by Jacie Lennon
King of Nothing
Jacie Lennon
King of Nothing
Boys of Almadale, Book #1
Copyright © 2020 by Jacie Lennon
All rights reserved.
Visit my website at: www.authorjacielennon.com
Cover Designer: Cover Me Darling
Cover Model: Lochie Carey
Photographer: Michelle Lancaster
Editor: Jovana Shirley, Unforeseen Editing, www.unforeseenediting.com
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Playlist
Find it on Spotify HERE
Here Comes The Thunder – Lee Richardson
Bad For Me – Guccihighwaters
Dark Side — Bishop Briggs
Bad Guy — Billie Eilish
Fire on Fire – Sam Smith
I Feel Like I’m Drowning – Two Feet
Touch It – Ariana Grande
Hide and Seek – Kodaline
Stuck with U – Ariana Grande ft. Justin Beiber
Fool For You – Snoh Aalegra
Goodbyes – Post Malone
Watch Me Burn – Michele Morrone
Take On The World – You Me At Six
Put It On Me – Matt Maeson
Over – Honors
Mine - Bazzi
Contents
Author’s Note
1. Landry
2. Landry
3. Corbin
4. Landry
5. Landry
6. Corbin
7. Landry
8. Corbin
9. Landry
10. Corbin
11. Landry
12. Landry
13. Corbin
14. Landry
15. Landry
16. Landry
17. Corbin
18. Landry
19. Corbin
20. Landry
21. Landry
22. Landry
23. Corbin
24. Landry
25. Corbin
26. Landry
27. Corbin
28. Landry
29. Landry
30. Corbin
31. Corbin
32. Landry
33. Corbin
Epilogue
To my wonderful readers:
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Also by Jacie Lennon
Author’s Note
This book is a light bully academy romance and may contain themes and situations that are uncomfortable for some readers.
1
Landry
“Mooooooommm,” I sigh into the phone as she continues to ramble on about Chester this and Chester that. What Chester bought for her. Where Chester took her.
Who names their kid Chester?
It sounds even sillier for a grown man, but Mom seems to be head over heels and won’t be deterred from her mandatory eighty-gazillion minutes of talking about all the places they go a day. I listen a while longer about the trip they just got back from—their honeymoon-slash-business trip—and try not to roll my eyes. I’m happy for my mom; I am. But this is her third marriage, and for some reason, call me crazy, I’m having a hard time getting attached.
“Mom, Mom, Mom,” I start a chant over her long run-on sentences.
Finally, she pauses and then, “What is it, Panda Bear?”
“First, don’t call me Panda Bear, please—”
“I’m your mother,” she says, her prim voice shooting across the phone.
“Fine. If it floats your boat, do it.” I laugh at her pulling the mom card.
“Oh, I meant to tell you about our boat ride—”
“Tell me when I get there. I’m about five minutes away,” I say as the voice I named Reginald pops up on my Maps app on my phone to let me know I need to turn right in half a mile.
“I can’t wait for you to meet Chester,” Mom gushes.
My lips quirk up in a smile. I love her, and I want what’s best for her. If Chester makes her happy, I’m going to put my big-girl panties on and get to know the guy.
“Oh, I, uh—” She cuts off, and my ears perk up.
“What’s up?”
“I need to tell you something else, Landry.”
The smile drops off my face, and the good feelings I had plummet straight to my stomach.
“Hold on, Mom,” I say as I stop in front of a large gate, a gold filigree M centered in the middle of both panels.
I check the address I was given again. My eyes widen as I realize this is the correct place, and I lean over to hit the button on the box next to my window.
“Hi, um, it’s Landry,” I say into the speaker.
My mom’s laughter sounds tinny, coming through my phone.
“Hold on, baby girl. I’ll open the gate,” she says as I bring my phone back up to my ear.
“Mom?”
“Well, maybe I have two things to tell you,” she says.
I roll my eyes. “You said he had money. You didn’t tell me he was loaded.” I put the phone on speaker and lay it on the console next to me.
“Chester does well for himself,” she says.
I snort. “So I see. Now, what were you wanting to tell me?”
“Oh, nothing.” She brushes it off, and the bad feeling remains. “I’ll see you in a minute.”
The phone goes silent as she hangs up, and I grip the steering wheel, feeling like Cinderella, out of my comfort zone as I survey the house in front of me. I drive around a freaking fountain in the middle of the driveway to stop at the entrance of the monstrosity.
My dusty Jeep looks sad compared to the Audi I see parked in front of the detached garage, shining like it came off the showroom floor. I can’t say that I’ve ever been around this much money.
We were not poor as a family; my dad makes quite a lot of money, doing his photography. But since my parents’ divorce when I was eight, I lived with my dad and traveled around with him. Being homeschooled by a traveling photographer—who was never home—until my freshman year didn’t leave me with a lot of time to make friends or to have a lot of possessions of my own.
I step out of my Jeep, stretching my neck and putting my hands to the small of my back, pushing in as I look left and right. The opulence of the place goes beyond what I can see. I lean over the driver’s seat to grab my backpack off the passenger side and throw it over one shoulder. I adjust my sunglasses and pull my shirt straight before taking a deep breath and walking up the steps.
“Landry, dear,” Mom says after she throws open the front door, gliding out onto the porch, her gauzy dress floating in the breeze like a ghost around her.
She pulls me in for a long hug.
“Hey, Mom,” I say softly, blinking rapidly to keep my tears at bay.
It’s been a long time since I’ve seen her, and I didn’t know how much I’d missed her touch and smell until she started hugging me. She pulls back and stares into my face, letting her eyes linger on each part of me, as if rewriting an old memory. I guess that is what she’s doing since she hasn’t seen me in the flesh in over a year. We didn’t talk that
much in that time either. She would call me once in a while to check in, but she wasn’t usually too forthcoming with what all she’d been doing, steering the conversation more to me and my life—until now, when all she seems to want to talk about lately is Chester since they’ve gotten married.
“Come in, come in. Do you have more luggage? Oh, what am I saying? Of course you have more luggage. I’ll have Doran retrieve it.”
“Doran?”
“Our butler.” She twirls her hand in the air as if to say, Doesn’t everyone have a butler?
I nod and try not to gape as we walk into the front foyer, the sweeping staircase and high ceilings all but taking my breath away.
“So, when will I meet the illustrious Chester?” I smile, letting Mom know that I’m only joking around, but she doesn’t notice.
A dreamy look passes across her face as she turns to me. “He was hoping to be here when you arrived; however, he had to step out for some business. He should return shortly. In the meantime …” Her voice takes on a worried tone before she pauses.
“What?” I scrunch up my face in confusion.
She opens her mouth to talk again when there is a loud noise at the top of the stairs, cutting us both off. It’s like we’ve entered a slow-motion video, the way our bodies turn at turtle speed, my hair brushing my face and Mom’s dress fluttering with the movement. Time stands still as I raise my head, meeting three pairs of eyes. Two sets of icy blue-gray and one glittering green staring back at me. I vaguely register a basketball loudly thudding down the staircase, sounding like it hits every step.
“Ah, here they are.” Mom recovers first and pastes a smile on, gesturing with her entire arm toward the top of the stairs like I don’t know who she’s referring to.
“Here who is?” I say, gritting my teeth.
It appears that Mom left out a large and very important detail when she married Chester.
“Why, your brothers,” she says, turning back to me.
I would pay good money to anyone who could catch my expression on camera because I’m sure my mouth hit the ground and they could see down my throat and into my soul.
“What?” I ask, praying that I heard her wrong.
Brothers? Surely not.
I don’t have brothers. I’m quite happily an only child, and my mom would have informed me before marrying someone else with children.
Right?
“Well, silly me. Only two of them are your brothers. The other is here so much that he is part of the family. They are all in your grade. Isn’t that great, honey?” Mom starts rambling, inserting little giggles here and there.
I fight the urge to rub my eyes before looking back to make sure that, indeed, three boys are standing there. No, not boys. Men.
Aren’t teenagers supposed to be young and not quite filled out yet?
Most of the boys I’ve met are that way. These boys have to be in their mid-twenties, masquerading as teens.
“Boys, come down and meet my daughter.” She twirls her hand in the air again, and the boys mutter among themselves before slowly descending the stairs.
I take them in. The two who are twins must be my stepbrothers. They are all about the same height, over six feet, and muscular. The twins have dark brown hair and blue-gray eyes that look like a storm, and I can already tell that they are identical, except for hairstyles and one has a nose ring. But when my gaze lands on the friend, I feel the same way I did when my best friend in third grade pushed me off the top of the slide and I landed on my back, unable to draw a breath in. His dirty-blond hair hangs a little on his forehead, wet like he is sweaty or just got out of the shower. His moss-green eyes meet mine and suck me in, holding my attention until Mom clears her throat, giggling again.
“Boys, this is Landry. She’s starting school with you on Monday. Landry, the twins, Brock and Bodhi, and their best friend, Corbin Henson.”
Her hand-twirling is starting to grate on my nerves in this situation, which is only awkward to the four kids. She acts like we will become fast friends and forgive her for her outright lies of omission.
“Hey,” I say, sticking my hand out between the ocean that separates the three boys from me.
They stare for a beat before one of the twins chuckles and steps forward, wrapping strong arms around me and catching me off guard. His arms push the strap of my backpack off my shoulder, and it hits the ground with a thump.
“Hey, sis. Welcome home,” he whispers in my ear, making little strands of my hair fly around, tickling my skin. The words are welcoming, but the tone he says them in is confusing. Almost like he’s playing a part. He doesn’t sound like he’s actually greeting me warmly. He steps back with a smirk and hooks a thumb at his chest. “Bodhi.”
I nod and feel my gaze being drawn back to the green eyes piercing me. Corbin Henson.
His face remains impassive as his gaze sweeps over me, down my body and back up again, making me feel naked. I shiver a little under his perusal before he turns suddenly, picking up the basketball and striding away from us. Bodhi and Brock don’t move for a moment. Then, Brock smirks, and they follow Corbin down the hallway he disappeared into.
“Oh my, that was strange. Don’t you think that was strange?” Mom says, fluttering her hands.
I think this whole situation is strange. Horrid. A debacle.
I turn my hard stare on my mom, and she wilts under my gaze.
“I know, honey. I’m sorry. I never found the right time to tell you about them. Honestly, I haven’t been able to get to know them myself. We don’t do a lot of things together as a family, but I plan to change that.”
Yippee.
Yeah, the guys really looked like they wanted to get to know me.
I sigh and bend down, grabbing my backpack. I hoist it back onto my shoulder.
“Let me show you to your bedroom. We decided to let you decorate, so it’s bare bones right now, but I’m sure you’ll have it homey in no time. Put up some of your artwork you like to create or something.”
Mom starts up the stairs, and I follow her, nodding at the appropriate times during her speech. A stark contrast to the silence of my dad. A world-renowned photojournalist, he is always trotting off to some remote part of the world, and he used to take me with him when he could. I love my dad, but since I started high school, going to the local public school, he wasn’t around a lot. When Mom found out, she pretty much forced me to come live with her in California, so she could keep an eye on me. As if she hadn’t known he had been gone ninety percent of the time since my freshman year. I think it was just a ruse, her acting like he hadn’t treated us the same way when she was married to him.
Dad didn’t put up much of a fight about me moving to live with Mom. How could he when he was in Sri Lanka when she emailed him?
So, here I am, all the way across the United States, settling in on the West Coast, with a new family and about to start a new school next week. Exhaustion doesn’t even cover how I’m feeling.
“Here we are,” Mom says as she pushes a large door open, flipping on the light and stepping back so I can take in my new room.
It’s open, spacious. A four-poster bed sits in the center of it. Not up against the wall, but right in the middle of the room. Turning in a full circle, I note the white walls and the absence of furniture. The floor is hardwood, and there is a door to the right. I assume it leads into a bathroom.
“It’s great. Thanks,” I say, walking to the bed and setting my backpack on top of it.
We are interrupted by a man bringing the rest of my bags in—Doran, I’m guessing.
“Like I said, we left it for you to decorate. You can let me or Doran know what kind of furniture you would like, and we can arrange to have it brought here. Don’t worry about price.” She gives me a wink.
“I’d like to go to bed,” I tell her.
She nods. “Of course. It’s getting late.” Her gaze goes to the window. The sun is slowly dipping into the horizon, and the room is bathed in a hazy oran
ge light. “Would you like some dinner? I can have Ms. Anderson whip you up a tray.”
Doran? Ms. Anderson? It’s like I’m in an alternate universe.
“Uh, yeah. Sure. Thanks.”
We stand there awkwardly, not knowing what else to do.
“Okay, I’ll leave you to it.” Mom steps forward and pulls me into her embrace again. “I’m really happy you’re here, Landry.”
“I’m happy to be here too, Mom.”
I think.
2
Landry
I unzip my bag and pull a change of clothes out. I breathe a sigh of relief as I peel off my travel-worn jeans and T-shirt before slipping on the joggers and hoodie. I put my hands on my hips and do another spin around the room before climbing up onto the bed and throwing myself backward, the fluffy pillows cushioning my fall and the mattress instantly conforming to the shape of my body. I blow air out through my mouth, my lips bumping together as it passes over them, and I blink up at the ceiling. I lie there for a while, my eyelids growing heavy until a knock on the door pulls me from my stupor.
“Beg your pardon,” Doran says as he sticks his head inside my open doorway. He walks into the room, a large tray held in his hands. “Dinner.” He sets the tray on the end of the bed, the only place other than the floor to put it in the room.
