Wicked Royals (Elites of Macedon High 1)

My heart beats so hard that I’m sure it’s about to burst from my chest. Heat floods my cheeks, embarrassment and shame curling around my throat like a vise. I choke before Lev’s cock reaches my lips.

The next few minutes happen so quickly that my brain almost doesn’t recognize the squeak of sneakers, the authoritative voice, the gentle hand on my shoulder encouraging me to stand up. Coach Neill—the fencing coach, of all people—gives me a concerned expression, raising her eyebrows as she speaks. But the more her lips move, the more the white noise in my ears grows.

Static—that’s all I hear.

She grabs my shoulders and shakes me. “Alex!”

My eyelids snap and flutter, rinse and repeat the motion. I suck air into my lungs and clutch my chest, trying to adjust my clothes. The guys are gone. Where did they go?

“Come to my office,” she says in a low voice. “I have to call your mother.”

Oh no, anything but that.

My fingers ache as I claw at my hair, trying to brush the strands into place. Everything needs to be back in order, in familiar waters, controlled. I close my eyes as I wander after Coach Neill, wondering what she thinks about the scene she just stumbled upon.

Macedon High provides a certain level of safety to kids who are part of crime families, but a bully culture exists here that’s hard to miss. Everything short of stealing and murder is free game. And considering how I almost had my virginity stolen, I have to figure that the petite fencing coach will be a lot more irate than any other teacher who might have come across me in such a precarious position.

On my knees. On the ground. With my mouth wide open for cock.

I don’t even want to go home, but I have nowhere else to go. As I cozy up in the seat across from Coach Neill’s desk, I tune out her soft voice explaining the situation through the phone. Her reassuring words, her gentle touch to my shoulder, the blanket she draped over me—all of these things are band-aids on a gaping wound that won’t stop bleeding.

And I know it won’t stop bleeding for a long time.

***

Home sweet fucking home is an Italianate-style home painted white, overlooking a lavish eternity pool and manicured gardens. Evergreen bushes scale up behind me as I wander between a row of columns guarding the front door. A cherrywood door leads into the foyer, decadence overwhelming every corner of the expansive space that opens up to a living room on the left. One of several living rooms, anyway. This is where my mother is waiting for me.

“Home early,” my mother snaps with taut lips. “On your firstday at school.”

I drop my bag to the ground and slump onto the couch. “Hello, Mother.”

“Don’t Hello, Mother me in that tone, Ms. Alex.”

I flinch at what she calls me, but do my best not to show it. “So, you heard.”

“Coach Neill explained everything.” Her eyes drop to my skirt and I struggle with the fabric, pulling it toward my knees. “In grave detail.”

“I can’t imagine you’re going to comfort me.”

She raises her trim eyebrows, challenged by my retort more than shocked that her daughter got assaulted in the middle of a stairwell at a prestigious high school. “I beg your pardon?”

I tighten my lips. Talking back only makes it worse. I’m starting to learn that.

“You’ve nearly compromised everything you’ve ever worked for,” she explains, drifting toward the other side of the room where a lavish bar is waiting for her polished hands to pluck her flavor of the evening. I lick my lips, wondering how well whiskey would work to numb what I feel right now.

Not that I actually know how I feel. I’m already halfway to numb.

“Everything,” she repeats as glasses clink, fluids slosh around. She raises the glass and sips it pensively, smacking her lips. “You have to remain a virgin if you want to marry well.”

Forget about the fact that I was violated, I think as she floats toward me. Her purple satin skirt curves over her hips with a black blouse tucked into the waistband. She’s the picture of wealth, Ophelia Moretti, the daughter of my father’s former boss. She’s high maintenance, clever, and determined to be a massive bitch about this entire situation. I don’t know what I expected.

Footsteps clap over the tile in the foyer, echoing loudly before the sound is dulled by the plush white carpet expanding in the living room. Mother’s lips loosen and a sly smile appears, almost making her look like a playful kitten as she wiggles her nose in greeting at Amos Makkar. Neither of them touch each other. That I expected.

She sighs and raises her glass. “No matter. You’re home in time to hear the good news.”

“What news?” I dare to ask as I tug my skirt down. “Did you finally lose your mind?”

She ignores my quip and proceeds, “I’m engaged.”