Cruel King (Royal Elite #0) by Rina Kent

Dammit. The lights usually stay on until later.

My hand clamps around the straps of my backpack until my nails dig into my palms.

I’d start running, but my limbs are too shaky for that.

It’s true what they say about losing one of your senses. When you can’t see, everything else becomes heightened.

My ears pick up on the slight rustle of the wind against the pine trees surrounding the school. Or at least, I hope the rustle is because of the trees.

My nostrils fill with the scent of petrol from cars and pine as well as my own scent — which is so similar to fear.

The air on my skin feels like razor-sharp objects trying to dig their way inside. No matter how much I swallow, I can’t chase away the taste of acid from the back of my throat.

This is becoming terrifyingly similar to what happened that night.

Both nights actually.

Everything started with darkness.

You can do this, Astrid. You can totally do this.

My pep talk doesn’t work. The whooshing of my pulse doesn’t come down and black fills my vision.

A tall, sombre figure blocks my path. I scream, but the sound is drowned with a strong hand blocking my mouth.

My body freezes as I’m pulled back, feet dragging on the concrete with a sickening noise.

Am I… being kidnapped?

The thought shakes me out of my stupor. I thrash against my capturer’s hold, scratching and kicking anywhere I could.

My back is slammed against something hard. Air knocks out of my lungs, and I gasp for non-existent breath.

A claustrophobic feeling creeps up my spine, paralysing me. My entire existence is filled with the tall, broad figure looming over me like a dooming grim reaper.

I know fear.

I lived it. Twice.

During Mum’s accident and my hit-and-run. However, fear isn’t a feeling someone can get used to. It’s not a feeling that gets better with time.

If anything, it gets worse.

Now that I’ve seen fear’s face, it keeps changing so every experience is more horrific than the previous one.

Tremors shoot down my limbs and I’m shaking like a leaf during a downpour.

“P-please… please…” I mumble against the hand holding me in place.

I should know by now that begging doesn’t save you. Begging can make those with sick minds want to torture you some more.

But I have nothing else.

Even if I fight, my captor is obviously way stronger than me.

He stopped my earlier struggles with a mere hand. He can tear me from limb to limb if he chooses to.

His free hand glues against my chest.

My eyes screw shut as tears burn behind my lids.

Oh, God.

Please no.

Please.

Something inside me snaps and any reluctance I had about fighting back disappears. I punch and kick everywhere and nowhere all at once.

I barely hit anything, but I don’t stop. I’m crying and punching and kicking like a manic.

He fists my shirt and my screams turn crazier, even though they’re blocked by his hand.

He pulls me forward. I trip, but I catch myself in the last second before falling to my face.

Both hands disappear from my chest and my mouth.

Before I can form any thoughts about what just happened, blinding light goes on in the car park.

I’m standing near the exit with my back facing the school.

Harsh, shallow breaths leave my mouth as my heart thumps against my ribcage.

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

I stare around me, spooked, half-expecting a monster to lunge at me from the shadows.

When I look down, I make out the piece of paper glued to my school jacket.

I snatch it with shaky fingers and read the typed words.

Stay away or pay.





13





Levi





I orchestrated your fall, but I don’t feel the grand finale.



* * *



My hands remain inert by my side as Chloe straddles my lap, her flowery perfume is so strong, it’s nauseating.

Or maybe that’s due to the shots of vodka I’ve been gulping down.

The party is in full bloom around me. Girls grind on the team members. Some smoke, others drink. I should stop them, considering that it’s a weeknight, but fuck if I care.

Hell, I’ve been drinking like a sailor myself.

The captain in me is a shitty person right now.

The Meet Up is a cottage-like house at the outskirts of London that Aiden has inherited from his mother.

Since we grew old enough to need a breather from the King’s mansion, this place has become our sanctuary.

Ronan is channelling his inner dancer and MCing the party with his random French sayings.

Xander gambles at the table in the middle of the room with a few other players. But half the team has taken a girl — or two — and disappeared down the hall.

Rock music thumps from the new speakers Cole installed the other day. Chris is grinding with a girl, his eyes bloodshot and his smile manic — just like when we returned from the mission.

It’s a merry go round of fun and games.

Usually, I’d take part in the masquerade and pretend like all of this is what I want to be.

But I couldn’t give a shit whatsoever.

Not when everything is fucking black.

I push Chloe off me, and she stumbles to her feet with a squeak.

Usually, I’d fuck the shit out of her or any of her friends. However, since the beginning of this year, none of the girls is doing it for me.