Page 40 of Cruel Prep (Princes of Ravenlake Academy 1)

He doesn’t count it in front of me, but I know he will later. It’s all there. I am a lot of things, but a thief is not one of them.

As soon as the exchange is over, Ingram turns on his heel and strolls back to his car casually, as though he was just out for a normal patrol. Nothing to see here.

“Oink-oink, piggy!” J.C. calls loudly.

Officer Ingram flinches. I can’t help but laugh.

I feel better as I walk back to the car. Meeting with Ingram reminded me of something: everyone in this town belongs to me, one way or another. Everyone in this town is under my control.

Lily DeVry will not be the exception.

I get a text as I climb back into the driver’s seat. “Caleb is with Noah and Viktor at the Fridge,” I tell J.C. “Let’s stop and have a drink.”

“If I fail school and my parents hang me in the attic, I’m gonna haunt your ass forever,” he replies with a grim scowl.

“Shut the fuck up. You’re gonna get a job at Barber Engineering after you graduate and live a cush life. You’ve got it made already.”

“Look who’s talking,” he grumbles, but he quits complaining.

The Fridge is a small liquor store slash gas station, but it’s staffed by ambivalent college students, and they don’t give a shit about fake IDs. Or they don’t know any better.

“I can’t believe you’re out this late on a school night, J.C.,” Caleb quips as we park and get out. He’s sitting with Viktor and Noah in the back of his pickup truck behind the store.

J.C. flips him off, and the two of them get into a mock scuffle.

“Enough, children,” Viktor chides. He throws an empty beer can at the two wrestlers.

I sigh and take a cold one from the cooler.

Cracking it open, I hold it up in a toast. “Listen up, fuckers. This is our last year at Ravenlake Prep all together. Last year of the Golden Boys all being in one place. Since Vik and I need to actually, you know, fucking graduate. So, it’s time to toast and soak in the accomplishment. We’ve survived three years at Ravenlake Prep. One to go.”

Everyone chugs their beers and throws the empties down on the dirt when they’re done.

Even J.C., I note with a smile. That bastard can never resist a good time.

We are shooting the shit and bitching about football practice when the roar of motorcycles cuts through our conversation.

Like a dog, Viktor perks up, sitting straighter and turning to look over at the gas pumps.

I look that way, too, just as three motorcycles roll into view, each of the riders wearing a hideous leather vest.

Hell Princes.

“I fucking hate those guys,” Viktor says, spitting in their direction. “A bunch of washed-out wannabes.”

It’s true. Most of the members are townies who never went to college or found anything productive to do with their time. So now, they ride around on their bikes and harass people.

Fucking trailer trash.

They park their bikes and strut over. Leather jackets gleaming in the bright lights outside the liquor store.

“Look who it is,” their leader says, spitting on the ground at us. “The Golden Shower Boys.”

I roll my eyes. J.C. is faster with the retort, though. “Eat a dick, Princess.”

Neither insult is particularly original, but the menace between our respective groups is obvious. I doubt they’re stupid enough to try anything—they’re outnumbered five to three, and Caleb counts as several since he’s so lethal with his fists.

But they’re fucking morons, all of them, so you never know. It’s best to be on guard.

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