Page 22 of Cruel Elite (Princes of Ravenlake Academy 3)

“Hello?” J.C. waves a hand in front of my face. “Earth to Noah, you in there?”

I blink away an image of Penny on all fours in front of me, her round ass in my hands, and look up at J.C.

His face is much less appealing.

“What?”

“I asked who’s on your bang list?” Caleb says. “For Spring Fling. Just curious which swamp rat you’ll be balls deep in while I hang out with my cool, attractive girlfriend.”

J.C. wrinkles his nose at Caleb’s obscene monogamy and turns to me. “Yeah, who’s on your list?”

One face appears in my vision.

One name at the top of my list.

There is only one girl I have any desire for. Not just a desire to fuck.

A desire to ruin. To destroy. To humiliate.

But that’ll come later. I won’t reveal my plans just yet. Not even to my best friends.

“No one,” I say with a shrug. “Or anyone. Either way.”

Caleb smiles and claps me on the shoulder. “That’s the spirit. Keep your options open.”

9

Noah

Caleb offers to take J.C. home, so I have an entire solo car ride across town to keep brooding on the fantasies cropping up in my mind.

I’m not a sex-starved thirteen-year-old kid. I should not be this out of control.

I thought our closeness last night was only getting Penny riled up, but now it’s obvious it had an effect on me, too.

And I don’t like it. Not one bit.

By the time I park and walk up the drive, I’ve decided to go upstairs and watch some porn—find someone else to fantasize about for a bit.

I just need to cleanse the system.

To purge Penny.

Except, as soon as I walk through the front door, my mom calls my name from the living room.

Her voice is hoarse, throat dry from her alcohol intake last night.

When I turn the corner, she has a tall glass of orange juice in her hand.

I’ll bet my left nut there’s vodka in it. Or champagne, at the very least least. Though her demons usually demand something stronger than just the bubbly stuff.

“I didn’t notice you come home last night,” she says, running a hand through her bed-flattened curls. Her eyes are rimmed in smudgy black liner, though she must have cleaned up the mascara running down her cheeks at some point.

I want to tell her she also must not have noticed me carry her up the stairs and tuck her into bed, but I don’t bother her with those facts.

Not knowing how she got to bed at night isn’t exactly a new experience for my mother.

Being sober enough to get into her bed on her own is the rarity these days.

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