The Golden Boys: Dark High School Bully Romance (Kings of Cypress Prep Book 1)

by Rachel Jonas

  Her stare darkens as I join her in the water, keeping a fair amount of distance between us. Mostly to make sure I’m not tempted to eye-bang her like I just did a second ago.

  “So, how much do you actually suck at this?” I ask. “Can you at least float?”

  She’s full-on glaring at me now. “Hmm … let’s see. Did it look like I could float last week? You know, when I practically drowned?”

  A smirk slips. She’s sassy, and in a world where everyone puts on their best face to make sure they stay in my good graces, it’s surprisingly refreshing. She keeps it real when no one else has the balls.

  “Smart-ass,” I mutter.

  “Dumb-ass” she shoots back.

  She’s fighting it, but one corner of her mouth tugs up. She wants to smile, even if pride won’t allow it.

  “Let’s just get this over with,” she says with a sigh. “What do I do first?” Her tone is cold and indifferent, but I have reason to believe she’s anything but that.

  “Well, seeing as how you have the skillset of an infant, we need to start with the basics. You’ve gotta get comfortable holding your breath underwater.”

  A look of sheer terror fills her expression.

  “That … gonna be a problem?” My brow quirks with the question.

  There’s a brief moment where she doesn’t speak. Then, a sharp breath leaves those full, pink lips I hate that I still think about from time to time.

  “It’s fine,” she concedes. “Just explain what I need to do.”

  I suppress a laugh. “There’s nothing to explain. Just breathe in deep, hold it, then lean into the water until your face and ears are submerged. I’ll count to ten, then you come back up.”

  That distrust in her eyes grows.

  “No funny shit, West. I mean it. If I feel you trying to hold me under, I’ll junk punch you so fast you’ll—”

  “Relax, Southside. My grade depends on this, too, remember?”

  She doesn’t give in easily but, eventually, she calms down a little.

  “Ten seconds,” she reminds me. “Not a second longer.”

  “That’s the plan.”

  Another of her death stares and she does as instructed.

  I count her down as promised and she pops back up, drawing in a dramatic breath like she’s been under for minutes, not seconds.

  Trying not to laugh at her is going to kill me, I swear.

  “Relax,” I say to her again. “You’re fine.”

  Without thinking, my hands are on her waist, trying to remind her she’s safe and isn’t alone. However, the second I realize what I’ve done, I pull back.

  “Try it again.”

  I’ve earned myself one of her familiar ‘Are you crazy?’ looks and nod at her.

  “Come on. This time we’re gonna double the time.”

  She’s already shaking her head before I even finish. “No way. I barely made it ten seconds,” she protests.

  This girl who’s, literally afraid of nothing, is terrified of four-feet of water? Something’s up.

  “What is it? You fall in your pool trying to reach one of your Barbies as a kid?”

  I’m laughing, but she isn’t. And judging by the scolding look she just passed my way, I’m guessing there is a story. And it isn’t nearly as funny as I just assumed.

  “You’ve seen where I live and you’ve met my dad, so if you think there’s anything but weeds and a couple broken lawn chairs in my backyard, you’re sadly mistaken.”

  That usual sassiness is there, but it’s buried now, beneath a ton of emotional baggage. Her walls have never been low enough for me to notice before, but I see her now. Enough to know she’s a girl who carries a lot and doesn’t have much to show for it.

  Perfect prey for a man like my father.

  A spark of sympathy tries to ignite within me, but I don’t allow it. There’s no excuse for getting involved with a married man. Not even having a piss-poor life you’d do anything to escape.

  “Again,” I command coldly, remembering exactly who she is and why I can never forget it.

  She rolls her eyes and groans, but does what I told her to. The twenty seconds pass quickly and, like I said, she didn’t die.

  “Better,” I admit. “Now, let’s try getting you to float. Then, maybe we’ll have time to try some kicking and arm movements.”

  Her gaze shifts down to the water then, but she doesn’t immediately protest, which isn’t like her.

  I’m already feeling frustrated with her lack of cooperation. “What now, Southside?”

  Her eyes flash toward my chest when I cross my arms over it.

  “Nothing,” she forces out. “I just … I did something to my shoulder, and I can’t really move it all that well.”

  Half-surprised she even mentioned it, my eyes are drawn there. Although the bruise isn’t visible from this angle, I haven’t forgotten. Nor have I stopped wondering how it got there.

  My gaze flickers to hers when I have a flashback to Friday night, when I spotted her in the parking lot with that dickhead with the motorcycle. He was all over her at the block party, so I can only guess there’s something going on between them.

  “Your friend do that to you?”

  Confusion flashes in her gaze. “What friend?”

  My brow quirks. “The one who seems to make it a point to be wherever you are.”

  Damn … I sound bitter as hell. Check that shit.

  When it takes her a few seconds to answer, I’m starting to think she read more into my tone than I meant for her to.

  “You mean Ricky?”

  “Fuck if I know his name,” I snap. “The asshole who grabbed your wrist when you were crying after the game.”

  She seems shocked that I remember the details so clearly, but I ignore what that probably implies. Instead, I maintain my cold expression, waiting for her to answer.

  Her eyes close and stay that way a few seconds. “No, Ricky would never lay a finger on me.”

  What about his dick? Does he lay that on you sometimes?

  I catch myself before letting those very words leave my mouth, choosing instead to stick to the script.

  “If not him, then who?” I ask. “Because you and I both know you didn’t do this yourself. So, before you feed me some bullshit about slamming it on a cabinet or falling down the stairs, know I’m not buying it.”

  There’s a standoff between us. One in which I find her incredibly hard to read.

  “Why are you doing this?” she asks, pushing strands of her drenched hair behind her ears. “We both know you don’t care what happens to me one way or another. So, why is it so important that I answer you?”

  My chest moves steadily with the deep breaths I draw in. This conversation has left me feeling exposed, like I’ve let her see the man behind the mask. This realization is the perfect opportunity to correct my own wrong, but I forego it to ask another question.

  “Your dad. Was it him?”

  There’s a measure of surprise that briefly fills her expression and I didn’t miss it. It’s enough to leave me thinking I just hit the nail on the head. And to drive that point home, she didn’t jump to his defense like she did this Ricky guy.

  “He do shit like this often?”

  She rolls her eyes before answering. “It wasn’t him,” she insists. “Now would you just drop it? Please?”

  I study her for a long stretch, wishing I had already unearthed her tells, the signals she gives when she’s lying. But I don’t know her like that.

  “So, thirty seconds, right?” she asks, trying to shift the subject back to her swimming lesson. She passes me an impatient look and I hold back from asking anything else.

  “I’ll count,” I say instead, mulling over the sparse details as Southside goes under.

  The conversation did nothing to expose her secrets, but it’s shined a light on several of mine. Like, how I’m a little too concerned with what happened to her over the weekend. As the one who swore I wanted her to suffer by
my hand, why is it so hard to let this go?

  I should be ecstatic that someone else is making her life a living hell, picking up the slack when I’m not around, but I’m finding it hard to get off on her misery today. Which I had no problem with just one short week ago. Somehow, I’d let her get under my skin, and I hate it. With a passion.

  She pops above the surface of the water again, doing that same ridiculous gasping routine as before. As I watch her overreact, and nearly smack some unsuspecting nerd girl in the face as she swims by, I’m aware of the damn soft spot forming for the one I swore to ruin.

  It was never a secret that the sexual tension between us was blistering hot, from that first time I laid eyes on her at the bonfire. But what comes as an unwelcomed surprise is that I find myself drawn in by more than just her looks. Even the dorky mess I’m staring at now gets to me.

  Something about this girl … it makes me want to pull her close and block out all the bad things she seems to draw to her like a magnet. People like me, her dad.

  My dad.

  Don’t get distracted. This changes nothing. She’s still the enemy.

  The short pep talk I give myself brings me back to my senses. I chose my side weeks ago, when I found the pic in the safe. I decided then that I’d find and destroy her. It’s a means to righting my own wrongs from the past, starting with being too young to do something about the first affair I found out about.

  If being attracted to Southside is the only thing that stands between me and making things as close to right as I can—without simultaneously tearing my mother’s world apart—I can manage that.

  From now on, I’m keeping the blinders on. Her problems are just that. Her problems. Including me, the biggest, most resilient problem of them all.

  And as God is my witness … I’m not going anywhere.

  @QweenPandora: Apparently, the pool at Cypress Prep has turned into a hot tub! Things seemed to be heating up between our beloved QB-1 and NewGirl this afternoon. If you’re easily offended by PDA, might want to grab a blindfold before checking out the pics. Not sure about everyone else, but I’m totally digging these two lovebirds from opposite sides of the track. However, one must wonder … are KingMidas’s parentals going to be as accepting of this star-crossed romance as the rest of us?

  Stay tuned, peeps. The answer is sure to reveal itself in time.

  —P

  Chapter 20

  WEST

  “So, you boys already have dates to Homecoming?”

  Mom’s smile is bright when she asks, contrasting the tension at the dinner table tonight. It isn’t often we actually join her and Dad for this Brady Bunch bullshit, but she asked nicely, so …

  Not to mention, I figure she needs a break, after dealing with my father on a daily basis.

  “Dates?” Sterling counters with a laugh. “Nobody really does that anymore, Mom. You go alone, then hook up with friends when you get there”

  Our mother’s tiny, manicured hand slams to her chest. The southern belle of the family seems genuinely horrified by that answer.

  “Are you kiddin’ me? Part of the fun of going to these things was waiting for ‘the boy’ to finally get up the nerve to ask,” she shares. “Can’t believe your generation’s done away with all that. Some traditions are worth keeping.”

  “And some are nothing but pretty little fantasies that twirl around inside you women’s heads,” Dad interjects with a gruff laugh. “It’s nonsense. You, of all people, should know this.”

  He barely notices that we’re all staring as he stacks potatoes on his fork.

  I’ve never known him to miss a chance to belittle her, the woman who bore his sons and stood by him while he built his empire from nothing. Seems like, to him, she’s only an armpiece these days.

  You know, when there’s not some underage gold digger swinging from his nuts.

  “Well, just seems like a missed opportunity is all. It’s the perfect chance to show whatever young ladies you three have eyes for that they’re special to you,” Mom adds. After speaking, her gaze lowers to her plate and she leaves it at that.

  “Pam, please. These boys are star athletes. They can have any girl in this damn city. It’d be stupid to walk into some dance with chicks on their arms. Talk about taking sand to the beach,” he barks out with a laugh.

  There’s an uncomfortable silence that follows, but my dad seems to completely miss that he’s killed the vibe as usual.

  “What’s the verdict on South Cypress?” he asks, taking a sip from his glass of wine while changing subjects.

  “We’re solid this year,” Sterling answers. “We pulled out the win against them a couple weeks ago, like we knew we would.”

  “Barely,” Dad shoots back. That one word is spoken sharply, and a displeased look passes over my brothers and me.

  “It was a clean win and—”

  “You’re Goldens,” he says, cutting off Dane. “You boys are good. Damn good,” he adds. “It’s the reason each of you got a full ride to NCU. So how do you think the coach over there feels about his future stars narrowly stealing a win against a poor, gutter-trash school like South Cypress?”

  Mom glares up at him but doesn’t dare interrupt.

  “Whoever this punk kid is that they’ve staked everything on, squash him,” he declares. “The next time you go up against him, show him why he should’ve stayed in Ohio. Or wherever the hell he came from. Understood?”

  Dane and Sterling pass one another frustrated glances, but don’t speak or agree with his B.S. logic.

  I, on the other hand, am in no mood to keep quiet or play pretend. I know who and what he really is, and I know so many of his secrets.

  “We won. Get over it,” I grumble. “For someone who hasn’t shown up to a single game in three years, you sure have a lot to say.”

  A hush falls in the room and I feel my father’s gaze locked on me. Still, I don’t look up to confirm that I have his full attention.

  “What’d you just say to me?”

  “Vin, honey, relax,” Mom says sweetly, trying to diffuse a situation she doesn’t realize is already beyond her control.

  He doesn’t speak directly to her, but holds a hand up, which silences her instantly. I swear, I hate that he’s broken her down to nothing, made her so weak. It’s not unlike the control he’s tried to place over me, Dane, and Sterling. We’re just all too pigheaded to be ruled by anyone.

  Just like him.

  “There anything else you want to say to me?” he asks, staring me down again. “Now’s the time to get it off your chest.”

  “If I did, you’d know.” I stuff a forkful of green beans into my mouth and don’t bother softening my tone.

  If I cared to look at him, I’m sure his face would be bright red right now. His tolerance for disrespect is uncommonly low, which is why I’m only mildly surprised when my plate is snatched from in front of me.

  “You’re done. Come with me,” he asserts, being the supreme dick he is.

  “Vin, he’s barely even touched his food,” Mom jumps in.

  Another of those cocky laughs leaves my father’s mouth.

  “Then, worst case, I just saved him from having to choke down the rest of that tough steak,” he adds callously, and then stands, leveling another glare on me. “We’re leaving. Now.”

  I could fight him on this, but I know it’s no use. The guy has a way of getting what he wants out of people.

  So, hungry and pissed off, I oblige. Within minutes, we’re seated in his SUV and I’m staring up at the bright lights of the high-rises as we drive past. At first, there’s no conversation, but then that all changes.

  Unfortunately.

  “Do you even realize how much I do for you boys? Do you realize the sacrifices I make to ensure you three and your mother have everything you want and need? Meanwhile, you’re bitching about me not showing up at your games,” he rages. “Tell you what. Do well, get drafted, and you have my word I’ll be at every single game.”

/>   He goes from trying to draw sympathy to just being a dick. Neither action is surprising. So, unfazed, I stare blankly out the window.

  “You’ve really got balls on you to disrespect me after that pricy little toy I spotted on my credit card statement this month.”

  I should feel guilty knowing I’m caught, or at least worried, but I don’t feel either of those emotions. Only empty, hollowed out on the inside.

  “Where’d you stash the car? Some hole-in-the-wall garage again?”

  Actually, I stashed it in Trips pole barn for now, douche-knuckle, but you’ll never know that.

  His gaze volleys between me and the road. “Still nothing to say? No, ‘sorry I screwed up again, Dad’?”

  “Goldens aren’t big on apologies,” I say dryly. “But you already know that.”

  In my peripheral, I see his grip on the steering wheel tighten. Next thing I know, he’s pulling over on the side of the road. Traffic whizzes past and I feel the weight of the statement that follows.

  “You used my card,” he states, “which means you got into the safe.”

  And there it is. Asshole knows he’s busted. He’s trying to sound cool, calm, and collected, but he’s anything but that. In fact, I’d bet money this little drive is only about what I might’ve found in that safe. My smart comments just made it easy for him to get me off by myself without Mom getting suspicious.

  With him, there’s always an angle.

  “How’d you crack the code?”

  I shrug. “You’re smart when it comes to business. Not so much when it comes to common sense.”

  He snorts a laugh. “Fair enough.”

  The long, awkward silence that comes next only means there’s more he wants to say but hasn’t quite figured out how to go there.

  “Son, you know there are a lot of layers to my business,” he begins. “Which means there are bound to be aspects of it that you don’t quite understand. So, if you—”

  “I saw the phone,” I reveal, putting him out of his misery.