Noble Savages: A Dark High School Bully Romance Box Set

by Rina Kent

  She doesn’t even have a television in there.

  “Your room is upstairs, first door on the left.”

  “Thanks,” I murmur.

  Marigold stops, twists to face me, and studies her watch with lifted brows. “Dinner was ready an hour ago.” Her mouth twitches as she lets out a labored sigh. “But I guess I can reheat everything. Wash up and be ready in fifteen minutes.”

  With that, she strides away.

  I take the stairs two at a time, shaking my head and grinding my fucking teeth. I toss my backpack into my room which — no surprise — looks even less hospitable than the living room, and immediately begin exploring the house my mother grew up in. In fact, I grew up here too. For a year or two, anyway.

  Which room was hers?

  The next door opens to a second room that looks as much a guest room as mine. I don’t even bother going inside.

  There’s a bathroom, a study, and then another bedroom on the other side of the hall.

  Another guest room.

  And, of course, the last room must belong to Marigold. I don’t bother going to look — I’m pretty sure it’s as devoid of personality as the rest of the place.

  My shoulders droop as I thump my way downstairs.

  I’d really hoped some trace of Mom remained in this place. A family photo, some toys; heck, even just one of her earlier paintings.

  Guess Mom wasn’t kidding when she said she and gran weren’t on good terms. It all had to do with Dad, of course. Mom was a hopeless romantic, and as soon as she met her husband, she turned her back on the Davis family and became a Virgo instead. She lived in Lavish for a year or two after I was born, but then we all moved to Lakeview.

  That was the last time I ever saw any of my family from Fool’s Gold county. Honestly, I didn’t miss them. My mom and my dad were the only family I ever needed.

  I’m halfway down the stairs before I remember Marigold’s stern instructions. And she’s probably the kind of woman who’ll insist on seeing my fingernails before I can sit at the dinner table.

  I wash my hands in the bathroom sink and catch sight of myself in the mirror when I’m looking for the towel.

  I look every inch the orphan I am. Shadows under my green eyes, my dark hair is mousy and unkempt, skin sallow.

  Dinner is served on white china, with silver cutlery. Mashed potatoes, pale pork bangers, and a heap of pale peas.

  I guess if anyone could suck the life from a bunch of peas, it would be Marigold.

  And yeah, she does check my nails. I keep them short these days, no polish. I mean, what would be the point?

  “I trust your trip was a pleasant one?” she asks, startling me out of the trance I put myself in trying to pin down a slippery pea.

  “Huh?”

  Her eyes narrow. “I do hope you don’t plan on slouching like that at your new school, young lady.”

  Yup, there it is.

  Guess gran was expecting a younger version of Mom. All radiant debutant and perfectly honed social skills. I used to love playing dress-up with her elegant cocktail dresses and expensive jewelry.

  But ever since the home invasion—

  “Sorry,” I mutter, resuming my pea-chasing adventures in the land of white china and colorless silverware. “I left my ball gown behind in the blackened shell that used to be my house.”

  When I look up — because Marigold’s gone all quiet — I regret the comment. Her face is as bone-white as the china. Even her red lips have paled.

  “I’ll see myself out,” I mutter, shoving away my plate and storming from the dining room.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” Grandma’s reedy voice calls out behind me.

  “Out!”

  “You can’t drive on these roads after dark. It’s too dangerous.”

  “Then I’ll walk!”

  “Don’t go far.”

  Thankfully, the front door isn’t locked — guess Lavish is one of those awesomely safe small towns where everyone’s so rich, no one has to steal each other’s stuff — so I head straight out and stand in what’s left of twilight.

  There’s a buzz in my ears, and I don’t like it one bit. It’s usually the precursor to a binge. Like the one I was on the night my mother was murdered.

  I glance behind me at the slightly dilapidated house and picture the prim and proper woman probably still seated at the dining room table, taking one tiny bite of food before putting her knife and fork down again.

  Zipping my hoody up to my throat and whipping the hood over my head, I fast-walk straight for the fringe of pine trees suffocating Marigold’s pathetic house.

  How long until that bright new day, Mom? ‘Cos all I’m seeing on the horizon are goddamn thunder clouds.

  Chapter Two

  Indi

  Half an hour later, I realize someone’s following me. Suddenly, an early-evening stroll through the woods to clear my head doesn’t seem like such a good idea anymore.

  I know I should hurry back to Marigold’s house as if the Big Bad Wolf himself is after me, except…

  I’m lost.

  Yeah, I love the outdoors, but that doesn’t mean I know how to navigate using the stars and shit. And the woods in and around Lakeview don’t have shit on this place. I’d been following a path that became fainter and fainter, until I wasn’t following anything anymore except my desperate need for space.

  I glance around, but see nothing. I tug my hood up a little higher, wishing it was black and not beige. At least that way I could slip away into the shadows.

  I break into a trot.

  A second later, so does the person following me.

  My trot turns into a slow run.

  My pursuer speeds up.

  I begin sprinting.

  I dart between the trees, and barely avoid falling flat on my face when a root snags my sneaker. Catching myself against a tree trunk, I pause for all of one breath before I hear foliage snapping and breaking behind me.

  I shove away from the tree and break into a run.

  My breath comes hot and fast, my lungs screaming for me to stop. But if I do, I’m dead. I mean, why the hell else would some random guy be chasing me if he doesn’t want to slit my throat? It’s not as if I dropped my wallet or something.

  I bat branches and leaves out of my way, forcing myself not to look back, knowing the second I do, I’ll trip, fall, be gutted to death.

  Instead, I squint forward. Finally, a dark shape looms up ahead. I skid to a halt as I gape at the remains of a church. The roof and two of the walls are caved in. Brambles have reclaimed much of the structure, leaves and drifts of dirt the rest. But there’s no mistaking the cross that used to be on the tower, even if it’s stuck upside down in a hillock of soil that’s grown moss and small shrubs all over it.

  And here I was trying to find my way back to my gran’s house.

  I want to laugh, but I’m too busy panting. Thundering footsteps push me out of my trance, and I dart into the midnight depths of the church. My heart thumps too hard, too loud, as I hunt around furiously for somewhere to hide.

  Briar

  I slow down to a walk, allowing my breathing to return to normal after the first leg of my evening run. I love these woods on a Sunday night. So quiet. Nothing but me and the trees. Early evening is best, of course, when there’s just enough ambient light to make out the well-worn path between my house and the church.

  Back in the day, I played cops and robbers in these woods with my best friend, Marcus. The church would always end up being the site of our inevitable Mexican standoffs. But fuck, that was more than eight years ago now. I don’t even go inside the building I just use it as a landmark during my evening run. Halfway.

  It’s a challenging run; largely on an incline, and veering around the tangled foliage and the wicked thorns that give these woods their name. I’ve torn plenty of my clothes up here, and even had some scars added to my existing ones. The church itself is still a ways off, but I know this path so well I could wal
k it blindfolded.

  I heave in a huge breath, mentally readying myself for another sprint, before a faint snapping of twigs reaches me. I let out a slow breath, straining to hear over the rush of blood in my ears.

  I’m not alone anymore.

  Wolves have been spotted here before. It’s one of the reasons we were told never to play here when we were kids. Not that me and Marcus ever fucking cared.

  As I listen, the sounds transform into footsteps.

  Who the fuck dares to walk in my woods?

  I bunch my jaw and change direction, angling toward the intruder.

  By the time I get close enough to spot the idiot, it’s so dark I can barely make them out.

  If they hadn’t been wearing a pale hoody, it would have been near impossible to track them.

  I try to keep my footsteps as quiet as possible, but I’m tall and my shoulders are wide — I can either lose them or let them know I’m here.

  Whoever it is, they’re definitely on to me. That pale, baggy hoody keeps glancing left and right as their pace picks up.

  Who the hell is this guy? He wears baggy clothing as if to disguise the fact that he’s both short and slight.

  Lavish is a small town — I would have heard of someone new arriving. Which means this guy’s up to no good. Could be a vagrant from Mallhaven, or someone who got on the wrong bus and then decided to stay. We get them sometimes — people who come here lured by the promise of wealth just like my forefathers back in the day.

  The guy in the hoody breaks into a jog.

  I speed up, a faint smile touching my mouth.

  They think they can outrun me? I’m Lavish Prep’s best receiver.

  But I guess they don’t know that, do they?

  Indi

  I wedge myself behind the charcoal shell of a half-burned pew, my arm brushing against a vicious looking bramble clambering through a hole in the nearby wall.

  The sound of running footsteps slow, slow, stop.

  I clap both hands over my mouth, and consider the risk of closing off my nose too, but I’m so out of breath, I’d probably pass out if I tried.

  I hug my legs to my chest and burrow my head into them, desperate to quieten my panting. Carefully, so as not to make a sound, I lever the switchblade from my belt.

  It’s only a week old, but it already feels like an appendage. Now that it’s in my hand, it feels heavy and cold. I pull out the blade, but I don’t lock it in case that tiny sound gives away my location.

  The police report stated that they suspected there was only one unsub responsible for what happened to my mother. They found only one pair of footprints, only one set of prints. Someone who wasn’t in the system. Yet. I was informed invasions were a fact of life, even though I’d never heard of one happening in Lakeview before. The police told me it was probably a robbery, but that Mom surprised the thief when she came home early from her art exhibit.

  If she hadn’t come home early…

  If dad had still been alive…

  If she’d had something to defend herself…

  So many ifs, and no one mentioned the one that mattered most.

  If only I hadn’t slipped out that night. Yes, it would most likely have been me surprising the thief while coming downstairs for a snack.

  But then Mom would still be alive. And that’s all that matters.

  Dry leaves and dirt crunch under soles as my pursuer heads deeper into the church.

  Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.

  I was hoping I’d made it here fast enough that the guy would think I was long gone, but he must know these woods much better than I do — and the church is an obvious sanctuary.

  Crunch.

  He’s heading away.

  I draw a calming breath and slowly lift my head. It’s so dark inside the church, all I can see are silhouettes. My heart just starts slowing down when my pursuer turns, and I catch sight of his profile.

  A spike of fear washes me with panic, and my heart starts racing again.

  Holy shit. He’s fucking huge.

  Something brushes the back of my hand, but I’m too transfixed on the monster who’s standing less than a yard away, scanning the church interior as if he’s trying to pick up my scent. Despite his size, he moves with the grace and casual ease of a hunter searching for his prey.

  Which, in this case, is me.

  My skin crawls, and it takes me a second to realize it’s because there’s something on the back of my hand, not just because I’m close to wetting myself.

  It takes everything I have to look down.

  A spider. And this isn’t just a Daddy Long Legs. Nope. What’s crawling on my hand is one nasty looking sonofabitch; all spidery fuzz and lethal-looking fangs. A scream bubbles in the back of my throat.

  Without bothering to consider the repercussions, I flick it off me. The sleeve of my hoody snags on a bramble thorn. My urgent movements shake the whole bush.

  The guy spins to face me and lunges forward.

  I yell out, but the sound barely leaves my lips before he grabs my ankles and drags me out of my hiding place.

  The knife. The fucking knife!

  But he’s too far away, and a moving target. If I have any chance of getting in a shot, I’ll have to wait.

  My chest closes, heart thumping like a wild stallion as I flip onto my stomach and furiously try to claw myself away from him.

  One of my ankles is suddenly free. I glance back, and immediately try kicking the guy in the face.

  He dodges effortlessly, and starts laughing.

  The sound of that cold, heartless chuckle turns my marrow to ice. I scream, voice hoarse from fear, as I struggle and kick. He grabs the bottom of my hoody and drags me over cracked, dusty flagstones, until there’s nothing left for me to try and grab for.

  He straddles my lower back. I hurriedly close my fingers around the knife, trying to hide it until I’m ready to use it.

  I buck my hips to try and throw him off but he’s too fucking heavy.

  “The fuck you doing in my town?” he growls.

  In this position, I’ll be slashing out behind me, probably just snagging on his clothes. I have to be facing him, or behind him, if I stand any chance of my knife doing enough damage for me to escape.

  I throw out a scream of frustration as I wriggle like a fish on a hook.

  He’s going to kill me.

  I’m going to end up just like Mom.

  Is this karma?

  Fear drains every last ounce of fight from me as I hear fabric rustle.

  No, no, no! This is not happening.

  Hot anger swirls through me. I reach behind me, trying to grab him or scratch him. A second later, he has my arms pinned at the small of my back. Fear pushes back my anger, and I’m filled with cold dread.

  Can he see the knife?

  More importantly, can I reach him with it?

  My voice breaks as I yell out, “Let me go!” I wriggle so hard, my hoody falls back and my loose hair spills over my face.

  “What the…?” The guy lifts his weight, but only long enough to grab my shoulders and flip me over.

  My back hits the cobbles beneath me, and for a moment, both my hands are free.

  The silhouette above me cocks his head, and bends close as he settles over my hips.

  “You’re a girl,” he states in a flat voice.

  Briar

  Jesus — how could I ever have thought she was a guy? I can blame the dark, I guess. Or I could blame myself for not giving a fuck either way. She’s trespassing. I don’t give a fuck that she’s a girl.

  Even if she’s a pretty little thing. Big, green eyes peer out at me from a delicate oval face. The plump mouth beneath her snub nose trembles. Now that she’s between my thighs, I can truly appreciate how dainty she is.

  I should have been paying attention to the rest of her.

  When I make to grab the front of her hoody to haul her to her feet, the girl’s fist comes out of nowhere. But instead of the punch I was expe
cting, a knife slices over my face.

  I knock it out of her hand a second later, but I’m so shocked that I let her wriggle out from under me. She staggers and rushes to her feet. Then she glares at me for a second, as if weighing up her chances of recovering her knife before I can get up.

  I guess she doesn’t like her chances; a moment later, she’s gone.

  I stand, wincing as I touch the oozing cut on my cheek. It isn’t a deep cut — thank fuck — but I think she knew it would be enough to distract me. I glance around until I see her weapon, and pick it up. I bounce it on my palm as my lips quirk into a smile. A compact switchblade.

  “You’re just making this worse for yourself,” I holler after her.

  She yells back “Fuck you!”

  I let out a bemused huff, shaking my head. Got a bit of an attitude problem, my little stray. I’ll have to teach her some manners.

  A growl catches in my throat as I sprint after her.

  Indi

  I’m in the lead. I’m even sixty-percent sure I’m headed the right way. I can’t hear the guy’s footsteps anymore — just my own ragged breath. I discover a faint path and immediately follow it. A few minutes later, a definite track appears through the foliage.

  My fear subsides; I’m headed toward civilization and away from that guy’s massive hands and shadowy face.

  I pause, glancing this way and that to make sure I’m well and truly alone.

  Holy crap, that was a close call.

  I run my hands through my hair and then drag my fingers down my face.

  I guess it’s time I started listening to people, right? I mean, yeah, my life sucks right now, but I just got a wakeup call like no other. Because anything — even wonderful Granny Marigold — is better than being gutted in an abandoned church in the middle of—

  Hands grab me, jerk me off my feet.

  I scream. Fingers cover my mouth, cutting off the sound.