Page 83 of Cruel Prep (Princes of Ravenlake Academy 1)

“Thank you,” I say, tipping my head back against the headrest, my heartrate returning to normal.

“No, Lily. Thankyou.”

32

Finn

When the call is over, I flop back on my bed.

Fuck.Lily is so fucking hot. So filthy and yet innocent at the same time. Ten minutes go by and my thighs are still trembling from the release.

Despite the fact I’d promised myself I wouldn’t call and ask her about her day and sit on the phone with her like we were high school sweethearts in a romcom, I wanted to do exactly that.

Just call her back and simply … talk.

My phone buzzes again. I pick it up with a grin, expecting maybe a nude, a flirty comment, or something else achingly hot to finish off our conversation. Even just a smiley face.

But it’s not that. It’s not that at all.

In fact, the message isn’t from Lily.

It’s a pictureofLily as she’s running on the trail.

Taken from behind.

By someone watching her.

The sender’s number is unknown, and the picture is blurry, but I know her shape. Her lean runner’s legs, her blonde ponytail streaked with gold even in the darkness.

I’d recognize her anywhere.

Lucky for her, she can run fast,the accompanying text says.

“What the fuck?” I say out loud to my empty room.

Is that why she called me? Because she was being chased? And if so, why didn’t she mention it on the phone? Why didn’t she tell me?

I text back furiously.Who the fuck is this? What do you want?

I never get an answer. When I call the number, no one answers.

But I have an idea about who might be responsible. Ingram has told me about the rumors circulating that I was the one who put Dallas Martin in the hospital. No doubt the Hell Princes have heard those rumors, too.

They want answers, and I know they’ll do anything to get them.

Even if it means hurting Lily.

That is what I’m thinking about at our home football game Friday night. And when I look up in the stands, I don’t see Lily.

She told me she’d be at the game, but she isn’t in the student section, and I don’t see her standing along the fence by the end zone. I don’t see her anywhere, and no matter how hard I try to focus on the game, nothing else matters.

She’s the only thing I give a fuck about.

My phone is in the locker room, far away from where I’m busting my ass on this godforsaken football field.

What if those biker idiots text me that they’ve snatched her, and I don’t get the message because I’m busy—out here playing this stupid fucking game that no one cares about?

What if there is a time limit, and they’ll hurt her if I don’t make it in time?

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