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

by Alley Ciz

  My heels clack a steady beat as I step out onto the marble floor in the foyer, and I can’t stop another grin from forming when I glance down at the classic patent leather Mary Jane Manolo Blahniks. The revamping of my wardrobe to match the designer brands Natalie spent all our money on growing up may be because she thinks it will help me play whatever role she’s casting me in, but I can’t say I’m mad at it.

  Voices filter in from the other room, and I take a moment to compose myself and double-check I have everything I might need.

  Sliding a hand down the black off-the-shoulder skater dress I changed into, I’m thankful the fit and flare skirt allows for pockets to put my inhaler in. Knowing tonight is sure to be like walking an emotional tightrope of the unexpected, I’m taking zero chances of setting off another attack. My lungs are still raw and my ribs give the occasional twinge when I move a certain way from last week’s episode. It doesn’t help that I hear the concerned voice of my doctor in the back of my mind warning me to watch my stressors any time I can’t take a full breath.

  Pausing at the threshold where the hall meets the open main floor of the penthouse, I marvel at how it’s been transformed from a few hours ago.

  Instead of the small wet bar in the living room, a full bar—staffed with a bartender—has been brought in. The gorgeous African-American woman is already hard at work mixing drinks, a dewy glow on her ebony skin, the thin braids of her hair coiled into a large bun at the base of her skull as she shakes a martini shaker in one hand while dropping a skewer of three olives into the chilled crystal glasses waiting to be filled for Mrs. Noble and Mrs. Delacourte.

  The biggest change to the space is the long cherry oak table, big enough to fit the dozen Jeanette black-velvet-upholstered dining chairs that were brought in to replace the more modest six-person arrangement.

  Honestly, I don’t understand why we needed to rearrange the furniture when we could have easily had this meal in one of the private dining rooms in one of the two top-notch restaurants downstairs. Natalie waved me off like I was the ridiculous one when I voiced the question and instead instructed the staff to polish the chrome buttons inside the tufted material and the nickel nailhead trim. Now you understand why I escaped earlier, right?

  “I’ll call you later,” I say to Tessa.

  “Promise?”

  “Promise.” I disconnect and slip my phone into the other pocket of my dress.

  Natalie and Mitchell are near the lit fireplace in what looks to be a serious discussion with Governor Delacourte, Mr. Noble, and Chuck if the enthusiastic hand gestures are anything to go by, the former’s bloodred painted lips curling at the edges when she spots my entrance. An icy chill shoots down my spine, and I cross an arm over my ribs and curl my hand around them with a squeeze.

  Deciding to give them a wide berth, I continue deeper into the room and almost take out a server carrying a tray of hors d'oeuvres.

  “Careful, Princess.” Jasper’s voice wraps itself around my senses the same way his arm does my back to pull me out of the way of disaster.

  I have to shuffle step, my hand falling to his hard stomach to keep my balance.

  “Thanks.” Based on the way those pearly eyes widen, he’s as taken off guard by my gratitude as I am, and by how I don’t instantly pull away from him.

  My fingers spread, the muscles of his abdominals jumping as they do, my gaze falling to where we’re connected by my own doing.

  Oh my god, he’s wearing a vest.

  The black material is cinched tight, emphasizing his trim waist. Time loses meaning as I rotate my hand, my nails scraping along the matte black buttons, the purple color of the nail polish Natalie will scold me for choosing picking up the thin pinstripe of a similar color hidden in the weave. That’s my color. He’s wearing my favorite color.

  I snap my gaze up to his before falling back a step and dropping it to inspect the rest of him.

  Damn. The Jasper Noble who showed up to this farce of a dinner party is not the version I expected. A quick glance at Duke confirms what I would have expected: perfectly cut designer suit, Windsor knotted tie, pocket square, shiny dress shoes.

  Jasper? He has the whole elegance of the three-piece factor going for him, but he’s sans tie, and the slim-fit tailoring of his pants is capped off with a fresh pair of black and white Chucks.

  Why the hell does it feel like he’s taking small parts of me and integrating them into himself?

  More importantly, why do I like it?

  Distantly, I hear Duke chuckling, but it barely registers as Jasper takes his turn raking his gaze down my body.

  He starts at the top of my freshly re-dyed silver and blown-out hair, bouncing over my understated yet flawless makeup—both courtesy of Bette—pausing briefly on my nude-glossed lips then sliding down to where the black diamond rests in the hollow of my throat.

  I swallow as his attention lingers there longer than anywhere else, the catch in it having nothing to do with my recovery and everything to do with what I’m coming to call the Jasper effect.

  My blood warms and I feel my skin flush as he burns a heated path across the bumps of my collarbones, which are visible above the straight neckline of my dress, over the swells of my breasts, and locking onto the two strips of mesh material encircling my waist before the flowy skirt flares at my hips.

  The hem of the skirt hits only a hairbreadth shorter than my uniform skirt at mid-thigh, but Jasper stares at my legs like it’s the first time he’s ever seen them.

  His inspection of me is so acute I start to fidget, my fingers worrying the hem of my dress, my heels rising as I turn my toes inward. Again, so unlike me.

  It’s my turn to glance at his mouth when he runs his tongue over the front of his teeth, the barely visible clear acrylic ball of his tongue ring managing to catch the light just right. It’s easy to forget he has a piercing without it being your typical silver steel ball bearing, and it’s jarring every time he’s used it on me. An electric current zaps through me at the flash of memory of him doing so twenty-two floors below a week ago.

  “Damn, Princess,” Jasper murmurs breathily, his Adam’s apple bobbing with a hard swallow.

  Necks aren’t particularly sexy—I’m more of a forearms, abs, and those sexy little hip indents type of girl—but like everything else about Jasper Noble, this body part seems to do it for me. Tessa takes great pleasure in telling me he has me dickmatized (her word, not mine), but then I get the joy of reminding her his dick hasn’t come anywhere near me.

  By the darkening of his irises and the pinch of his fingers on my side, I take it I’m not the only one who’s liking what they’re seeing. At least I’m not alone in this…thing.

  “Samantha.” My name snaps out of Natalie’s mouth like the crack of a whip, popping the Jasper-haze bubble.

  I lean to the side, peering around Jasper’s large frame to meet the—surprise, surprise—disapproving glare of my Momster. I don’t bother questioning what I did to earn it. Lord knows simply existing is enough most days.

  CHAPTER 30

  My family may have been invited tonight, but from the moment we stepped off the elevator and into Mitchell St. James’ residence at his hotel, I’ve gotten the impression his new bride did so reluctantly. It’s not anything obvious. On the surface, Natalie St. James is the perfect hostess; it’s more an underlying vibe I’m picking up.

  Duke and his parents arrived before us, and he was all too happy to abandon the conversation he’d been roped into participating in with them and the St. Jameses after all our greetings were exchanged.

  Dad jumped at the opportunity to talk with the governor and Samantha’s stepfather while my jaw clenched when I recognized the mayor of Blackwell was also here.

  While Mom was whisked away by Mrs. Delacourte to the bar, I scanned the room for Samantha, not wanting her out of my line of sight with Mr. Mayor around. It wasn’t until Duke slung an arm around my shoulders and guided us to our own space where we would be able to speak freely
that I snapped out of it.

  The click of heels is secondary to the way my blood hums any time Samantha is near. My body is attuned to her unlike any other, and with the time spent together this week—without trying to kill each other—that sensation has only gotten stronger.

  She was a smokeshow at the gala in that gown, and I still haven’t been able to get it out of my mind—or how she was completely bare underneath it—but there’s something about the simplicity of her look tonight that is breathtaking.

  Fuck me I’m starting to sound like a pussy thinking things like that.

  It doesn’t stop me from appreciating her effortless beauty, noticing details of her appearance I generally wouldn’t. Her hair hangs loosely around her shoulders, and the way most of it is flipped to one side makes me suspect she recently ran a hand through it without thought.

  Where her makeup at the gala was badass vixen with the heavy eye shadow and black lipstick I never got the chance to smear, tonight she has a more girl-next-door vibe I didn’t think could ever be associated with Samantha St. James.

  Like her gown, this dress also molds to her tits, but it’s the long bare expanse of exposed leg that is my favorite. I’m thoroughly enjoying the way her heels make her calf muscles flex as she walks. I would bet good money those toned thighs of hers would squeeze my waist, the spikes of her heels digging into my back while I drove myself inside her.

  My dick jumps, more than on board with that particular thought.

  I used to be annoyed by my attraction to her, but now it’s all this other…stuff that drives me mad.

  Things like how I’m looking for signs if she’s still sick, or how frustrated I am that I haven’t been able to find out any details about what was wrong with her in the first place or how her doctor’s appointment went earlier in the week.

  How I can tell she’s distracted before she almost takes out a server and would have if I didn’t rescue her.

  The worst of it all is the way my blood simmers, my body coming alive in every place it touches her. From where my hand cups her side to where my arm is banded across her lower back, the multiple layers of fabric that separate our skin are not enough to detract from the intensity, nor are they where her fingers brush across the jumping muscles of my abdominals.

  There’s a naked wonder passing between us. I experienced something similar the day I went with her to BP and the time I interrupted Midas when he was fucking with her. But this? It’s more. It almost feels like we are seeing each other…really seeing each other for the first time.

  What in the…

  “Samantha.” A disappointed scold from her mother causes her to jump, severing the connection winding around us.

  Keeping with the unexpected theme of the night, Samantha doesn’t pull away from me, only shifting to the side to acknowledge her mother. When she doesn’t say anything, I twist my torso, and…dayum.

  I’ll be the first to admit I don’t always feel like I have the most conventional relationship with my own parents, but hell if I don’t feel the chill of the shade Natalie St. James is sending her daughter’s way.

  There’s a rigidity, a strained tension to Samantha that’s never been present in the countless times we’ve sparred. I don’t like or understand the surge of protectiveness that slams into me at the realization, but that doesn’t stop me from wanting to do something…anything to put an end to it.

  With a shift of my weight, I close the little bit of distance between Samantha and me, lowering my mouth to her ear and whispering, “I don’t think she likes me very much.”

  I catch the familiar scent of lime, my nose twitching as a few stray hairs tickle it when Samantha lifts her face, her cheek pressing to mine. “I wouldn’t take it personally.” I force myself to focus on her words and not how much I like that it feels like we’re exchanging secrets. “I don’t think she likes me most days.”

  She moves to go around me and I give her side a squeeze, looking over her head at Duke.

  “Oh, hey Duke.” Samantha greets him as if only just realizing she never said hi. Not gonna lie, a sense of male pride beats in my chest at being her sole focus.

  “Hey, Sammy.” Duke winks.

  Samantha pulls a face. “Ugh, don’t call me that.” The shit-eating grin that spreads on Duke’s face tells me he’s only going to do it more. Asshole.

  The clearing of a throat breaks into our little moment, and I look up to see it’s Mr. Mayor interrupting. I run my tongue across my teeth, forcing myself to take a breath before I do something that will have my parents laying into me for being inappropriate.

  That particular struggle gets infinitely harder when Samantha turns his way and the two hug.

  Right.

  In.

  Front.

  Of.

  Me.

  “Got a minute?” Mayor Falco asks.

  To my ever-growing annoyance, Samantha doesn’t even acknowledge my presence, only glancing over toward her mother before nodding.

  The volume of What the fuck? inside my head increases to a deafening roar as I watch them walk away and disappear into what I assume is a bedroom.

  CHAPTER 31

  I may complain—a lot—about what I call overreacting and overprotecting from those who have known me most of my life, but I appreciate the reprieve Chuck’s little check-in will allow.

  Using the heel of my palm, I press down on my breastbone. Ten minutes—I’ve been back under my mother’s roof for ten minutes and the tightness in my chest is already worrisome. How am I supposed to make it through the rest of the night, through hours of who knows what Natalie has up her Armani sleeve?

  The frequency of my current attacks has made me more conscious of even the most minor symptoms when they present themselves.

  My fingertips start to tingle as my hand wades through the fabric of my dress, only confirming a hit from my inhaler is the best course of action. At times like these, when I know I’ll struggle to keep my emotions in check, prevention is the name of the game if I don’t want to have a full-blown attack.

  I have the plastic device in hand, already giving it a shake to activate and bringing it to my mouth as I step inside my bedroom, Chuck following close behind.

  I pull in as deep a breath as I can manage then exhale in three harsh bursts, tilt my chin up, teeth biting down on the small hard plastic bridge, and depress the plunger on a ten-second inhalation, holding my breath for another ten before I release. The nearly immediate response to my medicine tells me I stopped the symptoms quickly enough to stave off an attack.

  “You good?” Chuck stares at the inhaler cradled in my hand, but I appreciate his calm, even tone, and I nod.

  “Do I need to call Carter?”

  Still focusing on my breathing, I shake my head. My brother is already feeling a certain kind of way about tonight; we don’t need him to know how bothered I am. Not after I promised I could handle whatever way Natalie plans to use me to further Mitchell’s political aspirations.

  Having known me long enough to be able to recognize signs of an impending attack, concern etches its way across Chuck’s features.

  I clear my throat, return my inhaler to my pocket, and say, “I’m okay. Promise. That was more preventative than anything else.” He eyes me skeptically. “Really, Uncle Chuck.” A smile teases both our mouths. “It’s like taking Advil when you feel a headache coming on.”

  Chuck’s cheeks puff up as he blows out an If you say so breath, shaking his head and shoving both hands in the pockets of his trousers for good measure.

  “Don’t take this the wrong way or anything…” I glance toward my bedroom door, lowering my voice when I notice he didn’t fully close it behind him. “But it didn’t seem like Natalie was too happy to have you included in the conversation.”

  My comment gets me one of those brotherly, annoyed laughs, and he pulls me in for a hug. “You mean she didn’t seem enthralled by my charming personality?”

  I snort, barely managing to swallow back a
Yeah right, though I think the way my eyebrows fly up my forehead says it for me.

  “Yeah, didn’t think so either,” he agrees, releasing me. “It’s weird…” He paces away, coming to a stop at my dresser and leaning against it, feet crossed at the ankles. “She’s trying to show her influence in town, but only by connecting herself to me and not…” His words trail off and a hand swipes in front of me.

  Huh? Why would she do that?

  This feels a little bit like trying to get to someplace new but the GPS doesn’t work.

  I’m not naive enough to think the way I grew up was normal. Blackwell still acknowledges the five founding families generations later. Natalie married into one of those families. She may not be involved in anything that has to do with Royal Enterprises, but the family business is the prominent business in town and in the state. The King name means something, so why is she so insistent on distancing herself from it?

  “She married Jeremy King—I’m so confused why she tries to pretend she didn’t.” I run a hand through my hair and let it fall haphazardly around me.

  “Beats the hell out of me.” Chuck places a hand on his chest. “Your guess is as good as mine.” He flops his hand forward. “But…then again…” He shrugs. “When has Natalie ever been known to live in reality?”

  Let’s see, Dad died in…

  “Exactly.” Chuck makes finger guns at me, having read my thoughts. In Natalie’s…quest for more social status, she actually ended up lessening what she earned by marrying into a founding family.

  “This is the part I’m struggling to understand…” A noise from the hallway has me going quiet and Chuck straightening up.

  With a pointed look to the hand I slapped over my now racing heart, Chuck closes the distance between us. “Who knows? Maybe tonight will be the last night I’ll have to call you Samantha.”

  “Whoopie,” I answer dryly. Whether or not I get to attend BA as Savvy King, I’ll forever be Samantha to the Momster. Calling me Savvy would be admitting to her failures as a parent.