenn tugs at my shirt and I stumble over my feet as I close my eyes tight, wanting to disappear.

  You deserve it.

  “Back the fuck up, Glenn.”

  A familiar voice booms over us.

  Isaac’s voice brings goosebumps to my skin as Glenn unleashes me from his grasp.

  He got out.

  “She’s not worth it,” he says.

  My heart pounds against my chest but they do as he says.

  Then it’s just us.

  He stares at me, that shimmer gone from his eyes. I’m afraid to say anything as I eye his all-black outfit. We’ve coordinated our misery. Like my long black skirt, high slits on each side, his long blazer covers his black t-shirt and black joggers.

  Holy shit, he's wearing joggers.

  After what seems like forever, his eyes shooting lasers into my skull, he shakes his head and scoffs. Then he walks away.

  No comment. No insult. Nothing.

  That leaves me cold and emptier than ever.

  Reaching a hand out, I call, “Isaac!”

  He stops, looking over his shoulder. “I mean it, Lex. This isn’t worth it. You’re not worth it.” Then he continues through the crowd of students. "Stay the fuck away from me."

  A glob forms in my throat, a burn in my ducts. Those words bring more pain to my chest than any of his antics ever did before.

  Choking back to tears, I head to my class.

  I try to convince myself that this is better.

  We're better. Without each other.

  When I get back to The Grove, the squeaking sound of broken springs greets me when I stand on the porch of Jake’s home.

  My back hits the door, that craving hitting me again.

  The liquor store is only a ten-minute walk and after the day I've had, there's no sense in trying to be "good."

  Isaac’s voice rings through my head.

  “Not my fault you’re a fucking alcoholic.”

  But isn’t it? Besides, why does it matter if I drink and get out of control? That’s exactly what I need right now because I’m back where I started. Back to having nothing.

  No friends.

  No future.

  There’s nothing to protect me anymore. Not even me.

  I yearned for independence and I sure as hell got it.

  Moving my legs towards the path, my feet stop when I see a thing that’s not like the others.

  Glancing behind me, I crane my head back, eyes narrowing.

  A shiny silver Lambo sits at the end of the street, one that belongs more on the streets of Eden than The Grove.

  My heart skips.

  Isaac?

  The headlights flash.

  My brows furrow before I take cautious steps over, glancing at Jake’s house behind me again.

  When I’m close, the passenger door slides up into the air and I gulp down that feeling rising in my throat.

  Peeking inside, my heart jumps again.

  “Get in, Lyon." Damien King sits at the wheel, those weird eyes behind his shades. "We’re going for a drive.”

  “Where are we going?”

  Punk-rock blares as we drive across the tracks into Eden.

  “I don’t think anyone here wants to see me,” I say, the rugged road becoming smooth, shiny buildings lining our path.

  Damien King hasn’t spoken since I hopped into his car. So I'm not surprised when he turns up the radio in response. It only reminds me Isaac’s friends are as dickish as he is.

  So should I even trust him? Can I even trust him?

  “Are you mad about me getting Isaac arrested?” I ask, but he raises the volume higher, eyes remaining on the road.

  My heart thuds.

  Is that what this is about?

  Call me paranoid but with the way things are going, you can’t blame me.

  They’re all devious. Likely all murderous.

  Ray’s threat comes to my head.

  You’ll be next.

  My shaky voice doesn’t hide the panic within me. “Can you pull over?” He doesn’t. He stays on the road, passing through the glamorous downtown core. Then he turns off his headlights. My brows lower. “Damien …”

  This is it. After everything, this is how I’ll go out. A dead girl in Eden.

  Fight, you idiot!

  Pulling on the door handle, it’s no use, it doesn’t open. So I reach for the wheel.

  Damien’s hand whips forward, pushing me back against the seat. “You touch my wheel again and you’ll regret it, Lyon.”

  “Then tell me where you’re taking me!”

  He chuckles as we pull up to an iron gate with a ‘K.’ One side is open wide enough to let the car through.

  Leaves scatter the circular driveway, branches in the large fountain in the middle. While this place is ginormous and glamorous, it looks like something from a horror movie.

  “No wonder Johnson has a hardon for you, you’re a fiery one. Evidently, we like them like that.” Then he chuckles again. “Shit, we are masochists.”

  My brows furrow as he gets out of the car and walks towards the front of the house. He stops, looking over his shoulder as a lock of dark hair falls over that gray eye. He tilts his head, telling me to follow him, his hands in his skinny black jeans.

  Pushing on the passenger handle, the scissor door slides up in the air.

  So now it opens.

  Looking around the property, it's hard to believe this place is as abandoned as it looks. It's too extravagant. It's on a big patch of land away from other Eden homes. No lights are on inside or out. In the dark of the night, it looks like the home of a villain, the moon casting a gleam on the roof.

  A shudder rolls up my spine as I glance back at the gate, my feet pointed to the double front doors.

  I can run. There’s enough space between us.

  But he has a fucking Lambo. He’ll catch up in no time.

  His voice bellows from beyond the door. “Do you wanna help Johnson or not?”

  Wait, what?

  “Help Isaac?" Stepping inside the house, I’m greeted by an empty spacious foyer, marble tiles … and the smell of pot. "Is that what this is about? He wants nothing to do with me.”

  “That’s unlikely.” King makes his way up one side of the grand staircase, his finger trailing along the dusty banister.

  A chandelier hangs above him but I can’t see any othe
r signs of furniture. Or life. And so he doesn’t leave me alone in these spooky surroundings, I follow him.

  “Careful not to scuff the wood,” he says, leading me down a dark hallway. “This place is hard to sell enough with two deaths underneath it.” He stops at a large wooden door at the end. “Who am I kidding? Two murders underneath it.” He pushes on the door and it reveals a staircase. The only way is up.

  But I can't move, those words sending a chill through my bones. “Murders?” With a glance at the darkness behind me, I climb the steps behind him.

  My heart thuds with each step.

  What has he planned?

  I can’t see King in the darkness until he pushes on another door, and the moon lights the rest of our path.

  He walks into the night like he’s giving me a tour and when I make it into the chill of the open air, King leans against the brick fence along the ledge.

  We’re on a rooftop, the driveway below looking so much further three-storeys up.

  “So he did it?” I ask, my throat dry and scratchy. “He committed murder?”

  “He put the peanut butter in the smoothie but you let the prick croak,” King replies. Then he sighs, crossing his arms in that leather jacket. “We’ve been through this and I don’t like repeating myself so let me make it clear." He flicks a long finger at me. "You guys did that together.”

  “No …” My brows furrow. There’s no use arguing my innocence, these guys are right. I wanted Donovan dead. He deserved it, and I know I sound like them but he’s not the only one in question. “I meant his ex-girlfriend.”

  When I stand beside King, a smirk comes across his face. My stomach knots.

  That’s when his hands land on my shoulders and I’m whipped around by his strong pull.

  Before I can even scream, King holds me over the ledge, my breath in my throat as he leans me over the fence. “Damien!” Looking over my shoulder, the ground looks even further than it did a second ago.

  Then his mismatched eyes meet mine. “I killed her.” My body stiffens as he tips me further, his hands firm on my shoulders as another foot leaves the floor. “Just. Like. This.”

  “D-Damien …” I grip the black shirt beneath his jacket, holding on for dear life as I squeeze my eyes shut. It doesn't have to end like this. I can't let it end like this. “Please.” My voice and body tremble.

  Then my feet touch the ground.

  My knees fall to the floor as I catch my breath.

  “You could call it an accident,” he says. “But when your batshit-crazy aunt tries to kill you and the girl you love for money? I call it fate.”

  My head whips up, hands and knees still on the concrete. “She tried to kill you?”

  “You pass a lot of judgement for someone who knows fuck-all.”

  “Why the fuck didn’t someone just tell me?”

  “Because I put you at risk. If Johnson’s going down for this shit, we don’t know what telling others will lead to.” Shoving his hands in his pockets, he crosses his ankles. “He was trying to protect you and the fact that you look like you’re staring at a ghost means Johnson didn’t sell me out either.” Then he smirks. “Cause that’s what we do here. And it’s too often people try to come in and think they can put us in our place, but they don’t know the whole story.”

  “Why the fuck didn’t you tell me that at the party?”

  His grin grows. “Johnson pissed me off. But now I know you have his balls in knots. The idiot's got a hell of a hardon for you. He’s more pussy-shit about you than he is about his trial.”

  “So why is Isaac taking the bait for your murder? If she tried to kill you, why didn’t you guys just say that?”

  “If it was that easy we would’ve.” He turns around, leaning his elbows on the trim of the fence. “I’m starting a family and someone needs to clean this shit up—no way am I trusting those two idiots with that task.”

  “You’re the idiot.” His shoulders rise to his ears as I push off the ground, my heated skin helping to fight the chill. “You got your best friend arrested for something you did. You should’ve cleaned it up better, you dipshit.” I’m overcome with emotions and Damien King is getting it all.

  When he turns around, he doesn’t seem the least bit bothered by my accusations. “If I’m such an idiot, why did I find the guy behind it all?”

  "The guy behind ..." My brows knit. "You’re saying you can get Isaac off trial?”

  “Not without you, but your clit’s throbbing for the fucker so it’ll be easier to convince you than I thought.” He turns towards the fence again and mutters. “Thought I would have to lean you over the rail a few times, show you how easy it was again, threaten you with jail time …”

  Shaking my head, I brush away his words. “How can we get him off trial?”

  He looks over his shoulder. “You wanna help?”

  If what he’s saying is true, that there’s redemption for Isaac, there’s only one way to find out. I hate myself for saying this but, what else do I have to lose? “I want to help.”

  “Good. Because truth is, you're in way too deep to walk away from us now. You’re one of us, Lexi Lyon, whether you admit it or not.”

  “One of you?” It’s hard to ignore the warmth on my skin. I’ve always wanted to belong, but is this murderous group who I want to belong with?

  He smirks. “Ready to put your sluthood to good use?” I wrinkle my nose as he walks towards the rooftop door. “Don’t hide it. Own it. ‘Cause Johnson? He loves that shit. Not as much as he loves you though.”

  The world muffles, the cold wind turning to warmth. “He … He what?”

  “Come on, Lyon.” King leans on the open door with his arms crossed, foot tapping against the stone. “We have a long drive ahead.”

  Twenty-Six

  Lexi

  The loud rift of a guitar solo startles me awake, my head whipping to the man in black with the weird eyes.

  “Oh good, you’re up,” King says, turning down the volume I’m sure he cranked. “We’re here.”

  Pushing up in my seat, I start piecing it together. I’m the idiot who agreed to a road trip with Damien King. And looking out the window, I’m not sure where that trip led.

  The giant yacht down the overgrown path tells me we’re near a harbour, the moonlight casting a shimmery glow over the wide canal. It’s the only vessel in sight besides the rusted-up fishing boats knocking against the raggedy wooden pier. A big warehouse sits behind us and it looks as abandoned as this harbour.

  “Good news,” Damien reaches into the compartment between us, pulling out a gold flask. “I followed the guy I paid to clean up our tracks down here and it looks like we’ve hooked him. Bad news? If I get anywhere close to that yacht my unborn child won’t have her daddy. It won’t be pretty. I need information. Not a shootout like your gangster best friend so we’re doing this a little more sophisticated.” He drops the flask in my lap.

  Glancing down at it, then back to Damien, I’m failing to figure this out on my own. “It’s up to me?” Unscrewing the flask, I take a long gulp of smooth liquid, relief spreading through my body as it burns my throat.

  “I need someone who can handle their shit. From what Isaac told me, you can hold your own so as far as I see it, you're his only hope.” I don’t know what that means but something tells me I need more of whatever's in this flask. “I need you to go in there and find out who’s running this show, and why they’re hoping to get rid of Isaac.”

  “How?”

  He shrugs. “You’re the one with the PleasureChat account. Use your assets.”

  My head whips to him again and he smirks. “I’m gonna kill Isaac,” I groan.

  “Kill him after we save him.”

  I sigh, taking another long glug. “Fine. Let’s do this.” Fixing my hair in the mirror, I make sure I look at least half presentable for what I’m about to do. But Damien’s right, if there’s anything I know, it’s wrapping men around my sensual fingers.

  A vel
vet drawstring bag drops in my lap. “Find a bathroom and change into this. Then text me when you do.” When I glance at him, he nods. Firm. “Don't look at me like that, you got this, Lyon."

  I hope he’s right.

  Slamming the door, I start walking towards the dock, Damien leaning out the window. “Oh yeah, and you’re in Bratva territory.” He tosses a phone out the window that claps against my tightening chest.

  With his words ringing in my head, my eyes widen. “Like the fucking mafia?”

  He smirks again before he backs his car away.

  No. Fuck this.

  I run after it but he keeps going, leaving me stranded on the abandoned harbour.

  Fuck.

  Taking a big breath, I try to calm myself and I wish I had more of that flask. The alcohol still tingles my throat as I make my way closer to the yacht. Either that or I’m having a fucking heart attack.

  My heart thuds, the velvet bag tight against my chest. It's not heavy but it has some weight.

  Bumping bass comes from the yacht as I approach.

  POW!

  My body freezes when I hear a loud bang. Like a gunshot. And then my flight kicks in.

  Nope. Nope. Nope.

  I am not risking my life for this shit, am I? For Isaac?

  “Who the fuck are you?” A strong accent booms from behind me and when I turn around, a round bald man stares into my eyes—pistol in his hand. At least it looks like a pistol from one of Dom's action movies. Glancing behind me, Baldy raises the stakes when I hear the cock of his gun.

  Time to shine.

  Tapping into my PleasureChat alter ego, I toss my hair to the side and push my chest out. “You gentlemen looking for some fun?” Twirling my hair, his eyes start to roam over my body, still in that black-on-black outfit from earlier. I'm happy my crop top stops right under my tits. That's where his eyes stop. When he takes a step forward, I hope he doesn’t hear my thudding heart.

  Then he smiles, relief washing over me. “Remy will be happy to see you. He’s having a bad night.” Turning around, he leads me towards the front and I glance behind me again.

  I can back out now. Run. Swim. Something!

  But when he steps onto the yacht, gesturing for me to do the same … I do.