Ruthless Kings (Windsor Academy 2)

Kingston traps my finger, hooks his foot around the leg of my chair, and pulls me closer. Leaning into my ear, he whispers, “I like it when you’re mad at me. That fiery look you get in your eyes makes me rock hard.”

I tell myself not to look down, but my eyes fall to his lap anyway. Yep, Kingston’s definitely sporting a semi that seems to be growing the longer I stare.

I fight a shiver as I scoot my chair back. “Asshole.”

Raucous laughter sounds from across the room, stealing my attention. It's coming from the self-proclaimed royals' table—the same spot where my tablemates used to sit every day. Peyton, Imogen, and Whitney are still there, but there are four new guys and one new girl. They look familiar, but I don't know their names.

“What’s going on there?” I ask. “I thought that table was reserved solely for the super-elite?”

All three guys frown while Ainsley rolls her eyes.

“Well?” I prompt. “Is anyone going to explain?”

Ainsley’s the first to speak up. “During your absence, Peyton’s established a new faction. She seems to think she can designate who the kings and queens of Windsor are, despite the fact that everyone knows that’s not how it works. She’s even decided to expand the court.”

I turn to Kingston. “What does that mean for you guys?”

“Nothing. Peyton can spout off whatever bullshit she wants; doesn’t mean the entire school will listen. There’s an order that needs to be followed. It’s been that way since this school was founded.” Kingston’s jaw clenches as he glances over there. “If we went over there and told them to get the fuck out of our seats, they’d have to obey.”

I look around the room and see the other students giving the royals' table a wide berth and averting their eyes like they did when my guys sat there. From where I'm sitting, it looks like the school is listening.

Wait a minute...when did I start thinking of them as my guys?

“Who are the new people?”

“Mostly douche nuggets from the football team,” Bentley replies sourly. “The guy sitting next to Pey Pey is Lucas Gale—he’s been her fuckboy since Davenport here gave her the ax. He’s also Windsor’s star QB. Then, you have Aspen Evans—she’s a cheerleader—followed by Christian Taylor, David Wright, and Barclay Baker.”

“Why don’t you tell them to leave the table?” I inquire.

Reed answers this time. “Because that would imply we care, and the last thing any of us wants is for Peyton to think she's getting to us."

What is Peyton hoping to accomplish by doing this?

“Is this another ploy to make you jealous?” I ask Kingston. “To make you want to be with her again?”

He finishes chewing the giant bite of pizza he just took. “Probably, which is exactly why we’re not feeding into it. Just drop it, Jazz. It’s no big deal.”

I don’t buy that for a second. She is getting to them. Whether they want to admit it or not, I can tell by their rigid spines and how they're discreetly watching the other table. These three are alpha males to the core, and Peyton's actions are a direct challenge.

Right before lunch is over, some girl timidly approaches our table and drops a cream-colored envelope in front of me. She’s younger—couldn’t be more than a sophomore—and the poor thing looks like she’s about to shit herself.

“What’s this?” I ask.

“It’s from Peyton Devereux.”

I scoff. “She couldn’t give it to me herself? She lives down the hall from me. Like, literally, right down the hall. She could’ve easily slipped it under my door.”

“I just do what I’m told,” the girl says before scurrying away like a cockroach.

Kingston grabs the envelope and breaks the seal before I get the chance. He pulls out a square made of thick cardstock and looks it over. His nostrils flare as he angrily shoves it back in.

“What is it?” I grab it from him and pull out the card. It’s an invitation to Peyton’s eighteenth birthday party, only there’s a big red circle over it with a backslash symbol through the middle. “What the fuck does this even mean? Is she trying to tell me I’m not invited to her party? As if I’d go anyway?”

“Don’t react, Jazz,” Kingston commands. “It’s what she wants; it’s why she’s doing this publicly. She’s trying to humiliate you.”

Fuck that. Half the school has been trying to humiliate me today, and I have a sneaking suspicion she’s behind it. I’m not into playing my wicked stepsister’s games, but I will not bow down to anyone, especially her. I turn in my chair to find Peyton and her groupies looking in my direction, having a good ol’ laugh at my expense. Or so they think. Never once breaking my stare, I grab the envelope and walk over to her table.

Peyton turns her nose up, haughtiness seeping out of her every pore. “What do you want, whore? If you’re looking for some crack, you’ll need to go back to the ghetto.”