Savage Queen: A Royalty Crew U of J Spin-Off Novel (The Royalty Crew Book 1) Read online

  Not to bore you with too much detail, but here is the gist of Blackwell’s history.

  The town was founded in 1866 by five families: the Falcos, the Princes, the Castles, the Salvatores, and my family, the Kings. Together they worked toward creating one of the oldest municipalities in the state. Even today, it is a major bedroom suburb of New York City.

  Blackwell, at its core, is a town deeply rooted in its citizens. It’s why generations later, those founding families are held in such high regard. It also helps that the great-great-grandfathers of the Kings, Princes, and Castles banded together to create Royal Enterprises, a technology and industrial research powerhouse that employs hundreds of locals while giving back to the community.

  I also learned from the mayor, my “Uncle Chuck,” that most of the town’s residents look down on how uninvolved Blackwell Academy is and how it doesn’t give back to the community it resides in. Not one of the limited scholarships the school earmarks for Jersey residents has ever gone to someone from Blackwell.

  Knock-knock.

  “Ah, there she is now.” The headmaster holds an arm out like he’s a game show host presenting us with the grand prize. “Samantha St. James, I’d like you to meet Arabella Vanderwaal. Miss Vanderwaal is student body president and the perfect person to be your tour guide.”

  We eye each other warily. She’s exactly what I would have expected given my past interactions with the student body of BA—aka Prep School Barbie. She’s pretty, gorgeous even, with long chestnut waves that could make a shampoo commercial jealous. She wears the same uniform configuration, but unlike me, her shirt is tucked in where I left mine to drape over my skirt. Her tie is cinched tight at her throat instead of the knot hanging between my breasts. She also has on a killer pair of Mary Jane stilettos—the same ones Natalie tried to get me to change into.

  And yes, before you ask, I totally stole my sense of style for the day from my girl Serena van der Woodsen (Blake Lively’s character on Gossip Girl). What can I say? I’ll conform, but only to a point. Sorry not sorry, Natalie.

  The way Arabella’s highly glossed lips twist into a frown, I can tell she too finds my appearance lacking. Too bad, so sad for her—I don’t give a fuck.

  CHAPTER 2

  For the better part of three hours, Arabella takes me on what feels more like a world tour than a school tour given the campus’s size. Ho. Lee. Shit.

  BP is one of the nicer public high schools in the state. The deep roots of the town’s founding families plus generous endowments from Royal Enterprises have made sure the buildings were updated and added to over the years. Add in both strong football and baseball programs that allow the athletic boosters to bring in money, and the whole school prospers.

  But BA? Dayum.

  How can this possibly be real life?

  I may not have attended any of my classes yet, but it’s going to take me days to remember where they all are despite Arabella pointing each classroom out. There are too many hallways, too many buildings to keep track of.

  Headmaster Woodbridge may have chosen Arabella as my tour guide because of her extensive knowledge of the campus, but I have found her more valuable when it comes to all the things you can’t find in a textbook.

  The bell rings, bringing another period of class to an end—one more I’ve missed—and Arabella turns on her heel.

  “That’s the bell for lunch. We get forty minutes. You can leave campus if you want, but anyone who is anyone eats in the cafeteria because the school employs Michelin-starred chefs,” Arabella explains. “Though you’ll have to be careful where you choose to sit. And FYI—”

  I don’t know what makes me want to roll my eyes more, the statement itself or how she speaks. This chick is a walking, talking cliché of every Queen B in a teen drama. My palm literally itches to smack her as I say, Stop being so two-dimensional.

  “—most of the hockey and football players are taken, so don’t even bother.”

  I’ll give her this—she plays the role to perfection. From the angle of her chin in the air down to the seductive sway of her hips, she has a commanding presence. If she hadn’t spent our entire time together making passive-aggressive remarks to make sure I know her place at the top of the BA hierarchy, I might even respect it, but I can’t.

  Besides, I’m a dragon through and through. I may have to go to school here, but I’ll be cheering for BP come game time.

  As if on cue, two girls—one blonde, one redhead, both from a bottle—who I can only assume are Arabella’s minions if we’re sticking with the banality of the morning, strut over and flank her sides.

  I finally give in to the urge to roll my eyes when Miss Bottle Blonde shoulder-checks me out of the way. She seems less than impressed as she looks down her nose at me, and her expression only gets worse as I smother a laugh behind a hand and not-so-subtly flip her off by scratching the side of my jaw with my middle finger.

  Fuck, I really miss Tessa and the Royals.

  Bullshit like this would never stand at BP. Hell, I swear one of the main reasons Carter started his crew was to protect the “little guy” from the bullies and mean girls of the world. Between the King name and people loyal to him, my brother has built a system that not only withstood the gap year our five-year age difference caused in a King being a member of the student body at BP, but that still stands to this day.

  Now that I’m officially being ignored, I slip my phone from my bag and check the slew of text messages waiting for me. I have a handful from my brother and the other Royals, but the bulk of them come from Tessa. Ignoring the rest, I open up the thread from my best friend.

  LITTLE MISS EXTRA: This is crap. *poop emoji* YOU should be sitting here.

  LITTLE MISS EXTRA: *picture of an empty school desk*

  LITTLE MISS EXTRA: I miss you *sad face emoji*

  LITTLE MISS EXTRA: *TikTok video of Tessa lip-syncing to “I’ll Be Missing You” by Diddy, Faith Evans, and 112*

  LITTLE MISS EXTRA: Do you think I would get in trouble if I took a roll of ARSON INVESTIGATION tape from Pops and used it to block off my new locker neighbor’s locker? #AskingForAFriend

  LITTLE MISS EXTRA: Do they make a patch to help you deal with missing a bestie? You know, like a nicotine patch? Seriously, Bitchy, I’m going through Savvy withdrawals. *GIF of Stewie rocking back and forth in his crib*

  I can’t help but snort at that one and get another scathing glance from the trio in front of me. Whatever. I’m not going to let them judge me for finding amusement in my best friend. Tessa can be so extra at times (hence the text handle), but it’s one of the many reasons I love her.

  I snap a quick picture of Arabella and her posse’s backs and send it to Tessa.

  ME: TRUST me, I miss you more. I’ve spent the morning learning all the ins and outs of this pretentious prep school from Miss Head Bitch herself. And not sure if you knew this, but *whispers* anybody who is ANYBODY stays on campus for lunch *eye roll emoji*

  ME: Ohh *stop sign emoji* *no sign emoji* and both the football and hockey team are “off-limits.”

  LITTLE MISS EXTRA: Yeah, like if you were going to go for a jock, you would go for a subpar football team *eye roll emoji* Please….how about you ask her when was the last time one of their graduates won a Super Bowl? Don’t worry…I’ll wait.

  Only seconds pass before the next message pings through.

  LITTLE MISS EXTRA: Oh? Could they not think of one? Didn’t think so. But here’s ours. *GIF of Eric Dennings doing a touchdown dance*

  Of all the BP alums who’ve gone on to play in the NFL, it comes as no surprise she chose a GIF of Eric. He may not be her blood brother, but he might as well be given the way the Taylor and Dennings families were raised.

  After walking for what feels like miles, we finally come to the end of another long hallway at a set of open twenty-foot carved oak doors. I swear everything about this place is steeped in Hollywood theatrics because now I feel like I’ve stepped onto the movie set at Hogwarts.

>   I snap another pic, this one with a message that we need to hit up our favorite coffee shop Espresso Patronum as soon as possible. The suggestion is enough to cheer up Tessa if the GIF of a dancing Snape is anything to go by.

  Distraction is typically the name of the game with Tess. As the future valedictorian of what would have been our graduating class at BP, she sometimes gets so caught up in her head you need to redirect her. With the combined promise of amazing coffee, eclectic and mostly Harry Potter-themed decor, and the chance of possibly getting a glimpse of one of her favorite romance authors working, I know I hit the trifecta.

  My steps come to a halt as I cross the threshold of the cafeteria.

  Holy shit! We’re not in Kansas anymore, Toto. I whistle as I take in the vaulted ceilings with their wooden beams and over-the-top crystal chandeliers.

  This is nothing like any cafeteria I’ve ever been in. There are no laminate-topped metal folding tables and cheap plastic chairs—nope, only rectangular wooden tables and matching wooden chairs with gray padded seats.

  To the left is a wall of glass with doors that open to a stone patio section filled with umbrellaed tables for outdoor eating. I guess going picnic-style on a blanket is too low-class for those who pay over sixty K a year in tuition.

  Shit, Savvy. Eat a Snickers or something because even in your head, you sound like a judgy bitch.

  Rolling my shoulders back, I do my best to shake off the negativity that’s been coating this whole experience. Just because I’ve been ripped from my old life doesn’t mean I lost it. If I ever had any doubts of that, the way my phone is doing its best impression of a vibrator about to bring a woman to orgasm would put them to rest.

  Off to my right is the first “close to normal” cafeteria feature with the assembly lines of food selection. I air-quote around the description because instead of smiling lunch ladies in aprons and hairnets, the employees serving the food wear white chef’s coats and hats. Everything about BA is pure class.

  As my gaze scans over the already half-full tables, I silently curse Tessa and her insistence that we watch Mean Girls this past weekend in preparation for me being the new girl because all I’m wishing for right now is a GBF and his artistic partner in crime to draw me a map to where I should sit.

  It feels like a hundred pairs of eyes are on me. Who knows? Given that I’m the aforementioned new girl, there might be.

  One more pass of the room and my eyes stutter over a light, almost iridescent pair, but I force myself to move on before bringing attention to myself.

  “Savs?” a hesitant yet excited voice sounds from my left.

  When I look over, the first genuine smile I’ve had since walking through these hallowed halls spreads across my face. Tinsley Warren, one of Tessa’s teammates for the New Jersey All-Stars, more commonly known as NJA, eyes me like she can’t believe I’m really standing here.

  I completely spaced that she’s a student here. Since NJA is a club team, they have athletes from all over. School pride—or in this case, old rivalries—don’t come into play when you learn to bleed the blue camouflage of NJA.

  Once it dawns on her that I am, in fact, who she thinks I am, Tinsley launches herself at me, her toned arms wrapping around my neck.

  “Hey, Tins.” I return her hug with slightly less enthusiasm. Having been friends with Tessa most of my life, I’ve grown used to dealing with more pep in a high ponytail than I’ll ever possess in my entire body.

  “What the hell are you doing here? BA isn’t your kingdom.”

  I run a hand through my hair, tugging on the strands to keep my amusement in check. I know our last name is King, but did my brother have to name his band of merry idiots the Royalty Crew? You can probably blame your ancestors for that one. For real, though…the monarchy puns are out of control.

  “I know you hate that Natalie and stepdaddy dearest call you Samantha, but maybe it’s best you keep the Savage side of your identity a secret at BA,” Carter muses, rolling a bottle of beer between his fingers.

  “You can’t be serious.” My jaw practically falls to the floor.

  “You’ll be less at risk of someone going after you in a power move—”

  “Yeah”—Wes snorts—“because that wouldn’t be misguided or anything.”

  Carter’s lips twitch at the accurate statement from his best friend and number two, but he smothers it quickly and focuses his attention back on me when I ask, “Don’t you think they’ll recognize me?”

  The only thing my questions earned me was one of his Don’t you think I thought about that? side-eyes. I’m not looking forward to the moment when I have to admit he was right. So far, no one has batted an eye in recognition.

  To think, I was all worried he was going to crack a tooth from a clenched jaw when I told him that not only did Mitchell enroll me at BA, Natalie also convinced him it would be best if he did so with St. James as my last name. The only reason I’m any sort of calm is that he didn’t change my name legally. I still haven’t managed to reconcile Carter’s sudden maybe-play-along-that-you-aren’t-a-King stance on life. Then again, most days, anyone with a Y chromosome doesn’t make much sense in general.

  “Oh my god”—Tinsley reaches up, flipping the ends of the hair hanging down by my boobs—“when did you dye your hair?” I glance down at my new silver locks. “I can’t believe Bette agreed to it.”

  Bette Dennings, Tessa’s pseudo-sister-in-law, is a kick-ass hairstylist. She straight-up refuses to go anywhere near Tessa’s strawberry-blonde hair with dye, but I was able to convince her I needed a change from my natural ashy-blonde locks. Originally I wanted to go balls to the wall and make my whole head purple, but I wasn’t sure if this school had any restrictions on appearance for their students and figured silver was at least a more “natural” color.

  “Do you like?” I loop my arm with hers and let her guide me toward the food to select our lunch.

  “It’s amazing. It’s very Savvy King, if that makes sense.”

  I bounce my gaze around those closest to us as Carter’s paranoid warning rings in my ear—again—but it doesn’t look like they are paying us much mind.

  “Yeah…about that…” I wait until we each have a ceramic bowl filled with a delicious-smelling chicken and vegetable stir fry on our trays before continuing. “You should probably get used to calling me Samantha or some variation of that at school.”

  A small V forms between Tinsley’s brows. “Samantha?”

  I nod. “It’s my name.”

  The furrow only deepens, going from what looked like a lowercase letter to an uppercase one. “Savvy isn’t short for Savannah?”

  I shake my head with a smile. It’s an easy assumption. I’ve been Savvy for so long, and those who didn’t know me before I was given the nickname always have this reaction when they learn my real legal name. Natalie loathes the reasoning behind the moniker, which is why she refuses to use it.

  Me? I love it.

  CHAPTER 3

  Under the table and out of sight, my hand forms a fist on top of my thigh, knuckles popping under the pressure. Who the fuck is she? The question has been on repeat any time I’ve seen her, followed quickly by Why the fuck do I care?

  What’s most annoying is the nagging sense that I know her from somewhere, but like it’s stuck on the tip of my tongue, I can’t quite grasp it. It’s frustrating as fuck.

  Control is what I need, what I crave. I’ve put in the time and the work to become the top dog at BA, and it shows. News of the new girl made its way to my boys and me before I got my first glimpse of long silver hair. Gossip is one of the foundations holding up the prestigious walls of Blackwell Academy. Information is the currency here, and when you’re the king of this castle, your peasants make sure to pay up and keep you in the know.

  BA isn’t your typical high school. The bar you set for yourself here can easily carry into the next stage in life. When the bulk of the student body is made up of the spawn of the country’s millionaire and bi
llionaire facet as well as significant players in the political sector, establishing yourself as a cut above the rest means something here. And for me? I can have any student—or teacher, for that matter—do my bidding with a snap of my fingers. This bitch won’t be any different. I’ll have her on her knees and choking on my cock before the end of the week.

  “She’s got total DSLs, man,” Duke muses. He’s my best friend so I probably shouldn’t want to hit him for commenting about what I have to agree, given where my own thoughts went, are the definition of dick-sucking lips—yet the urge to lay him out is there.

  What. The. Fuck?

  Duke has been my partner in crime since we moved into the dorms freshman year. My loyalty lies with him, not some chick who is essentially a random.

  “Have you seen her ass?” Banks balances on his chair’s back legs as if it can help him get a better view. Spoiler alert: it can’t. Her back isn’t facing us.

  Brad still agrees. “Fuck yeah.”

  “I bet I can convince her to bend over Headmaster Woodbridge’s desk too—”

  “Arabella.” I crook a finger and cut off Midas’s comment before he risks being impaled with a utensil.

  With the confidence that’s born from being the reigning Queen B, Arabella’s hips sway as she struts over to our table and makes herself at home on my lap. “Jasper,” she coos, her arms looping around my neck possessively.

  I should stand up and dump her entitled ass on the floor. Since the hockey team won state last year, her sense of propriety when it comes to me has been an issue. Just because I let her suck my dick and banged her in the locker room a few times doesn’t mean she owns me. Even so, playing into her power-couple dreams for five minutes is a small price to pay to gather the information I seek.