Cruel King (Royal Elite #0) by Rina Kent

Everyone continue gawking at me as if I’m a world wonder — or a mass murderer, I can’t be so sure with some of the girls’ glares.

“Slut,” one of them hisses as she brushes past me.

The anger that should be directed at her or her minions that said similar insults is burning in the opposite direction.

The locker room and the wanker in it.

King wants me to meet him after school?

I’ll be meeting him after school, all right, but he’ll be wishing he never issued his royal decree.





6





Levi





You could’ve escaped the battle, but you asked for a bloody war.



* * *



Coach yells at the front lines, his voice reverberating over the pitch like he’s a general at war. Or maybe he’s the strategist.

The royal blue baseball cap with RES’s golden crown covers his bald head.

He rolls his notes into what resembles a bat that he doesn’t hesitate to strike the slacking players with.

We just finished our first practice game for the season. The main team lost against the second-year team. Two to nill.

Two to fucking nill.

The negative energy radiating off Coach Larson is like a black halo over my mood.

The two teams stand in straight lines opposite one another as Coach paces between us.

The second team wear neon yellow over the team’s jersey while my team have the official royal blue jerseys and white shorts.

“Ladies,” Larson snarls, his small eyes and bushy brows give him a meaner, harsher look. “Is this how we’re starting the season after last year’s defeat?”

“No, Sir,” all of us yell.

“I didn’t hear you, girls.”

“No, Sir!” we bellow.

He nods as he continues his back and forth with his hands crossed behind his back. The paper bat hits his spine with every move. “The school might put you on a pedestal, but that’s only because you’re getting Royal Elite’s name out there. The moment you stop benefitting the board, the team is gone.”

A few murmurs break amongst the players, but they know better than to interrupt Coach.

“What did you think? Your parents pay for your education, not sports. Royal Elite is all about academics. The only reason they indulge with a few sports teams is because they want to promote that the school isn’t all about nerdy, snobbish teenagers. Are we or are we not going to prove to them that we breathe football?”

“We are!”

“Are we or are we not going to win the schools’ championship this year?”

“We are!”

“I didn’t hear you.”

“We. Are!”

“Captain.” Coach stops in front of me with a dark look.

He doesn’t approve of the way I’m leading the team since the finals’ loss in July, but he also knows I’m the reason they’re in check. He might be the strategist, but I’m the leader of the troops on the field. Besides, he trusts I won’t allow anything to screw this up. We both want that championship.

“I need results.”

“You will get them, Sir.”

Still standing in front of me, he points at Daniel, one of the benching players. “Good game, Sterling. You held the fort.”

He smirks in that cocky way that half sports’ players have.

Coach moves to Chris who’s standing beside me and gives him a harsh glare. “Vans. You’re out of the startup line next game.” He throws a look over his shoulder at the opposite team. “Astor, you’re in. Show me what you got, boy.”

“Yes, Coach!” Ronan grins like a goofball.

Coach Larson heads into the locker with his assistant coaches and the medical trainer trailing after him.

Chris lunges forward, to start a scene with Coach, no doubt.

I stand in his way, blocking his path. He’s like a bull, eyes black and jaw clenching. I hit my shoulder against his and shake my head.

“Fuck this, King!” He spits out. “I won’t give up my position for a second year.”

“Maybe you should’ve played better, huh?” Ronan waggles his eyebrows.

My gaze meets my cousin Aiden’s bored one and I say in a levelled tone, “Take him away.”

“Naw.” Ronan jumps in place, ducking on his own. “Come at me, bro.”

“Ronan,” I warn. He’s treating it as fun and games, but Chris is volatile as shit right now.

And most of the time, really.

Aiden clutches Ronan’s arm while Xander pushes him from the other side.

“Just to be clear,” Xander, a striker and a little wanker, throws over his shoulder. “This has been long overdue, Chris. You don’t deserve a place on the team since the summer.”

Aiden offers me a knowing look before he, Xander, Ronan, and Cole stalk to the locker rooms.

They’re nicknamed the four horsemen because whenever they’re on the field, they bring conquest, war, famine, and eventually death.

I call them the four fuckers.

Aiden, Xander, and Cole snatched their positions from the seniors. Ronan is the last to join.

The rest of the second-year players follow Aiden and his band of thieves. I might be the captain, but if they had to choose, they’ll probably take the ‘young’ King’s side.