The Second Coming (Rogue Academy Book 1)

by Carrie Aarons

  Vance and I both shudder remembering the night. Kingston had just arrived back from holiday with his parents, frustrated and ready to lash out. Long story short, the night ended with our friend throwing the majority of our furniture out the dorm room windows, which he’d first smashed. Priceless antique glass windows, some of them stained from artists long dead, that his parents had ended up having to pay for.

  “All right, what are we doing then?” Vance sighs, going back to his room to, I assume, put clothes on.

  “Let’s egg Darnot’s office door.”

  Rolling my eyes, I take a long pull from my new ale bottle. “Come on, that’s primary school tomfoolery.”

  “Well, maybe I’m feeling extra juvenile today, humor me.” Kingston shoots me a death glare.

  “Can we just get on with it? You’re going to argue for fifteen minutes about what prank we should pull, and in the end, you’ll both land on egging his door because we’re old and lame and it’s a Tuesday. So let’s get a move on because I want to go back to bed.”

  Vance is standing in the doorway, our suite keys in his hands, ushering us out the door.

  I shouldn’t do this. I’ve been successfully avoiding trouble for months, or weeks, that my friends knew about. My future is on the line, all that I want to accomplish hangs in this moment. I shouldn’t go along with them … and yet …

  That creeping feeling of being rotten to the core, the one that fuels us to act on the tainted parts within us, put there by Adam and Eve, cheers me on. As I picture those eggs cracking against the dark wood door, a devilish glee fills me. Pair that with the too many drinks I’ve consumed and no part of my rational brain was ever going to win.

  “Yeah, all right, fuck it.” I toss back the rest of my bottle and slip trainers on my feet.

  “The merry band of bad boys!” Kingston shouts as he follows us, rubbing his hands together like a villain.

  15

  Aria

  Working at Rogue Academy for over seven months now, I’m beginning to learn the secrets of the centuries-old campus.

  First, there is the tunnel Louisa showed me in my first weeks, the one underneath the film room in the athletic center that travels all the way to the lobby of one of the younger boys’ dorms. Then I found the tiny chapel built into the side of a hill on the north end of the academy’s acreage. It is no bigger than an olden-day natural pantry but has an altar and two pews nailed to the earth.

  The charm of the academy could be lost on those who didn’t look for it, and most days, I didn’t. But if you stop and stare for a moment, the history here can astound you.

  That’s why every lunch break that I decide to stay on campus, you’ll find me in my favorite hidden spot.

  When I do choose to take the rare hour for myself, to eat and listen to music, I tend to go to the bookcase in one of the back rooms of the administration building. Being the campus janitor gives me access to every room at the academy, and while I’m dusting or mopping, I often find a lot of the secret rooms or tunnels by pushing or pulling on random fixtures too hard.

  I found this passageway two months ago when I was picking up the books and knickknacks cluttering the shelves. I tried to move a copy of a Dickens’ novel, and suddenly the bookshelf creaked away from the wall. It had given me such a fright that I nearly fainted. Being the big fat chicken I am, there was no way in bloody hell I was going to go down there that night. Alone, in the dark … no chance!

  However, I went back the next day on my lunch break and explored. Turns out, it is a tunnel that leads to the cafeteria building. However, along the way, there are little alcoves, carved out like big, circular, concrete daybeds that are perfect for relaxing in peace.

  On rainy days, or any other day, this is my favorite spot. It’s private, hidden, and quiet.

  I’ve just taken a bite of my brought-from-home tuna sandwich when a sound coming my way spooks me so badly, I smack the back of my head on its concrete resting place.

  “Ouch …” I rub the tender spot.

  “Aw, come on …” Someone’s voice trails through the tunnel, as they must hear my music and see the little light.

  And who but Jude Davies appears just seconds later. “Aria? I thought you were going to be a primary schooler, in which case I would have told you to scram. This is my teatime spot.”

  “This is my lunch spot.” I fold my arms, not standing up.

  I’m not sure why I’m picking an argument when he ended our last encounter with an apology. If anything, I’ve been thinking about him for the last four days, and how I should show him some sign of kindness. It isn’t often that Jude speaks about his parent’s death … he barely addressed it in the media in all the years they’ve been gone. I get the feeling, from hearing him speak about it the other night, that it is extremely difficult. Obviously, when would something like that not be awful to explain? My mum had merely abandoned us, not died, and I couldn’t form words on the subject.

  “Then how come I’ve never seen you here?” Jude leans against the wall, his form dwarfing my hidden spot.

  I begin to pack my bag up. “It’s … not every day. But I get a lunch break at noon and if I don’t want to waste half an hour of it running home and back, I eat here.”

  “I usually eat here around one, right after practice. I wondered who kept leaving crisp crumbs everywhere.” He grins. “Stay, please. You looked relaxed.”

  Staying seated as he asked, I try to roll my shoulders to get the tension out of them. It doesn’t quite work.

  “Aria, I can go if you don’t want me here.” Jude’s eyes pierce me.

  “I don’t not want you here. You just … I didn’t expect to see anyone down here, okay?”

  He smirks. “You forget that I’ve been roaming these tunnels a lot longer than you have.”

  “Yes, we get it, you’re Mr. RFC himself.”

  “Got that right, love.” Jude grins as he moves toward my alcove, drops my bag to the ground, and sits right next to me.

  I pick up my bag of crisps and pop one in my mouth, feeling awkward and not knowing what to do next.

  “How is your day going?” Jude asks, eyeing my sandwich.

  I roll my eyes, because men and food, picking up the uneaten half and handing it to him. He starts chomping away happily.

  “It’s okay. I’ll go back to the sew house for a bit and then home, then come back to clean the facilities.”

  “You do this every day of the week?” he asks.

  “Aside from Saturday and Sunday. Although, sometimes, I’ll pick up a cleaning shift on those nights.” The sew house is closed during the weekend.

  “That has to be exhausting.” He meets my eyes.

  I shrug. “It is what it is.”

  The alcove we’re sitting in is cramped, and when Jude polishes off the sandwich and rubs his stomach in a satisfied motion, his shoulder brushes mine. Instantly, tingles erupt all over my body. An ache begins between my legs, one I’d never known resided there. As I look up, my eyes catch Jude’s, and I gasp to find that his are fixated on my mouth.

  I know what it’s like to kiss a boy. I even know what it’s like to have sex with one. But my lord, I have never felt a pull or desire as strong as this.

  Using every last ounce of effort I have in my body, I force words out to try to extinguish the burning.

  “When I told you about my father, you didn’t offer to help,” I point out, still stuck on this thought from days ago.

  “Because you wouldn’t have taken the money, no matter how much I want to give it to you. You’re too proud, a characteristic I find commendable. But I also know your plight too well. You are the one who holds up your household, it would be an insult to try to give you resources rather than just applaud your hard work. I didn’t ask, because I knew it would make you feel like charity. And just so you know, I’ve never thought of you that way.”

  His answer fills me with the simplest, most powerful form of appreciation I’ve ever felt. Out of everyone i
n the world, the last person I would expect to get my mentality so thoroughly would be Jude Davies. And yet, here he sits, inches away from me, practically spelling out my thoughts.

  We must move at the same time, if not me a split-second faster. Jude’s lips meet mine in the middle, and the minute they collide, I swear, it’s like fireworks detonate between us. His skilled mouth clamps down on my own, manipulating and working torturous circles around every single cell my lips are made of. The small tunnel’s air temperature is too humid, the alcove about to explode with the heat our kiss is putting off.

  Why did I try to trick my mind into thinking that this wouldn’t be life changing? That kissing Jude would be mediocre, or okay at best?

  It’s as if my heart, my sex, every wanton need in me no longer resides in my body, but instead has meshed with his. The kiss is dirty, teeth and tongues everywhere, but sensual at the same time, with Jude laying small pecks on the corner of my mouth or cheeks at intervals. It seems to stretch on forever, and time warps or stops … I’m not really sure.

  I am sure that Jude begins to push my sweater from my shoulders, and I let him.

  “I hate that you cover this body.” He groans into my mouth as he cups my breasts through my shirt.

  Sighing into his mouth, I push my shoulders together, thrusting my chest farther into his big palms.

  And right when as he’s about to pull his lips from mine, and I suspect plant them on the spot on my neck that is begging for him … his phone starts to vibrate against my thigh.

  And even though I’m silently screaming for him to ignore it … he does the thing that self-assured twits do and goes to answer it.

  “Bugger …” Jude whispers, looking down at his cell phone. “I have to go. But …”

  But what? Is he going to ask to see me later? To talk about this? Coming from a guy like Jude, I’d never expect that.

  “I’ll find you later, okay?”

  I don’t believe him, not for a second, and I wouldn’t put it past him to have faked that phone vibration as a way to escape answering questions.

  All I do, however, is nod. Because he’s rendered me speechless.

  Because I finally know what it is to be put under Jude Davies’ full spell.

  Because I’m afraid that if I speak, I’ll ask him to kiss me again.

  And that’s the kind of thing that leads to trouble.

  16

  Jude

  “You’re aware the nature of the conversation you had with Coach Gerard a month ago?”

  Headmaster Darnot sits perched in his leather high-back chair, a tiny man with a, probably, tiny willy trying to grasp at power.

  “Yes.” My voice is clipped.

  “So you know that throwing eggs at my door is an offense punishable by kicking you out of the academy?”

  I stay silent, not about to incriminate myself.

  “I know that it was you, Mr. Phillips, and Mr. Morley. We installed security cameras above the entrance to my office the third time you boys did this. We’re not that daft, as much as you might assume we are.”

  Well, it took them three rounds of us egging the headmaster’s door to finally install a cheap surveillance cam, so yes, I did think they were rather daft. But I wasn’t about to say so.

  Darnot stands, pacing in front of his chair like some evil dictator about to give a monologue of his devious plan. This is why I loathe the bloke … he thinks he has power and control over anything that happens here. When in reality, Niles and the owners of RFC are the ones calling the shots. Darnot couldn’t throw me out of here even if he wanted to.

  “When I tell Niles Harrington about your latest stunt, as well as the speeding incident you narrowly escaped an arrest from in London, he’s going to send you packing. All of us here in the organization have tried for years to curb your reckless behavior. And even though you might be the most talented thing to fall into England’s lap since Killian Ramsey, you’re still a liability. A careless prat who’d rather spend time playing pranks than winning matches. Aren’t you sick of it, yet, Jude? Don’t you want to grow up? Take care of your brothers?”

  This has me standing and slapping my palms down on his priceless antique desk. “Don’t you dare say a word about my brothers.”

  I wish I could punch the satisfied smirk right off his lips. “Didn’t think we knew about London, huh? And with an employee of the academy in the car, no less.”

  I falter, my heart stuttering to a halt. “She had nothing to do with my actions. She was only along as my assistant, there is a contract to prove it.”

  “And though that may be, her position here is still in jeopardy.”

  God fucking dammit, he was goading me. Pressing a thumb into a bullet wound and twisting it around.

  None of this would matter if I didn’t actually … fancy the girl. How stupid am I? My mission has been to shag her into next Tuesday, and now it was going on more than a month of me chasing her around and I’ve only just kissed her not more than fifteen minutes ago.

  And here I am, sitting in Darnot’s office, talking about the future of her job instead of snogging her senseless in our secret tunnel.

  Bloody hell, the taste of her. I am the kind of prick who is used to thinking about the next woman I’d fuck as I was fucking the current one. I’ve been spoiled with the riches of the most gorgeous females in the land, and it is a fact that if you have too much of anything, you’ll grow bored with it.

  So what is it about Aria Lloyd that is keeping my skittish attention?

  Why am I instantly drawn to her?

  Indeed, exactly like with every girl before her, I am attracted in a wholly male, animalistic way.

  To her rounded ass, the plump lips in a cherry hue, all the velvety, cream-colored skin. The way her long sheets of sunlight-colored hair fall down her back, and how innocent she comes off when I know, deep down, she is really as cynical as the rest of us.

  But what my dodgy brain leaves out of it, what it deceives from me until I am already in too deep, is that we are more alike than I ever initially realized.

  For months, she’s been eating lunch in my spot, the one I’ve run to since I was a child at the academy when I just needed to turn the world off. I hid down there for almost forty-eight hours after my parents were killed.

  Aria is the breadwinner of her family, the one who makes sure it stays afloat and no one is left behind. Exactly the same kind of responsibilities and pressure I put on my own shoulders.

  And there is an indescribable bond that joins us, one I can only quantify by saying that I see the twinkle of it each time I look in her eyes. Maybe it’s our pain that draws us toward each other like magnets, at losing parents or possibly losing one. Maybe it is something else, of that I’m not sure.

  All I know is that it is there, and I am not going to let her be taken down with me since I’m the one that fucked up for the umpteenth time.

  “It will never happen again. You have my word. From now until the time that I get promoted to the first squad, I’ll do nothing but eat, sleep, play football, and act like an altar boy.”

  I’m begging, about to kiss this deplorable man’s shoes, but I don’t care at this point.

  Darnot’s nose lifts superiorly into the air. “Your word doesn’t mean shite. But I’ll tell you what does. Cock up again and you’ll not only be thrown out of the academy but I’ll terminate your girlfriend, too. And blackball her from getting any position here in Clavering.”

  He’s dropped the guillotine. Going forward, if I step out of line even a fraction, Aria is going to burn with me.

  I can’t let that happen.

  17

  Aria

  It’s a rare day when Dad is feeling well enough to venture outside, much less a location where people are congregating.

  But today, this Saturday, he woke up bright as a daisy and asked to walk up the road to watch the Rogue Academy game.

  Most weekend days, there is a game at the academy. Between the younger squads, t
he mid-level blokes and players like Jude who are on the cusp of being international superstars, there is always someone playing in the small stadium housed on Rogue’s campus.

  “You’re sure you feel up to this?” I hover next to him as we walk, ready at any moment to catch him.

  Dad smiles, sniffing the air and snuggling down into his beige jacket. “Would you stop worrying your beautiful head about me? I’m fine. It feels nice to take a stroll outside.”

  Watching him smile makes a small grin pop onto my lips as well, but I’ll never stop worrying. He’s too thin, has lost practically a third of his body weight since he was diagnosed. The skin around his eyes is grey and drooping, and I made him wear two hats to cover his vulnerable, bald scalp.

  “Who is playing today, anyway?” I ask, trying to go along with this charade that he is healthy and this is normal.

  “The advanced players, the ones about to be called up to London.” Dad claps. “One thing about living in Clavering; you can say that you watched some football legend play before he ever made his premier league debut.”

  My mind instantly goes to Jude. It isn’t a matter of if he’d become the next football icon for England; it is when. The hourglass is rapidly losing sand … it could be any day.

  And what I would do, then?

  Blimey, what a daft question. I’ll do nothing. Because … Jude means nothing to me. And I mean nothing to him. That much was clear after he kissed me in the tunnel, left abruptly, and never got back in touch. That had been more than seventy-two hours ago, and though my pride and foolish heart are wounded, I’ll never tell a soul that.

  It doesn’t matter that I am going to see him play, or at least I can convince myself of that by the time we take our seats near the opposing keeper’s net. Dad is feeling well enough for an afternoon of football, and that is the only reason I am going to sit in the Rogue stadium.