by L. J. Woods
KING
Elite Royal Academy
L.J. Woods
Please note that this ebook is a work of fiction.
All events and activities taking place in this book include full consenting adults.
Any resemblance to real-life names or events is coincidental.
Individuals on the cover are models and are for illustrative purposes only.
Copyright © 2020 L.J. Woods
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
Edited by: Joshua R. Hunt
Cover art: Lily Hall
Contents
Synopsis
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-One
Twenty-Two
Twenty-Three
Twenty-Four
Twenty-Five
Twenty-Six
Twenty-Seven
Twenty-Eight
Twenty-Nine
Jo's Playlist
About The Author
Synopsis
He’s untouchable. Or so he thought.
He might be the King but I won’t be his pawn.
Eden - the other side of the tracks full of elite hacks.
This town is as high class as he is but it’s far from a garden.
Too many thorns. Way too many pricks.
The Academy alone has plenty of snakes, all serving one god.
Damien King. The devil himself.
He’s as seductive as his smirk. A sinful delight.
And I should know better than to eat from this fruit.
He wants to break me. Humiliate me. Make me buckle under his power.
But I’m not an easy target so now I’m his biggest enemy.
The leaders of the pack think they’re in charge, and I’ll play their game.
Damien has Isaac and Christian - other royals in his kingdom,
but I’ve got guts and I’m not afraid to play dirty.
Secrets sit behind that heart-pounding gaze and I’m going to use them.
Time’s up motherf***ers.
Checkmate.
“When you're in hell, only a devil can point the way out.”
― J. Abercrombie
One
Darkness surrounds me.
The air is hot.
Scorching. Suffocating.
There’s no clarity even after rubbing my eyes and when I call out, I realize I can’t breathe.
I’m choking.
Gasping.
I’m too disorientated to find a way out.
Mom, dad, Willow.
The life I’ve always known flashes on my lids before the darkness eats me whole.
“Eden Gardens!” the conductor’s voice booms through the overhead speaker. Jolted from another nightmare, my eyes open, cheek against the cold glass. “The stop is Eden Gardens!”
A literal weight lifts off my shoulders and I pull my head off the window to see Willow rub her eyes. My little sister squints under the train’s yellow lights, looking into the grey aisle. There's a crease on her sandy-brown cheek, her fried-straight hair a mess on her round head. The way she looks tells me I should check my own reflection. When I do, I confirm my state. A damn mess.
My curls are in knots, scrunched against my head, dark circles under my eyes somehow look worse than when we left. Taking my fingers to my hair, I detangle the mess as the train comes to a stop in the dark tunnel.
Passengers stand and shuffle about, the car getting louder with clacks and chatter. I pull on my leather jacket, a treasure from my dad's closet before turning to my sister. As passengers start to make their way off the car, I give her a weak smile, “At least we both look like shit.”
Willow matches my smile with an even weaker one, her eyes doing that thing they do when she’s barely awake. One open. One half-closed. When everyone is almost off the car, she gets up while I pull my beat-up Jansport from under the seat. Once I'm on my feet and in the aisle, she hands me one of two lumpy trash bags from the overhead. She takes the smaller one before I usher her towards the exit.
With a thank-you to the attendant, we make our first steps off the train and into Eden Gardens. The place we once dubbed, “No Man’s Land”.
It’s a short walk down the platform and up a set of stairs before the station opens up into a miniature Grand Central.
“Woah.” Willow’s awake now, her brown eyes wide, head whipping around.
Light pours in from arched windows near the roof. Long brick columns lead my eyes to them. A large board with arrival and departure times hangs in the middle of the massive space. If it wasn't for that and the ticket booths, I would have mistaken the station for a cathedral.
There’s a mix of flowery perfume and pastries in the air. It’s unfamiliar. New. But considering the station we came from smelt like roasted meat and piss, Eden Gardens is already an upgrade. A few men in expensive-looking suits wisp by, strong cologne encompassing them. Around them are women in colourful dresses. They all have matching handbags or heels that clack against the polished floor.
I look down at my boots and cut off denim shorts. My ripped Nirvana t-shirt hangs off my frame under my jacket. I pull my sister close, she's not too far off in a black oversized hoodie and baggy leggings. I try not to draw too much attention to ourselves, but we already stand out like weeds.
“Well, we're definitely not in The Grove anymore...” Willow’s jaw hangs as I lead her to a set of shiny wooden benches.
My eyes wander the space as we move. A giant brass clock stands in the middle of the main concourse, time on each of its four sides. I take a look at my dad’s gold Rolex confirming the time. Minutes to six.
“Still got time before Daddy Warbucks arrives?” Willow sits on the bench, her trash bag falling to the floor. With an elbow to her knee, pointy chin in her palm, I can tell she’s as thrilled as I am.
“Just enough time to grab a snack!” I plop my trash bag on the spot next to her before I try forcing another smile. “And I smell donuts!”
She sits up for a second before her shoulders drop. “Nah, it’s okay. You don’t have to use your cash.”
“Hey, we’re in Eden now!” I sling off my backpack, putting it on the bench before spreading my arms wide. “We deserve to splurge a little. Wait here.”
I head towards the smell of sweet dough and try my best not to get lost. Down a long corridor, the smell heightens and I see a display of donuts and pastries behind a glass wall. There’s already a crowd in front of the counter and I join it, my eyes on the colourful pastries in the display. Cupcakes. Croissants. Things dripping in chocolate.
Standing on my tiptoes, I scan the menu ahead. My shoulders fall. “Five dollars for a donut?” Groaning at my first taste of Eden prices, I rummage through my jacket pocket. Pulling out enough crumpled bills, I'm relieved I have enough for what I promised.
It takes a few minutes, but
I finally get to the front, a short barista in a black hat pursing her lips my way. I’m about to order a Regular Glaze when I’m interrupted by a wide man in a black suit, “One cappuccino and a pesto panini.”
The barista nods and turns around before her blonde coworker smiles towards me. I open my mouth to speak but it’s not my voice I hear.
"Two double espressos."
I turn around to see a woman in a white pantsuit holding up two manicured fingers.
You've got to be fucking kidding me.
The blonde barista nods and turns around to get the order while I’m left to stand there. More people in suits push me from side to side, yelling their orders at the baristas who continue to ignore me.
I try my hand at their tactic, yelling towards them, “A glazed donut please!” No one even glances my way so I try again. “Glazed donut!”
I’m nudged to the side once more, this time by another leather jacket. “One large Americano. Shot of espresso.”
The boy next to me is nowhere near as old or as corporate looking as the rest of the people standing at this counter. He has a couple of feet on my height, giving him the extra advantage of getting noticed. I look down at his shoes, but the leather on his feet don’t show a platform.
“Fuck,” I mutter, my arms slapping against my thighs. “All I want is a glazed fucking donut.”
I hear his voice again. It’s low, smooth like he’s not a care in the world. “And whatever it is this…Gwen Stefani wannabe is yelling about.”
I look up to see light blue eyes looking back, though they look like they’ve got a hint of grey. They’re glossy under thick dark eyebrows, and I can make out a swoop of matching hair under his grey hoodie. He turns his attention away from me without another word. Resting his elbows on the glass counter, he leans against it with a small stagger.
My eyes wander over his outfit, black fitted jeans adding to his dark aesthetic. The contents of my trashbag are similar, all black, but his clothes look ten times more expensive than mine.
His face gives off the young model vibe. Slender, smooth and chiselled. I stop myself from twirling my hair like a basic bitch as I watch a tattooed hand pull a silver coin from his back pocket. It shows off a nice ass but it doesn’t help me decipher how old he might be. His face tells me he shouldn't be much older than me. But the wideness of his body gives the impression of a college quarterback.
Whatever the age, this guy’s smoking hot. If he’s nice enough to take my order, I should at least start up some conversation.
I clear my throat, leaning towards him. “You meant the good Gwen Stefani right? From the nineties?” I belt out the first couple lines from No Doubt’s “Don’t Speak", not caring that some people finally notice me.
He stops the coin mid-spin between his fingers before he starts turning his head towards me. He meets my gaze and the way his eyes trail from my Docs to my head sends a shiver right through me. When they land on my eyes my body jolts to attention.
I tilt my head to the side. His eyes look more grey this time, matching his outfit but there's still a hint of blue. They're deep-set and mesmerizing, his gaze intensifying by the second. Like staring at rare gems, it’s hard to look away.
“Americano, shot of espresso and a glazed donut?” The barista’s voice pulls his gaze away and I already miss it. She pushes a tall white cup and a white pastry bag towards him. He doesn't thank her, just takes them before he turns to walk away, donut in hand.
I look back at the barista, baffled before I follow him down the shiny passageway. “Hey!” He doesn’t stop so I call again, “Hey! Dude!” I see him make a turn and I follow, my boots thudding against the floor.
I turn the corner before I slam into something hard. “Oomph!”
When I take a step back, Hot Donut Guy has the white bag out to the side, crumpled top hanging from his grip. A smirk pulls at his bow-shaped lips before he asks, “Coming to thank me?”
I take a look around. We’re in a small hallway with what looks like a supply closet at the end, away from any traffic. I reach for the bag before I correct him, “I was.”
He pulls the bag back and I miss, but he takes a step closer, the air catching in my throat. I try to swallow but my mouth is dry, the scent of peppermint, pine and musk filling my nose. His scent is as intoxicating as his presence. And his breath.
“Why haven’t I seen you around?” His eyes fall to my lips. “I’d remember you.” He moves a little closer, and I confirm the strong smell of booze is coming from him. "You don't look like a wine and dine kind of girl—so, do you want to thank me here or are public bathrooms more up your alley?"
"Excuse me?" I arch an eyebrow, my eyes narrowing at his gaze.
He chuckles. It's low and rolling, almost seductive. It makes something tighten in my stomach. “You’re not from around here.”
“Well, I am now.” I reach for the bag again but he raises it higher. Dropping my hands to my sides, I square up with him. “What? Is being from Eden Gardens some prerequisite to get a donut?”
“Do they not have manners where you’re from?” He takes a step back before taking a sip from his cup, his eyes on me the whole time. "I’m sure we can come up with a few ways to thank your new king.”
I raise an eyebrow. “King?”
Is this guy serious?
He tilts his chin a little to the floor. “Damien King of King Financial, at your service.”
My eyes narrow at the mention of that company. It sounds familiar. Then it hits me. “You mean the same King Financial that bought the East Glendale Community Centre?” My mouth twists whether I mean it to or not. It was a big change for my hometown. Overnight we said good-bye to after-school dance classes and hello to payday loans.
“You’re from The Grove?” His mouth twists too.
I smile, one to match the disgust on his face before I take that moment to snatch the white bag out of his hand. He looks at his empty grip before he takes a few steps further, his chest meeting mine.
My back hits the wall before he stares into my eyes. “You don’t belong here. And don’t you think for a second you can enter my world.”
“Oh yeah, I’m just dying for my debutante ball.” I meet his glare, the sarcasm oozing off my tongue. “Since you don’t need my money—” I push to my right, escaping his attempt to corner me. “I’ll be going.”
I didn’t mean for it to happen, but my shoulder pushes the cup from his grip. It slams against his chest, contents spilling out over his hoodie.
"Shit.” I try not to laugh but it’s hard. “I really didn't mean to do that.” I start backing away, doing my best to hide my smile. It’s what he gets for being a dick.
“Well, now you owe me an apology.” His voice is deeper, almost a growl.
“Or I can take that as my apology and we can call it even,” I smirk, almost at the end of the small path.
“You don’t call the shots Grove Girl, I do.” He throws his empty cup to the ground, his eyes flicking up to me. He pulls his hoodie off his head, his thick dark hair a mess underneath. I feel like I’m squaring off with the devil, his gaze causing goosebumps under the sleeve of my jacket. A tingle between my legs.
“Damien?”
I turn around to see an older, stalkier version of the entitled boy I’ve angered. Unlike Damien’s clean-shaven mug, this man has a thick groomed beard and piercing grey eyes.
Pushing by him, he eyes me with a narrow gaze before I turn the corner, speed-walking to my sister.
“Why am I not surprised to see you in such a state? Get yourself together— name to represent.”
The man’s voice is the last thing I hear before I’m in the clear, donut in hand.
When I get back to Willow my heart is still racing and I’m not sure if it’s from anger or fear. Uneasiness or excitement. I do have one question. Who the fuck does Damien King think he is?
I have no time to digest my first interaction in Eden. There’s a pretty blonde sitting next to my sister, leat
her portfolio in hand. She's wearing a black skirt and a white blouse with one too many buttons opened. Her hand is on Willow’s knee, and when I call her name, my sister lifts her head. So does the woman next to her.
“Joelle?” she asks. Her blue eyes have a dusting of sparkly eyeshadow, pink on her lips.
I correct her, “Jo.”
She rises from her seat, hands gripping the leather. “I’m Holly, assistant to Eric Archibald.” Her eyes move to the clock behind me. “It’s so nice to meet you but I’m behind schedule so we have to scurry.” Holly gives a tight smile and I can’t tell whether it's apologetic or strained.
I give Willow the white paper bag before Holly leads us through revolving doors. "Glazed. Your fav."
"Thanks, Jo." Willow gives me the first genuine smile I’ve seen in days. It makes bumping into Damien King all the more worth it.
We're out in the open fall air when Willow takes her first bite. The air in Eden is crisp but fresh. There's no smog. No smell of moulding bread from the brewery. No burning rubber.
I close my eyes and take a deep breath. It feels cleaner than The Grove, woodsy even. But something tells me this is only the beginning of what Eden Gardens has to offer.
There’s a black Rolls Royce waiting not too far from the doors. Holly hands our bags to the man waiting in front. He's wearing a black suit with a hat like in the movies and salutes us before he takes them. Holly ushers us inside before climbing into the passenger's seat and closing the door.
The car is spotless. It smells like fresh leather and I can already tell we’re out of our element. I watch as Willow’s hand moves along the handle before I turn my attention to the many buttons in the backseat. Of course, I'm wondering what they all do but I'm way too on edge to touch any of them.
It’s not long before the driver’s in his seat and we’re pulling off from the curb. The sun starts to set as we drive between rows of tall buildings. Spotless sidewalks lay in front, small colourful gardens around them.
“Welcome to Eden Gardens!” Holly turns around, her hair falling over her shoulder as she beams at us with pearly whites. “This is the downtown strip but the Archibalds live in a community just outside. It seems like a lot but you’ll get used to it.” She nods as if she’s reassuring herself and not us.