Savage Royals (Boys of Oak Park Prep 1)

My phone buzzed, and I jerked upright, rubbing a hand over my eyes. I’d passed out while studying Hamlet—the book was still open on the couch next to me—and I had no idea how long I’d been asleep. Hanging out with the Princes was keeping my social calendar a lot busier than it’d been last semester, but I was determined not to let it affect my grades.

Midterms would start next week, and then we’d be released for Spring Break. Mrs. Gates’ eyes had glinted evilly as she’d told us what topics would be covered in the US History exam, and the rest of my teachers all seemed to have taken their cue from her. The tests were going to be brutal.

My cell buzzed again, and I yawned as I reached for it, swiping the screen to read the text. The clock icon in the corner read 12:05.

MASON: Meet us downstairs. Event tonight. Royal attendance mandatory.

I rolled my eyes at his curt, cloak-and-dagger words, but then my eyes drifted to the window. Outside, several figures disappeared into the patch of trees near Prentice Hall, and my stomach dipped.

Event tonight?

He meant another fight.

And this time, I wouldn’t be an illicit observer hiding on the fringes. I was invited. Attendance mandatory.

Nerves made my hands shake as I stood quickly and tugged on my dark hoodie before slipping on my sneakers. My phone buzzed again in my back pocket, and I was pretty sure I heard some pebbles skitter against my window, but I ignored both as I headed for the door. I’d see them all in a second anyway.

When I stepped outside the hall’s entrance into the cool, dark night, Mason scowled at me.

“What, you don’t answer your phone?”

“Only when it’s you,” I replied sweetly, and Finn laughed.

“Whatever. We’re gonna be late.”

I frowned as I fell into step between Elijah and Finn. Mason seemed crankier than usual tonight, and Cole wasn’t speaking at all. He was wearing a black sweatshirt, and even though it obscured his form, I could feel t

ension radiating from his body, as if every single one of his muscles was taut as a wire.

We made our way along the same path I had last time, and I kept my mouth shut about knowing where we were going. Elijah’s hand reached out to mine in the darkness, squeezing once, which I took as a sign that I was right not to mention it—and that he’d never told them either.

I still wasn’t quite sure why that was. The Princes, as far as I could tell, told each other everything. They were closer than brothers, and it wouldn’t surprise me at all to learn that they’d made some kind of blood pact when they were younger—they seemed like the types who’d do that kind of thing.

So why Elijah had kept my secret months before I’d become “one of them” was a mystery I couldn’t quite solve.

As we neared the clearing where the makeshift fight ring would be, several boys already moved around the clearing, hanging electric lanterns on tree limbs and kicking fallen branches and twigs out of the way. My heart was beating faster and faster with nervous anticipation, and I realized with a start that I had never let go of Elijah’s hand.

I tugged mine free, wrapping my arms around myself as more boys filtered into the clearing. Once there were about thirty people present, Mason stepped into the circle.

“All right. You know the rules. Anyone can lay down a challenge. If someone challenges you, you have to fight, or you’re out—for good.” Several heads in the crowd nodded, and he cocked an eyebrow, spinning in a circle. “So? Who’s up?”

Movement to my left jostled me, and I looked over just in time to see Cole rip his sweatshirt and tee over his head with one hand. I hadn’t been wrong about how tense he was. His muscles bunched and rippled, and his ribs expanded and contracted powerfully with his harsh breaths. He looked like a fucking bull about to charge, and the blankness that sometimes came into his eyes was back, making them look hollow and strange.

“Me,” he grunted, stepping into the circle. His gaze fell on another guy in the crowd, a blond-haired junior named Preston West. “And you.”

Preston blanched slightly. I didn’t blame him. If Cole’s finger were pointed at me right now, I’d be running through the woods like a hunted deer.

But the look of fear on Preston’s face only lasted for a heartbeat, replaced quickly with a cocky sneer. “Yeah, all right. I’ll fight you, Mercer. With fucking pleasure.”

He stripped off his shirt too, revealing a chest almost as broad as Cole’s—but minus the dark tattoos covering his torso and arms—and stepped into the circle as Mason stepped out.

No one called start.

No one said anything.

One moment, they were glaring at each other from across the ring, and the next, they exploded into motion.

Cole charged, not even bothering to swing his fist at Preston. Instead, he went for a full body tackle, bringing him to the ground as their bodies skidded and rolled toward the edge of the circle. The gathered kids whooped and cheered, backing out of the way to give them room as Cole pinned Preston down and delivered a vicious punch to his face.