Savage Queen: A Royalty Crew U of J Spin-Off Novel (The Royalty Crew Book 1)

by Alley Ciz

  The barstools at the long mosaic counter are full, from the long-legged giraffe down to the thong-wearing bare ass stool that is my favorite to claim when we come.

  “Let’s grab seats while they’re free,” I suggest to Tinsley as another flood of patrons enter behind us. “We can text T our orders.”

  We weave through the occupied tables, skirting around a chair pushed out a bit too far, and are able to snag a large Marauder’s Map-printed couch and the mini Hedwig and Deathly Hallows oversized armchairs across the table from it. Not one seat inside this place matches, but it’s all part of its charm.

  Tinsley and I fall into the same kind of easy conversation we’ve had all day, and I’m happy we were able to convince her to join us.

  The couch dips, and I’m lifted an inch before resettling as a large body flops down beside me only to see Wesley Prince’s handsome face smiling down at me. One of his muscular arms drapes across the back of the couch behind me, and I hit him with a gentle elbow to gain back some of my personal space. “Ma reine.” He winks, only adding to the swoon factor by how he rolls the French pronunciation of my queen.

  “Wes,” my brother growls as he takes the chair next to a stunned-silent Tinsley. Her eyes are so wide there’s a whole ring of white showing around her dark irises. It’s obvious she knows who my brother is since she’s aware of the real name I go by, but knowing Carter King—the Carter King—is related to me and meeting him are two very different things.

  The ends of my hair brush along the skin of my upper arm as Wes starts to twirl them around a finger. One would think he had a death wish with how he openly flirts with me in front of Carter. Still, as both my brother’s best friend and number two in all things Royal-related, the level of trust affords him some leeway.

  “Tinsley, meet my brother and Wes.” I point to one then the other, snapping her out of her stupor. “Guys, this is Tinsley. She cheers with Tess at NJA and was my saving grace today at BA.” A frown wrinkles Wes’s brow as his gaze bounces between Tinsley and me. “What’s wrong?” I ask.

  “I thought you wore uniforms at the Blackwell Academy of Douchebaggery?”

  Carter chokes on a laugh while Tinsley giggle-gasps an “Oh my god,” and I hold out a fist for Wes to bump, living for his description of my new school.

  “We do.” I nod. “T brought me a change of clothes, and we swung by Tinsley’s dorm to do the same and grab her cheer bag for later.”

  “Aw, man.” Wes pouts. “And here I thought I would be able to live out all my schoolgirl fantasies with you—ouch!” He shifts forward to rub his leg. “The fuck, King?”

  Across the table, my brother nonchalantly shrugs like he didn’t kick his friend in the shin. Wes may get that leeway with me, but Carter puts him in his place from time to time.

  “Rein it in, Prince.”

  Wes slumps back against the couch, and now I’m fighting the urge to roll my eyes. It’s a damn miracle I was ever able to lose my virginity given how afraid others are of my brother.

  “Aw, Carter,” Tessa coos, pausing to kiss his cheek, “stop cockblocking your sister.” She slides a carrier filled with coffees for the rest of us onto the top—Lyle must have done the boys’ usuals—and cradles her paper cup in her hands as she takes the available cushion next to Wes with a “Hey, Charming.”

  “I wasn’t cockblocking.”

  “You say potato.” Tessa flops a hand forward. “I say vodka.” She flips her hand back at herself.

  “Isn’t the saying ‘potato, po-tah-to’?” Carter arches one of his blond brows.

  “Pfft.” Tessa rolls her eyes, a move she’s picked up from her sister. “Lyle’s always using this other one when Bette dyes his hair. He picked it up from one of the hockey players he’s friends with, and I like it better.” She gives Carter a So there head bobble. “Regardless of what you call it, yes, you were cockblocking. You know”—she taps her chin—“if it’s because you’re feeling backed up, I could always call PF and see what she and Em are doing—”

  “Tessa,” Carter warns in his deep, growly, I-am-the-king voice that has been known to have grown men peeing their pants—but not Tessa Taylor. Nope, she sees him as too much of a big brother to be afraid of him.

  “What?” She blinks her big blue eyes in mock innocence then angles her face to wink at me without him being able to see. I give her a nod, agreeing with her wholeheartedly. It’s been almost two years since Carter met Kay’s roommate Emma, but he’s never made a move.

  “Don’t you think it’s about time you and Em did something about the sexual tension building between you?” Tessa goads.

  “There’s no sexual tension between Jackie O and me.”

  The entire table snorts. Even Tinsley, who doesn’t know the backstory between Carter and the senator’s daughter, is aware enough to read the room. I wonder if I should try to push that situation along. Maybe if Carter is focused on his own love life, he’ll butt out of mine.

  “Anyway…” Carter leans back in his chair, man-spreading his knees as he shifts into his leader-of-the-Royals persona. I hate when he tries to use it on me. “How’d today go? Any issues?”

  He’s probably asking because of whatever it is that has his panties in a bunch lately. Still, my gaze subconsciously moves to meet Tinsley’s across the table, a move he certainly doesn’t miss. Damn observant bastard.

  “From a Savvy King angle”—I smash my lips together, barely resisting the urge to roll my eyes—“no.”

  “But…”

  “But…” This time I shift to make full eye contact, knowing it’s best not to show anything that could be taken as a sign of weakness. “BA is like living in a stereotype.” I hold my hands up as if putting things on display. “Mean girls and douchebags abound.”

  Danger washes over Carter’s features like a mask, and I adjust in my seat. Through the years, he’s sheltered me from the bulk of his business dealings, but as hard as he tries, I’m not stupid; I know it’s more than our family name that people fear.

  The fact that three of the five members of the Royals are comprised of Blackwell founding families is what gave them the foundation they needed to assert their reign at BP years ago. It wasn’t until Carter took over the street racing circuit and the underground poker ring that his reputation started to expand beyond town lines and into that gray area.

  “Relax, Cart.” He doesn’t listen, his shoulders only hitching up more as he continues to glower. “It’s not anything I can’t handle.”

  “What happened to flying under the radar?” One of his brows arches until it hits the brim of his backward hat, his jaw kicking out to the side at my defiance.

  I push up, leaning forward and bracing my elbows on the black lacquered table, canting my head, my hair falling around my shoulders like a waterfall. “Even though I’m going by St. James in that place, you are the one who raised me. Do you honestly think I’m going to let a bunch of bullies mess with my friend”—my eyes flit to Tinsley and back again—“and not say something?”

  Violet eyes a few shades darker than my own stare at me, not a blink in sight as the air around us grows charged. My spine lengthens, my arms falling to my lap, but I don’t back down.

  One breath, then two.

  Finally…

  A blink and the slightest of nods.

  The breath I wasn’t aware I was holding pushes from my lungs. With Natalie pretty much being an absentee parent, it’s been Carter and me against the world. I may have said I wouldn’t back down, but going against my brother is hard for me to do.

  “Fine.” This time he’s the one blowing out a breath. “But if things escalate, you tell me.”

  CHAPTER 5

  Practices for high school hockey don’t officially start until November, but that doesn’t mean Coach isn’t making sure we’re working our asses off in the off-season. From the moment we move into the dorms, he makes sure we show up for morning workouts in the weight room, with the occasional ice time snuck in.


  “What’s the plan for the weekend?” Duke asks.

  “When are we getting those BP pricks back for their little bathroom stunt?” someone, I’m not sure who, asks.

  “Don’t know,” I say to both questions then finish doing up the buttons on my white uniform shirt and immediately start rolling the sleeves to my elbows, leaving my jacket in the locker. It’s only seven a.m., and it’s already too fucking hot to bother with it.

  “You racing?” Banks calls out, slipping the strap of his bag onto his shoulder.

  “I wish.” Inside my veins, my blood pumps faster. Whether it’s flying down the ice on my skates or racing on a highway in my Ferrari, nothing beats moving at top speeds. “I haven’t heard anything about there being one this weekend.”

  No one I encountered traveling this summer put up much of a challenge. The best competition I’ve faced since getting my license comes from a street racing circuit based right here in Blackwell. Unfortunately for me, it’s run by Carter King and his crew. Though I can respect how they were able to evolve their power from the halls of BP when they attended a few years ago to extend to other parts of the state, I hate how the long-standing rivalry means those of us from BA can only participate when specifically invited.

  I’ve won a race here and there, but I still haven’t been able to beat the man himself or his right-hand man when they participate. It’s frustrating as fuck too. My F8 should be able to take both the measly Corvette and the Camaro.

  Banks leads the way out of the locker room while Midas and Duke work on figuring out what party we’ll hit up after the school’s football game later tonight.

  With my boys distracted, I pull my phone from my pocket and continue to poke around on the internet to see what information I can come up with on one Samantha St. James.

  So far, all I’ve figured out is she’s local based on her friend picking her up yesterday. I also think it’s probably safe to assume she attended BP. Logically, it’s the only thing that makes sense because she’s so fucking familiar to me.

  In a wide line, the four of us walk down the hall, other students hustling to get out of our way, too scared to accidentally cross us.

  “Now that’s the way to start the day.” Banks spots Tinsley at her locker and changes direction.

  “Wonder where her new guard dog is,” Midas muses before heading off to join Banks, eager to be a part of spreading any type of misery. It’s an empty question. None of us give a fuck about Miss St. James’s decree. She doesn’t make the rules here—we do. Even so, it doesn’t stop the blood from rushing to my dick at the mention of her.

  Duke and I are too far away to make out what’s being said, but Tinsley’s startled gasp echoes down the hall, as does the clang of the locker when her back hits it. Banks cages her in, one arm bent over her head and braced on the locker door, his free hand gripping her at the hip.

  Tinsley closes her eyes and drops her chin as Banks leans down to whisper in her ear. The color leaches from her fingers as Banks’s grip tightens and pulls her tighter to his chest.

  Midas just stands there, shoulders leaning against the lockers next to them, feet crossed at the ankles, buffing his nails on his stomach before lifting his hand to inspect them. The small quirk to his mouth is the only sign of how much he’s enjoying the Banks and Tinsley show.

  “Oh shit.” Duke’s curse is low but enough to have me whipping my head toward him only to follow the direction of his chin jerk when I do.

  Fuck me.

  In the same purple Chucks as yesterday, Samantha St. James strides over to her friend and mine, purpose in each one of her steps. We have some of the hottest, most put-together, and sometimes surgically enhanced women making up the BA student body, but none of them wear the uniform the way she does.

  The short hem of the pleated skirt flaps as her hips sway, a swagger to them that would have Arabella selling both her firstborn and probably her second to be able to achieve.

  Like me, she ditched our cashmere blazer, trading it out for the ladies’ short-sleeved blouse and gray button-up vest option. Again her tie is loose, the knot resting between the open V of her shirt and the vest’s top button.

  She reaches our friends at the same time we do, but where Duke and I stop a few feet away, she slips in, ducking beneath Banks’s lifted arm and forcing him to put distance between himself and his prey.

  “I’m sorry.” She shakes her head, her long silver locks swaying with the movement. “Did I not make myself clear yesterday?” A hand comes up to cover her heart in feigned apology. “Keep your fucking hands”—she wraps one of her own around Banks’s wrist and flings it off Tinsley’s hip—“off my friend.”

  “What makes you think she doesn’t want my hands on her?” Banks challenges, and Samantha straightens, her spine lengthening, her chin tilting up.

  All she does is roll her eyes and shoulder-check him back two steps, just enough for her to link hands with Tinsley and pull her out into the center of the hallway, where students have stopped to watch the scene unfold.

  This is the second time in as many days that this chick has openly challenged us. Same as yesterday in the cafeteria, the whispers pick up, and the questioning glances roll through those closest to us. As amusing as Banks’s What the fuck just happened expression is, it’s time to put a stop to it.

  Before she can get too far, I reach out, grabbing Samantha’s wrist, the delicate bones no match for the way my long fingers overlap around them. With my forceful tug, she stumbles back, her steps tripping over themselves until I slam her against the lockers with a loud clang.

  One long stride is all it takes for me to cage her in much the same way Banks did to Tinsley.

  Mint and the sweet scent of lime fill my senses as I position one foot on the outside of hers and the other between her tiny purple sneakers.

  Eyes almost the same shade as the shoes glare at me with burning anger, and that earlier stirring in my groin surges again. Not wanting to give her the impression that she has any sort of effect on me, I angle my hips back as I push in closer, my chest pressing against hers.

  I may be turned on by her defiance, but it needs to stop. Power and control hold more weight at BA than the number of zeros in our bank accounts. I will not allow someone who doesn’t understand how things function here to come in and undermine all the work I’ve put in to claim the top spot because she doesn’t respect the hierarchy. This is my world. She only gets to exist in it if I allow it.

  “Jasper.” The timidness in Tinsley’s voice that almost breaks on the second syllable of my name is what we want.

  There’s a squeak, and when I glance back over my shoulder, Midas has a hand covering Tinsley’s mouth, his other arm coiled tight around her middle, pinning her against him while she wiggles to get free to no avail.

  My brows push together when Midas blows a few kisses, but when I catch sight of the death daggers Samantha is glaring at him, I know she’s who he’s taunting.

  With a small growl, Samantha attempts to go after him, only to bounce off me, the soft press of her breasts pillowing against my hardness before she falls back with another echoing hit against the lockers.

  Midas has a habit of pushing limits, but I know I don’t have to worry about reining him in with Banks nearby. Instead, I can give one hundred percent of my attention to the task in front of me.

  Samantha’s glower is still focused on Midas, and I don’t like it. Not one bit.

  Pinching her chin between my thumb and forefinger, I lift until she’s forced to bring those purple pools back to me.

  Her dark mascara-coated lashes brush the top of her eyelids as she stares me down with that unabashed defiance.

  “Listen here, Princess.” The inner corners of her eyes constrict and her nostrils flare, the vibration of her jaw grinding felt in my fingers. “I don’t know how things were over at BP…” The way she jerks in my hold confirms my suspicions about where she went to school. “But here at BA”—I lift my thumb and run it along
her plump lower lip, the skin soft and not covered by any of that sticky lip gloss—“my boys and I rule. It would be advantageous for you to learn it…live it…”

  “Love it,” Duke finishes.

  She scoffs, and fuck me if it doesn’t take my dick from half-mast to fully fledged. Why the fuck isn’t she intimidated by me? Better yet, why do I like it so much?

  “You’re right.” She nods, her lashes fanning across her cheeks with a long blink. “You’re clueless about BP.”

  The tip of her tongue brushes along the skin of my thumb when it peeks out to lick her lips, and I barely manage to swallow down a moan.

  “Because if you had any clue”—she shifts, her front brushing mine—“you would know that bullshit you’re pushing won’t work on me.”

  Why does it sound like she’s the one threatening me?

  “You know…” She laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “It’s funny to me.”

  I get the feeling she’s baiting me, but I can’t resist. “What is?”

  “Isn’t your last name Noble?”

  “Look at you doing your research.” I bend further, my lips grazing the shell of her ear with my next words. “It’s good you know my name.” I give her a nip, a puff of air hitting my neck. “You’ll be moaning it for me before long.”

  There’s a snort, and the complete sense of disbelief has me pulling back only to see her roll her eyes again.

  “I wouldn’t hold your breath.”

  We’ll see about that.

  I lower my hand, my fingers wrapping around her nape, my thumb dragging down the line of her throat. She can front all she wants, but her hard swallow gives away that I do get to her, if only a little. She’ll learn to bend to my will if she doesn’t want to break.

  “You’re adorable, truly.” Her word choice has me snapping out of my musings.

  “That’s the wrong kind of adjective to use when describing him, sweetheart,” Duke singsongs.

  “Uh-huh.” Samantha tilts her head to the side as if we’re boring her. “I just think it’s ironic.”