Savage Queen: A Royalty Crew U of J Spin-Off Novel (The Royalty Crew Book 1)

by Alley Ciz

  Why doesn’t it surprise me that she’s insulting me when I’m doing her a favor?

  Adjusting myself away from the painful teeth of my zipper, I push the ignition button, the throaty purr of the engine behind us sparking to life. “Don’t get your panties in a bunch, Princess. We’re going.”

  The vehicle rolls back as I shift out of neutral and into drive, peeling out of my parking spot with a squeal of the tires.

  “Don’t think about my panties.”

  It’s my turn to scoff. “Oh, sweetheart, that’s not even the first time they’ve been on my mind today. I can guarantee it won’t be the last.”

  “Well…look at that,” Samantha exclaims as I pull onto the Blackwell Public campus. “You may not have it in you to beat a Royal in a race, but I commend you on your ability to cut the travel time in half.”

  I bite my cheek to hold back a grin, following her directions around the back of one of the buildings and into the empty lot that separates the two school buildings. There’s a large grassy knoll in front of the one at the back of the campus, and students are spread out in small clusters eating lunch.

  “Park there.” I arch a brow when Samantha points to a row of parking spaces, away from the curb in front of the knoll. “It’s bad enough they know I go to BA. I don’t need them seeing me getting out of a BAsshole’s car.”

  There’s a slight incline leading down to the knoll that will allow me to see down and prevent some from seeing the Ferrari, but not all. “That’s why you did the partial wardrobe change?” I gotta say, between the boots and the leather jacket, the pleated skirt has never looked hotter. She’s a walking, talking, snarking schoolgirl porn fantasy come to life. All I need is a desk and a ruler, and we could have some fun.

  A cocky smirk is all I get before she’s opening the door to get out. It isn’t until she hears me move to do the same that she spins around, ducking back inside with a forceful “Don’t.”

  “Excuse me?” Who does she think she is commanding?

  “Stay. Here.”

  Again…what? “What if you need help?”

  She bursts into laughter. Like straight-up laughs in my face, hand slapping the leather seat before banding her arm around her middle. The purple hue of her eyes is the brightest I’ve seen when she drags a finger beneath her lower lash line, miming wiping away a tear.

  “Did you magically grow a conscience overnight?” She doesn’t give me time to answer before she continues. “Because you do realize you’ve spent the better part of my tenure at BA fucking with me, right? Now you’re concerned about my well-being?”

  She has a point. I may not like that I can’t control her, but not being able to control a situation she’s about to walk into—without me—I absolutely fucking despise. I don’t know what that means, and now is not the time to analyze it.

  I shoot out a hand and wrap my fingers around her wrist. “You’re not going down there without me.”

  She snorts, but a veil of steel forms behind her eyes. “If I thought I needed backup to handle this, you know who I would have called.” She swivels her hand counterclockwise, reversing our grips until she’s the one in the position of control. “Spoiler alert”—she pinches the soft spot between my thumb and forefinger, pain radiating up the length of my arm when she increases the pressure—“it’s not you.”

  I shake out my arm, trying to rid it of the lingering spikes stabbing at the nerve. “Samantha,” I warn.

  “Oh, come off it, Noble. You’re just wasting my time.”

  I might be, but so be it. I grind my teeth, the engine revving to life as my foot tap-tap-taps on the accelerator.

  “I’ll be fine.” Is it my imagination, or has her tone softened? “I can take care of myself.”

  “You’re fucking frustrating. You know that, right?” I growl, but the answering smile that spreads across her face at the accusation almost makes the heartburn shooting up my esophagus worth it.

  “So I’ve been told a time or two.”

  I arch a brow. “That’s it?”

  She pops a shoulder, nose twitching as she admits, “That may be a daily total.”

  “Still sounds like a low estimate.”

  Tinkling bells sound, and I realize she’s giggling. Hold the phone—did the tough-as-nails Samantha St. James really just giggle? In my presence? Holy shit, will wonders never cease?

  “Look…” She glances toward the knoll and back at me, running her fingers through her long hair, the silver strands shining in the sunlight streaming through the front windshield. “There may be this rivalry between BP and BA, but it’s not like I’m about to walk into a scene out of West Side Story.”

  She’s got jokes, but it doesn’t do a thing to calm the roiling in my gut. What the fuck?

  “Princess…”

  “For fuck’s sake.” She kneels on the seat with one knee. I don’t get a chance to appreciate the way the position shows off her thighs because she leans in close, the scent of lime enveloping me a second before she cups my cheek in her gloved hand. The affectionate gesture catches me off guard before she flips her hand around and digs her knuckles into me, hard enough to turn my head. “Feel that?”

  I nod as something bites into my skin.

  I cup her elbow, sliding my hand down her arm, watching the goose bumps spring up in the wake of my touch. I’m sure if I checked, her nipples would be peaked against her blouse, but I keep my attention on my current goal. Lowering her hand from my face, I cradle it in mine and run my thumb across the backs of her knuckles.

  The leather is warm from her body heat and supple from years of wear. It’s what I feel underneath the material that makes me pause: an elevated bump on top of a knuckle, then a dip into the crevice between the fingers before repeating the pattern three more times.

  It feels like…

  Brass knuckles?

  She’s gone before I can work out what it all means, the slam of the car door jolting me back to the present. Why the hell does she have brass knuckles hidden in her gloves? They must be a modified version because it’s not obvious. It’s brilliant to give her extra protection.

  Wait…

  Didn’t she put them on when she came to me at the Royal Ball? Did she think she needed to protect herself from me? Why does that particular thought bother me so much?

  By the time I break out of my mental musings, I’ve lost sight of Samantha. Nerves I’m not accustomed to feeling build beneath my skin, and I have to wait until she’s crossed the halfway point of the knoll until she’s back in my line of sight. I shift in my seat because not even the distance can take away from the natural swagger she possesses. I’m not the only one captivated by it. Like this morning, every eye in the vicinity is turned her way, and as a group, we watch her walk up to her redheaded friend.

  The coppery gold of her hair makes her easy to spot among the crowd, and the widening of her eyes and O shape her mouth forms tells me she was not expecting Samantha to show up. Interesting.

  Samantha doesn’t stop to talk to her friend, only reaches out a hand, and the two link pinkies.

  Hair fanning out from the intensity, Samantha turns on her heels and stalks toward a group of eight co-eds filling one of the few picnic tables I can see. Thanks to the uniforms and varsity jackets, I know they are jocks and cheerleaders. Another slap of…irrational worry smacks me with the What if? What if they see her as a target for retaliation for what our group did last night? The timing of this little field trip couldn’t be worse.

  Hip cocked, she perches her tempting ass on the corner of the table, one foot braced flat on the ground, the other balanced on the toe of her boot, her knee lifted, skirt inching up her thighs. I wrap my hands around the steering wheel, choking it the way I want to do to the asshat checking out the creamy skin on display. Whoa.

  With a calm I’m certainly not feeling, Samantha folds her arms over her chest. I shift forward in my seat, wishing I could hear what’s being said.

  Number twenty-three attem
pts to interrupt Samantha, but she stops it with a slash of her hand. Unlike with me, though, there’s an edge to her demeanor I’m not used to seeing. She’s hostile. Radiating with intensity. Every person at the table watching with rapt attention.

  Samantha hops down from her perch with zero fanfare and starts to make her way back to me. My spine straightens, and my back lifts away from the leather when I see Mister Twenty-Three follow behind.

  When his hand reaches out to grip her bicep, my own go to the door handle, and I’m out of the car before I realize what I’m doing.

  Mine.

  Wait…

  What?

  The ludicrous thought has my actions stuttering long enough to take note of how Samantha reacts.

  Rage I’m entirely unfamiliar with feeling in regards to a female runs through my veins, only paling in comparison to the possession that floods my system.

  Samantha? She calmly glances from the vise-like hold on her arm up to the motherfucker with a death wish.

  Again.

  What.

  The.

  Fuck?

  It takes a second maddening glance at his fingers before he releases her. As her arm falls, she steps in close, the sunlight no longer able to be seen between them. Her chin tips up ever so slightly, her torso angling in that much closer, and her hand…it goes to his junk.

  One step is all I take before I notice how the douche’s face is contorted in pain, lips twisted down, nose scrunched, a waxy pallor overtaking his features.

  Fury builds until the high thread count of my shirt irritates my skin as if it’s burlap. There’s a roaring in my ears, and I slip two fingers into the knot tied at my throat and loosen it, but it does nothing to help with the restriction of my breathing.

  What the hell is wrong with me?

  Not even watching Samantha openly flirt with Prince in front of me affected me this way. This? There’s obviously no enjoyment in this for her.

  Relief floods me, and I have to catch myself on the open car door, arm falling over it, opposite elbow braced on the low roof as my knees go weak, finally seeing her cross the parking lot.

  The closer Samantha gets, the easier it is to make out the vein pulsing at her temple and the grind of her jaw. At her sides, her hands clench and unclench.

  When her eyes finally rise to see me standing outside the car, they are such a deep purple color it looks almost like someone took a purple marker and pressed it to paper, holding it there until all the color bled out. She pauses, foot hovering over the ground as she takes me in, trying to figure me out. Good luck. I don’t even know what my deal is.

  Neither of us says a word, the silent stare down stretching like we aren’t in the middle of a parking lot. Finally, with a shake of her head, Samantha folds herself inside the vehicle with a slam of the door.

  She’s seething, inhaling a steady stream of air through her nose for a four-count, then puffing out her mouth for an eight-count that echoes inside the sports car as I take my spot beside her.

  Hands braced on top of her thighs, her fingers flex open, her palms digging into her quads in a repetitive up and down motion. Up to her knees, down under her skirt, and back. The sight of her skin turning mottled and red steals my attention away from how the hem lifts and falls with each pass.

  “Are you—”

  “Don’t,” she snaps, cutting me off. “Just drive…please.”

  “Princess…” I try a different tactic.

  “Noble”—she spins—“I said don’t.”

  “Well fuck you very much, Samantha.” Slowly her lips tip up at the corners, but I need to wrap my hands around the steering wheel again, or they’ll be around her delicate neck. She’s so damn frustrating I can’t even handle it. “All I’m trying to ask is if you’re okay.”

  “I’m fine.” She starts to work the gloves free.

  “Don’t do that.”

  “Do what?” She throws the gloves at her bag.

  Needing the distraction, I put the car in gear and reverse out of the spot. “Act like that assmonkey didn’t just have his hands on you.”

  A humorless chuckle leaves her lips. “You act like having a jockhole put his hands on me without my permission isn’t a daily occurrence.” Point goes to Samantha with that one.

  “Did he hurt you?” I mutter through gritted teeth instead of acknowledging her dig.

  “I told you…I’m fine.” She focuses on her phone, and as her fingers fly across the screen, I instantly regret giving it back since it’s stealing her attention from me. “You may not realize it, but I’m tougher than I look.”

  Yes, I’m learning that is very much the truth.

  “You certainly do seem to have a beast hidden inside the beauty.”

  Thank fuck we’re stopped at a red light because the bold, genuine smile my comment gets knocks me on my ass. If I were driving, I surely would have crashed.

  “Now he gets it.”

  CHAPTER 17

  I’ve been off balance all day. Actually…all week. At first, I thought the jittery feeling humming beneath my skin was because Tessa was dealing with something I couldn’t control from a distance, but it’s only gotten worse since Jasper and I returned from BP.

  That’s the true crux of my problem, isn’t it?

  I’m still having a hard time computing the fact that Jasper Noble offered—insisted, coerced—his way into being my ride to BP. Don’t get me started on the fact that I actually let it happen, that I willingly went anywhere with him.

  The irony of the guy who has spearheaded my own bullying being the one to aid me in stopping someone else’s isn’t lost on me. There’s also how he was ready to jump in and be all Defend the helpless damsel, and, for the life of me, I can’t figure out what to do about it.

  If only he knew how much I’m not seen as a damsel to those at BP. At this point, I’m not sure it would make much of a difference if he knew me as Savvy King, seeing as how he didn’t give a shit about not being invited to Carter’s race last weekend.

  Why? Why do I like that so much?

  Tessa has been blowing up my phone since I left BP too. After the dozen or so thank yous and bestie GIFs, followed by an inquiry or two asking me how I found out what had been going on in my absence, the texts quickly morphed into question after question about who drove me. The hearts that maintain permanent residence in her eyes have her blinded to how not a match Jasper is for me. I swear I’m going to have to clear out her Kindle of the bully romances she loves to read. I can blame Laura Lee, Siobhan Davis, Meagan Brandy, and Penelope Douglas for her insistence that Jasper and I are so going to happen.

  Needless to say, my brain is a befuddled mess. It’s probably because of these countless distractions and my muddled thoughts that I don’t stop to notice the different energy when we step outside.

  “Huh?” I ask, blinking out of my self-imposed dazed when Tinsley smacks my arm repeatedly. The increased murmurs and activity of our classmates finally register.

  “Umm…” Tinsley folds her lips between her teeth and points.

  Following the line of her outstretched arm, I curse at the sight of my brother’s matte black Corvette idling at the base of the stone steps.

  Nearby, Arabella and her followers are trying their best—hips cocked out, hair twirled around fingers, glossed lips pursed in exaggerated duck fashion—to garner his attention. BA may technically be outside of his reign, but the distinct paint job, the etched crown detailing in the tint of his back windshield, and his reputation are enough to give away who is parked out front.

  I can’t tell you for certain thanks to the black-out tint on the windows, but I can almost guarantee Carter’s not paying them any mind, more than likely texting one of the other Royals instead.

  “I’ll call you later.” I cheek-kiss Tinsley and trudge my way down the steps. The back of my neck burns as I curl my fingers underneath the door handle. Straightening, I glance over my shoulder to meet Jasper’s hard glare. A chill like someone walked ov
er my grave dashes down my spine at the way his jaw pops at seeing me about to get in another Royal vehicle.

  A lump of unexplainable emotion forms in my throat, and I struggle to swallow it down. Jasper looks…hurt? Betrayed? Why does it matter?

  It doesn’t stop me from holding his stare, a hand rising to worry the black diamond along the chain around my neck. What the hell is going on with me?

  I open the door with efficient movements, slide inside, and slam it closed, shutting out the outside world. Taking a moment to gather myself after…whatever that was, I pull on my seat belt and click it home before I lift my gaze to my brother, only to find him watching me with one dark blond eyebrow raised to the edge of his black backward ball cap. I hate that with one barely-there facial expression, he can make me feel like a chastised child.

  “Cart.” I greet him with a smile, hoping to ease some of the tension crackling like Rice Krispies.

  “Savs.” He uses the same dad voice Pops Taylor is known for. Shit! When did he perfect that?

  “Someone is a little bit”—I pinch my thumb and forefinger closed until the slightest space is between them—“too broody for a Friday.”

  His eyes narrow further at my attempt at levity. Geez, what has his panties in a bunch?

  “Is your phone broken? Because that’s the only reasonable explanation I can think of why you wouldn’t call one of us to take you on your little field trip.” His gaze falls to my hands as the traitor chimes, proving it is, in fact, not broken.

  I sigh and slouch until my back is resting against the door behind me. I hate shit like this. Sure he taught me how to take care of myself, taught me the best ways to defend myself, showed me my inner strength and how to stand on my own, but when he gets like this, it always makes me feel…less than.

  “Sure…” I inject a healthy dose of sarcasm, dragging out the word. “That makes sense. It’s not like the five of you have your own lives—school, practices, work, whatever. It makes total sense to interrupt your days when I could have someone I go to school with take me.”