Cruel Elite: A Dark High School Bully Romance (Princes of Ravenlake Academy Book 3)

by Nicole Fox

  Tank holds it in his hand, waving it back and forth to taunt me.

  “Don’t worry. So long as you’re helpful, nothing bad will happen,” he says, sliding my phone into his back pocket.

  “What are you doing here? How did you get in?”

  “Not important,” he says. “What’s important right now is that you agree to help me out.”

  “With what?”

  “Revenge.”

  I shake my head. “Whatever your little vendetta is, it’s not mine, okay? I have nothing to do with it.”

  “Maybe that was true before. But not anymore.”

  Tank looks even bigger in my living room than he did in the woods. He also looks far more out of his place. His worn black leather and sleeves of tattoos have no place amongst the buttery creams and soft whites of my mother’s décor.

  I’m not sure what he means, but then he turns his head towards the top of the stairs, and I follow his gaze.

  He isn’t alone.

  Another Hell Prince is standing on the second-floor landing, just outside of Delanie’s room.

  I lurch forward, prepared to…do something. I’m not sure what.

  But Tank blocks the stairs and shakes his head. “Like I said, nothing bad will happen so long as you help me out.”

  There’s no other option. I can’t let something happen to Delanie. I have to do whatever Tank wants of me, at least until I can get him out of my house and ensure my sister is safe.

  “What do you want?”

  “It’s simple. Spring Fling, you lure Noah Boone away from his friends.”

  I frown. “You know about Spring Fling?”

  “Wherever there is sex and drugs, the Hell Princes aren’t far away. We know all about it.”

  “What do you want with Noah?”

  Tank raises a brow, and I notice he has a line shaved into his brow. If he did it to make himself look tougher, it was unnecessary.

  Even without it, he looks like the scariest person I’ve ever seen.

  “It doesn’t matter. You just do as you’re told, keep your mouth shut, and we’ll take care of the rest.”

  “Don’t I at least deserve to know what he did?”

  Tank considers it for a moment and then sighs. “The Golden Boys have been a pain in my ass for years, but Noah Boone pulled a gun on me and my guys and he interfered with club business. For that, he will pay.”

  I heard about the showdown out at the camping spot. Everyone did. Noah pulled a gun on the Hell Princes and sent them packing when they came to claim Haley.

  Was something so trivial really cause for all this?

  Based on the fire burning in Tank’s eyes, I assume the answer to that question is “yes.”

  “Are you going to cooperate or do I need to send my friend in to check on your sister?”

  “No!” I shout, lowering my voice as soon as I have control over myself. “No, that won’t be necessary. I’ll do whatever you want.”

  Tank smiles at me, the glint in his eyes betraying his expression, and hands me my phone.

  At the same time, he motions for the Hell Prince at the top of the stairs to come down.

  When I grab my phone, Tank wraps his hands around both of mine and bends low, his nicotine breath wafting over my face.

  “You’re making the right choice, angel.”

  They turn and walk into the kitchen. I hear the patio door close behind them.

  My knees give out beneath me.

  16

  Penny

  I’ve got to get out of this town.

  Any other person who was at home babysitting their little sister when two motorcycle club members broke in would call the police. They would report the incident to the proper authorities and watch as justice was carried out.

  But me?

  I let my mom and stepdad inside after their rideshare pulled up in the drive way, locked all of the doors, and went to bed.

  Now, the morning after, I’m sitting at school.

  Less than twelve hours after being confronted in my own home and threatened by men I barely know, I’m at school.

  Like everything’s fine.

  Like that didn’t happen.

  All because I have no idea if anyone would believe me.

  I could go to the police, but in order for anything to be done, my mom would have to be on my side. More likely than not, she’d assume I was making up a story for attention.

  Or she’d want to sweep the whole thing under the rug as quickly as possible to avoid any damage done to our family’s public image.

  Then, Delanie could be in serious danger simply because I have a shitty relationship with my mom.

  I can’t let that happen.

  So telling Momma is out. And Stepdad Steve is useless, so he’s out, too.

  Outside of my family, there’s no one else to tell.

  Anika and Jennifer are useless blabbermouths who would have the whole story all over the school before I could even finish telling it.

  Then, same as the first scenario, Delanie could be in danger.

  Tank told me to stay quiet. I assume that means to everyone.

  Including Noah.

  Honestly, the more I’ve thought about it, the more it seems possible that this could solve all of my problems.

  Tank wants Noah and is willing to hurt Delanie to get to him. I care about Delanie’s safety way more than I currently care about Noah’s.

  So, I’ll go along with the plan.

  I’ll do what Tank asks to keep Delanie safe, and then once Noah is busy dealing with the Hell Princes, he’ll forget about whatever weird situation is going on between us right now.

  Then, I’ll be free to coast through the last few weeks of the school year, graduate, and get the hell out of Ravenlake.

  “Penelope?”

  I look up, blinking as I try to remember where I am.

  Who I am, even.

  I was so lost in thought I forgot I was in the middle of class.

  Mr. Thomas and the rest of our history class is looking at me expectantly.

  “I’m sorry?”

  He sighs. “I asked you which American president was in power during the ‘Black Thursday’ Wall Street crash?”

  I know the answer. Herbert Hoover.

  “I don’t know.”

  He frowns, no doubt remembering the A+ quiz he’d handed back to me at the start of class.

  But I cross my arms and slouch down in my seat like I couldn’t care less.

  No one fantasizes about being with the nerdy girl from class. Keep your head down and play dumb. Guys like a dumb blonde.

  Momma’s voice has been in my head for so long that I don’t even have to work to remember her rules. They come second nature now.

  No matter how much I hate her methods, I have to admit she gets results.

  After my dad died, I spent months mourning his absence.

  I was only just getting to know him and then he was snatched away. I felt alone with my grief, especially since my mom started going out in the evenings.

  At the beginning, she reveled in her many suitors.

  I was only fifteen and still grieving the loss of my dad, but she would show me the endless string of texts in her phone from men who wanted to spend time with her.

  She’d show me the flowers and notes they sent to our front door, remarking on their “memorable” or “unforgettable” nights together.

  At the time, I was too naïve to understand exactly what that meant, but the horror hit me later.

  My mom wasted absolutely no time hitting the dating scene after my dad died. If he hadn’t died of cancer, I would’ve assumed she killed him for the insurance money.

  And the insurance money did begin to run out rather quickly.

  That’s why she settled on Stepdad Steve.

  I didn’t meet him for a long time. The only reason I knew he existed was because I’d see his car pull into the driveway to pick her up, and I’d see the gifts she came home with when he dr
opped her off.

  At first, I was hopeful a new boyfriend would at least keep her focus off of me for a while. Anything that acted as a buffer between me and my mom would be a good thing, right?

  Wrong.

  Very, very wrong.

  My phone vibrates in my back pocket. I lift my hips out of my chair to keep it from buzzing against the hard plastic of the chair.

  Phones are forbidden in Mr. Thomas’ class. If he finds them, he keeps them until the end of the day, and I have no desire to leave my phone with my creepy professor or be alone in his class at the end of the day to pick it up.

  I have enough toxic men in my life without adding in another.

  I pull it out of my pocket just to turn it to silent, but then I see the name on my screen.

  I considered deleting his contact information a few different times over the last two years, but I never did.

  Now, Noah Boone’s name has appeared on my phone.

  Along with a message.

  Bathroom. Now.

  17

  Penny

  Apparently, I’m a glutton for punishment.

  Despite every instinct in my body screaming at me to stay in class, I ask Mr. Thomas for a bathroom pass.

  I swallow back a grimace when his finger brushes against mine during the exchange, and head for the bathroom.

  I scan the halls looking for Noah, but don’t see him anywhere. When I get to the bathroom, I think he might be inside, but it’s empty, too. I pull out my phone and text him.

  Where are you?

  Go in a stall, he writes, the ellipses flashing under his message as he immediately types out another. Take a picture.

  I go into a stall only because that’s the normal thing to do in a bathroom. I don’t want to be standing in the middle of the bathroom if anyone else comes in.

  I know what he wants, but I hold out my phone, tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, and bite my lower lip.

  It’s a suggestive picture, but perfectly innocent.

  His response is immediate.

  No. I want to see your tits.

  He can’t be serious.

  Except, he is.

  Noah doesn’t joke or kid, especially not with me.

  Not anymore.

  I want to ask him what he’ll do if I refuse. But the idea of him actually answering is terrifying.

  I’m considering taking my chances and just going back to class without doing what he’s asking, but then Tank’s threats echo in my mind.

  Whatever Tank wants with Noah, he’s expecting me to be the bait. I’m supposed to be the person to lure Noah out to The Hell Princes.

  If I fail, they’ll hurt Delanie.

  There’s a real possibility Noah is going to try and show my picture around or hold it over my head, but I’m not entirely sure I care.

  Every celebrity has a sex tape or nude photos that leaked online. If anything, it increases their popularity.

  As I unhook my bra and pull my shirt up, I wonder what it would be like for Noah to want me again.

  To look at me—even if it is just my boobs—with desire.

  I keep my face out of the picture and make sure my clothes aren’t visible—if the picture does end up online, I’d like plausible deniability—but my chest is front and center. I take two pictures from two different angles and then, before I can second guess what is obviously a terrible decision, I attach the photos to a text and hit send.

  With this, my fate is sealed.

  I’ve tied myself to Noah’s runaway train.

  All I can hope for now is to work my way to the controls.

  18

  Noah

  I didn’t know if Penny would send the pictures, but I wanted to gauge how much control I had over her.

  How scared she was.

  If she’d taken my threats seriously, she’d send them, in hopes to satiate my sick desires.

  If she didn’t, then I’d know how much harder I had to work.

  What I didn’t expect was how much control the photos would have over me.

  Even the first picture—the one of Penny’s heart-shaped face, bright green eyes, and full pink lips—set my heart racing. No one should look that good under fluorescent bathroom lights.

  I want to see your tits, I hammered into my phone.

  I wanted faceless body parts, objectively sexual images so I could explain away the ball of heat forming in my stomach.

  Then, the pictures came, and even with a pair of glorious, faceless breasts on my phone screen, my brain couldn’t help but fill in the rest of the image.

  I imagined golden blonde waves tumbling over her shoulders, grass green eyes peering up at me suggestively, and pink lips puckered into a pout.

  I adjusted in my seat, willing myself to stay calm. I couldn’t walk out of class with a boner.

  “Shiiit.”

  The hiss in my ear made me jump, and I turned to see J.C. peeking over my shoulder. “That’s why you got so mad in the car the other day. Penny is yours.”

  “Shut the fuck up.” I click my phone screen off and shove it in my pocket.

  “It’s fine,” J.C. whispers, his eyes at the front of the room where our math teacher is doing her best to keep us all engaged in her math problem by using celebrities and hip lingo.

  Needless to say, it’s not working.

  “No, it’s not. Because it’s bullshit. She isn’t mine.”

  J.C. snorts. “I don’t get those kinds of pictures from girls who aren’t getting something from me.”

  I scramble, trying to think of a lie. J.C. doesn’t really deserve one.

  Usually, I’d ignore him and let him think what he wants.

  But when it comes to Penny, I want things to be clear.

  Not only is she off limits for fucking, but she’s also off limits for conversation.

  “I get it, man. I’d betray my friends to lick those tits, too. No shame.”

  “I’m not licking anything,” I snap. “It’s an audition.”

  The lie comes to me in an instant, and I cling to it. J.C. frowns.

  “For the Spring Fling,” I continued. “For The Sacrifice. It’s an audition. An application.”

  J.C.’s eyes go wide with possibilities—several of which I’m sure would give me no choice but to knock him out if I could read his mind. He moans. “Oh, yes. Genius. God, yes. This will be the best year ever.”

  My throat goes dry.

  Penny isn’t mine. Not in that way, at least. I don’t want to be protective over her the way Caleb is over Haley.

  I don’t want to be beholden to her the way Finn is to Lily.

  I don’t want that.

  But I do want her.

  In the most carnal way possible, I want to claim her.

  Now.

  “This Spring Fling would go down in the history books. If history books kept records of dope high school parties. I mean, look at this pictures.” J.C. pauses, waiting for me. When I don’t move, he nudges my shoulder. “Let me see them again. As the organizer of the event, it’s my right to—”

  “Keep it in your goddamned pants. Could you please act like you’ve seen tits before?”

  J.C. holds up his hands in surrender and rolls his eyes, but I can’t sit here anymore.

  Not when Penny is out there without her top on.

  Not when J.C. still has the image of her chest in his head.

  It’s not a competition, but I’m going to get the real thing. Right now.

  I text her again: Stay there.

  19

  Noah

  Mrs. Frye says my name as I storm out of the room, but I don’t respond. I don’t slow down or ask for a bathroom pass or make an excuse.

  I leave and march towards the girls’ bathroom.

  Penny has history in the afternoon, so I know which bathroom is closest.

  She’d better be where I told her to be.

  No one is in the hallway to wonder why Noah Boone is flinging the girl’s bathroom door open and stor
ming inside.

  I close the door and slide the bolt into place.

  We won’t be disturbed.

  I hear Penny gasp when the door slams open.

  Good girl. Very good girl.

  “Noah?” she asks, her voice a low whisper. “Is that you?”

  The bathroom is small, just three stalls opposite a line of white sinks with a mirror above, so it’s easy to spot Penny’s feet under one of the stalls. I pull on the handle but it’s locked.

  “Open it.”

  “What are you doing here?” I hear fabric shifting, and I know she’s putting her clothes back on.

  As if that will stop me.

  “I’m sure you can guess.”

  All movement and sound stops on the other side of the door.

  Penny is thinking, considering. I’m sure she knows if she doesn’t open the door, I’ll break it down.

  So, after a few seconds, the lock slides back, and the door cracks open.

  Penny is standing against the stall wall, her white henley crop top back on. The buttons are undone so I can see the dark red lace of her bra peeking out from under the collar, as well as ample cleavage.

  And, just like my imagination, her hair falls over her shoulders and curves around her breasts on either side, almost framing them.

  “I did what you asked,” she says, standing up and facing me, defiant.

  “Why did you?”

  “Why do you think?” she shoots back. “You’ve made it quite clear you’ll make my life hell if I don’t do what you say.”

  “So, you’re willing to give me these pictures to post online? It doesn’t quite track.”

  I step into the stall with her and close the door behind me, locking it.

  Penny follows my movements with her eyes, her throat bobbing nervously.

  But she tries to hide it.

  As if I’m not noticing every single thing about her right now.

  She lifts her head and straightens her shoulders. “I’d rather take them willingly then be forced into it.”

  “Or…” I suggest, taking another step closer. Penny doesn’t have anywhere to go. The toilet is behind her and the stall is built for one. She’s trapped. “…Maybe you wanted to take them for me.”