Cruel Elite: A Dark High School Bully Romance (Princes of Ravenlake Academy Book 3)

by Nicole Fox

  She goes up the stairs. She doesn’t look back once.

  As soon as she’s gone, I slam on the gas pedal and peel down the road.

  J.C.’s room is a mess.

  His family hires a maid, but he requests she doesn’t clean his room.

  “Because I’m not good at hiding my weed, and my mom doesn’t know her little boy is a rascal,” he explained when I first asked why he doesn’t have someone come in and take care of the pig sty if he’s not willing to do it himself.

  Clothes are draped over the backs of his chairs, piled on the floor in front of the closet, and shoved behind his television, for reasons I’ll never understand.

  Then, as if that isn’t enough, there are bottles and empty cans and sticky glass cups everywhere.

  It’s foul.

  “Are there any cups left in the kitchen?” Caleb teases, sweeping aside a small sea of cups so he can roll a joint on the coffee table.”

  “Shut up. You two are smoking my weed, so I demand respect.”

  I hold up my burger. “I’m not smoking yet. Can I still make fun of your room?”

  “Only if you want to lose your weed privileges.”

  I consider it, bobbing my head back and forth as I weigh the pros and cons, but I could really use a nice high right now.

  This week has been shit.

  It’s the first week of my last semester of our senior year.

  In other words, school is supposed to be a joke.

  But Mr. Thomas has already assigned several study guides and a pop quiz.

  Plus, I’m shit at math, and we are moving into pre-Calc.

  I’ve been so busy keeping up in class and attending the bizarre family dinners with mom that I haven’t had much time to think about Penny since the first day.

  In fact, I hadn’t even seen her until I caught a glimpse of her in the driveway. If I had to guess, I’d say she’s trying to lay low at school, which I’ll give her credit, is a good idea.

  Unfortunately, I have other plans for her.

  “What are your plans?”

  My head snaps up. “What?”

  Fuck, did I say that out loud?

  “For college?” Caleb asks, pounding his thumb on the controller to take out an enemy sniper in the game he and J.C. are playing.

  “I’ve applied a few places, but I’m hoping for Columbia,” J.C. says.

  “Brown for me,” Caleb says. “I want Ivy League, but, like, chill Ivy League. I’m not trying to become a fuckin’ rocket surgeon.”

  “As if that is a possibility, anyway.”

  The two of them wrestle for a minute, trying to knock controllers from each other’s hands.

  After the squabble is over, Caleb repeats his question. “What about you, Noah?”

  “I haven’t applied anywhere yet.”

  Immediately, the din of bullets and shouting stops. I look up and see that Caleb has paused the game. Both of my friends are staring at me, mouths slightly open.

  “What?” I shrug. “It’s not a big deal.”

  Yes, it is.

  I know that, and they know that.

  It has always been assumed that the Golden Boys would go to undergrad somewhere good, somewhere prestigious. Our families demand nothing less.

  Or, at least, their families demand nothing less.

  My family, in case they haven’t noticed, has imploded.

  My mom can barely ask me how my day is, let alone query where I’m headed for college.

  “Bro, the deadlines are coming up,” J.C. says. “Everywhere. Like, even community college has a deadline. You have to get your apps in.”

  “I can help if you want. Haley insisted we do our applications together, and she has given me a mountain of unrequested tips for how to impress.”

  I almost laugh. It must be nice to have someone to bank your future on.

  The thought appears before I can really inspect it, and it surprises me.

  I don’t want anyone to tie me down. Haven’t for a long time. I’m just as confident that Caleb and Haley will break up before college as I am that the sky is blue and my mom is an alcoholic.

  It’s nothing personal. Just statistics.

  Once upon a time, I thought about getting out of Ravenlake, making my way out East, and joining a band.

  My dad taught me the guitar, but he would have shit himself if he knew I wanted to live the struggling artist life. That was part of the appeal.

  Everyone has all of these expectations about me, ideas about who I am and where I’ll be one day, and I like the idea of surprising them all. Maybe even disappointing them.

  That would show them to expect anything from me again.

  I’m not their fucking dancing monkey.

  “No, thanks. I’m fine,” I say with a tight smile. “My uncle can basically get me in anywhere I want. I’ll be good.”

  “Okay,” Caleb says, his brow lower and more solemn than normal. “But Haley wouldn’t mind helping you out, either. She’s really good at this stuff.”

  “Just apply to Columbia with me,” J.C. says, pulling the hood on his sweatshirt up and slouching down in his chair, his eyes glued to the screen now that Caleb has hit resume. “We would be absolute lady killers up there.”

  Caleb shakes his head. “If women start going missing on Columbia’s campus once you arrive, I’m turning you into the police.”

  “They’ll be calling the police themselves, wondering who stole their self-control.” J.C. lifts an arm in the air and points down at himself, cocky as ever. “They won’t be able to resist.”

  Caleb jumps all over that opportunity to rip into J.C. Usually, I’d join in, too, but I’m not really in the mood.

  Too busy wondering what life after Ravenlake might look like.

  15

  Penny

  Old movies are playing on the television, I have a glass of iced tea, and the house is empty, except for Delanie sleeping in her bed upstairs.

  I couldn’t be happier.

  Momma and Stepdad Steve went out for the night—a Barber Engineering Company function, which is basically the most important function happening anywhere in Ravenlake.

  Anyone who is anyone in town works for Barber Engineering or has some connection to them.

  Stepdad Steve is some kind of engineer, though I don’t know the specifics. I don’t really care to know.

  My real dad used to work there, too. He was the Chief Financial Officer. Mom actually met Stepdad at a few of the events when she attended with my dad.

  At the wedding, she claimed it was love at first sight.

  When I later reminded her that she was still married when she met Steve, she hissed for me to shut up.

  It’s not like it was some big revelation or anything. She and my dad weren’t exactly lovey-dovey with one another.

  They never kissed or touched that I saw. I caught her rolling her eyes at his stories more times than not.

  Even when he got sick, mom barely paid him any mind.

  She hired a nurse to take care of him and a driver to take him to and from his chemo and radiation appointments.

  I’ve always resented that I didn’t get to know my dad until he was sick.

  When he was healthy, I was busy being social and he was busy working.

  But when he got sick, he sat at home in his wide chair in the living room for hours at a time, napping on and off.

  We began to talk.

  He told me about growing up in the seventies and eighties, sneaking into rock concerts and stealing t-shirts from the merch table.

  When his own parents tried to put the clamp on his partying, he just started sneaking out right under their noses.

  “I don’t know if you’re supposed to tell your daughter things like this,” I whispered one day towards the end after he told me the story of getting high in a bathroom with a Playboy Bunny.

  “Who else am I going to tell?” he asked. “I’m dying, and someone should know who I really am.”

  Two days
later, he was gone.

  Three Years Earlier

  I stand back from the door, slightly confused.

  I’m not sure if I’m really here.

  If I really just knocked on the door.

  There seems to be a haze between me and the rest of the world, a kind of veil I can’t lift.

  Then, Noah opens the door, and the veil shreds to pieces.

  The reality of my day—the tragedy of my life—comes into stark focus, and I practically collapse at his feet.

  “Penny?”

  Noah catches me and hauls me inside the entryway. I’m too upset to care if his parents are home.

  He’s still wearing the same black pants and sweater he had on at the funeral, and he smells so good. I bury my face in his shoulder, not carrying if I get makeup on his clothes, and grab a fistful of his shirt.

  “I was at the wake,” he says, smoothing a shaking hand down my back. “I came to see you, but I couldn’t find you. Where were you?”

  I saw Noah walk in my front door, dressed head to toe in black, and immediately tears sprang to my eyes.

  I didn’t want to cry.

  Not today.

  Not in front of all these people.

  Not in front of him.

  But when I was with Noah, it was so easy to forget my dad was wasting away at home.

  Easy to forget he was slipping away, day by day.

  Being with Noah was the only respite I had. It was the only time I wasn’t depressed looking at my dad or angry looking at how little my mom cared. At how much she loathed me.

  When Noah came to the wake, there was no more pretending. The two realities I’d built for myself had collided in a way I wasn’t ready for.

  So, I’d artfully dodged him, keeping at least one room of distance between us at all times. As if that would bring my dad back to life. As if that would make Momma love me.

  Then, when he left, I went up to my room and stared at the wall.

  I waited for the tears to come. For any kind of emotion to surface.

  But there was nothing.

  I couldn’t access it.

  That emptiness was much worse than crying would have been, so I walked to Noah’s house, knocked on his door.

  That’s where I am now. Weeping openly in his arms like a crazy person.

  “You aren’t crazy,” Noah whispers.

  I’m not sure if I’ve spoken out loud or he is reading my mind, but I cling to his words like a raft.

  We sit there for a while, tangled in each other’s arms, before I hear a car door open outside.

  Noah stiffens.

  “My parents are back,” he whispers, leaning in close so his lips brush against my cheek. “Do you want to go upstairs? They won’t bother us up there.”

  I’m not in a state to see anyone else or go home, so I nod and let Noah lead me upstairs.

  My black dress was pressed and crisp when I left the house, but the hem is rumpled now. I run my fingers along it as I sit on the edge of Noah’s bed, waiting. He goes downstairs to talk to his parents, to ensure they wouldn’t come up to his room to check on him.

  I think about how I don’t have “parents” anymore.

  I have a parent—singular. One who doesn’t even like me very much.

  The thought brings a fresh wave of tears.

  When Noah comes back into the room, my gaze is watery and unfocused.

  “I’m so sorry, Penny.” Noah grabs my hand and massages his thumb over my knuckles. “I want to help.”

  “You are,” I manage, my throat thick with tears.

  Eventually, we lay down on his bed. Noah pulls his comforter over me, but he stays on top of the blankets, close enough that I can reach out and touch him when I want.

  I know he must be bored, sitting with me while I cry off and on, but I’m too selfish to get up and leave.

  I don’t want to go home. I don’t want to see my mom.

  By now, she’s probably wondering where I am, and she’ll be angry when I get back.

  She’ll find new ways to insult me and kick me even when I’m already down.

  I can’t handle that right now.

  For as long as possible, I want to stay with the only person still living who has ever made me feel worthwhile.

  I must doze off because when I open my eyes, the room is dark.

  I sit up quickly, the blankets falling around my waist, and look around, blinking into the darkness.

  Noah’s hand lands on my shoulder and traces a line down my arm. “Are you okay?”

  “Did I fall asleep?”

  He nods. His curly hair is flattened on one side from where he has been laying on it. “For a couple hours. I didn’t want to wake you. You seemed like you needed it.”

  I push my fingers through my hair, trying to tame the mess of tangles, and swipe under my eyes. I’m sure I’m covered in mascara and blanket creases.

  “Do you need to get home?” he asks. “I can give you a ride.”

  “Oh. Yeah, right. Probably. I can go. I’m sure you have better things—”

  His warm hand wraps around my wrist and pulls me closer to him. “There’s nothing else I’d rather be doing, Penny. I just don’t want you to get in trouble.”

  I blink at him and my chin wobbles, but no more tears come. I don’t think I have any left.

  “I want to stay with you.”

  “Then stay,” Noah says, opening his arms. His dark eyes are drawn together in concern and sympathy and care. I want to drown in his kindness.

  I fall into his arms and breathe in the warm scent of him.

  Except, it doesn’t feel quite as innocent as it did before.

  Before, I was a weeping, collapsing mess of fabric and tears. I barely knew where I was, let alone who I was throwing myself at.

  Noah’s arms around me had felt necessary, nothing more.

  Now, there’s more.

  A lot more.

  I turn in his arms, our chests pressed more firmly together, and I slide one of my legs over his to accommodate the position.

  Noah shifts again, and I slide my other leg over.

  Before I know what’s happening, I’m straddling him.

  My dress is a bundle of fabric between us, but he’s between my legs, and the thumping I’ve felt in my head all day has moved to a new location between my legs.

  I tilt my head up, nuzzling my cheek against his, and then press a kiss to his cheek. From there, his mouth is only one small jump away.

  The kisses start tenderly, gently, but they gain heat quickly.

  Noah’s chest is like a thrashing animal beneath me, but the rest of his body is perfectly still.

  His hands don’t move from where they are on my shoulder blades, and he doesn’t react at all when I roll my hips over his. It’s like he’s frozen.

  Finally, frustrated, I pull back. “Are you okay? Is this not—? Are you not—? Do you not want this?”

  “I do,” he says breathlessly. “So much. But not if you’ll regret it tomorrow. Your dad just died, Penny, and I don’t want to take advantage of you.”

  “I’m sad.”

  “I know.” Noah pulls his hands away and leans back. “I shouldn’t—”

  I grab his hands and hold them between mine like a prayer. “I’m sad about my dad, but this isn’t about him. This is about you laying with me all day while I slept. And about you being the kind of guy who has stopped me not once, but twice, from having sex with you because you want it to be the right time.”

  His mouth pinches up in a half smile. “You are trying to have sex with me?”

  Despite the terrible day and my eyes swollen with tears, I laugh. “Yes, I am.”

  Noah’s arms come back around me, his hands clasping together behind my back. “Then keep trying. My resistance is crumbling.”

  “You’re good to me, Noah,” I whisper, leaning close to press my nose to his. “You make me feel special, and I want this moment to be special. Forever.”

  Rather than
trying to find the words, Noah tips his head up and brings his lips to mine.

  We’ve had a lot of practice with the kissing, but the undressing is new.

  We fumble and giggle and then grow serious as more skin is exposed.

  We muddle through it, but when it’s over, and I’m lying next to him, nothing has ever felt more perfect.

  “You know I’ll always be here for you, right?” Noah asks, his hand on the bare skin of my lower back.

  I lay against his chest and breathe in the spicy smell of him. “I’ll be here for you, too.”

  Present Day

  A knock at the front door pulls me out of my reverie.

  I set aside the college applications I’d been working on and pad across the tile entryway.

  I don’t know what time it is, but I assume it’s Momma and Stepdad Steve home early. They didn’t take any keys with them since they planned to drink and take a rideshare home.

  Except, when I open the front door, there’s no one there.

  I frown and look around, stepping out onto the porch to look down the sidewalk.

  There’s no one around. No cars. Nothing on the porch.

  Confused and a little freaked, I pull the door shut and bolt it.

  My phone is sitting on the ottoman in front of the couch. Maybe I should text someone and tell them about what happened.

  That way, if I end up dead, at least the police will have a lead.

  I chastise myself for immediately jumping to murder as a possibility.

  Though, when I walk into the living room, I realize it may not have been such a crazy thought, after all.

  Standing at the base of the stairs is Tank, The Hell Prince.

  He’s got a wide, cocky grin on his face. “Surprised to see me?”

  I open my mouth, considering screaming or running, but I can’t.

  Delanie.

  If I scream, she’ll wake up and make the entire situation worse and more stressful.

  If I run, she’ll be left behind with a Hell Prince.

  I’d never forgive myself if anything happened to her.

  My eyes dart to where my phone had been sitting on the ottoman, but it’s no longer there.