by Alley Ciz
Wes releases his hold on me and steps back. “Now get your fine ass on the bike.”
CHAPTER 8
“Yeah…thanks.” I end the call with my contact and step out into the common room that connects the bedrooms in our suite.
My boys are all spread out around the room, the U of J football game playing on the flat screen, beers cracked for those indulging.
“We set for the night?” Duke pulls three bottles of water from the mini-fridge and tosses the first one to Banks then another my way.
I make quick work of cracking the seal and chugging back half of the cool liquid. We haven’t left yet, and already my adrenaline is spiking at the anticipation of racing tonight. To be fair, I think it’s been sitting at a high simmer since school let out yesterday.
“Are you sure she’s going to be there?” Duke asks, referring to Samantha St. James.
I pop a shoulder and finish off the last of the water. There’s no guarantee, but after yesterday’s realization of where I recognized her from, I’d say there’s a good chance.
Samantha St. James is a race rat. She walks around these hallowed halls like she’s a queen when she’s really nothing more than a groupie for those who participate in Carter King’s street races. Granted, I’ll give her credit for getting with one of the top dogs on the circuit. The only way she could rank higher on the primo pussy scale would be if she were sleeping with the king himself instead of his number two.
The thin plastic of the bottle crumples between my palms until it’s a flat disk as flashes of yesterday play through my memory.
He never took off his helmet, but there aren’t that many Kawasaki Ninjas in Blackwell, let alone with that paint job. I knew right away it was Wesley Prince.
I eyed him, trying to figure out what the hell would bring him to BA. He graduated from BP years ago, so there’s no way he would still be involved in the pranks our two schools trade back and forth. For as connected as the Royals are in town, they don’t openly set foot on academy property. What changed? What brought him here? And why was he just standing outside?
Before I could come up with any of those answers, a flash of silver caught my eye, and the only woman I have been able to jerk my dick to since she told off our lunch table over a week ago jumped into his arms, long legs bared by her short uniform skirt wrapped around his waist, her DSLs placing a kiss to his motorcycle helmet.
Wesley Prince’s hands cradled the ass my palm itches to spank. Every time Samantha openly defies me, the urge to put her over my knee or bend her over a table gets harder to ignore.
Then I had to endure watching them flirt while those around us whispered and speculated. The way she flipped the bottom of her skirt up at Prince with a pop of her ass nearly had me stomping down the stone steps in…
What?
A fit of possessive jealousy?
Fuck that.
This has nothing to do with jealousy.
No. Nope. This is about the way Samantha openly disregards every system put in place and how it risks more than rebelling against the status quo.
If others figure out she’s even loosely connected to the Royals, it could lead to a headache I don’t feel like dealing with.
Samantha needs to learn not to underestimate me. She may think being connected to the Royalty Crew will keep her protected when she’s in “my house”, but she’ll learn I don’t scare easily. I’m going to swagger onto her precious Royals’ turf and prove no one, especially her, steps to me.
Crashing King’s race tonight is about finding Samantha and reminding her who the real king of her new world is—me.
CHAPTER 9
All the tension I’ve felt for the last week has been completely absent these last thirty plus hours. It doesn’t matter that I haven’t been subjected to many run-ins with Natalie; being forced to stay under her roof is enough to keep my cortisol levels in the red.
As much as Natalie likes to rewrite history as of late, the large colonial she sold when she married Mitchell hasn’t been more than a house to us in years. After Dad died, Carter and I spent most of our time floating between our friends’ houses and staying with our godfather, Anthony Falco, and various members of his family.
We still attend Sunday dinner with the Falcos, but our official home base became the industrial-esque warehouse I’m pulling the door shut on once Carter purchased it at eighteen. The three-story building sits toward the back of the two acres of paved asphalt, and its matte black walls are the perfect match to the four-bay auto garage beside it.
Carter’s home also has an attached garage for his personal vehicles, but the bulk of the structure is split into a large gym and a loft-style residence, with bedrooms for not only Carter and me but also the four other guys who make up the Royalty Crew.
I wiggle the handle on the door, double-checking the locks have engaged before I move to weave my way through the crowd gathered outside.
Saturday night is party night, and Mr. Thinks-He’s-Oh-So-Clever has deemed the parties that go hand in hand with his race nights Royal Balls—except there are no ball gowns, tuxedoes, or masquerade masks in sight. We’re more a ripped jeans, T-shirts, and, when the weather cools, hoodies and leather jackets type crowd.
The bonfire that is a staple of these things is going strong; my brother, Wes, and the other three members of the Royals—Lance Bennett, Leo Castle, and Cisco Cruz—are holding court around it from their designated black camping chairs.
Closing in on race time has Wes busy doing his best to collect the last of the night’s bets while Cisco prepares the GPS units with the race’s route.
Typically the bonfire is a no-go area for me, the smoke one of the easiest triggers for my asthma. Instead, I hook a left and join the cluster of people Tessa and Tinsley are with.
“Hey.” I tap Tessa with the cup I refilled for her as she seems to stare off into space. “You okay?”
“Huh?” She blinks in rapid succession and pulls her gaze away from a few of the jocks from BP, hitting me with one of her cheer-competition-worthy smiles. “Oh…yeah.” She glances down at her cup. “Maybe I should have had you grab me a Red Bull instead.”
I study her for a second longer before letting it go and fall back into the conversation happening around us, getting clued in on all things BP I’ve been missing out on and hearing all the details of BA’s latest retaliation.
“Royals” by Lorde starts to play over the sound system, and I bite onto the plastic rim of my purple Solo cup, tipping it up to hide my smirk when Carter shoots me a knowing look.
Cuffing my brother on the shoulder, Wes pushes up out of his chair, all eyes in the vicinity turning to watch as he makes his way over to our group.
A muscular arm drapes itself around Tessa’s shoulders, the other going around mine, his long fingers hanging and brushing along the back of my arm, the scent of fresh soap and motor oil filling my lungs as he brings his mouth to my ear to whisper, “You’re such a smartass, ma reine.”
“What?” I angle my head around, my nose brushing along the line of his jaw. “A little too on the nose? If Carter can be a corny motherfucker with his naming, why can’t I?”
The throaty purr of an engine echoes through the night, and from over the curve of Wes’s biceps, I watch a gorgeous taupe-colored Ferrari F8—the unconventional color only adding to the sexiness of the Italian sports car—and a silver G-Wagon find spaces in the area designated for parking.
All my senses go on alert. My heart starts to speed up, my lungs tighten, and the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end, the goose bumps now coating the skin visible on my lower belly and back having nothing to do with the cropped hem of my shirt.
“Um, Wes…” Tessa’s voice is concerned, having reached the same conclusion as me.
I’m not sure if he answers her or not because I’m too focused on the half a million dollars’ worth of automobiles that just pulled up and the people now stepping out of the open doors.
Like magnets, pearlesce
nt eyes lock on me, the dark fringe of lashes surrounding them lowering as they narrow, seeing me wrapped in Wes’s embrace.
What are they doing here? My fingers curl, pinching Wes’s side, and it takes everything in me not to look my brother’s way and ask. Yes, he opens some of these races to people from BA, but those are by special invitation, and never at the start of the school year when the prank war is in full swing. No. There’s no way he would have done so tonight.
“You forget to tell us you’re making friends at BA?” Wes asks, his body rigid in my hold, one eye on Jasper, another on Carter, waiting for his command.
“Hardly,” I scoff, finally giving in and breaking my gaze from Jasper’s tractor-beam-like hold to glance toward my brother. Both the shadows dancing from the bonfire and the shade created by the brim of his black ball cap make it impossible to get a read on him. It’s the subtle way he shifts forward, his elbows bracing themselves on his knees, his black Solo cup—filled with seltzer like mine—dangling in feigned carelessness from the tips of his fingers that give away—to me—how alert he is.
“Let me handle this?” I voice it as a question even as I step free of Wes’s embrace.
“Savs,” he warns again, his eyes shifting back to Carter. I love this man—all of the Royals, really—but it’s annoying as fuck how no matter how tough they are in life, they turn into pussies if I’m a part of the equation. It irks every one of my feminist tendencies.
“That”—I rock back on the rubber heel of my biker-style ankle boots and point a finger an inch in front of his nose—“is why it has to be me. His Royal Highness is all worried about these people knowing I’m Savvy King…” An overreaction. “How do you expect to stop them from hearing people saying my name if they get too close?”
Wes’s chest expands as he inhales a deep breath. He hates that I have a point.
“Go to Carter.” I tip my head at the bonfire. “I got this.”
His jaw pops out to the side, his teeth grinding in frustration. Wes glances back to where Jasper and the rest of them have finally gathered, and I see he brought his entire court of douchebags with him. Lovely.
“Fine,” Wes relents, his shoulders falling with a heavy exhalation. “But”—he reaches around to my back pocket—“put your gloves on before you head over there.”
I do as he asks, wiggling my fingers through the fingerless leather gloves Carter purchased for me years ago. The black cowhide is supple from years of wear, the edge coming to a stop at the line where my bottom knuckles bend. There’s a small cutout of the material over the back of my hand, the scalloped edging delicate, and when looked at closely enough, you can make out the subtle detailing that makes it resemble a crown.
I rotate my wrist, grasping the wide band that crosses over it and snaps closed underneath. I flex my fingers, stretching them out then forming a fist to make sure I have everything secured in the proper place. The thin metal hidden inside the leather sends a familiar rush of security through me before I repeat the process with my other hand.
Carter may have a few legitimate business ventures he’s a part of—the body shop here as well as being a tattoo artist—but I’m not naive and know the bulk of his livelihood falls in the more…questionable category. These illegal street races are only one of those ventures.
When I was younger, he tried to shield me from most of his dealings, but in the same breath, he wanted to make sure I was always able to protect myself. Thanks to my physical limitations, I wouldn’t last long in any kind of brawl. To combat that, Carter ensured the handful of punches I would be able to get in before needing my inhaler would have the most impact possible. Thus came the creation of my own modified and hidden version of brass knuckles.
Rolling my shoulders back, I wait for Wes to start to make his way over to Carter before I do the same toward our gate-crashers.
A pinky hooks with mine before I can get too far, and I look down to see the delicate script of the word Promise on the inside of both digits linking together.
“You stay here too,” I say to Tessa, giving her finger an extra squeeze before pulling away. She may be the definition of my ride or die, but that doesn’t stop me from trying to shelter her from things when possible. She’s too good, too light to allow these jerks to taint it with their hostility. Tinsley is subjected to it at school, but I’ll be damned if they try to get to her when outside of it.
Jasper’s gaze is hard, assessing and challenging as I travel through the maze of cars separating us. The tightness of his jaw only seems to emphasize the cleft in his chin, and I hate him a tiny bit more for thinking it increases his hotness factor. This guy is a grade-A jerkwad, and the effect he’s having on my panties makes me question my sanity.
“Are you lost?” I plant my feet, pop a hip out, and cant my head to the side, reaching up to twirl the end of my high ponytail when the long strands fall over my shoulder. “I would think rich boys like you would be able to afford GPS in your fancy cars.”
From their position bookending him, the peen gallery snickers, and I think I catch a whispered “Oh shit” in there somewhere too.
Jasper’s expression never changes, and I tell myself I don’t notice the way the muscles of his arms strain against the sleeves of his dove gray T-shirt when he crosses them. Or how the shade of his shirt emphasizes the lighter hues in his eyes.
No. Nope. I don’t notice those things at all.
Liar.
“Are you judging our choice of automobiles, Princess?” Jasper drawls the words out like this is the south and not the northeast, the smooth cadence washing over me as my hackles rise at his continued use of that endearment.
I bite the corner of my bottom lip, my heart rate picking up speed when his gaze falls to my mouth. With a shimmy of my shoulders, I shake off the tingles that glance evokes and instead say, “Just making an observation.”
Silence stretches, growing more heated the longer it does. Excitement bubbles up inside me at how openly he challenges me, even without saying a word. What the fuck is with that?
As fun as this little showdown is, it needs to come to an end. A quick glance behind me confirms this as I see all five Royals are now on their feet, all their attention homed in on me. Watching. Waiting. Preparing for an attack.
It’s probably wrong to be annoyed when they’re only trying to make sure I’m safe. Their actions come from a place of love. I know this. Really I do, but the way they handle situations I’m involved in feels different. It doesn’t feel like a We have your back if needed, but more like a Be on guard, someone is messing with Savvy. It rankles because these fools flipping nicknamed me Savage for how I can handle myself yet conveniently forget that fact in real-life situations.
It’s too bad they’re too far away to properly read the Can you fools chill? eye-widening I send them. With a shake of my head, I step to the left and let the SUV behind me block most of me from view. I can handle this on my own.
“Look.” I blow out a breath, annoyed my stress-free weekend is being spoiled by those who shouldn’t even be here. “I know you guys think you rule the universe”—my sarcasm couldn’t be any thicker if I tried—“but this”—I point to the ground—“isn’t your kingdom, so yous gots to go.”
“Oh, really?” Jasper drops his arms, feet moving to widen his stance.
“Really.” My nod is pure sass and one-hundred-percent confidence. No way, no how will I let this asshole try to pull his dominance bullshit on my turf. He may not be aware of that minor detail, but this is my turf, and he will do as I say.
“It’s cute…” He takes a step in my direction, but I hold my ground and don't move.
“What is?” I flex my fingers at my sides.
“How you still think you can tell me what to do.” Another step, then two more, and his designer sneakers’ tips are touching the toes of my boots.
It’s a good thing I moved out of view as Jasper steps again, finally forcing me back until I feel the metal of the SUV touch my skin. If the R
oyals saw him this close to me, they’d be over here in a heartbeat. I need them to trust I have the situation handled on my own; otherwise, it’ll be open season for Jasper and his fellow douchecanoes when it comes to me.
“You know what’s not cute?” I tilt my chin up to maintain eye contact.
“What’s that, Princess?” Jasper shifts closer, his chest now touching mine, effectively pinning me to whoever’s car is behind me.
It takes effort to swallow, and I force myself not to blink. “How long it's taking you to realize that I actually can. Are you a dumb jock? Is that it?” My ponytail brushes the forearm next to my face as I tilt my head with my taunt, ignoring how the sinew twitches as it does. “I’m sure we can get you a tutor,” I add, just to be an asshole.
A vein pulses at his temple, and again his eyes fall to my mouth as he brings a hand to my face. “One of these days”—he drags a thumb along my bottom lip—“this mouth of yours is going to get you in trouble.”
My nipples tighten into painful peaks, and my panties are officially drenched.
The scent of sandalwood grows stronger as he fully invades my personal space. “For so long”—his lips skim the rim of my ear as he speaks—“I’ve tried to figure out why you look so familiar to me.”
Panic swift and strong slams into me, and I cough around the constriction it forms in my lungs. Lifelong experience with my asthma has taught me many ways to control my condition, but it’s the emotional triggers I have the hardest time managing. Goddamn Carter putting ideas in my head.
“I asked myself what I was missing. What gave you the confidence—no matter how misguided—to think you could challenge me? I figured it was because you were just another BP prick, one of those who always thinks they can do what they want. And then…what do you know?” I feel more than see him shrug. “Wesley Prince picks you up from school yesterday.”