Defiant Prince: An Enemies-to-Lovers Romance (Black Rose University Book 1)

by A G Henderson

  Chrom, Baron, and Erik didn’t hide their appreciation as Renata sashayed toward them like she was on an invisible catwalk. I told myself it was stupid to be jealous. I told myself this was to be expected. With her exotic tan, goddess-like body, and air of unending confidence, Renata was guaranteed to steal the show wherever she went.

  On any other day, I doubt I would’ve cared one way or another.

  I told myself I was confident in my looks.

  None of those justifications stopped the hitch in my shoulders as I sought Ambrose.

  And nothing prepared me for finding his dark gaze fixed on me like everything else in the universe was an afterthought. I looked away first before I did something stupid like blush and thank him for making me realize I was being a gigantic idiot.

  “Pick your jaws up, boys,” Renata said, stopping in front of them. “The party has officially arrived, and I plan on being all kinds of drunk before the night is out.”

  “Not it,” Chrom and Baron said in unison. Erik’s response came a little late since he was trying to speak around the unlit joint between his lips.

  “Fuck,” he muttered with an eye roll before retreating to the other side of the vehicle and climbing in.

  “What was that?” I asked Chrom as he opened the door for them to pile in. It also gave me a second to notice that they were leaving the passenger seat open for me.

  Chrom grinned but slid inside, forcing me to climb in beside Ambrose. We’d peeled out of the drive before he bothered to answer.

  “Renata and liquor have a bit of a...relationship,” he said, glancing at the girl in question.

  “What Chromie here is trying to say while sparing my feelings is that I like to get fucked up whenever the whole crew is around since they have no choice but to watch out for me. Whoever answers last gets stuck with that particular job for the night.”

  I raised my brows at that. The flask and the day-drinking had definitely clued me in, but I didn’t know how far it went.

  For some reason, my annoyed glower found the side of Ambrose’s face. “You give her a free pass for this shit?”

  “Hello?” Renata waved. “I haven’t gone anywhere. Don’t talk about me like I’m not here.”

  “I can’t with you right now, so I’m asking Ro.”

  “Aww, you hear that, Ro?” Chrom chuckled. “Your girl is worried we’re enabling this bad behavior.”

  I looked right at him. “Because that’s exactly what you’re doing.”

  “We’re not her keepers,” Ambrose said softly, eyes focused on the road. “She can do whatever she wants as long as she reins herself back in before there’s puke involved.”

  The picture of maturity, Renata stuck out her tongue as if to say, See!

  I chewed on my lip, unsure how to approach what was quickly becoming a losing battle. When nothing came to me, I made the executive decision to let it go, at least temporarily. I lapsed into silence while Ambrose drove, and easy conversation flowed.

  At a stoplight, he grabbed his phone from the cupholder and fired off a quick text before we started moving again.

  My phone buzzed.

  I glanced down, frowning when I saw his name on the screen.

  Ambrose: You might think you’re stubborn but she’s in a league of her own. If it’ll wipe that look off your face, I’ll promise to keep an extra eye out. She can’t stand me anyway, so it’s not like she can hate me more.

  Smiling, I waited for him to glance my way again so I could mouth, “Thank you.”

  He rolled his eyes and focused on the road, but the corner of his mouth lifted into a half-grin.

  I relaxed into the seat, still smiling like a complete goofball in gratitude. I was sure he’d rather do anything else than sign up for babysitting Renata. There was a certain amount of tension between the two of them, and I was reminded once more of the fact that they’d dated once upon a time.

  It would have bothered me more if the weird rift between them felt intimate, but it didn’t.

  I got the feeling that whatever had pushed the two of them apart started out personal before eventually devolving into more of a grudge than anything. Otherwise, they’d be much more upset with each other instead of only being annoyed during direct interactions. At least, that was the armchair psychiatrist in me talking. The one that had read a few forums and watched a few videos as if that made someone an expert.

  There was a good chance I didn’t know what I was talking about. All the more reason to put it out of my mind as the scenery changed along with the vibe around me.

  After hearing mention of the rival school here and there—along with the way the Tarots talked about them—I’d expected...worse. Beat up trailers with rust spots and bullet holes. Buildings tagged with graffiti, their broken windows peering into the night like the teeth of some unseen monster. Hookers walking up and down the streets, goods on full display for the next bidder.

  I didn’t see any of that.

  In fact, the only thing that really differentiated this side of town from the other was the color scheme.

  Kingswood and the surrounding area was all about their blacks, chromes, and golds. Everything around the university sported those colors to some degree as if the campus was the origin point and the rest of the city just happened to have sprung from it.

  The closer we got to Thornwood territory, the more I saw blues, yellows, and browns. Aside from that, things were almost a mirror image to what I’d grown accustomed to. So much so that it was kind of eerie. A part of me expected our destination to look exactly like the Tarot’s house, but we wound our way through a large neighborhood before pulling onto a street lined with cars and found a stately-looking log cabin at the end of it.

  Strobing lights landed against smooth wood and pulsed out into the night. Even from where we were, it was easy to see the press of bodies packed inside and out, swaying to the thrumming beat without a care in the world. I reached for my belt, thinking we’d stop back here and walk up. I paused when Ambrose kept driving closer.

  “Umm...” I looked at him, then into the backseats where varying, expectant faces looked back at me. “I think y’all have a different definition of party crashing than I do. Isn’t the idea to go unnoticed for as long as possible?”

  “No,” Baron answered. “Not when you have a point to make.”

  I sighed as Ambrose pulled into the grass in front of the cabin. “We’re not just crashing, are we? There’s another motive behind this.”

  Chrom chuckled as heads turned, noting our presence. “You could say that we’re here on official business, because we are. But it’s also a good excuse to kick the nest and see what comes crawling out.”

  “You realize some things bite when they’re disturbed?”

  “That’s half the fun.” He leaned between the front seats, putting his face closer to mine. “How about you? Do you bite?”

  I flashed my teeth at him. “Come closer and find out, big mouth.”

  “He’s not going to find out shit,” Ambrose said, turning his glare on Chrom. “If any part of your body gets that close to her mouth, I’m going to find you and cut it off. Now get out of my fucking sight and find someone else to flirt with.”

  “I’m going, I’m going.” Chrom laughed, and I wondered how he did it when Ambrose had yet to pass his threat off as a joke.

  Renata bounced up and down impatiently. “Move it or lose it, boys. I’m choking on testosterone back here when I’d much rather be finding the closest bottle of tequila. Lake always has the good stuff.”

  “Lake?” I asked as everyone piled out of the vehicle.

  Ignoring my question, the Tarots formed a loose diamond with Ambrose taking point while Renata and I stayed in the middle. The curious looks and whispers we garnered only held my attention for a moment. So when we reached the front doors and went inside, I had no idea where the red cup in Renata’s hand had come from.

  “How?” I asked her, raising my voice to be heard over the music

/>   She wiggled her fingers around the cup. “Magic.”

  Before I could question further, she ducked into a separate hallway and merged with the crowd in what looked like a huge theater room.

  “Fuck,” Eric grumbled, heading that direction. “I’ve got her, damn it.”

  I stopped him without thought, concern etching its way onto my features. “But—”

  “Leave it,” he said, jaw flexing. “This always happens. Believe it or not, she has a reason.”

  Before I could question that information, Ambrose grabbed my hand, tugging me deeper into the den of sin as Chrom and Baron trailed behind me. No, den of sin wasn’t me being dramatic. Well, not more dramatic than it deserved in any case.

  Things had been wild at the Tarots’ party, but not altogether out of control. This scene on the other hand was thinly veiled chaos, one bad batch away from becoming a tragedy.

  The mix of rustic and modern designs should’ve been quite a sight. Unfortunately, it was hard to appreciate any of the charcoal, wood, and marble fixtures when so very many surfaces throughout the house were covered in drugs no one seemed to care about hiding.

  There wouldn’t be a bigger hypocrisy than me complaining about the smell of weed in the air mixing with beer and sweat. I wasn’t a saint, after all. I just didn’t feel the need lately to rely on smoking to mellow me out and help me deal with the world.

  Ambrose was likely somewhere at the end of that equation; a secret I’d be taking to my grave.

  But it wasn’t just weed, either.

  People were popping pills like they were candy, sporting eyes dilated enough to resemble black orbs. Enough shot glasses were scattered about that I wondered how anyone in the room was still standing. And there was no mistaking the lines of white powder, even before a group of giggling blondes leaned over the table it was arranged on and did their best vacuum impersonation.

  The one group that seemed to be abstaining from the madness caught my eye next, and I wasn’t surprised when Ambrose steered us that way.

  Two guys stood near the back of the room, a bubble of space around them that gave away their importance. One had arresting light brown eyes, milk chocolate skin, and a body big enough to give Chrom a run for his money. The other had blue eyes and dirty blonde surfer boy curls pulled into a top knot. Usually, I would’ve found his look ridiculous. But the wicked tilt to his lips and the tattoos covering his arms gave me a hint that he was more than a pretty face.

  Our group stopped a few feet away. No one, least of all me, could’ve missed the tension that crackled through the space between us or the looming threat of several other not-so-small guys closing in.

  I tried to shake out of Ambrose’s grip to wipe my suddenly sweaty palms on my jeans. Too bad the jerk refused to let go.

  “Lake,” Ambrose said stiffly, nodding to the biggest of the two. He glanced at the tattooed surfer. “Fletcher.”

  Lake’s eyes roamed our group. “Tarots,” he rumbled, taking another swig from his water bottle. “I don’t remember inviting any of your ugly ass mugs.”

  Chrom chuckled like the multiple sneers landing on us meant nothing. “Straight to insults? Don’t tell me you’re still salty about that flag football game.”

  “We’ll take it to the court next time, Chromwell. See how you do then.”

  I nudged Chrom with my elbow. “Dude. You didn’t tell me you had an old man’s name.”

  He glared down at me and I pretended to cower, making him laugh. At least before a low, raspy voice slid between us.

  “You’re not gonna introduce us?” Fletcher’s chewing-on-nails tone made me cringe. He spoke like every word scratched at his esophagus on the way out.

  I had a feeling the faint scar circling his neck, obscured by the tattoos, had something to do with it. That thing looked wicked.

  Baron stepped closer. “She’s none of your business.”

  Lake raised a brow. “Death has been here a whole five minutes without tossing out a threat.” He pointed to our intertwined fingers. “It doesn’t take a genius to put two and two together.”

  “Emily,” I said with a little wave. “You might know my brother, Erik.”

  Fletcher groaned, but it was Lake who said, “Another Brennan? Please tell me you don’t have any more siblings.”

  My chest warmed, fists balling. “Don’t shit-talk my brother.”

  “What she said,” Ambrose growled.

  Fletcher’s stance shifted, the slightest widening of his legs, and my guys went on high alert.

  Your guys, huh? Don’t forget that two out of four don’t even like you.

  Shut up, brain. No one asked for your input.

  Lake slapped a hand against his friend’s chest. Just like that, surfer boy found his cool again and leaned back, extending his hand. A leggy brunette was there like it was the most natural thing in the world for her to slide a red cup into his hand and step back into the crowd without a word.

  Fletcher took a slow sip. His blue eyes conveyed the annoyance that his mouth didn’t. Then he spun his finger through the air, a universal get on with it if there ever was one.

  His attitude rubbed me the wrong way, but it only took a twitch of the hand in mine to convince me to let it go.

  I glanced up at Ambrose and saw the tightness in his jaw. He didn’t exactly look calm, but if he would’ve usually started something the way Lake claimed—not that I was giving much weight to his words, mind you—then the only thing different than usual...was me.

  Was that why he wanted me here?

  Was I helping him keep his cool without realizing it?

  And fuck my life, why did that idea unleash a litter of happy puppies that turned my stomach into a playpen full of sweetness?

  27

  Ambrose

  There were pros and cons to having Emily Brennan at my side for this.

  Pros: she absorbed a good ninety-eight percent of my focus. There wasn’t much leftover to be devoted to petty revenge.

  Could I have shown up at this party with the entire football team at my back? Yes. Could I still call them and make a show of force? Yes.

  But why bother?

  Pros: she made me think things out by doing nothing other than glancing up at me, her hand tucked in mine.

  Again, could I make this entire encounter turn violent and still have it work out in my favor? One hundred fucking percent yes. But I knew better than anyone how one, small variable that hadn’t been accounted for could throw everything out of whack.

  A successful domino show took hours upon hours of set up. Every piece needed to be lined up to the centimeter. Every angle needed to be checked, double checked, and triple checked. Every surface needed to be stable and the rest of the environment static.

  And still, all it took was one, tiny thing—a pet escaping its cage, a tree falling in the backyard, an ill-timed sneeze—to ruin every bit of it.

  Fate, destiny, whatever you wanted to call it, it loved that kind of shit. It worked its magic in the small and insignificant, adjusting probabilities until the pebble became a boulder that could no longer be stopped. Which was bad enough as it was.

  Want another fact about fate? It wouldn’t complain if it got tossed a couple thousand opportunities to make changes instead of a small handful.

  Using violence was like placing a shiny, red button in front of a six-year-old and telling them not to press it no matter what.

  You’d never draw your hand back before that goddamn button got pressed, and everything would go downhill from there.

  Was the path making sense yet?

  I make shit turn ugly. My guys fight their guys. Tempers run high, blood gets spilled, etcetera, etcetera.

  Cons: she was here. That meant there was a chance I might not be able to protect her, and the blood that spilled might end up being hers.

  Cons: whatever it was she did to me, whatever this thing was between us, that aforementioned con coming to life meant one thing and one thing only.

&nb
sp; Hell. On. Earth.

  I’d go off the deep end for good and there’d be no negotiations, no peace, and no bringing me back.

  Everyone here would know what it meant for Death to take center stage.

  So, when Baron tapped me on the shoulder in a quick staccato rhythm, I sliced my head sideways. It was a signal that I didn’t want him to call anyone. We’d handle this ourselves, and quickly too.

  Every second, eyes that weren’t my own slid over Emily with appreciation, wondering what she’d look like beneath those sinfully tight jeans. What sounds she’d make beneath them. How her body would feel pressed against theirs, pliant and soft.

  Being aware of those looks was bad enough. But if we stayed, it was only a matter of time before the drugs or the alcohol made somebody bold and they said or tried the wrong damn thing. That road led straight back to Violence Town, and it was a one-way trip.

  I wanted to be gone long before then.

  I wanted to be back at the house with her curled up against me so my nerves could settle, assured that she was mine and that she wasn’t going anywhere.

  You’re letting her turn you into a pussy, my nastier thoughts whispered. They’d been with me since the mistake, the debt. They used to be much louder. After the last few weeks, I could barely hear them, and when I did, I brushed them aside.

  My goals hadn’t changed, not really.

  What had changed was the realization that I might be able to atone for my sins without having to be a miserable bastard for the rest of my life.

  I let go of Emily’s hand long enough to tug her in front of me and wrap an arm around her middle. She tensed at the movement, and I wondered if this broke whatever imaginary rules she’d set in her mind about us. My hand on her stomach, fingers spread and sweeping, was undeniably possessive. Yet, after a moment, she relaxed against me, jean-clad ass doing awful, terrible things to my self-control.

  Everyone was watching us as I dipped my head to brush my lips over her ear. I just couldn’t find it in me to give a damn.