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

by Alley Ciz

  If it weren’t for her damn phone going off, I might have been able to glean more of an insight into her, and I shamelessly glance down to read the messages on her screen. All it is is a stream of different waiting GIFs ranging from the Little Rascal drumming his fingers to Judge Judy tapping at her watch.

  It’s nothing overly funny, but that doesn’t stop pure happiness from radiating from Samantha. The change in her demeanor is so drastic it makes me do a double take. Who the hell texted her?

  The live orchestra retakes the stage, the acoustic guitar player plucking the first few cords of Ed Sheeran’s “Dive” while the MC announces the dance floor is reopened. This prompts Mrs. Delacourte to suggest that Duke escort Samantha out for a dance, and to my horror, she accepts.

  Lord help me, will this night ever end?

  Duke may act like a dick most of the time, but when he feels like it, he can turn on the charm like no one else. When it comes to roles, I’m the broody bastard of our duo, and he’s the charming playboy.

  One arm raised, Duke holds a perfect frame, developed through the years of classical ballroom training his mother made him take for the numerous events he attends for his father.

  Samantha eyes it skeptically but eventually places her hand on his and lays an arm over the top of Duke’s opposite arm, her hand curling over the slope of his shoulder.

  In a move that is most certainly not proper frame, Duke splays a hand over her lower back, his palm and fingers in full contact with her naked skin.

  They’re stiff at first, their movements almost robotic as they start to move across the floor. It isn’t until halfway through the song, after Duke’s lips move, that it’s clear he’s flipped that switch with Samantha. His comment makes her expression break, her pink tongue running across the front of her teeth, the tip pausing on one of her canines in a restrained smile.

  Mom turns in her seat, leaning to stretch across the small aisle separating our tables. “Why don’t you ask someone to dance?” She never gives up.

  The last thing I want to do is take her up on her suggestion, but I do, knowing it’ll get me closer to Samantha as one song rolls into two.

  Arabella is more than happy to accompany me.

  Muscle memory has my feet moving appropriately, and I barely notice the way her talons dig into the back of my neck, my focus solely on the up and down motion of Duke’s thumb along Samantha’s tattoo.

  Fuck me, that tattoo.

  I thought her spine looked exaggerated as I stalked her like the prey she is. Up close? Damn, I’m going to need hours to fully appreciate the understated yet intricate detailing.

  It was impossible to resist tracing the skinny tread lines during dinner. It doesn’t escape my notice that it represents something iconic to the Royalty Crew. It’s one thing for her to be loyal to them, but it’s another entirely to mark her body—permanently—with a symbol others can easily associate with them.

  Now that we’re no longer sitting down, I’m able to see how extensive the piece of artwork is. Honestly, I can’t believe I haven’t noticed it before tonight. When she gathered her long hair earlier, I was able to see it begins just below her hairline, which is something you would think I would have picked up on the few times I’ve seen her with her hair up. I guess the collar on our uniform is high enough to disguise it.

  The impressive part is how it runs down the entire length of her spine, and given the plunge of the back of her gown, I wonder exactly how far it extends down her body.

  An annoyed huff sounds from in front of me then sharp nails scratch my jaw as Arabella forcibly turns my face until I have no choice but to meet her narrowed eyes. “Will you just fuck her already?” She clicks her pointy nails at Samantha and Duke dancing nearby.

  “I didn’t realize you were so invested in my sex life,” I say dryly.

  She rolls her eyes, pursing her lips in that pout she thinks is sexy but only manages to make her look like a tantruming toddler. “I’m not.”

  “Sure,” I drawl, which only causes her to pout until she looks like she’s doing that Kylie Jenner lip challenge from years ago.

  “Puh-lease, Jasper.” She steps to the right, spinning us, so now my back is to the other duo. “You boys are all the same. You see something shiny and new, and you have to have it. We all know once you’ve had a taste of the Royals’ party favor, you’ll come back to where you belong.”

  Does she mean her? Bitch is more delusional than I thought. It’s my own damn fault. She had all the signs of being a potential stage-five clinger before I stuck my dick in her.

  “Arabella.” I drop my arm and grab the hand heading for my belt buckle. “Regardless of if I’m fucking Samantha St. James—or anyone else, for that matter—you and I?” I bounce a finger between us. “We’re over. Fuck! We never even started. You were a warm hole to fill when I wanted my dick wet, nothing more.”

  Am I being a dick? No doubt. And if Arabella’s soul wasn’t as black as the strapless gown she’s wearing, I might feel bad. What she doesn’t realize is I see her for what she really is. She’s nothing more than a social-climbing gold digger. She’s made the rounds of every athlete at BA that has shown professional promise in her four years at the school. What makes her more dangerous than most is she has a trust fund to back her up, so you miss that side of her at first.

  Arabella is fuming, but I don’t give a shit. She is right about one thing, though: it’s time for the games to end when it comes to Samantha. She’s danced with Duke long enough. It’s time I cut in and make sure she, and everybody else, understands exactly who she belongs to.

  It takes far too long for me to extract myself from Arabella’s clutches, and when I move to put my plan into motion, Samantha isn’t there. In a panic, I scan the room. Where the hell did she go?

  Arabella tries to corral me again, but I shrug her off with a roll of my shoulder.

  Duke is already at the bar talking to his parents and Mr. and Mrs. St. James, but no Samantha.

  If she’s with the mayor, I might legitimately lose it.

  No, he’s still at the table with Headmaster Woodbridge.

  Jewels sparkle, and bodies sway around me until…finally, a familiar shock of silver catches my eye, and I spot Samantha sneaking out a door at the back of the ballroom.

  You can run, Princess, but you can’t hide.

  CHAPTER 24

  Dammit.

  I can’t believe I lost track of time.

  I can already hear all the shit Tessa will give me when she learns the circumstances that led to my tardiness.

  All night my phone has been pinging with texts from her attempting to live vicariously through me. I didn’t think it was possible, but we might have watched Gossip Girl one too many times with how she’s been all champagne wishes and caviar dreams.

  Never have I thought her romantic heart was a cause for concern. The rose-colored glasses currently causing my best friend to act like my life is an episode of Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous has me rethinking that.

  I could downplay the night, brush everything off, and act like nothing of substance happened. Except…there was a witness to my…misery, or whatever less dramatic adjective is appropriate.

  All it will take is one quirk of the lips or side-eye from dear ol’ Uncle Chuck Mister Mayor—oh, you heard that sarcasm did you?—at the poker table, and Tessa will sniff out potential gossip better than UofJ411 does about her sister with their latest #Kaysonova post.

  The prolonged heightened emotional state has wreaked havoc on my lungs, so the last thing I should be doing is weaving through the tables in a rush toward the staff doors at the back of the ballroom. The service elevators are closer, and I’ll be able to avoid any potential crowds on my trip upstairs to change.

  “Where you running off to, Princess? It’s not midnight yet.”

  The click-clack of my heels cuts off as I come to a halt, my soles skidding with an ear-cringing screech. Jasper’s dark voice wraps itself around me like smoke, lic
king up my spine like the hellfire I’m sure he wants to rain down on me.

  What the hell is he doing back here? Did he follow me?

  “Oh no.” He clucks his tongue. “Did the sea witch steal your voice?”

  If he wasn’t being a dick, I’d give him props for his The Little Mermaid reference, but the only thing I feel like giving him at the moment is a swift kick to the balls.

  Lies. You wanna give him more than that, Savvy.

  I really need to reassess how much I hang out with Tessa because my own thoughts are starting to sound like her.

  “Too scared to turn around and face me, Princess?”

  Oh no he didn’t.

  Balling my hands into fists—you know, to keep from punching him, not in preparation—I spin on my heel, roll my shoulders back, and stare him down.

  I want to say Jasper Noble is the definition of a sheep in wolf’s clothing, but there’s nothing sheepish about him. A more accurate description of him is the earlier reference to a demon’s spawn. If anyone had doubts about the devil being able to convince Eve to take a bite of the forbidden fruit, all they would have to do is look at Jasper Noble to understand how it was possible.

  The shoulders I’ve already declared are too broad for a man of his age look wider, stronger in the expertly tailored silk of his tuxedo jacket, the open buttons on it revealing the trimness of his waist. His wide-legged stance has his legs flexing in anticipation. Muscular thighs—one of which pressed against me the whole time we ate—strain the fabric of his trousers, emphasizing how they taper down to polished dress shoes.

  He’s so perfectly put together. The longer flop of his hair is styled back in that sleek way that only makes you want to muss him up, and the undercut at the sides adds a sharpness to the overall look.

  No surprise, his jaw is clenched, that dimple more defined than ever, making it all that much more tempting to put my finger in it.

  As always, it’s his eyes that are the most devastating. Pupils dilated, the swirling gray, blue, and purple that make up his unique irises swarm together like a hurricane ready to set out on a path of destruction.

  Hello, Lucifer. Oh, you wanted a soul? Here you go.

  Stop being so fucking easy, I scold myself.

  “What do you want, Noble?” I spit out his laughable last name. Jasper is the furthest thing from noble; he’s not even in the same dictionary as the word.

  “What do I want?” He stalks toward me, those ethereal eyes promising all kinds of retribution.

  No matter how hard I’ve tried, I can’t figure out his problem with me. He’s had moments when he’s come to my, dare I say, rescue, but then he goes all I-wanna-kill-you-and-dance-on-your-grave. It’s enough to give a person whiplash.

  He continues in my direction, and self-preservation has me backing up until I hit the wall. Fuck me, I’m trapped. Yes! Yes! Fuck me. God, even in my head, I sound easy.

  I hiss, my back arching away from the cold wall, but the action only thrusts my now heavy breasts out at Jasper, his eyes automatically falling to them straining against my dress. He has a way of making it feel like my front is as bare as my back, stripping away every wall and defense I erect.

  With one more step, he cages me in fully against the wall, flattening his hands on either side of my face, the scent of sandalwood—not sulfur like the devil should smell of—filling my nostrils as he presses further into my space.

  I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve found myself in this exact position with him, but this time feels different.

  We’re alone.

  The risk of being caught is there, but in this moment, there’s no one else. The acceleration of my heartbeat and the goose bumps rising on my skin are an eerie premonition.

  I keep my gaze locked on him, my attention resolute, as is my resolve.

  Lead.

  Me.

  Not.

  Into.

  Temptation.

  The corners of his plump lips curl, not in happiness, but evilly, reminiscent of when the Grinch gets the idea to steal Christmas from Whoville—except it’s not the merriest of days at risk. It’s me.

  Unlike Dr. Seuss’s famous character, I get the impression Jasper wouldn’t return me. No, he would rather see me stuffed and mounted on his wall.

  He presses in closer, a section of hair flopping over his forehead, giving him a boyish quality he has no right to when he buries his face into my neck, his nose running along the shell of my ear, his hot breath on my skin.

  I fight it. The urges. The temptation. It’s…it’s…it’s…wrong.

  He’s a dick.

  He’s entitled.

  He’s a bully.

  He’s not for me.

  Except…

  He’s not scared of me or my brother like so many others. Sure, he doesn’t know my brother is my brother, but he’s aware of at least a mild connection to the Royals, and still, he’s there, constantly in my face, messing with me.

  Try as I might, my eyes flutter closed.

  I’m giving in.

  I’m weak.

  Thump-thump-thump.

  My heart rate picks up more speed, my breaths growing choppy, shallow, the weight of his strong chest pushing against mine as he presses into the last tiny bit of space only making the situation worse. I need to make a conscious effort to get my breathing under control before my symptoms spiral into a full-scale asthma attack.

  I’ve been on the verge of one all night. Emotional stressors are triggers I’ve always failed to control.

  This is bad. Bad, bad, bad, so very bad.

  And now I sound like a broken record.

  Forgive me, I’m panicking.

  Jasper Noble is the last person I want to be aware of my condition. My asthma isn’t what makes me weak, but I’m not going to hand over information he could use against me.

  “No-Noble,” I stutter as the smooth acrylic ball of his tongue ring connects with my skin. He’s such a broody bastard I forget he has the piercing most days.

  “Hmm?” he hums against me, the questioning sound vibrating through me, a knot of need settling like a rock in my gut. What does it say about me that this man, someone who looks at me with such dangerous intent, can affect me this way? “You want to know what I want, Princess?” Teeth nip my flesh. “Think I’m gonna come right out and say it when you insist on playing games with me?”

  Shit!

  “You act like it’s my fault.” I wiggle my hands between us and shove on his chest.

  He barks out a laugh, the harsh sound echoing off the walls. “You think it’s mine?” Incredulity coats his tone.

  “Yup.” I pop the P, channeling all the pep contained inside the walls of The Barracks, and shove him again, dropping my hands as quick as I can to avoid the risk of prolonged contact. “You were the one who made me a pawn in your game. Now you’re mad at me for choosing to play?”

  The dark fringe lining his eyes compresses more with each word I utter.

  “Mmm.” Another one of those noncommittal questioning sounds has a bolt of heat pinballing through my system.

  I need to go. Need to put as much distance between us as physically possible.

  This time when I go to shove him, I curl my hands around his side, my fingers falling into place in the ridges of his ribcage under my touch. Planting my feet and pushing back hard with my shoulders to the wall, I leverage my weight as best I can.

  An inch is all I manage before one large hand manacles both my wrists and stretches my arms overhead. A foot kicks at the sensitive bumps on the sides of my ankles, keeping my legs separated with the strength of his.

  I jerk around, attempting to break free as another invisible band coils around my chest.

  Thump-thump-thump.

  “No, no, no, Princess.” God. Does he have to call me that? “You’re not going anywhere until I say so.”

  Fuck you very much, asshat.

  “Oh yeah?” I run my tongue along the backs of my teeth, Jasper’s eye
s automatically falling to my mouth. “And when exactly would that be?” I tap my foot. “I have plans.”

  “You can go after you tell me what. The. Fuck you think you were doing with Duke.” His tone is hard, harsh, skirting the line of volatile. Why the hell does it bring a rush of wetness between my legs?

  “Umm…dancing?” I phrase it more as a question than a statement since I would have thought it was obvious.

  “That’s not what you were doing.”

  “I—” Inhale. “I don’t know what you mean.” Exhale. Each breath is labored and painful as I try to get my lungs under control and loosen the band tightening around them.

  I flex my fingers for circulation as Jasper pins them harder to the wall, his free hand snaking around to my back, the tips of his fingers following the line of my naked spine.

  “You’re playing with fire, Samantha.” The use of my name adds weight to the warning.

  “Are you talking about Duke or yourself?” I force my eyes open to meet his. The irises are almost black. They’d seem soulless if it weren’t for the flames of Hades burning in their depths.

  Ba-dum.

  Ba-dum.

  Ba-dum.

  His fingertips hit each vertebra like speed bumps, and my heart trips with each one.

  The fabric of my dress is soft, silky…quiet. Yet the scratch of Jasper’s thumbnail running over the stitching of the border of it is deafening.

  My breath stills, not from asthma, but from the commanding way he slips under the material.

  I bite down on my lip hard enough to draw blood, a needy moan desperate to break free while I’m more desperate to restrain it.

  Arousal flares both in Jasper’s eyes and my body as his gaze locks onto the movement.

  I’ve fought this man at every turn. Pushed back at each attempt to bully me. Damn him for his ability to wreak havoc on my senses. Damn me for not being able to control my baser urges.

  “There’s my feisty Princess.”

  Why does the stake of possession send a rush through me?

  “I don’t belong to anyone—least of all you, Noble.” My words are strong despite the lack of conviction I feel.