The Making Of A King: The King Duet, Book 1

by N. M. Catalano

  Dad and Jax are in the living room watching the Yankees play, and I’d be right there with them if I didn’t have other plans.

  “I’m gonna hang out with some friends tonight.” I’m not sure why, but telling my father makes me a little nervous. Maybe because it makes it real. Or maybe because I haven’t been out with anyone in months.

  He swivels his head around to face me over his shoulder. “Yeah? That’s great news. Who with?”

  I fight the urge to shuffle me feet. “Just some local boy. Preston Hollowell.” I wave it off.

  “Preston Hollowell. As in Judge Hollowell’s son?” He shifts his body so he’s facing me now. “Seriously?”

  Great. He’s going to make this a big deal. It’s not. Well, it is, but not for the reasons he’s thinking. “Yes. He’s just a friend. I met him at work.” I pull out my cell phone to check the time, hoping Preston will hurry up and get here to save me from dads third degree.

  “Now that Vee’s got a boyfriend, we’re gonna go on double dates together,” Jax mumbles with his eyes still fixed on the television screen.

  “Never happening, and he’s not a boyfriend,” I reply dryly.

  “Excuse me?” dad looks completely confused.

  “Don’t pay attention to him, he’s got brain rot from all the video games,” I comment, not believing I’m actually having this conversation.

  “Well, Miss Monroe, he’s not a bad choice for ‘not a boyfriend’. His dad’s a big deal around here.” I know, I met him. Working for Lucas King. I want to crawl under the couch. I hate lying to my father, but I’m sure he’d have a coronary if he knew that I’m employed by the number one bad boy in town. “What are the plans for tonight?” my father asks with a smug grin.

  “Yeah, she lucked out, considering she pissed off Lucas King,” Jax mumbles, still transfixed by the baseball game.

  Heat rushes through me as I feel my face blanche. No, no, no!

  The change in dad’s expression is barely noticeable, but I see it. It’s his lawyer face, the one he wears when he’s searching for lies. “I find it hard to believe you’d make anyone angry, Evie. Care to tell me what happened?”

  My dad’s good. His favorite technique is hiding an interrogation behind something nice. Exactly what he’s doing now.

  “Nothing. It was an accident. Lucas was having breakfast with Preston,” this time dad’s nostrils flare, his one sign that something is not sitting well with him. Maybe Preston is not the nice boy you thought he was, daddy. I want to chuckle, but won’t, because I really want to go out tonight and rub Lucas’ face in it. With his best friend. So I continue, trying to overshadow the fact the boy who’s picking me up is besties with the town’s so-called Dracula. “Someone pushed me and I spilled some coffee on Lucas. No big deal,” I shrug. Apparently yes it was a big deal. To Lucas.

  Jax grunts, the little shit.

  My father clears his throat, the ultimate sign that things are about to get serious. Fortunately, the doorbell rings. Thank you, Jesus.

  Before anyone else can get up, like my dad, I turn on my heel and rush to answer it. When I swing the door, the sight of Preston standing there sends a soft feeling of warmth through me, and I feel like I can breathe for the first time since I left Lucas at his fuck buddies house.

  He makes me feel…comfortable. Nice. Safe.

  “Hi,” I smile at him, the first real smile I’ve had since I left my house and went to meet Lucas at the diner.

  Preston grins at me. It’s charming and perfect and…nice. “Good evening, Miss Monroe. You look great.”

  I lower my eyes. It feels good to hear something pleasant, instead of battling with someone every time I enter their air space. Comfortable. Calm. My heart isn’t pounding a mile a minute. In fact, I don’t feel it at all.

  “I see you found the place,” I quirk an eyebrow, referring to his comment that he’s got connections because his dad’s a judge.

  His grin turns into a smirk. “Did you doubt me?”

  I laugh, a real laugh. “Maybe a little.”

  He clutches his shirt over his heart, mocking hurt. “Evie, you wound me.”

  I move to the side with a smile still on my face. “Yeah, right. Come on in so we can get the introductions out of the way, then we can go.” Because I really want to get out of here. And get out there. Revenge is waiting, and I’m not one to keep anyone waiting. Lucas has made it perfectly clear how much he hates it.

  Lucas.

  The thought of him makes me want to growl. The fact I thought of him makes me want to punch myself.

  Preston’s smile falters, his eyes scanning my face. “If you think your dad won’t approve of me, I can go home and change.”

  I take his arm and lead him inside before closing the door behind him. “You’re joking, right?”

  Because Preston Hollowell is every fathers dream date for his daughter. He’s from a good family, is handsome and polite, and knows all the right things to say. He looks like he’s just stepped out of an American Crew modeling shoot, dressed in khakis and a pristine white polo shirt and leather loafers. The guys gorgeous, in that All American way, every girl’s perfect boyfriend, with his sun bleached dirty blonde hair, so perfectly messed, it must have taken him an hour to do, and a ton of styling products.

  “Yeah, but no. I would for you, though,” he laughs as I lead him into the living room.

  See? He knows all the right things to say.

  “That’s totally not necessary. Besides, I have a feeling if you came in here wearing gang colors, my dad would still like you.”

  Preston laughs. “Thanks. I think.”

  My father is already on his feet, ready to give Preston the once over eye, not that I think it would make any difference. The guy’s a Hollowell. He’d have to be carrying a human head and eating the brains for my dad not to approve of him.

  Preston holds out his hand to shake my father’s. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Monroe. My father speaks highly of you.”

  I see my dad’s chest puff out. I want to roll my eyes. Oh brother.

  Jax gives Preston the side eye, checking him out and sizing him up. I feel ya, brother.

  My conscience gives me a kick, reminding me that’s how the uber upper class do it. It’s all about position and power and connections. Preston’s got a blood mainline to one of the highest positions on South Harbor Island, and my dad is on one of its dangling threads. Don’t judge, Evie. Right.

  “It’s good to meet you, son.” What the actual hell? Son? This time I do roll my eyes. “You’re getting ready to graduate. Where will you be going to college?” Not will, but where.

  “Harvard, sir.” Preston replies like it’s no big deal.

  It mustn’t be, not for people like him. The rich are sought after, money attracts money, and the elite want all of it.

  “That’s impressive. Congratulations. Evie hasn’t decided on a school yet, although she has a few more classes she’s got to take at the early college. Isn’t that right, honey?” he turns his attention to me, and I have to wipe the expression off my face that I was internally gagging.

  “That’s right. Are you ready to go, Preston?” because I’m not sure how much more of this I can take.

  “Absolutely, if you are.” Preston knows the right things to say.

  We make our way to the front door, my father following behind us, and Jax’s eyes burning a hole in our backs. “What are you guys doing tonight?” comes the question of the night.

  If I’m lucky, I’m going to get drunk – in front of Lucas – dance on the bar – in front of Lucas – and lose my virginity – and announce it to Lucas.

  “We’re going to a graduation party, sir. I hope that’s alright.” That’s about enough of the ass kissing, Preston. “What time would you like me to have Evelyn home?” Barf. Gag.

  “Nonsense, she doesn’t have a curfew. You guys go and have fun.” Oh really? That’s news to me. See you next week.

  “Thank you, sir,” Preston�
��s holding the door for me as I practically take the front steps two at a time.

  Halfway down the walk, Preston cups my elbow and slows my sprint. He guides me to the Porsche parked in front of my house, and I’m like, Really?

  “Is that normal? No curfew?” he chuckles.

  “I’m not sure. I never go out,” I laugh.

  “Oh, really?” he smiles devilishly at me. It makes me grin. It’s nice. “Then let’s go have some fun, Evelyn Monroe.”

  “That’s why I’m here, Preston Hollowell.”

  That’s exactly what I intend to do.

  CHAPTER 7

  I almost didn’t come. Why bother? I couldn’t give two shits about anyone here. But I was only graduating from high school once, and I’d vowed not to miss any milestones, no matter how small or insignificant they were, or how much I hated people.

  And I really dislike people.

  But these people, this place, it was where I was born. Not the actual hospital bullshit. No, it’s where I became who I am. It created me. These people and this place have a love/hate relationship, it gave me life, gave me purpose and direction. It gave me everything I needed to get out of the cesspool of my beginning, and handed me an opportunity to be reborn. I love this fucking place, the fakeness and the lies, the deceit and the power tripping. I love the superficialness and the masks, because I have my own, complete with a painted on sneer and dead eyes. I was who I needed to be to survive, to thrive, and to fucking conquer. This place is my kingdom, and I love every fucking grain of sand beneath my feet. People might hate me, but they love me more. I am the kind of bad they envy and worship, I am the evil villain personified every person secretly roots for.

  My past isn’t a secret; I don’t hide behind a lie. Everybody knows where I came from, they know my dad is the alcoholic mechanic everyone takes their cars to. Somehow they know I don’t associate with him. Honestly, I think they’re the ones who needed to disassociate me with him to accept me for what I am, who I’ve become. Their perfectness would never allow me to be the guy they all come to for what they need if I were the town mechanics son. That doesn’t mean dick to me. It’s what he’s done to me, it’s the past I carry in my mind and on my flesh that will always make me want to kill him. Not a living soul knows my truth, the mystery makes me that much more taboo. I’m the bad guy, but I’m so good at it.

  I’m the monster in the closet they invite into their beds.

  That’s why I’m here. I’m crawling into bed with all these motherfuckers tonight, and going out with a bang.

  I see the party is already mobbed as I pull into Maxwell Faircloth’s mansions drive. His family’s estate. Maxwell’s grandfather was an oil tycoon out in Texas, and his family has sick money, about as much as Randall Stevenson, if not, then it’s close, them and the Hollowell’s. The place is at the end of the island, practically at the tip, and sits right on the ocean. Max’s father had somehow finagled a permit from the town hall for a bon fire tonight, and I can smell the burning embers as I open my car door.

  Every year the graduating class has one, it’s kind of a tradition, and fuck knows how it started, but this year Max is hosting it. Sans parents.

  Parking my BMW right at the foot of the semi-circle elaborate front steps, the fucking place is a Southern mansion on steroids, I get out of the car and make my way up the stairs.

  “Hey Lucas.”

  “Glad you made it, bro.”

  “Hi Lucas, would you like some company?”

  The throng of alcohol fueled teenagers separate as I stroll through the front door, not acknowledging any of them as they wave and raise their cups at me, like I was Jesus entering the Holy Land and the cups are the palms. Except I’m more like the anti-Christ and I’m not here to save their soul. I’m here to ruin them.

  The music is blaring, Lil Wayne and all his sick shit about 6 foot – 7 foot. How bizarre that a ten thousand square foot sprawling mansion would be full of over privileged kids grinding to one of the filthiest bangers ever.

  I know where to go, Max is known for his parties because his parents love to travel, and they do it frequently. As I make my way through the front drawing room, yes, that’s what they call it, and through the sitting room, I shit you not, I move toward the game room at the back of the house. I pass all the different cliques, they’re all here. The intellectuals are first, because they wouldn’t dare venture further inside, then there’s the artsy goth crew, (they act like they don’t give a fuck that no one likes them as their eyes travel around watching for anyone who actually might be looking at them). I tilt my chin up at them as I pass, because, yeah, fuck everyone. The preps are playing beer pong, beer fucking pong, acting like they’re shit faced. I’d bet a hundred bucks they haven’t finished one beer between all of their pussy asses put together, even though the guy waving at me is swaying on his feet. When I get to the living room, that’s when things start to get interesting. Every flat surface is covered with couples dry humping and making out, not caring the room is practically an orgy, because they don’t rate a private room upstairs. Not like it’s going to stop anyone. Making a right in the dining room, I spy Amanda, the cunt from the diner who pushed Evie, hanging out with the rest of her posse, the mean girls. Amanda graduated a couple of years ago, but it seems she can’t quite get out of high school. She sees me as soon as I enter and gives me a little wave along with a sneer. I flip her the bird, because fuck her too, I know what she did. The joke’s on her. All her little bitches do a collective gasp and start whispering to each other, probably making it sound like I blew her a kiss or some shit.

  Fucking Storm. She’s taken up too much space in my head, which is exactly why I’ve ghosted on her the past few days. Someone must have shoved a conscience into my damn head while I was sleeping, because fuck me if I haven’t been feeling something that resembles guilt for that little stunt I pulled with Caroline. Doesn’t matter, it’s not like it’s going to change anything. I set out in the arrangement with Storm with one purpose: to destroy her. Caroline was a means to accomplish that, one of many more to come.

  I hear Preston and Max as I step into the game room, the cloud of smoke from the bongs and the blunts making everyone appear surreal.

  If I had to say I was tight with anyone, it would be those two. I’m not sure if it was them wanting to slum, or me pretending I was a hot shot before I even knew where my dick was, but we’ve been getting into shit together since the beginning of high school. I don’t trust a goddamn soul, but these are my boys, even if Preston gets on my last nerve, and Max is an over indulged preppy bitch. He has every right to be. His father is a good looking, well dressed, millionaire. He’s an executive at the pharmaceutical company in charge of international relations. That’s how he found Max’s mom. She’s a stunning Chinese woman he met while he was in China on business. Max is the best of both of them, a six foot plus Bruce Lee born with a silver spoon in his perfect mouth.

  “A thousand bucks. Seven beers in fifteen minutes. Quit being a pussy and put up or shut up,” Max’s words are already slurring.

  When I enter the game room, it sounds like the boys haven’t learned their lesson from the last time.

  This isn’t a game room. It’s a decadent assortment of entertainment paraphernalia. On one wall is a pull down movie screen that spans its length with calf skin gamer chairs lined up in front. There’s a professional pool table that takes up most of one side of the room, with a card table, any fucking kind of game you want to play, on the other. There are two huge leather sofas set up in the center facing each other just in case, you know, you don’t want to game, and would actually like to socialize, (whatever the fuck that is). This is gamer paradise, and we defile it every opportunity we get. The felt on the pool table has to be changed after every party. There’s a crowd of ballers surrounding it now, with girl’s asses sitting on top, and drinks spilled over the green surface already, and it’s still early.

  I get through the crowd that’s allowed to enter this room
, a privilege not bestowed on many. “I hope you’ve got your maid ready to clean up after your pansy asses. This place smelled like puke for a week the last time,” I get through the fog of smoke. And stop.

  What the fuck is she doing here? With HIM?

  Standing at the wet bar is Storm with Preston’s arm draped over her shoulder.

  Her fucking shoulder.

  Her body is tense, even with that asshole wrapped around her like a used condom, and I’d bet my right nut she’s fighting herself to keep from looking at me.

  “What in the actual fuck is going on?” I growl, rooted to my spot.

  Preston turns to look at me over Evie’s head, a cocky grin spread across his fucking face, one I want smash. “Hey Lucas, saw your dad earlier. When I got my car serviced.”

  Motherfuckingcocksuckingpieceofshit! Dudebro just made number one spot on my most hated list.

  My entire body locks up, thank God, or I’d be tearing Preston apart limb from limb. He doesn’t know about mine and my dad’s confrontation in the alley, the one Storm had stumbled upon. The night I put her on my radar. The night I claimed her as mine.

  Evie tenses under the douchebags arm, because, even though she’s here with him, she’s not a cunt and wouldn’t condone low blows like that. She’s a nice girl, even if she makes bad choices.

  “You know Evie?” Max hiccups, oblivious to Preston’s dig, the alcohol making him either incredibly stupid, or deaf. Katie’s attached to him at the waist while Max doesn’t acknowledge her presence. The same Katie that Preston banged last week. The same night he fucked Brooke.

  Because, yeah, we’re all bad in our own way, but Preston has made fucking his preferred sport, and he practices every waking moment.

  The way he’s got his arm around Storm’s neck, it looks like he’s getting warmed up for tonight’s game.

  Not. Fucking. Happening.

  “Yeah, I know her,” my tone drips asshole.

  “He knows her,” Preston grins like he’s won. The bastard. “She works for him.” My eyes are fixed on Evelyn’s face, burning a hole into her with my eyes. Crimson washes over her complexion, the one she gets when she’s really angry, or embarrassed. “Thanks for sending her over, dude.” I count in my head – one, two, three. I’m going to pulverize him. “I wouldn’t have gotten a chance to ask her out if you hadn’t,” he turns Evelyn’s face toward his and kisses her.