King of Nothing: An Academy Bully Romance (Boys of Almadale Book 1)

by Jacie Lennon

  “Hey, fucker, I’m still eating,” Bodhi says, turning the light back on.

  I groan, turning over to face the wall, pulling the cover up and blocking the light. I hate the moments right before you fall asleep, when your mind wants to bring things up you’ve forgotten about. It’s the time I usually spend worrying over Abe and plotting out my future, how I’m going to go about getting custody of him. Brock and Bodhi have my back, I know that, but I hate relying on others. I want to do this my way and with my money. Money I don’t have.

  But tonight, my thoughts aren’t of Abe. It’s Landry’s face, right before we went over the edge. The sheer terror on it and the way it made my stomach clench. The reason I acted like an idiot and had to lie to my boys. The reason I feel like my carefully crafted life could fall apart.

  I can’t get close to her. I can’t allow her to drive a wedge between the three of us, even unknowingly. I can’t have her.

  “Listen up, fuckers,” Brock says Monday morning.

  I’m sitting in the back row of the auditorium. Orientation is starting, and since the twins and I are seniors, we aren’t listening to a word of it. It’s all for show anyway. We do what we want, when we want. The name Montgomery is top tier around here. Everyone knows who pays the bills, so we benefit from it.

  “Orientation is boring as shit. So, I created a little excitement.” He smiles like the Joker, and I notice Bodhi mimics it.

  Sometimes, seeing the same expression on their faces creeps me out.

  “Welcome, students, to a new year at Almadale Preparatory Academy.” Principal Meriwether’s voice rings out over the microphone, and the room goes silent. “We are happy to be back for another school year. You should have received your manual. I want each one of you to read it. There were some issues last year that we won’t rehash, but I expect full cooperation this year and for you to focus on your studies, not on playing games.” His gaze peruses the students seated until they reach the back row, stopping on us as we grin.

  He continues to drone on about teamwork and classes as I lean over to Bodhi. “What’s the plan?”

  “Don’t worry, C. I’ve got it covered.” Brock leans his head back against the wall. His manual slides from his leg and hits the floor. He doesn’t bother to pick it up.

  “As we do every year, I’m going to invite the freshman class and any newcomers onstage, and they will recite our founding pledge. Look on page one of your manual.”

  The auditorium is filled with sounds of mumbles and shuffling. I watch as the first few rows of students filter up, and one lone figure marches from the middle, merging with them. Almadale is exclusive. For that reason, we don’t have many transfers during the school year. You generally start as a freshman. So, watching Landry file onstage with the beginning class is like her holding a sign saying how out of place she is.

  Brock types something on his phone while the students onstage are reciting. My eyes are focused on Landry and her damn uniform. It looks like it wasn’t made for her, and then I remember what Trixie said—that Landry’s were taken. She must have borrowed one. She looks like she’s about to bust out of it, and she stands with her hands awkwardly crossed in front of her.

  Just as they finish the last sentence of the pledge, the overhead projector comes rolling out of the ceiling. Students and faculty watch in interest. This is not usually part of orientation. Principal Meriwether reaches up to run a finger around his collar, pulling his tie out a little as he glances up at the sound station above us. I can imagine them shrugging, not knowing what is going on.

  This has the kings written all over it. But normally, we do this together. Brock going rogue doesn’t sit well with me. I glance at Bodhi, and he’s frowning, so Brock must not have told him either.

  The PA system screeches before a voice sounds over the loudspeaker. It’s breathy and comes out as a whisper. I watch as Landry’s head shoots up, her face going white, and her eyes dart around the room. The screen above her is black, but you can tell it’s a video. Little specks of light flash around as the camera moves. Then, in the dim light, the screen shows a face, a girl with her head thrown back and a hand in her hair. Noises bring the scene to life, skin meeting skin with moans. The girl moves, looking at the camera, and her eyes widen. It’s Landry, and her face goes dark.

  “What the fuck, Jake?” she says on the audio.

  The guy behind the camera laughs. She reaches up to knock the camera from his hands, and the screen goes dark again.

  “Are you recording us?”

  We can hear her yell, and then the screen goes dead. The words Welcome to Almadale flash up next.

  The auditorium is silent. You could hear a pin drop in the moments that follow. Then, there’s a commotion onstage as Landry pushes through the freshman class, exiting to the side of the stage.

  I clench my fists together.

  “What the hell?” I hiss at Brock, but he only turns amused eyes on me.

  “Problem, C? Thought you didn’t like her?”

  “Was this to get at me or her?” I ask.

  Brock tilts his head to the side. “Her. But I want you to admit the truth.”

  The auditorium erupts in chatter as everyone starts talking at once. Some of the faculty get up and attempt to shush the students, but the damage is done. There’s no salvaging this stupid orientation now.

  “How did you even get that video?”

  “I have a guy,” he says.

  Bodhi’s head whips around. “Who?”

  “Just a guy. He’s been helping me with … something.” He cuts his eyes my way for a second.

  “Is that who you met with the other night?”

  “Yes,” he says.

  Before I can ask anything else, Principal Meriwether comes over the microphone, ending the meeting. Everyone files out but us three. We are locked in a heated staring contest, none of us wanting to give up first.

  “Quit fuckin’ holding out on us. We are the kings. We live and die together,” I say.

  “I’ll tell you everything when I can,” he says and then leans back, his fingers tapping against the armrest. “Right now, he’s checking into Landry.” He eyes the screen that’s being hoisted back into the ceiling. Looks like someone will probably get fired over this even though everyone knows who did it. “And Linda.”

  “We know this.” Bodhi kicks his water bottle underneath the seat in front of us, and we listen to it roll, the plastic hitting chair legs.

  “Yeah, well, there’s something fuckin’ going on, and I don’t like it. Linda has been intruding in our lives for over a year, and she only now brings her daughter to live with her? Something is going on; we just haven’t figured it out yet.”

  “Have you thought that maybe nothing is going on, and you’ve created all of this in your head?” I ask.

  Brock stares me down. I hold my ground though. The worst thing to do in front of them is show weakness.

  “We wouldn’t expect you to know anything about it,” he growls.

  I raise one eyebrow. “Low blow, asshole.” I stand and shove my hands in my pockets. “What was it you said before? ‘Our castle doesn’t crumble over one fuckin’ girl’? Looks like it crumbles when you are a dickface liar who keeps secrets.” I hit his legs with mine as I exit the aisle.

  I head toward the girls’ dorm as soon as I step outside the auditorium. I’m not sure that’s where she will be, but it’s the only place I know to look for her. Technically, boys aren’t allowed in the girls’ dorm, but it’s a rule often overlooked. Just like us.

  I breeze through the front door, the girls inside shrinking back as they see my face. I turn toward the stairs and take them two at a time, remembering where her room is from our Friday night initiation. I don’t knock. I turn the knob, throwing the door open.

  Two sets of eyes turn to me as I cross my arms, casually leaning against the doorway. I stare at her as she sits there, her long brown hair draped over one shoulder. She’s being comforted by Trixie, and I can’t
help but wish I were the one doing the comforting. Whether she needs a hug or a good fuck, I’m down for either.

  “Fuck you,” she spits as a shoe flies by my ear.

  I smile. “Gladly.”

  9

  Landry

  Gladly. The word echoes through my mind, and I can’t believe what I’m hearing.

  “Gladly?” I screech.

  I know how attractive I must look. My uniform is too small, my hair is out of order from running, and I probably have a whole lot of mascara running down my face from crying. I stand and stalk toward him, but Trixie grabs my wrist, halting me.

  “Is this what you meant by their style is more subtle? Do you think that was subtle? They humiliated me in front of the whole student body.” My arms fly out, and I feel crazed. I want to punch Corbin in the face for even having the audacity to stand in my dorm room door.

  Trixie grimaces and walks around me.

  “I’ll give you a moment,” she says, stepping around Corbin, not even looking at him as she walks out of the room.

  “What are you doing here?” I turn to Corbin, putting my hands on my hips.

  God help me, but I can’t help but notice his biceps. His damn biceps as he slouches there with his arms crossed.

  What is wrong with me?

  I finally drag my gaze back to his eyes, and he smirks, stalking forward until he looms over me.

  “Why did you do it?” I whisper.

  He cocks his head to the side. “Do what?”

  “Back there, in the auditorium.”

  “I didn’t,” he says.

  “Don’t lie to me.” I take a step back and sit down on my bed.

  “I’m not,” he says simply, still perusing me in that relaxed manner of his that’s so infuriating.

  I shiver under his gaze, and my body aches to feel his touch again, the traitorous wench. He bends over, tucking a stray hair of mine behind my ear, and I watch his eyes change. They go from seafoam green to emerald, dark and glittering. I would say it’s lust, but that can’t be right. Corbin isn’t lusting over me; he has the pick of any girl. He’s toying with me.

  I turn my face away and close my eyes. I can’t allow him in. I can’t lower my defenses around him even if he shows me a softer side when the twins aren’t around.

  I feel his finger hit my chin, turning my face back to his, and for a second, we are suspended in time. My breathing slows down, and I can hear my heartbeat in my ears. He keeps pushing up on my chin until I stand, and he spins us toward the door, which Trixie closed.

  He walks me backward until I hit the wall, his fingers cupping my chin, digging into my cheeks. My heartbeat is a cadence urging us on, a drumbeat. He inserts one finger into my mouth, pushing it back along my tongue until I gag. Fuck me, I love it. It’s dominating and worshipful, all at once, as I watch his eyes glitter.

  My hands lift before I’m even thinking about it, skimming the sides of his abdomen, and I can feel the heat through his shirt, delicious and warm. I wrap my lips around his finger as he takes it out of my mouth, letting my tongue wet it as he pushes on my bottom lip, dragging it down before pulling away.

  “Fuck,” he groans, pushing one hand through my hair, yanking the strands until they hurt, my head falling back.

  He lowers his head, softly biting the point of my chin before reaching down and ripping the top of my shirt down. I arch my back into his hand as he slowly trails a finger over one nipple while raking his teeth down the side of my neck.

  I can’t think. He’s consuming me from the outside in, and my brain is turning foggy as I try to remember what I was even talking about right before he touched me. His hand roughly palms my breast as a moment of clarity hits, and I throw my hands up, pushing against his chest until there’s a few inches of space between us. He immediately quits, and I hate it. I want his hands on me forever, making me feel like I’m drowning for the rest of my life. But I also want answers.

  “Stop,” I say. But I didn’t need to.

  He’s backed up even more, reaching up with one hand to rub the base of his neck as those eyes pierce me. He doesn’t speak, just waits for me as I stand there, chest heaving and still.

  “What is this? I’m mad at you,” I say, throwing my head back and looking up at the ceiling.

  He still doesn’t say anything, and I turn, wrapping my arms around myself.

  The silence is deafening until I hear him move. His front meets my back, and I curve into him. One strong arm wraps around mine, pinning them in place as I sigh, laying my head back on his chest. It feels good. To give in. Give in to my pleasure. Even if we don’t like each other, I can’t deny there is chemistry. His right hand snakes along my stomach, fingertips tracing the top of my skirt before dipping underneath, toying with the edge of my lacy thong.

  “What do you want most in life?” he asks suddenly, pulling me even tighter to him. His forehead rests on the back of my head, pressing in, as his fingers tease the sensitive skin of my thigh. He slips his hand into my panties, tracing the crease of my leg.

  “To attend the Art Institute of Chicago,” I say automatically. Even with the hazy sexual tension in the room, I can answer that question. It’s something I have been dreaming of since I can remember. “Why?” I wrinkle my brows at his random question, squirming as one finger gets closer to my aching core.

  “What I want most in life isn’t for myself,” he murmurs.

  I frown, wrinkling my forehead. What an odd thing to say.

  He shoves one finger inside me, and I gasp, lurching forward, but his arm around me keeps me steady, on my feet. He leisurely strokes it in and out as he kneads my breast with his other hand, his teeth nipping my neck.

  “You aren’t what’s best for me, Landry.”

  He licks up my ear, spreading goose bumps down my neck as he keeps up the rhythm of his finger. In. Out. I push my ass back, digging into his jean-covered cock. I can feel how hard he is through the material. I try to reach back and palm him, but he stops me.

  “No,” he growls, inserting another finger inside me.

  I am dying for him to touch my throbbing clit, to feed this hunger I’m chasing, but he doesn’t go near it.

  Just in. Out. In. Out.

  “Why?” I whisper.

  He stalls, and I want to cry out at the sudden loss of my building pleasure.

  “You could take it all away,” he says, finally pressing down on my clit, sending me over the edge.

  I cry out, throwing my head back on his shoulder.

  “Good girl,” he whispers in my ear as he pulls his hand out.

  Reaching up, he inserts his forefinger in his mouth, sucking my taste off. I watch with wide eyes over my shoulder, unable to move as he steps away, sucking on his middle finger.

  What. The. Fuck?

  “I should hate you,” I say, finally turning around, and he stares at me with hooded eyes, biting his lower lip. “But I don’t, and I don’t know why.” I almost cry the words out but manage to say them with a steady tone.

  His expression doesn’t change as he regards me. He reaches down to adjust himself. He’s still straining against his pants, and my eyes follow his hand.

  “You should hate me,” he says with a nod.

  I tuck my hair behind my ear as we stand there in silence, neither of us knowing what to say. We hardly know each other, and yet he’s touched my most intimate parts. I let him. And I don’t feel one bit bad about it. God, he’s fucking messing with my mind, and in some screwed-up way, I like it. I’ve never been one of those girls, but one look from him, and I’m melting into the floor from heat and desire.

  “What is it you want most in life?” I ask, recalling his words spoken mere moments earlier.

  He moves his hand up, dragging one thumb across his bottom lip before licking it.

  “I want the best life possible for Abe,” he says, shoving his hands in his pockets. It pulls the top of his jeans down a smidgen, and I can see a sliver of skin.

  I stare
as I think about what he said.

  “Abe?”

  “My little brother.”

  I reach across and rub my arm—a nervous habit. This is what we should be doing, getting to know each other, but it feels uncomfortable. Like he’s not sure he should be talking about his personal life.

  “Why doesn’t he have a good life now?” I don’t see how he couldn’t be taken care of and cared for as a child of the one percent. There’s something off about this whole thing, and I can’t put my finger on it.

  “He lives with our grandparents, and they aren’t the nicest people.” He walks over to my desk, lifting papers and thumbing through them.

  I watch him, not even caring that he’s invading my privacy. He turns the page of my sketchbook, tilting his head to the side as he peruses my work. He is sharing his life with me right now, and I don’t want that to stop.

  “I’m a scholarship student,” he says, looking up, and I suck in a breath.

  “A scholarship student?” I parrot back dumbly, not even sure I heard him right.

  “Yes, I’m fucking poor. I come from Loredo. It’s about thirty minutes away. My brother is still there, and I want to get him out when I turn eighteen.” He cocks one hip against my desk. Laying the papers back down, he levels me with a look. It’s as if he’s daring me to make fun of him.

  “I think that’s admirable,” I say, walking toward him but I come to a standstill when he shakes his head. I busy myself grabbing a discarded sweatshirt and pulling it over my head to cover myself before speaking again. “I don’t see what that has to do with me though.”

  “I’ve got to go.” He suddenly stands up from the desk and wrenches my door open.

  “Corbin?” I put my hand out, reaching for him.

  He pauses, only for a moment, before he disappears through the door, leaving me with more questions than answers in our short time together.

  Trixie is leaning on the wall across from our room, staring down the hallway in the direction Corbin went. She brings wide eyes back to mine and grins. “Get everything worked out?”