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

by Alley Ciz

  What’s got you down, baby girl?

  “Can we not do this now, Jasper?”

  Well…shit. If what I heard in her sigh wasn’t enough to cause me concern, the fact that she called me Jasper certainly is. She never does that. I had to push her until she was teetering on the brink of orgasm to finally hear those two syllables fall from her lips.

  Hooking a finger under her chin, I press until I can see myself in the black lenses of her glasses. “What’s wrong, Princess?”

  “Nothing.” She tries to smack my hand away, but it lacks the typical power.

  None of this makes sense. First the weird way the Royals were treating her at the hotel, now this. If anything, I would have thought she would double down on her conviction against me. Where’s her fight? Her defiance? Her…spark?

  No, something is most definitely wrong.

  Pinching the frames of her sunglasses between my fingers, I push until they sit like a headband on her head. Dark bruise-like circles stand out like thumbprints underneath her tired eyes.

  Leaning back, I notice she’s pale, and not in a creamy Snow White sort of way, but in a sickly should-be-in-bed-under-a-heap-of-blankets kind of way. The urge to make her soup hits like a check to the boards, never mind that I don’t know how to cook.

  Ghosting a knuckle across one of said dark circles, I let my touch linger, unfurling my fingers to tangle in the hair pulled back on the side of her head and cupping her face in my palm. The instinctive way she nuzzles into my touch has my heart clenching inside my chest.

  “Are you sick? Is that it?” Her skin doesn’t feel hot or clammy to the touch, so I don’t think she has a fever.

  She jerks as if just realizing I’m touching her, only to lose her balance. Athletic reflexes have me hooking an arm around her middle, tugging her to me before she can take a header down the stairs like the coffees in the carrier do.

  Again there’s a delay to her reactions, and seconds that normally wouldn’t pass do before she flattens her hands on my chest. Another atypical response has her leaving her hands on me, not to linger in her touch, but like she’s using me to support her. Acid rolls in my gut at how wrong this entire exchange is.

  “Listen…” She shakes her head, trying to find her bearings, but her eyes seem unfocused when she forces them to meet mine.

  “Princess…” I swallow down the sudden and unexpected ball of emotion that rises in my throat. “You’re scaring me.”

  “Just because I look like shit doesn’t mean you have to lie to me, Jasper.” There it is again—my name. I’d bask in it, but the wheeze that’s tacked on the end has another pang of worry squeezing me like a human-sized stress ball.

  “I’m not lying,” I challenge.

  “You have to care about a person for them to scare you.” She pops her elbows out to the sides and shrugs out of my hold. “And to care, you have to have genuine feelings.”

  I wince, and despite the heaviness in her gaze, she catches it. Feelings. Damn, the word is like a curse. Feelings lead to emotions, and emotions make you weak, vulnerable to outside influence.

  “See?” She flops a hand through the air as if I made her point for her. And, fuck…maybe I have. To be fair, this is all new to me. I don’t know if I could classify what I’ve been feeling as feelings for her, but it’s nothing like anything I’ve experienced before.

  Duke is the only person—outside of my mom—I’ve allowed others to know matters to me. Though with him, if push came to shove, I know his father would be able to handle anything or anyone that dared threaten his son.

  “I’m pretty sure I told you how I feel about you at the gala,” I call out to her retreating back.

  She stops, and this time she’s the one on the higher step, causing us to be close to eye level with each other. “You can make a person come without having feelings for them.” She shuffles closer, the tips of her sneakers now hanging over the edge of the step, her nose brushing along the stubble on my jawline, freaking tingles sliding down my spine at her breath blowing across my ear as she whispers, “I could make you come in under five minutes guaranteed.” She pulls back, locking eyes with mine. “And I most certainly. Don’t like you.”

  I momentarily forget about how off she’s seemed this morning at the familiar spark of fire in her gaze—until it’s extinguished and the corners of her eyes turn down the next instant.

  “Again, Princess”—I grip her by the nape, keeping her close when she tries to run away again—“do you need me to remind you how you liked me just fine Saturday night?” I tug her closer, bringing my forehead to hers. “You soaked my hand. I could taste you for hours after I licked it clean.”

  Her entire body trembles, a flush of heat finally adding some color to her deathly pallor.

  “Come on,” I say as the warning bell rings, “let’s go before we’re late.” I thread my fingers with hers and guide us to the entrance of the school.

  Her hand wiggles in my hold, fingers stretching as if that’s all it will take for me to let her go. Fat chance. I glance at our connection, the first pure and innocent one in all of our interactions. And…I…like it. Huh?

  “What are you doing?” Her voice is husky as she voices a question I’m not close to having an answer for. The sound would be sexy if it weren’t for the scratchiness that’s causing the throaty quality, the strain evident for anyone choosing to listen hard enough.

  “Somebody has to make sure you make it to class alright.” I do another quick scan of her. For the first time ever, it’s not the physical I concentrate on—the full tits, the slim waist, the flare of the hips, the long legs—and I’m not liking what I’m seeing in the least.

  From day one, Samantha St. James has been a puzzle I’ve been trying to piece together. First, it was to make her heel. Now…maybe…it’s to make her mine?

  CHAPTER 27

  Feeling like a walking zombie, I let out a labored breath of relief when the last bell chimes, bringing an end to this farce of a school day. I’ve barely managed to stay conscious, let alone retain any details from today’s lectures.

  It usually takes a few days for my body to recover from an asthma attack. Having had this one so closely on the heels of the last one, though, has made the lingering hungover beat-up exhaustion worse. There will be no avoiding a checkup visit to the doctor this time either. Fun times.

  Tinsley has stuck close to my side all day, and I love that my instincts about her were right. Chick is loyal as hell. Real Royalty-type stuff.

  Wanna know what has me off my axis more than my recovery?

  Jasper Noble.

  Like, seriously? What the fuck?

  I can’t make heads or tails of him. He’s been hovering, acting all protective-like in a way that has my head spinning.

  He’s also been…sweet. By the time second period started, he was sliding a to-go cup of coffee across my desk. When I asked him what it was, he only shrugged, mumbling about how I never got my morning fix since I dropped the carrier outside. I mean, come on. That is so unlike him. Who is this man, and what has he done with the alpha-hole formerly known as Jasper Noble?

  Sure…he wasn’t completely absent, laying out his taunt about making me come at the gala and how much he thoroughly enjoyed it. Oh, boy…what an experience that was too. It was crazy, unexpected, and so unlike me that I had trouble recognizing myself in the mirror.

  I shouldn’t have done it. I should have never turned around when he called my name, should have kept walking to the elevator and gone on with my night like planned. Instead, I let him goad me and gave in to temptation. Now I’m still paying the price for the karmic bitch slap I was served in the form of an asthma attack.

  That’s twice now I’ve ignored the signs and allowed Jasper to trigger an attack that, if I’d listened to my body, if I’d heeded the warning signs, could have been avoided. If that doesn’t tell you he’s bad for my health—literally—I don’t know what would.

  I haven’t told a soul about what went do
wn in the service corridor at the St. James…well, except Tessa. Bitch took one look at me, ignored my pale skin, the sweat dotting my brow, and the bouncing rhythm of my chest trying to get my breathing under control, and somehow managed to spot the postorgasmic flush underneath it all. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again—the girl reads too much.

  I’m sure it doesn’t surprise you because it sure as shit doesn’t surprise me that there’s a matte black vehicle parked in front of BA when I step outside. I knew there wasn’t a snowball’s chance in hell Carter would let me go back to Natalie’s after school, but I wasn’t expecting Lance’s GMC Acadia to be the one waiting for me.

  The hairs on the back of my neck rise, and sure enough, when I look to my right, Jasper’s eyes are locked on me. My eyes bounce between the SUV and him, waiting for that familiar scowl to grace his expression, except…it never comes. Hmm.

  “Wanna come over?” I ask Tinsley, keeping my arm linked with hers.

  It takes her a moment to answer, her attention locked on Jasper and his group as well. At least I’m not the only one confused about the less-than-hostile air we’ve experienced from the guys all day. She’s got that tiny Anyone wanna tell me what’s going on? wrinkle between her brows. “Sure?”

  I chuckle at how it comes out more question than statement, rubbing circles over my sternum and the twinge of pain the good humor affords me.

  “Hey Lancelot,” I call into the car after opening the back passenger door for Tinsley.

  “Hey Savs,” Lance returns, only to follow it up with a quick “Jesus.” He’s out of the car and around to my side in a blink. “Are you trying to get me killed or something?” His hands cover mine, stopping me from trying to move his large gear bag out of the way.

  “Aren’t we a wee bit dramatic this afternoon?” I tease, stepping back and letting him take over.

  Lance one-hands it, tossing it to the back row like it doesn’t weigh as much as if there were a body in it, and straightens to give me an incredulous look. “You may be the queen of our crew, but that won’t stop your brother from going all Off with his head if he heard I let you struggle with my shit while you’re supposed to be taking. It. Easy.” The emphasis on the last few words has me folding my arms across my chest in defiance.

  “Some queen,” I mutter, lips tugging down in a frown. “Being issued a babysitter”—I bounce my gaze up and down Lance’s BTU-Titan-hoodie-covered torso with an eye roll—“really speaks to my power, don’t you think?”

  “Aww, Savs.” He chuckles, voice pitched low to prevent others from overhearing my “real” name like Carter decreed, and he wraps his strong arms around my body, tugging me in for a brotherly hug and kiss to the forehead. “You’re his whole world. Don’t be mad at him for worrying about you.”

  The reminder is enough to douse the heat of my anger. Lance is right. Carter worries about me; he always has. I think my new living arrangement might be harder on him than it is on me. From a young age, Carter has craved control. Not in a Let me be your master sense—and if he channels his inner Christian Grey in the bedroom, I don’t need to know; there are some things a sister does not need to have knowledge of regarding her brother, thank you very much—but in the I need to be the one to call the shots way.

  Sorta like a certain someone else I know…

  As descendants of a founding family, there has always been a level of respect, a sense of consideration given to us that most other kids aren’t afforded around town.

  I was nine years old when Dad died and threw our entire world for a loop. Natalie grieved—and I mean that in the loosest sense possible—for a whopping month before she started the hunt for husband number two.

  As Dad’s life insurance diminished, Natalie’s neglect only grew until things came to a head two years later. A then sixteen-year-old Carter was left “holding the bag” when it came to raising me, and the trajectory of his life changed forever. Sure we had the Falcos, but if our godfather, Anthony Falco—Chuck’s older brother—insisted we sleep over too much, Natalie would cause problems.

  Guilt I’m well acquainted with causes me to shiver and Lance to frown down at me. Assuming it’s a side effect, he pulls his hoodie from his body and tugs it over my head. None of the Royals wear a lot of cologne in an effort not to trigger me, so all I smell is the scent of ice and fresh cotton as I bury my face in the collar of the sweatshirt.

  Lance waits until I’m settled, hands shoved into the front pouch before giving a small nod of approval. “Come on, Mini Royal”—he tucks an arm around me, spinning me around—“let’s get you home.”

  As he guides me toward the passenger side door, I glance over the curve of his bicep and get an unexpected—and more so confusing—pang of guilt at the way Jasper’s eyes take in Lance’s hold on me.

  Tinsley and I have each changed into sweats and T-shirts—short-sleeved for her and long-sleeved for me—by the time Tessa arrives in her typical whirlwind fashion.

  Her backpack lands on the floor like a ton of bricks, stuffed with more textbooks than should be legal for one person to have. Her shoes go flying in opposite directions as she kicks them off. It’s only the bag carrying her laptop that gets set down with any gentleness before her arms pinwheel and she flops back onto the couch by my feet.

  “Hurricane Tessa has made landfall,” I joke in my best impression of a weather person as she brushes her wild red mane out of her face and flips me the bird.

  “Eh…she’s only about a category two right now.” Wes smirks as he makes an appearance and takes one of the oversized leather recliners. “I wouldn’t worry too much.”

  “Hilarious, Charming,” Tessa says dryly.

  “You’re welcome.” He mock bows, his upper body folding over his extended legs.

  “If only your jokes were as funny as your face.”

  Wes eases back in his seat, crossing his feet at the ankles. “Your insults are reflecting your age, Buttercup.”

  Tessa executes a textbook-perfect hair flip. “Only trying to match your level of maturity, Charming.” The overexaggerated smile she flashes him is anything but sweet. Tinsley, Cisco, who entered sometime during their banter, and I ping-pong our gazes between them like we’re watching a tennis match.

  Three beeps sound again, and the door from the garage opens, announcing my brother’s return.

  “Oh, man.” Leo Castle, the final member of the Royalty Crew, waves his arms in front of his face like he’s trying to rid the air of something foul. “The tension in here is thick.” He perches himself on the arm of the couch next to me and chucks my chin in greeting. “What did we miss?”

  “Just these two sparring like usual.” Cisco bounces a finger between Tessa and Wes, guzzling down a Gatorade in three gulps. “We haven’t hit the I’m rubber, and you’re glue portion yet, so it’s still early.”

  “How ’bout we skip that part?” Carter suggests, then asks Wes, “Bennett gone already?”

  “Yup,” I answer instead. “He rode off on his noble steed after delivering the fair maiden.” Oh, did that sound sarcastic? Whoops.

  “Oh”—Tessa feigns disappointment, shooting me a wink as she does—“Lancelot left before I could wish him good morrow?” She snaps her fingers. “Shucks.”

  “You two are such smartasses,” Carter declares, but there’s a tilt to his lips he can’t entirely conceal. “How are you feeling?” He squats in front of me, eyes searching, assessing, probably seeing more than I would like.

  “Okay.” I lie through my teeth.

  “Liar.” He calls me out with a chuckle, tapping my knee before pushing to stand and taking the free recliner next to Wes.

  I’d argue, but there’s no point—he’s right. I feel like death warmed over and could totally go for a nap. I don’t mention the last part. He’d throw me over his shoulder and carry me upstairs himself, tucking me in bed with a freaking stuffed animal like I’m still five if I did.

  “How was school? Any issues?”

  I smas
h my lips together, knowing what he’s really asking. I’d be annoyed, but honestly? All the question does is make me sad. Why is he the one who’s checking in? Why is it my brother who cares about my well-being? Granted, I’m not saying a sibling can’t care, but you know what Natalie said when she saw me before I left for school? It wasn’t Are you sick? or even an Are you okay? Nope, she took one look at my pale skin and the dark circles under my eyes and suggested I put on more concealer before leaving. Isn’t she a gem?

  “It wasn’t my first time going to school after an attack, Cart.” I sigh, relaxing back into the couch cushions, the exhaustion making it too difficult to sit up and rest my head against Leo’s jean-clad thigh.

  “I’m well aware, Sav.” The dark edge creeping into his tone tells me it’s time to redirect this convo before he falls down the rabbit hole of Natalie’s failures as a parent.

  “I have a question of my own.” I raise my hand and hold up a finger before circling it in the air. “What are you all doing here? Don’t you two have class or work?” I fold my three middle fingers down toward my palm and make a Y with my pinky and thumb, using it to point at Leo and Cisco at the same time, the latter now sitting on the edge of the coffee table, legs manspread. “Or better yet…” I’m back to holding one finger up as if pointing can help emphasize whatever point I think I’m trying to make. “Why was it Lance picked me up when it should have been easier for one of you”—I V my fingers to indicate Carter and Wes—“since he had to rush off to practice?”

  All four males share a look that has me sitting up, intuition making me hyperfocused. That was their There’s something we’re not telling you look—a glance to the left, avoid all eye contact, roll our lips between our teeth so we don’t spill anything to Savvy type exchange.

  I hate it. More because it fans the flames of insecurity about my place with them than the actual fact of them keeping something from me.