Cruel King (Royal Elite 0)

I catch a ride with Aiden for our early prac

tice because my car needs professional help to remove the paint.

As we stop in the car park, I catch sight of honey-brown hair flying in the wind. Aiden steps out, but I remain glued to my seat, watching her easy laughter.

She’s tipping her head back, eyes twinkling with spontaneous energy. It reaches me from across the car park and stirs a dark, unhinged side of me.

I want to ruin that.

I need to ruin that.

Beautiful things have positive effects on people. Most want to capture such moments and relive them over and over again.

Not me.

I itch to burn them and destroy their ashes until nothing is fucking left.

With Astrid Clifford, that sensation is morphing into something else.

I’m compelled to turn her life as black as those canvases, but a part of me yearns to feel the stuttering of her breath as I barged into her space uninvited.

Aiden hangs his arms from my open window. “Are you coming?”

“Daniel Sterling.” I fix the boy wrapping his arm around her shoulder as they walk inside.

I have two thoughts about him.

His arm needs to be broken.

He should be black, too, for witnessing her laughter.

Aiden follows my vision. “He’s senior and usually benched.”

“Or out of practice altogether.” He didn’t show up to practice yesterday, probably not wanting to waste his time on senior year.

Daniel is the cocky football player type. The type who’s using the game to get his dick wet and to have all the attention that comes with it.

He’s decent enough and could’ve snatched his place long ago if it weren’t for his half-arsed attempts.

A smile tugs my lips. Guess who’ll have my wrath during today’s practice?

One point over Clifford’s princess.

My phone rings as I reach for my bag. Chris’s number flashes on the screen and I hit ignore.

I’m not in the mood for his empty excuses.

He sends a text.

Chris: Urgent. I have news.

“What is it?” I answer as soon as he calls again.

“I overheard my father with his officers,” he’s whispering and seeming out of breath.

“And?”

Thanks to the fact that Chris’s father is the deputy commissioner at the Met Police, we were able to avoid prison-trouble all these years.