by Alley Ciz
Carter growls and levels me with a glare that has me squirming in my seat. What the hell?
“My problem is that that someone—”
It’s no secret Tinsley is the only person I consider a friend at this place. The way he stresses someone tells me he picks up on the fact that I didn’t use her name.
“—wasn’t Tinsley.” He throws a hand in the air, folding three fingers down to point close enough to my face that my eyes cross. “And don’t even think about trying to tell me it was.”
I wasn’t planning on telling him anything.
“You were going to keep it a secret, weren’t you?” he asks, his voice losing steam.
I nod. Do you think it would earn you any points if you told him you tried to have Tinsley drive you?
A frustrated growl rolls around in the back of his throat, and the way his jaw pops out to the side has my hands fisting the fabric of my skirt, a sense of foreboding coating my skin.
“What’s with all the secrets lately, Savs?”
My throat goes tight, and it takes Herculean effort not to cough and reveal a symptom trying to present itself.
He can’t know. He can’t know. He can’t know.
I’ve purposely kept Natalie’s threats from him because I have no clue how he would react if I told him. I can’t lose him. I just can’t.
Everything he’s ever done has been with me and my well-being in mind. He never planned on being the “king” of Blackwell. His motivations to delve into the more questionable aspects of his business ventures never stemmed from power. No. He did everything he did for one simple reason—me.
I’ve lived with the guilt of knowing my brother gave up any semblance of a normal life, stuck living in that murky gray world that straddles that line of legality so I would be able to live. Without Carter stepping up and taking on adult solutions when he was virtually a child himself, the probability of me not being alive is high. Very high.
Uh-huh…sure. It’s not like the Falcos didn’t help and don’t still take care of you.
Ugh. Dad would be so disappointed if he heard me thinking like this, and my stomach rolls with a fresh wave of guilt.
Acknowledging that there are others who love and care for us doesn’t take away from how much Carter has put his life on the line to spare mine. For that reason, and that reason alone, I will always choose any path that protects him. It’s why I’m enrolled at BA, why I allowed myself to be yanked from the life I knew, why I subject myself to living under Natalie’s toxic roof.
Because if I didn’t…
Nope, not thinking about that either. Natalie takes up enough of my brain space with her threats looming like a boogeyman in the shadows. I refuse to let her have more.
“Show me.” The command in his voice has my gaze jerking to his as he snaps me back into the present. I hate, hate when he goes all Carter King on me.
“Show you what?” The blunt edges of my nails dig into my palms as I resist the compulsion to follow the order, even if I have no idea what he wants me to show him.
“Show me who played chauffeur for you today.” He points to all the students filling the stone steps and watching his car like they can see inside. “I want to put a face to the Ferrari.”
I grip my skirt harder. Why I’m not serving Jasper Noble to my brother on a silver platter, I have no clue.
“It was the guy from the race, wasn’t it?” Damn him and his elephant-like memory when it comes to motor vehicles. “You don’t want me to know who was ballsy enough to use you to get into a race not open to a BAsshole?” He hums as he taps his chin. “Or better yet”—every hair on my body stands on end at the danger bleeding into his tone—“is he the same douche that’s been fucking with your locker all week?”
Carter chuckles when my hair whips him in the face as my head jerks around. He knows about the bullshit bullying? “How?”
“I’m offended you believed I would let you enter this viper pit without having a way to make sure you’re safe.”
That’s not it at all. He’s Carter King—he has connections everywhere. It’s the fact that he hasn’t chosen to put a stop to what has been going on that surprises me. Most people would call Carter overprotective, but I think he defies the typical definition.
“I would have stepped in if you needed it.” See what I mean? If he was truly overprotective, he wouldn’t give me such courtesy, right? “Did you really feed them rat?”
I cringe-smile, the muscles in my neck straining. “Would you have preferred me to channel Marie Antoinette and let them eat cake instead?”
Rumbling laughter fills the car, and any lingering tension I was harboring melts away with the crack of my brother’s hardened shell. One well-placed royal pun or reference can have that effect.
“Nope.” He shakes his head, running his tongue over his teeth. “The Savage Queen method is much more effective.”
I beam, my proud smile as bright as LED high beams.
Turning up the volume on the Thirty Seconds To Mars song playing from the upgraded sound system, Carter shifts the car into gear and merges into the flow of traffic exiting the Blackwell Academy campus. I glance at him then out the window, confused when I’m not pressed further on the topic at hand.
Jasper Noble lives to see another day. I snort at my somewhat ridiculous, somewhat accurate thought.
“Where are we going?” I ask when he takes the entrance ramp to the highway a few minutes later.
“BTU,” Carter answers, seamlessly weaving his way around traffic and into the left lane, pedal pressed to the floorboards.
“You don’t have class today.” With everything Carter is involved in, it baffles me how he is able to be in his final year at Brighton Tynes University. I’m convinced he doesn’t sleep.
“I need to meet up with Lance, and he has practice.” Lance Bennett is the only member of the Royals not originally from Blackwell. He stumbled upon Carter squaring off against three dudes on campus at BTU, and the automatic way he had my brother’s back without even knowing him was proof enough he belonged in the Royals.
“And…” I drag it out into multiple syllables. “What’s so important it couldn’t wait until tonight?”
His gaze flits to me for a second before refocusing on the road with a new surge of tension, his hands now choking the life out of his steering wheel. “Just…stuff.”
Ugh. He’s doing it again. He’s keeping something from me…again. I hate it.
I drape my arms over one of the lane dividers, the hard plastic yellow and blue discs digging into my armpits as I let my body hang limp in the water as I bring my breathing back under control. Since I was younger, swimming has been one of the treatment methods used to control my asthma and is easily my favorite form of exercise.
Elbow balanced on one of the disk's flat edges, I drag a hand over my head, removing my purple goggles and black swim cap. Dipping my head back, I let the weight of the cool water untangle the knotted ball I twisted my hair into, thinking of the way Carter ruffled it earlier. After my attack last weekend, I was stunned when he dropped me off at the BTU Aquatic Center. I wasn’t dumb enough to question it, though. Yoga just doesn’t cut it when you need an outlet to work out your frustration in a physical manner.
“What’s up, Mini Royal?” The loud echo of Lance’s hockey gear bag hitting the ground with a heavy plop follows his greeting, and I see him and Carter settling onto the bleachers spectators sit in for swim meets.
“Hey, Lancelot.” With a deep breath, I pull myself over the lane line and use my upper body strength to hoist myself out of the pool before wringing the water from my hair.
“What happened here?” Lance taps the bruise circling my bicep with my towel.
I don’t answer right away, taking the towel to dry off instead. I was really hoping Scott’s manhandling wouldn’t have resulted in a bruise, but I guess I’m not that lucky.
“Tell me that’s not from Gunderson?” My eyes fall shut, and I let out a sigh at the re
turn of the Carter King voice. Again I choose not to answer. “Savvy.”
My lips twist to the side, still silent.
“Savvy.” Nope, I look away, pretending he can’t see me if I don’t make eye contact. “Samantha,” Carter snarls, my spine automatically straightening to attention. Dammit.
“Oooh.” Lance whistles into his fist, failing to hide his amused grin. “Droppin’ the government name. Not good.”
The singsong in Lance’s tone has my own lips twitching to mirror his, but that impulse dies the second I meet my brother’s narrow-eyed glare.
“It’s nothing, Cart.” I wrap the towel around my body and tuck the ends between my breasts to secure it while we continue to have a silent staring contest. “It was a misunderstanding.”
“Get the fuck out of here with that shit.”
I grab hold of the knot I created with my towel, using it to anchor myself in the moment and prevent me from snapping and making this whole situation worse.
“It was. It’s done. Time to move on.”
“Why were you even at BP today?”
I inhale deep and slow. It’s really freaking annoying that I have to constantly account for my actions. Natalie, who spent years not giving a damn what I was up to, is suddenly concerned about my comings and goings, though more importantly, she cares who I’m coming and going with. She will not be hearing about my time spent with Jasper Noble.
Carter asking is different, but it almost seems like he feels I betrayed him by leaving him out of the loop when he shouldn’t. Tessa is my friend. Having her back is my responsibility.
“I didn’t think I needed permission to see my bestie.” My tone of voice slips, some of my teenage attitude slipping through.
“It’s not that.” Carter palms the back of his neck. “It’s why you needed to see her that I take issue with.”
“Oh my god, Carter.” I pinch the bridge of my nose and breathe. “All I did was have a simple conversation with a few people who needed reminding of the golden rule. That’s all.”
“Conversations don’t result in bruises,” he snaps through gritted teeth.
“I don’t think it was intentional. I was walking away, and he wanted me to stop.” Besides, I showed Scott the error of his ways.
“I’m gonna kill him.” Carter jumps to his feet, stalking in the space between the bleachers like a lion in a cage. Lance’s gaze and mine go from each other to the way Carter’s hands shake and clench into fists.
“Carter.” I channel every ounce of namaste yogi calm I’ve practiced and apply it to the tone of my voice. While I’m pretty sure my brother hasn’t actually killed anyone before, I can’t say with complete confidence that it’s not something he’s capable of.
I’m ignored as he continues to pace.
Stomp, stomp, stomp up the row.
Stomp, stomp, stomp down it.
All the tension I worked out with laps in the pool comes back with a vengeance with each one of Carter’s footfalls. Knots form between my shoulder blades, and I swallow down the chemical taste of chlorine as I suck my lower lip into my mouth, worrying the chapped flap of skin in the corner.
“King”—Lance stands, finally forcing Carter to come to a stop by putting himself directly in his path—“relax, man.”
I take in a breath when Carter’s eyes meet mine. Typically we both tend toward the violet hue, with his more on the grayscale than mine. But right now? Here in this moment? His are practically charcoal, and it has me falling back a step, my foot slipping an inch on the slick surface. Shit! This is the Carter King hurt locker.
“It’s fine.” He scowls hard enough to force creases in his forehead no twenty-two-year-old should have.
Time for another tactic.
“I’m fine.”
Uh-oh. That didn’t work either. I don’t think that steam is from the heated pool. I think it’s coming from his ears.
“It’s handled.” Maybe if he knows there’s no outstanding Royal business, he’ll calm down. His focus should be on this weekend’s race and not getting…justice or whatever for me.
“You should have called me,” Carter argues. “Or at the very least, Wes.”
I blow out an audible puff of air and bury my hands in my wet hair, tugging on the strands until my scalp burns. This. This right here is why I think of myself as a Royal only by association. Yes, they are a crew. If one of them needs backup, any one of them would be there, no questions asked.
But…
And it’s a big but…
If they handled things on their own, that would be it. There wouldn’t be a question of a round two being needed. Only when I’m the handler.
“Whatever.” Done with this familiar cycle, I snatch my bag from the bleachers and turn for the locker room. “I know I’m only Royalty in name. I get it. Do whatever you want.” As much as it goes against my nature to give up, this isn’t a fight I’ll ever win. It’s best to avoid unnecessary stress altogether.
“Savs.” The hurt in Carter’s voice has my head falling forward, my shoulders rising and falling in defeat. “How many times do I have to tell you to knock that shit off?”
Keeping my back to him, I ask, “What shit?”
The smack of skin on denim tells me he’s slapping his thighs in frustration. Yeah, well, join the club. “You. Are. A. Real. Royal.”
Water droplets cut a path across my temple and down the bridge of my nose, dangling at the tip before falling with a plop-plop on the ground between my bare feet.
Clearing my throat, I do my best to rid myself of the messy ball of emotion clogging it. “If that were true, you would trust me.”
Trust me to handle this.
Trust me enough to tell me why he thinks it’s best for people to not know I’m a King at BA.
Trust me enough to stop leaving me in the dark on…whatever it is he’s keeping from me.
“I do trust you.” Sneakers squeak, and two strong arms wrap around my middle.
I scoff. “You have a funny way of showing it.”
Paying no mind to how the cotton of his shirt soaks up the lingering moisture on my damp skin, Carter tightens his embrace, resting his chin on the ball of my shoulder. “Me wanting to rearrange Gunderson’s face has nothing to do with you not being Royalty enough and everything to do with the fact that you. Are. My. Sister.”
I slump against him and nod. I can accept that. “Well, don’t worry.” I pat his forearm so he’ll release me and turn to face him. “Scott will be singing soprano in the shower for the next week or so.”
“Oh shit.” Lance coughs into his fist.
Twisted glee sparkles brightly in Carter’s eyes. “What did you do?”
I pop a shoulder. “Twisted his balls like a light bulb.”
The automatic way they both cover their crotches fills my belly with satisfaction. The mood officially lightened, I’m almost free, my hand on the handle to the women’s locker room when Carter calls out, “Oh, Savs?”
That earlier sense of foreboding brings a fresh layer of goose bumps to my skin. “What?”
“I’ll let the Gunderson thing go”—he taps the side of his nose then points at me—“but don’t think I’ll be that easy about your mystery chauffeur.”
CHAPTER 18
I’m texting with the Royals, fingers flying across the screen of my phone to keep up with the trash talk currently happening in the group chat, laughing at a particularly witty clapback from Tessa when the elevator doors open and I step into the penthouse suite at the St. James and directly into a brick wall.
“Oh shit!” I stumble back, my phone clattering on the marble floor, my feet scrambling for purchase as I try my best not to end up next to it on the ground.
Strong hands wrap around my arms and tug until I’m flush against a hard chest, the clean scent of soap and menthol infusing my senses as I suck in a startled breath.
“If you wanted me, all you had to do was say something. No need to throw yourself at me, sweetheart.”
<
br /> The cocky connotation grounds me back into reality, and I look up into the blue eyes of Duke Delacourte, palm itching to smack the smirk off his handsome face the same way it does when I’m around his best friend.
With a full-body jolt, I jerk myself out of his hold and jump back about five paces. The right side of his mouth only hitches up higher, and with a grace I wouldn’t have expected from a person of his size, he bends to scoop my phone off the floor. As his thumb glides over the thankfully not cracked screen, a stream of GIFs from The Princess Bride, Game of Thrones, and Robin Hood: Men in Tights scrolls past. I snatch it out of Duke’s hand before he can read anything incriminating.
“Do you and Noble compare notes? Because you share the same delusions.”
As if to prove my point, Duke takes one long stride closer, then another when I move away so we aren’t sharing oxygen, and finally one more until my back is pressed to the wall. I’m really starting to suspect that when BA hands out student handbooks at the start of the school year, they also distribute a guide on How to be a Douchebag. Their merry band of morons all seem to use the same cage-a-female-against-something intimidation tactic.
Newsflash! It doesn’t work on me.
Duke chuckles, our bodies now close enough for his to shake mine with the vibrations. “You know it drives him insane that you call him that, right?”
I shrug. That’s why I do it. It’s the little things in life.
Fingers curl under my chin, tilting my face up and holding it firmly in their grip. I swallow and caution myself to wait and see how this plays out before reacting. I don’t necessarily feel threatened, but this is the first time any of Jasper’s guys have gotten handsy with me.
Eyes that bring to mind the bright blue waters of the Caribbean bore into mine, studying me with a calculating intensity. It’s uncomfortable. Unlike when his friend does the same, my body doesn’t come alive under the attention. No, the way Duke studies me is more like I’m a bug underneath a microscope and not like he’s trying to strip the clothes from my body with just his eyes.
The tension is thick. It’s heavy and cloying, but worst of all, this entire situation is confusing and throwing me off balance. My shields are raised and my defenses fortified, prepared for an attack when at school. Now? Here? In a place that is supposed to be a home base for me, I feel ill-equipped.