Page 45 of Cruel Academy (Princes of Ravenlake Academy 2)

I hate this bullshit. I’m putting my ass on the line—literally—every weekend. To keep my mom safe, happy.

But it’s never enough. Like throwing cash right into a burning fire.

She deserves better than this. One job too many, one husband too few, one life too stressed.

I want to take care of her. And I will—one day.

We just have to keep grinding in the meantime.

And while I work on that, I don’t want a single one of the smug fucks in this town looking down on me or my mom. Pity is the very last thing I want.

Haley’s words ring in my head.You are one of the richest kids at Ravenlake and don’t need the money you win at the fights, so why would you do any of it?

I should have been happy that she bought the lie. That she thought I was rolling in cash and fighting for nothing other than the sheer pleasure of it.

In that moment, I almost told her. Almost spilled everything, the entire truth.

Why? I don’t fucking know why. I don’t care why, either.

Anyway, she helped decide the matter for me.

She kicked me in the nuts and reminded me why she can’t be trusted.

Every time I help Haley Cochran, things go bad. The sooner she is out of my life, the better.

18

Caleb

“Eyes, nose, neck, groin, knee.”

As she speaks, Haley works through the movement associated with the five areas of the human body where you can inflict the most damage with the least effort.

For eyes, she jabs two fingers towards my face, stopping a good half foot away from my face just in case.

Then, she strikes the air in an upward motion with the heel of her palm for my nose.

A sideways chop for the neck, a kick towards the groin, and an angled kick from the side to the kneecap.

By the time she is done, her chest is heaving.

I do my best not to notice. In fact, I spend most of our sessions deliberately not staring at her.

I hate her. I know that—she knows that.

But dammit if my cock isn’t slow to pick up on it.

During our first few lessons she wore cut-off shirts, which gave me glimpses of side boob but kept her cleavage good and covered. That was bad enough.

Now, in our fifth lesson, she is in a pair of high-waisted leggings and a sports bra. Everything is spandex and tight.

I’ve considered asking her to wear sweat suits a la Rocky Balboa, but I can’t figure out how to ask that without revealing my particular weakness for the sight of her skin.

And itisa weakness. One I must do everything in my power to curb.

“How was that?” she asks, tipping her head back to take a drink from her water bottle. Her throat bobs. So vulnerable. So tempting.

Then, it hits me. It’s because I haven’t been pleasured—by myself or anyone else—since the night of the fight. That’s the longest I’ve ever gone without getting my rocks off since puberty started.

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