Noble Savages: A Dark High School Bully Romance Box Set

by Rina Kent

  I’m too occupied by his arm around my stomach to register anything else.

  It isn’t until a door closes behind us and Levi releases me that I realise we’re alone in a room.

  Wait.

  Is it supposed to be this way?

  Chapter Three

  Levi

  A monster isn’t born. It’s made.

  * * *

  Here, little lamb. I won’t eat you.

  At least not yet.

  The girl has been all over me not two minutes ago but now that we’re alone in one of the private bedrooms in Uncle’s sickeningly large mansion, she looks about ready to bolt.

  I breeze past her, and she trembles then shrinks back as if the mere contact is electrifying.

  I flop on the edge of the bed, leaning on one hand and tilt my head to watch her.

  She’s pretty in a pop-fiction kind of way. Rosy, pale lips. Long, silky brown hair and eyes so green, they almost sparkle and shit.

  Granted, she’s not as pretty as the girls who throw themselves at me and the team all the time, but she’s got it going on in a discreet, almost tomboyish kind of way.

  With her denim shorts and unconventional trainers, it’s like she’s stuck at that point between girl-hood and teenage-hood.

  The only difference, there’s nothing immature about her petite figure. She has soft curves and a tiny waist that fit perfectly in my palm earlier.

  In the beginning, I planned to play around with her, push her buttons and then pass her around for the team.

  After learning her last name, she became my prey for the night.

  Screwing Clifford’s princess means one thing: pissing Uncle off.

  And I live to piss Uncle the fuck off and see how he looks at me like I’m a rock in his shoe.

  The failure.

  The king without a crown.

  The family’s black sheep.

  I’m just giving him one more reason to hate me — aside from the grand finale I have planned for his favourite holiday home.

  I pat my thigh. “Come here, princess.”

  She swallows, the sound echoing in the silence surrounding us. Clifford glances between me and the door for a fraction of a second.

  They say the human brain is wired for snap decisions.

  It’s funny how people make mistakes thinking they’re the right choices.

  Like Clifford princess for instance.

  Her brain is obviously telling her to run. Deep down, we can all sense danger, but not everyone focuses enough to relate to their basic instincts.

  I should probably thank chess and Uncle’s tyrannical upbringing for making me so aware of my surroundings.

  Clifford’s princess either missed some aristocratic lessons from her lord father or she simply doesn’t give a fuck.

  It’d be so interesting if it were the last.

  With one deep breath, she abandons the door and takes tentative steps in my direction, red creeping up her neck.

  She stops in front of me, rubbing her arm, and looking down at me through her thick lashes. I grab her wrist, and she moans, her eyes fluttering closed.

  I pause before yanking her to my lap and fucking her senseless.

  When she moaned earlier, I thought it was a show or some seduction technique.

  I stand up and tilt her chin up with my thumb and forefinger, staring straight into her dilated pupils.

  No wonder she’s a puddle whenever I touch her. She’s pumped with E.

  I push her away and she releases a tiny gasp, her eyes snapping open.

  “W-what?”

  “I don’t do druggies. Run along.”

  Her brows draw together as if she’s offended. “I’m not a druggie.”

  “Says every druggie.”

  She tilts her chin up in defiance. “You can’t tell me what I’m not.”

  Huh. Interesting.

  She has the attitude that comes with the princess title.

  My hand wraps around her waist under the T-shirt so it’s my skin to her heated one. Even with one hand, she fits so fucking perfectly. My fingers creep up near her ribs and I stroke the skin until a shudder goes through her.

  “This feels good, princess?”

  “Oh God, yes.” Her eyes flutter closed as she steps so close, I smell lilac on her. “More.”

  That’s what every druggie says.

  I know that, should’ve said that.

  But I’m caught in how her lips part, accentuating the pink teardrop in the middle. She’s so aroused, I don’t only feel it in the tremors and her heated body, but I can smell it in the air.

  I’m tempted to yank her top, bend her over and fuck her until she forgets her name and screams mine.

  But I meant it. I don’t do druggies.

  Clifford’s princess stares up at me and bites down on the corner of her lip. My pelvis crashes against her lower stomach as she moves up and down against my jeans.

  My dick hardens as she moans, “Please, more.”

  Fuck me.

  Maybe I can make an exception this time. I’m corrupted enough as it is.

  Before I give in to my demons, I snap, “Out.”

  When she stares at me with that slight blush, eyes shining with innocence and pain, a sick thought remains in my mind.

  I want to ruin her.

  Complicate her.

  Crush her innocence.

  Then watch it all burn.

  But again, that’s what I feel about most beautiful things.

  If my soul is black, why does the world need colours?

  I grab her arm and drag her towards the back door. Her lips part as she struggles to keep up with my strides. When I open the back door and throw her outside, her lips part.

  She wobbles towards me. “No, wait —”

  I shut the door in her face, muting all the foggy chaos that erupted because of her presence.

  Tonight isn’t the time, but it will come.

  Clifford’s princess and I will have another duel once she’s sober and can handle me.

  Now… I smile as I open the door and return to the team.

  It’s time for my summer gift to Uncle.

  Chapter Four

  Astrid

  Not only I bled, but you also left me for dead.

  * * *

  My fists bang on the door for what seems like hours.

  It's like there’s no soul behind the door.

  No answer.

  No nothing.

  I slide down to the stairs, regaining my breathing.

  So much weird energy buzzes through me like there’s a party going on through my organs. I want to jump and run — preferably at the same time.

  I don’t know where this place is, but it’s dark. The only light comes from the main house in the distance. Something Just Like This by Coldplay and The Chainsmokers from the party.

  Normally, I’d make sure there’s no one in my immediate vicinity, but normal isn’t today.

  I jump up and start dancing, twirling between the bushes and riding the wave coursing through my veins.

  If someone is invincible enough to jump to the sky then it’s me.

  The music seeps under my skin and tightens my muscles. My tank top sticks to my back with sweat the more I twirl and shake my hips like Mum and I used to.

  Pressure builds behind my eyes at the memory of her — or the lack thereof. It’s been two years and she’s becoming more and more like a fog. Her smile is disappearing and the positive energy she taught me is replaced by a deep gloom now.

  While dancing, I pull the underside of my forearm in the direction of the light. It’s not clear, but I can almost see the tiny tattoos of a sun, a moon, and a star.

  She made the star black because I’m her ‘Star’. She said she named me Astrid because it means an Old Norse star, a super strength that she needed when she had me.

  The tattoo is the last memory I have of her.

  If I didn’t ask her to come pick me up from the art class late at night
, if I didn’t throw a tantrum when she told me the news, maybe she’d be here now.

  Maybe I won’t be stuck with Dad and his entitled last name.

  If I got her out of the car in time, if I called for help in time…

  I screw my eyes shut against the grief and what-ifs. My shrink said guilt-shaming will only consume me without offering a solution. Still, the wave of crushing guilt is as constant as every breath I take. It’s lodged in the dark corners of my heart and my soul.

  It feels like yesterday. The smell of smoke, burnt flesh, and metallic blood.

  So much fucking blood.

  I continue swaying to the music with lesser energy. My arms wrap around my middle and I open my eyes, chasing the ‘guilt-shaming’ away.

  I want to take off my clothes and take a dip in the pool.

  Sounds like a brilliant idea, me.

  How come I never thought about it earlier?

  I jump and hop amidst the bushes and the dirt path leading to the main mansion.

  Dan better show up or I’ll kill him. What’s the use of a best friend if he doesn’t go stupid pool dancing with me?

  The bright lights of the house become clearer, and I stop, shielding my eyes with the back of my hand. Ugh. Why so strong?

  “Come on, we don’t have time. Do it!”

  “Shut it. Everything needs to be perfect.”

  “Just do it already or we’ll be in trouble.”

  My ears stand at the hushed whispers coming from between the bushes. They’re male voices, but I don’t think I’ve ever heard them before.

  Or have I?

  But again, RES is too big for me to know everyone. Especially since I nailed the invisible role.

  Besides, this is the farewell party before summer so more than likely, all students are here.

  My instinct tells me this isn’t a conversation or a situation I should be privy on.

  And my instinct is always right.

  I sneak to the opposite direction towards the blinding light.

  A twig crunches under my shoes like in some cliché horror film.

  I freeze in place, muting my chaotic breathing as best as I can.

  “Who’s there?” The first hardened voice asks.

  “I’m going to check.”

  “Don’t let them escape!”

  Oh, for the love of Vikings!

  I sprint through the bushes and between the tall trees. Voices and loud footsteps echo behind me.

  My heart hammers against my ribcage as if about to spill on the ground. The more footsteps close in on me, the harder I push forward.

  I’m not an athletic person. The mere act of running wooshes all energy out of me like I’m a deflating balloon. Soon enough, I’m panting and sweating like a pig.

  “It’s over here.” One of them calls.

  “I’m bringing backup.”

  Dad is so going to kill me if these guys don’t.

  Too many gory films, Astrid. You watch too many gory films. There’s no way high school students, RES’s posh students no less would commit murder.

  Then, I recall that their families’ power can get them out of anything — including murder.

  God, I hate everything these rich kids stand for.

  I try to run on silent mode, but the twigs continue crunching under my feet as if purposely giving a signal to my hunters.

  Branches and the odd tree trunk scrape against my bare arms as I carry on my run.

  My pulse pounds in my ears as I reach a small road. I bend over behind a tree to catch my erratic breathing.

  Aside from the moonlight slipping from between clouds and the trees, it’s pitch black out here. The mansion’s lights and music have completely disappeared.

  The footsteps have vanished, too, and so did the voices. Phew. Maybe even my horrible athletic skills have managed to get me out of this unscathed.

  Still, my heart won’t stop beating fast and hard against my chest cavity.

  Thump. Thump. Thump.

  I take tentative steps towards the empty road, hoping to find someone for help.

  Two steps forward. One step back.

  The sound of a night bird — or beast — makes me freeze in place, almost peeing myself.

  When I go back home, I won’t take gory or horror films for granted anymore. It’s terrifying as hell in real life.

  “This way!” Someone shouts.

  “No one sees and lives to tell about it.” A familiar voice, super familiar, deadpans as numerous, steady footsteps sprint in my direction.

  I bolt down the road, my heart hammering in my chest so loud, I can’t hear my own footsteps.

  Run.

  Run.

  Run!

  They say you don’t feel it when your life ends.

  I do.

  It happens in a split second.

  One moment, I’m running down the road, the next, blinding headlights freeze me in place.

  I want to move. I want to get out of the way.

  I can’t.

  Something hard crushes against my side and I’m flying over the road. I fall with a thud, my hands lolling in an awkward position.

  Something warm pools underneath me and sticks to my T-shirt.

  Voices scatter all around me along with the loud squeal of someone slamming on brakes.

  The metallic stench of blood fills my nostrils just like that day two years ago.

  It’s rainy and dark. So fucking dark, I can smell death in the air.

  It has a distinctive smell, death. All murky and metallic and smoky.

  Mum’s head is lolled to the side with blood all over her neck, smudging the white blazer she was happy to receive last week.

  I stretch out a hand, but nothing in my body moves.

  I can’t reach my mum.

  I can’t save her.

  “P-please… Please… no… please…”

  Dark shadows loom over me. They’re talking, but it’s hushed and I can’t make anything of it.

  Warm fingers touch my side. I crack my eyes open and see a small star tattoo on the inside of his arm like mine.

  “Leave her,” The voice says.

  My world goes black.

  Chapter Five

  Astrid

  Two months later

  They didn’t think I’d come back alive.

  * * *

  Back to school.

  Back to life, basically.

  The past two months were pieces cut from hell. I half-expected Lucifer — the real one, not the TV show — to jump out and inflict some sort of torture.

  While all the kids at school holidayed and posted pictures from all over exotic places, I spent my time split between the hospital and rehab.

  All of it crashed down on me in such a short period of time, it’s like I’m re-living the tragedy from three years ago.

  Unlike then, I didn’t come out unscathed.

  I broke my leg, bruised my ribs and dislocated my shoulder. According to the doctor and the nursing staff, I was lucky.

  Lucky.

  Such a weird word.

  I even heard my stepmother say that to her countless snobbish friends. I was lucky to have escaped death twice.

  Obviously this luck thing isn’t hereditary because Mum died in her first car accident.

  Why couldn’t I share that luck with her?

  Dan flings an arm around my shoulder, bringing me to the present.

  The September sky has a beautiful, pale hue and the sun actually shines down on us peasants in the UK.

  The air smells of Autumn's humidity and that tame forest scent — coming from the huge pine trees surrounding Royal Elite School.

  Dan and I make our way through the huge double doors. Both of us are dressed in our uniforms. Mine has a dark blue skirt and a matching jacket with RES’s golden Lion-Shield-Crown on the pocket. A red ribbon surrounds my neck over the white button-down shirt. Dan’s identical except he has trousers and a red tie.

  Dan’s smiles — all complet
e with a left dimple — at any of the female species passing by us and adds a few winks causing some of them to nearly fall over each other.

  He’s good-looking in that classic, British kind of way. First of all, he has a dimple — that must be why I wanted to be friends with him. People with dimples kind of draw you in like magnets. He takes his time to slick his chestnut hair in a way that looks imperfect. Add in his turquoise, ocean eyes and he’s like a model in the making.

  No joke. A scout stopped his mum in the mall and begged her to have their agency represent him.

  “Hey, crazy bugger.” He pokes my arm. “We can do Senior year and we can even do it sideways, too.”

  I roll my eyes. “Does everything need to have a sexual meaning with you?”

  “Hell yeah. Senior year, senior sex life, baby.”

  I shake my shoulders. Incurable Dan.

  For a moment, I’m lost in all the students rushing through RES. Half appear excited — mostly freshman — while the other half look as if they were dragged out of bed.

  Oh, and I belong to the second half. Thank you very much.

  One more year.

  Just one more year and I’m out of this shit show.

  Dan stops me on the side of the hall where students are filtering through and catching up about all the fun they had during the summer.

  Some throw discreet whispers my way, but it’s rare and far in between.

  I might be a Clifford, but I’m not at all that important in RES.

  Here’s to hoping the accident news will die down soon so I can go back to being my cute invisible self.

  Problem is, there were double accidents that night. The mansion caught fire when that car hit me.

  We have a Facebook Group for RES’ students, from which teachers and the administrators’ board are banned. In said group, some speculated that the hit-and-run-driver put the mansion on fire, then on their escape, they hit me.

  Other freaks suggested that I’m an accomplice, since well, Clifford and King are enemies. And boo-freaking-hoo, it appears that the mansion belongs to Jonathan King.