Dirty Little Secrets (Kings of Bolten 1)

“Dick,” I snarled at him before standing up and whipping my back to him and making to leave. A squeak of surprise left my mouth as he tugged me against him, his fingers digging painfully into my bicep.

“Watch yourself, wasp. You’ve got a mark on your head now.” His warm breath blew against the shell of my ear with his warning.

“Likewise, asshole.” I checked his ribs with my elbow, causing him to loosen his grip.

I doubted I’d caused him any pain since it felt like my elbow had connected with a brick wall, but he released me anyway. I darted away. When I felt like I was a safe distance from him, I cast a glance over my shoulder.

He stood where I’d left him, his eyes narrowed at me, students giving him a wide berth.

Whoever he was, I’d make it a point to stay away. He had trouble written all over him.

Four

Dominic

“Who’s the new girl?” Vincent asked as he leaned against my locker.

My heart was still banging in my chest from the encounter. She was fucking breathtaking. Of course, she had to be a D’Angelou, my father’s enemy, and by default, mine.

“D’Angelou’s daughter, Bianca.” Her name burned my lips. If she had any other last name, I would’ve hauled her tight, little ass right into the bathroom, bent her over a sink, and fucked her long and hard.

But I didn’t fuck trash like a D’Angelou. Not without a damn good reason.

“I ran into her this morning. She’s a little wasp. She’s lucky I didn’t squash her ass."

“Damn. She’s got a set of tits on that banging body though. I heard several guys talking about the new girl. Didn’t think she’d end up being a D’Angelou. What are we going to do about her?” Vincent ran his fingers through his black hair.

Like me, Vincent was Italian. The only difference was, he was b

orn right here in the city whereas I was born in Sicily. I spent the first ten years of my life in Italy before my father decided to take up permanent residence in the Windy City. Now, this was my home.

“Take her out. Just like her old man.” I slammed my locker shut as Levin approached.

“New girl is D’Angelou’s kid.”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” I muttered.

“He had a run in with the little minx this morning.” Vincent’s dark eyes held that sparkle in them we were used to. Playful and easygoing, he was the one I went to if I needed to lighten the mood. If I wanted to darken the mood, Levin, my American-born German friend was the one I sought.

“She clearly got his dick hard then left him high and dry,” Vincent continued with a smirk.

I shot him a glare. He wasn’t wrong. The moment I’d laid eyes on her I knew I needed to speak to her. Why the fuck did she have to be a D’Angelou?

“If she’s a D’Angelou, she’s trouble.” Levin gave me a nod, his blue eyes narrowed.

With his blond hair and tall, muscular stature, Levin screamed intimidation. While Vincent and I could hold our own, Levin was the muscle. Vincent and I could fight, but we were better with weapons. Levin could kill a man with one hand and jerk off with the other without batting a lash.

“Say the word, and I’ll take the trash out,” Levin said darkly.

I knew he meant he’d kill her and dump her body in a place no one would ever find her.

“Easy, boys. I say we see what the little minx does. She might be fun to play with.” Vincent shot us both a grin.

“Not interested,” Levin said as we started down the hall.

Students scattered away from us. We were the kings of Bolten. They’d be stupid not to move. We came from money. Power. We didn’t rule the place because we were kind. We ruled by fear.

“We’ll wait to see her next move. She’s a D’Angelou, so she’ll have one,” I said, stopping outside my class.