Dirty Wicked Prince: A Dark High School Bully Romance (Court Legacy Book 1)

by Eden O'Neill

  And why did I sit up. Why did I go ramrod straight like I cared?

  Because you do.

  I called Dorian on his shit, and now, I was calling myself on mine. Maybe the dark prince had circulated my mind more than a time or two. Maybe I put more stake into him saving my brother’s life than I wanted to tonight.

  That tended to happen when one realized he almost died too in that water.

  Dorian really could have. He was an idiot for going in there after my brother.

  My fingers shook on the device as I waited for Ares to finally come out with what he was going to say.

  Ares: Basically, he’s real fucked up right now, and I’m the last person he wants to see. Not after what I did to you and your brother.

  Me: Point, Mallick?

  Ares: Fuck, little. Give me a word in edgewise, would you? What I’m trying to say is he came to see me tonight. Some shit went down, then he drove off like a crazy fuck after. He’s completely in his head, and he shouldn’t be out like that. He shouldn’t be alone. Not right now.

  I stopped for a second, thinking about what he said.

  Me: What happened?

  Ares: I can’t go into details. It started with a fight about that shit that happened with your brother, though. Got pretty nasty. Physical.

  Whoa.

  Ares: It ended up escalating into some deeper shit. Real bad shit going on with him, and between the combination, it’s put him on another level.

  I wondered what the deeper shit was and recalled Dorian had felt off tonight. I’d asked about it, but of course, he hadn’t gone into details.

  He’d certainly been weird, though.

  He felt off, and something told me those details Ares couldn’t get into had something to do with that.

  Ares: I’m worried. He shouldn’t be alone, but if I try to go see him after that shit with Bru, he’s not going to have it. That’s why I’m texting you.

  Me: Me?

  Ares: Yeah.

  The next thing I knew, he shot over an address.

  It was close.

  Like literally down the street, and I had no idea why he was sending this.

  Ares: I tracked his phone here. You should go. If he won’t see me, at least you should be there. Wells and Thatcher tried contacting him too, and no dice. He told them both to fuck off.

  Me: I don’t get why you’re texting me. Why would he want to see me if he’s refusing you guys?

  Dorian hated me. We hated each other.

  Ares: You seem pretty intelligent, Sloane. Figure it out.

  The first thing I noticed was that he paid me another compliment.

  The second was that he called me by my name.

  *

  The address Ares had shot me was so close I actually walked to it.

  I found Dorian on the lawn.

  He sat in the middle of it, a six-pack beside him and a bottle in his hand. He drew it back in the moonlight and didn’t even notice me until I was right up on him.

  He barely looked like himself, hair tossed and strewn about.

  His eyes haunted.

  He almost stared through me when he drew back his beer, wiping his full lips in the moonlight after. He’d changed since I’d last seen him. A white tee cuffed his mighty arms and strong back. He tilted his head, staying level with my approach. “The fuck you doing here?”

  He wasn’t quite drunk, but he was obviously working at it with all the beer at his feet. He sat in front of a dark house, the for sale sign in the yard.

  He kicked at the sign. “I came here to be by myself.”

  Obviously.

  I stayed anyway, hugging my arms in the chilly air. The house he sat in front of was lovely, large glass walls like Bru’s and mine. It also sat on a hill. The scenic view was high up here and completely picturesque, beautiful.

  And why was he so beautiful. His blond hair was perfect and hung lazily over his eyes. His beer tight in his hands, I noticed his split knuckles. He appeared to have punched something.

  Or someone.

  Ares had said their fight had gotten physical, which was crazy. He’d done that over everything with Bru? Really?

  Dorian noticed me eyeing his knuckles, smirking. Shaking his head, he tipped back his beer again. He swallowed it down. “Which one of those fuckers I call friends got you to come see me?”

  My eyes twitched wide, surprised. “Ares texted. How did you know?”

  “Because I know my friends,” he said, rocking back. He killed one beer, then started on another. “And few people can track my phone.” He studied me. “And my parents don’t know you.”

  His roving gaze stayed on my bare thighs, pausing only a second before coming up to my midriff. He didn’t stay there long before getting a good visual fondle of my breasts before smirking again and drinking more beer. I’d hit dudes for less.

  But under Dorian’s gaze…

  He was in my head too, my chest visibly flushed in my scoop-neck top. He made me feel completely naked despite being fully clothed.

  I hated that it wasn’t in a bad way. I hated that I burned under his sight. He was still feet away from me, but that didn’t matter.

  Why is he here?

  The house in front of us was dark, empty. Like my home, there were no neighbors. Each house sat in its own privacy of full trees and moonlight.

  It was just Dorian and me out here, alone with the for sale sign and his beer. He lifted the pack. “Want one? I’m not an asshole.”

  He was, but I took one anyway. After my selection, he stole it back from me. He opened it with his boot before returning it.

  “So chivalrous,” I crooned, making his dark smile appear. It didn’t frighten me like it probably should. Not anymore. I popped a squat beside him on my knees. “Any idea why your friend would be desperate enough to call me over here?”

  “Because he knew where I was.” He lounged his big body back in the grass, his dark eyes in my direction. “And he’s obviously caught on to my fascination with you.” My mouth dried, and he smirked. “It also helps that you live just down the street and could get here soon.”

  My mouth parted. “You know where I live?”

  “You’d left-hook my ass at the things I know about you.” He turned in my direction. “Orphan at eighteen. Your brother seventeen. You came to this town after your father died in a factory fire. Your tuition is paid by a Callum Montgomery, and though I don’t know a lot about him, I’m assuming he’s very wealthy.” My jaw slacked. He faced the house. “Your file said he was a family friend.”

  So, he had my file, impressive. I sat back then brought in my legs, hugging them. “What else do you know?”

  He smiled again. “I know you’ve moved around a lot, and that’s clearly made you combative.” His gaze roved over me. “You jumped down Wolf’s throat before he could jump down yours, and considering your history of fights at your old schools, that makes sense. You’re from Chicago most recently but have lived in the state your whole life. Your mother passed at some point in your life. Though I don’t know how.”

  He stated my life in facts only, and at my silence, his expression shifted. He almost appeared apologetic. Like he’d run away with himself and just realized what had fallen from his lips.

  Even still, he didn’t apologize. He simply clinked his beer with mine. Together, we drank a long sip, the pair of us lost in it.

  “You seem to think you have me all figured out,” I said.

  “But don’t I?” Sitting up, he hooked an arm over his knee. He frowned. “I mean, I thought I had.”

  “Until when?”

  “You showed up here. With me?” He waved his beer in front of the house. “Dropping into my hot fucking mess of a life.” His head tilted in my direction. “I’m sure you know all about this shit, though. My life is as open to you as yours was to mine. Just pull up a fucking internet search.”

  I blanched. Actually, I knew very little about the dark prince because I hadn’t looked him up. I hadn’t fe
lt I needed to.

  I wondered why now.

  He fascinated me too, and I’d stalked boys for less in the past during a crush phase.

  Did you actually just think that? A crush on the dark prince? Really?

  What I had with this boy wasn’t a crush. It was something weird.

  It was something intense.

  Like stated, he fascinated me, but no, I hadn’t looked him up.

  He saw that. His blond eyebrows actually flicked up, the surprise evident on his face.

  “Another surprise, Noa Sloane,” he said, then wet his lips. He grinned. “You keep surprising me.”

  He let the words fall off as he propped both arms on his knees.

  “Let me give you the CliffsNotes version, then.” Beer still tight in hand, he directed a finger at the house. “This was where my uncle Charlie was murdered.”

  The beer nearly slipped from my fingers he’d said it so casually.

  He eyed me. “Plot twist, right?”

  His chuckle was so dark as he drank again, and after finishing that one off, he opened another on his boot. I thought to say he should slow down.

  Ares was right.

  He wasn’t acting right. I didn’t know a lot about Dorian, but this wasn’t normal.

  Then what he just said.

  Dorian stretched a bit before craning those big arms back over his legs. “Don’t you want to know how it happened?”

  “Not unless you want to tell me.” I came at what I said like a scared little animal.

  Or maybe it was him in the vulnerable position. He was certainly the most vulnerable one.

  “Surprises surprises,” he said to me, but he wasn’t smiling now. His jaw clenched. “He was shot.” Fuming, a harsh muscle feathered his jaw. “Twice in the chest. He died almost instantly.”

  “Dorian…”

  “Broke my mom.” He said this with a straight face. “My mom who you thought it was fun to play a joke on. She’s still having problems, you know? I’ve got to remind her of stuff. To do stuff like remember things she needs for her day.”

  “I didn’t mean…” But that would be a lie. I had meant to hurt his mom because it would hurt him.

  Something told me he knew that, his smile returning. His attention drifted to the home. “Charlie was having an affair with our headmaster.”

  “What?”

  He nodded. “Good ole Principal Mayberry. So perfect.” His fingers squeezed the bottle. “So lovely. She certainly likes to entice eighteen-year-old boys.” I frowned, and he nodded. “Their affair started my sophomore year when Charlie was eighteen. He was fascinated with her. Snuck around with her all the time. They used to meet here when Coach was out.”

  My stomach twisted. “She took advantage of him.”

  “He claims she didn’t.” He shrugged. “But he was vulnerable, and she was married.” His expression darkened. “To our coach at the time. Coach Mayberry.”

  “Why at the time?” I didn’t know why I asked. Why I kept pushing this.

  “Well, he’s not our coach anymore. Nor is he still actively married to his wife.” Ice chilled his words. “That kind of happens when you kill yourself after murdering a nineteen-year-old kid in your house.”

  The breath escaped my lips.

  Dorian’s head bobbed twice. “In her official statement, Principal Mayberry said Coach believed someone was breaking into his home that night. But once he realized the kid was his former player turned the gun on himself. She claimed he suffered from ‘mental problems’…”

  “That’s not true?” It was hard to hear this at this point, hear the audible strain in his voice. He wasn’t even looking at me now.

  And the haunted look returned to his gaze.

  Dorian drank more beer, visibly lost in front of me.

  “That woman is a lying bitch,” he gritted. His eyes had turned into heated, dark pools. Like the grim reaper out to play. Without looking at it, he pointed toward the house. “She had plans to run away with Charlie that night. Thatch broke into Charlie’s social media account and found that shit out.” He shook his head. “My theory is Coach found out the woman had a lover and got into an argument with her about it when she tried to leave him.”

  I gasped, and Dorian’s grip on his beer was pale white now.

  “I was sure Coach shot without warning,” he said, his voice hollow, vacant. “And after finding out who Charlie was, killed himself.” He smiled, a dark, sad smile. “Her husband had no idea his wife would take up an affair with a kid. He thought he was simply going for the other guy that night.”

  “Dorian.”

  He stared at the ground. “But after seeing it was Charlie...” His eyes shifted. “Well, he hadn’t just killed the other guy. He’d killed his former player and beloved former quarterback of his team. Charlie was the town jewel. Everyone loved him.” He drank more beer. “The man was troubled, but probably not in the way Mayberry says. Before he died, Charlie told me Coach was abusive. That Coach hit her and was a bad guy. He obviously had anger issues and shit.”

  He sucked back the rest of his beer, but after, he didn’t take another. I’d been glad.

  “The only person who can fill in the real story is that bitch Mayberry. That coke whore, opportunist-as-fuck bitch. The woman became a drug addict after all this shit. Sits in her office sometimes and does cocaine. More than one person has seen it.”

  My God.

  “She preyed on Charlie, and he was so goddamn vulnerable to her,” he continued, red creeping up his neck. “He lived with my parents and me. Grew up with me as my brother after his parents, my grandparents died.” He shook his head. “He was a shell of himself after that. Never the same after that.”

  He scrubbed his face, my jaw moving slowly.

  “Well, can you get Mayberry to tell the truth?” I asked, probably stupid. “She shouldn’t get away with that. Maybe show someone the social media exchanges between Charlie and her. Show your parents.”

  “Like I haven’t thought of that, little fighter.” He looked at me, his smile sad again. “There’s no identifiable information in the messages. She deleted her account.” He drew in a large breath, staring at the house. “She’d probably deny the whole thing. The only way to get her to tell the truth is to make her. From her lips, no one else’s.” He studied me. “We tried once. To get her to admit shit?” He smirked. “But a little fighter got—and continues—to get in the way.”

  My mouth parted. “What?”

  “You’re her student assistant during a prime time to approach her. Corner her and get her to do what we need to do. Us guys made plans to sneak her out during that hour and get her to confess in a remote location.”

  “You mean, kidnap her?”

  He opened his hands like it wasn’t a thing. “Would have worked, but it wouldn’t have had to have come to that had we gotten her during our first opportunity.” His eyebrows lowered. “Which again, a little fighter managed to fuck up too.”

  He kicked his bottle onto the lawn, the thing rolling through the thick grass. I studied it, then instantly stiffened.

  My gaze collided with his dusky irises, like the answers were always there. He hated me when I got here. He always said I was getting in the way, making noise.

  I twitched. “You mean, the night of that mugging? Principal Mayberry’s mugging—”

  “That was Wells,” he said. I thought he’d reach for a beer, but instead shoved his fingers into his hair. He brought them down to cover his mouth. “But it wasn’t his fault. I should have done the job myself. I should have gotten her myself.” He gripped his arms. “Wolf and I were preparing the location for questioning. We were going to get her on camera and get her to confess what actually happened that night.”

  And I’d gotten in the way.

  I made noise.

  I did and continued to do so according to him. He said the failed attempt wasn’t Wells’s fault.

  It was actually yours.

  I couldn’t breathe as
he severed his gaze from me.

  Dorian got up and stalked over to the house. “I should have done things myself with Mayberry. What happened here that night of Charlie’s murder was my fault. Charlie never even would have come here if it wasn’t for…”

  The words seemed to escape him.

  I got up, approaching his side. “If it wasn’t for what?”

  He said nothing, his swallow hard, and mine was too. I’d technically messed everything up for him that night with Mayberry. He was right.

  I had made noise.

  I wasn’t sure if I agreed about how he and the Legacy were going about this. I wasn’t sure this was right at all, but I had no right to put in my input, let alone judge. Charlie wasn’t my family.

  And if it’d been Bru…

  I couldn’t even fathom what I’d do to gain the truth in his honor. Imagine, knowing the person actually responsible for your family’s murder was so close by.

  No, I couldn’t make any judgments here. Not one.

  “I’m sorry,” I said because I truly was.

  He faced me. “Sorry?”

  I played with my hands. “For getting in the way? For making noise? I can’t imagine what you and the guys are going through. God, this fucking sucks.”

  He twitched, like he actually couldn’t believe what I said. He eyed me. “I must be hearing some shit because I just told you I was going to kidnap our headmaster, and you’re telling me sorry that you got in the way of that.” He laughed, nearly sounding manic. Bending, he cracked open another beer. He saluted me with it. “You must be as fucking psycho as me.”

  I watched as he sucked down a long draw. I was as sad for him and his situation as I was confused by him. Maybe he had something about me being weird, but I couldn’t help but feel for him. Understand him. I didn’t want to, but I did.

  And if that made me psycho…

  I honestly did question it. Especially when I ripped the bottle away from him.

  “What the fuck—”

  Cut off, Dorian’s eyes expanded as he watched me rear back his full bottle of beer.

  I threw it at the side of the glass house.

  The booze exploded against the wall, yeasty liquid flowing down it. He growled at me, most likely because I wasted a perfectly good beer.