Rich Boys vs. Poor Boys (The Cruel Kings of Castle Hill Academy, Book 1) by Devon Hartford kd103

by Hartford, Devon

  “No.” He squeezes his face with one big hand and scowls to himself, eyes closed.

  “Sorry. I shouldn’t have asked. I should’ve just—”

  “It’s not your fault,” he grunts. “It’s fucking Elizabeth’s. If she hadn’t said anything, you wouldn’t have said anything. See how her lies propagate outward without her doing a thing? You see how she does one little careless thing and the repercussions amplify?”

  “Totally. Like the butterfly effect.”

  “Exactly,” he snarls. “She has no idea how she fucks up the world with her self-centered pettiness.”

  “Does she know?” I ask carefully. “About you, I mean?”

  “Fuck no!” he snorts. “I’d never tell her.”

  But he told me. I’ll admit, not under the best of circumstances, but he did tell me. My heart swells with tenderness. This man is letting me in. Letting down his guard.

  For me.

  Giddiness hits me and I want to laugh and cry at the same time.

  “Fuck this shit,” he grunts, startling me.

  “What?”

  “I suddenly don’t want to look at the view. Let’s head back to the hideout.”

  “Oh, right.”

  We start a slow stroll through the silent woods.

  I say, “I hope I didn’t ruin it for you.”

  “Ruin what?”

  “The view.”

  “You’re fine,” he says dismissively. “I’ve been beating that shit out of my system for a long, long time. Sometimes I think I’m over it, then it comes back like it’s happening all over again.”

  I nod silently, knowing all about—

  (You stupid retard no good for nothing lousy sack of pig shit! Look what you did to my table! You roont it! Roont!)

  —reliving shit.

  “Anyway,” he sighs. “I don’t want to think about it right now. Can we talk about something else?”

  “Erm, um, you were saying how you ended up at Castle Hill? You and the guys?”

  “Right,” he nods and relaxes into a smile. “We knew they wouldn’t take us if we got caught for violent crime, right?”

  “They wouldn’t?”

  “No,” Rob shakes his head. “No one at Castle Hill is a murderer, or rapist,” he grumbles, “or anything like that. No violent felons. It has to be non-violent crime or they won’t take you.”

  “Obviously. Wait. Wait, wait, wait. That can’t be right. I was going to jail for attempted murder. For supposedly stabbing Queen LaQueefa in the ears with her toothbrush shank. That’s violent. How come they took me?”

  Rob’s eyes glimmer wickedly. “I pulled a few strings.”

  “You?” I wonder. “How?”

  “Leverage.”

  “What does that mean? You have to give me more details than that.”

  He smirks, “Did you want to hear about how I got to Castle Hill or not?”

  “Fine. Tell me.”

  He grins, “Okay, so I was dating this babe one time—” He stops himself. “You don’t want to hear about her.”

  “No, it’s fine,” I smirk nervously, not sure I want to either.

  “Anyway, her boyfriend was a complete dick, right? Rich as fuck and twice as much of a dick.”

  “Wait, her boyfriend?”

  Rob shrugs. “When he found out—”

  I roll my eyes.

  “—he hired some guys to rough me up.”

  “How’d that turn out?” I venture.

  Rob smirks, “You know the sitting boulder back there?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Let’s just say those guys were the boulder and I was the branch.”

  “Wait, that’s violent. I thought you said nobody gets into Castle Hill for doing anything violent.”

  “They were fine,” he chuckles. “It wasn’t like they were going to the cops after to say they got their asses kicked after being paid to kick mine.”

  “Oh, I guess that makes sense.”

  “Once I set the boyfriend’s henchmen straight, I went after him.”

  “What’d you do?!” I ask, my eyes wide in trepidation.

  “Stole the boyfriend’s Lambo and drove it off a cliff.”

  “You did not!” I gape.

  “Sure as fuck did,” he grins. “By the time his two million dollar supercar hit bottom, there was nothing left.”

  “Oh my god, Rob!” I’m laughing. “That is insane!”

  “He deserved it for paying to have my ass kicked.”

  “Is that why you went to jail?”

  He nods, “Grand larceny. Totally worth it.”

  “So, what’d the other guys do to get into Castle Hill? What crimes did they commit?”

  “They can tell you some time. Anyway, ever since I heard about Castle Hill, I don’t know, I was itching to take the Fundies down, like it was in my blood. So many rich dicks in one place begging to get taken. It’s so much easier when your marks are teenagers. They aren’t as careful as their parents.”

  “Wow. How many people have you robbed, Rob?”

  “Enough.”

  “Enough?” I snicker. “So this isn’t your first robbing rodeo?”

  “Not even close.”

  “Are you guys rich?”

  “Enough,” he chuckles.

  “Wait, wait, wait,” I snort. “Why are you robbing the Fundies if you’re already rich?”

  “Because they’re dicks.”

  “And you’re not?!” I laugh. “You rob people! How is that not a dickish thing to do?”

  “We only steal from rich people. We only keep what we need to rob the next mark, and a little extra to live on.”

  “I don’t believe you for a second,” I smile.

  “Do you see any yachts or helicopters out here?”

  “No-a.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Wait, you said you only keep what you need. What do you do with the extra?”

  “Give it to people who need it.”

  “Who would that be?”

  “People who don’t have money.”

  “Like who?”

  “The poor, for starters. And a lot of charities.”

  “Nuh uh. I don’t believe that for a second either.”

  “Why not?”

  “You guys just told me how Prince is lying about buying water purifiers! Why should I believe you guys aren’t lying too?!”

  “You shouldn’t. I’ll show you.”

  “I’m not going to believe a bunch of internet photos.”

  “That’s not what I’m going to show you.”

  Chapter 42

  Rob walks me back to the Secret Fucking Hideout and tells the others he and I are going for a ride. We suit up and he tosses me on his motorcycle and we blaze out of there. An hour later, we end up in a small mountain town called Cedar Creek. The sign says the population is 942. It doesn’t even have a downtown. It’s just a few dilapidated storefronts adjacent to the main road, and you can see aging houses between the old trees climbing up the hillside. Honestly, the town looks like it’s on its last legs.

  We park in front of a liquor store and gas station combo that sells groceries too. Not one of the big brand name ones. Just a generic local place with a sign that says Liquor - Gas - Food.

  Rob buy several bags worth of staples. Milk, juice, frozen hamburger, frozen vegetables, bread, breakfast cereal, apples, bananas.

  “Is this lunch?” I joke while the cashier rings us up.

  “No,” he says.

  I roll my eyes.

  Outside, we walk up a sloping road between houses. They’re all run down. Sagging roofs that need replacing, peeling paint, dirty windows, rundown yards, rusty old cars parked in the weeds. It’s sad, really.

  Then we get to a house that looks brand new with a green lawn. There’s a brand new Toyota something in the driveway. Rob walks up the cute little walk like he owns the place.

  “Is this your house, Rob?” I ask.

  “No. Don’t call me Rob h
ere,” he mutters as he rings the doorbell. “I’m someone else.”

  “What?!” I hiss, confused.

  “Shhh.”

  I hear screaming kids in side. Good screaming, like they’re playing and having the time of their lives.

  Laughing and thumping as someone rushes to the door. A beautiful woman opens the door. She could be the cover girl for an outdoorsy magazine. No makeup, lush gold hair in a ponytail, a flannel buttoned over a turtle neck, jeans over slender legs, patterned socks on her feet.

  “Carter!” she gushes when she sees him and practically jumps into his arms, throwing her arms around his muscled neck and hugging him hard. It takes a moment for her to realize I’m standing there holding a grocery bag. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t realize you brought a friend!” She breaks away from Rob, slightly embarrassed.

  Rob says, “Misty, this is Jewel.”

  “Hi,” I smile, not sure if I’m supposed to be Misty or Jewel.

  “Oh, hi!” the blonde beauty says. “You’re Jewel! Carter told me all about you!” She holds out her hand for me to shake it.

  I shake. “Hi. Ruh-Carter never mentioned you.” Oops. Misty doesn’t notice my slip, but Rob smirks at me. I smirk back. He should’ve told me to call him effing Carter!

  “Come in, come in,” Misty says. The kids inside are all little with big eyes staring at me.

  When Rob and I step into the house, the kids scream,“Carter!” and jump all over him. He hastily hands grocery bags to Misty. A bunch of rough-house wrestling ensues with Rob in the middle of it on the living room floor. I help Misty unload groceries in the kitchen and we make small talk about the weather. After we finished putting everything away, she makes tea and tells me to help “Carter” with the kids.

  Rob knows all their names and introduces me to each one. I can’t keep their names straight, especially after the girls show me their dolls and plushies and name all twenty of them.

  “Who wants juice and cookies?!” Misty calls out, carrying a tray into the living room.

  A chorus of “I do!” sounds from the kids.

  Rob sits on the couch surrounded by girls snuggling up with him and boys still trying to wrestle him. Rob is laughing when he says, “Can’t I eat my cookies?”

  A little boy grabs the cookie Rob is about to munch on and eats it himself.

  Rob looks at me and laughs, “Did you see that little thief?”

  The boy snickers around a mouthful of half-eaten cookie.

  “Which one?” I wink at Rob.

  He rolls his eyes.

  The kids eventually settle down. Rob asks how the kids are doing. Misty says great, and details the doings of her little monsters, which she actually calls them. What a cool mom. I’m pretty sure they aren’t all Misty’s kids, because none of them look alike, unless she’s had a lot of boyfriends. Ahem. There’s seven kids in all. And now that I’m looking at her, I’m pretty sure Misty’s too young to be all their moms.

  I don’t say much but I’m happy to listen while they talk at length about everything under the sun.

  When the cookies and juice are gone, Rob says, “We should probably be going.”

  “Oh, I see how it is,” Misty flirts. “You come for the cookies, then it’s out the door with you.”

  “Something like that,” he grins.

  On the front porch, Rob pulls out his wallet, pulls out a bunch of cash, and offers it to Misty.

  “What’s that?” she smirks.

  “For groceries. It’s five hundred. It isn’t much, but it’s all I have on me.”

  “Oh no.” Misty shakes her head and her ponytail waves. “No, no, no! You’ve given us more than enough already, Carter! First you pay off our mortgage. Then you pay the property taxes for the next ten years! Then a new car! No, Carter! No!” Misty is laughing. She smiles at me, “You’re probably used to this. He’s like this with you too. Mr. Generous. I know Carter.”

  “Yeah,” I grin. What I want to say is, actually, no, he never gives me anything, but I know better than to spoil the mood.

  Rob is insistent about Misty taking the money until she eventually relents. We say our goodbyes, and Rob and I walk slowly back down the road. The kids rush outside onto the lawn and wave, “Bye, Carter! We miss you!”

  At the Liquor- Gas - Food store parking lot, I finally say, “Who was that? Your ex-wife?”

  “No,” Rob chuckles. “I was riding through town one day and bumped into her here. She had her kids with her.”

  “Are they all hers?”

  “No. Two are. The rest are foster.”

  “Makes sense,” I nod knowingly. I wish I’d had a foster mom like Misty. I never would’ve run away. Instead I had Gladys. And Dwight and Shayla. And so many other horror movies in between.

  “She was broke when I met her. Her husband was a long haul trucker until he was killed in an accident. Some fucking drunk driver,” Rob grunts. “Anyway, she’d just buried him the week before I met her. Her eyes were hollow, like she hadn’t slept in days. A walking zombie taking care of those kids. She didn’t know how she was going to pay rent when the insurance money ran out. When it did, she knew she’d have to give up some of the kids.”

  “How awful,” I say sincerely.

  “Tell me about it. So I paid everything off so she wouldn’t have to worry about money. With the life insurance payout from her husband, and what I gave her, she has enough to raise those kids until they’re eighteen.”

  “You did all that?”

  “Wouldn’t you?”

  “If I was a billionaire,” I bluster.

  “You can do a lot of good with money.” He arches a hopeful eyebrow, obviously hinting at me joining his good guy gang.

  “I get it,” I roll my eyes.

  “Good,” he says.

  I change the subject. “Misty sure is pretty.”

  “You noticed?” he smirks.

  “She sure likes you. Were you and her ever a thing?”

  He glares at me, “Her husband died right before I met her. What kind of person do you think I am? She needed someone to help her, not take advantage of her.”

  That’s a no. “Had to ask,” I grin. “Wait, did you like, hire her and those kids to pretend they know you for today?”

  He chuckles, “In the last hour?”

  “Mmm-hmm,” I nod.

  “Please, Mouth. That kind of a scam would take days to set up.”

  “I don’t know,” I whine. “I’m not a scam artist.”

  “Rounding up the kids alone and getting comfortable with them would take days. Maybe weeks.”

  “Sorry for asking!”

  “It’s fine,” he grins. “You hungry for lunch?”

  “Am I ever! Misty’s cookies were good, but I could use some real food.”

  “There’s a great diner here in town.”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  <(—)>

  Mama Susie’s Diner serves standard roadside burgers and fries, but they taste incredible. Their hot apple pie à la mode is the best I’ve ever had. Or maybe that’s just the company. I can’t tell. Sitting across a table staring into Rob’s dreamy eyes while we attack the ice cream and pie makes our dessert taste better. It also makes the colors in the diner more vibrant, and the smells from the kitchen more delicious, making me want seconds, thirds, fourths, anything to drag out my time with Rob.

  “We should get back,” he says after paying the bill. Outside in the parking lot, Rob lifts me onto the black motorcycle and we race back to the bunker. There, he peels off his helmet and says, “Now do you believe me?”

  “What, that you help people?”

  He nods and sets his helmet on the gas tank. We’re still outside, surrounded by the trees circling the bunker.

  I unstrap my helmet and hang it from the handlebars. “Misty and her kids are one family. For all I know, they’re the only family you help.”

  “They’re one among many,” Rob says. “There’s organizations and charities we help t
oo. We donate a lot of money to them. Doing daily grocery drop-offs ourselves is impossible with us working at the academy. You know how busy we are.”

  “But you find time for Misty,” I smirk.

  “That was a random thing. I’ve only been to her house a few times. For the most part, I just give her money and make suggestions about what to do with it.”

  “Money you stole,” I snark.

  “From rich people,” he counters.

  “It’s still a crime.”

  “Is it? Ask yourself, where do rich people get their money in the first place?”

  “They earn it?”

  Rob snorts in amusement. “Have you ever heard the saying, behind every great fortune lies a great crime?”

  I smirk, “Is the great crime the one where you steal someone’s great fortune from behind when they aren’t looking and you lie about it later?”

  Rob grins in surprise, “Very clever, Mouth.”

  I bury my face in my elbow and throw out my other arm, hitting a casual Dab.

  Rob chuckles.

  I say, “So you guys are criminals.”

  “We only steal what’s already been stolen. We pick our targets carefully. Take the Morgan-Hearsts, for example.”

  Having researched them myself, I know there’s truth to what he’s saying.

  “Like I said,” he adds, “we give most of what we take back to people who need it. That’s the key difference. Me and the boys only steal enough to keep stealing. We don’t waste our money on useless consumer bullshit.”

  “I can see that,” I say, glancing at the bunker. It’s hardly a mansion. “Unless you’re hiding your yacht and castle at your own private Caribbean island or whatever.”

  He rolls his eyes, “We don’t own any islands.”

  “How do you know them anyway? Jonah, Skill, and Tucker?”

  “We met in foster care.”

  “Really?”

  He nods. “Really nasty place. Our foster dad was a con artist. Taught us half the scams we know.”

  “No way!”

  “It wasn’t great. He was an alcoholic. Disgruntled ex-military plagued by PTSD. Beat the shit out of us as much as taught us how to steal and fight.”

  Old memories of Gladys suddenly punch me in the stomach.