Page 11 of Kings of Westbrook High

I shake my head and turn to face her fully, done with this pointless conversation because she hasn't told me anything I didn't already figure out for myself before the end of second period. It's funny how much you can learn about others when you sit back and let the big mouths do their thing - something I have a habit of doing in every new environment.

Survival, as I keep hearing, is key.

And so is my goddamn sanity.

“What do you do for fun around here, Rachel Rossi?”

She smirks and I smirk back.

“You've heard of me.”

“Kinda hard not to.”

She tips her head back and laughs, then she slams my locker shut and wraps her arm around my neck, walking me to class. “Come to a party with me Friday night and I'll show you.”

* * *

They're not normal.

Three dark kings, respected and feared by everyone - and I mean everyone, teachers included - yet they're not the clean cut, preppy looking jocks wearing the letterman jackets across the parking lot. They're the boys wearing the dark jeans and t-shirts with the messy haircuts and the tattoos covering their muscular, naturally earned bodies.

They're bad boys, big bad boys, through and fucking through.

Ignoring the eyes on me, I keep walking and pretend I don't notice when all three slide into their own cars and roar their engines to life. As soon as I step through the school gates, I slide my headphones over my ears and lift my lighter to burn the joint I rolled myself under the table in last period, but before I've even blown out the first hit, the badass car I spotted just moments ago slows down and cruises beside me pace for pace. As expected, two others follow suit to form a solid, conspicuous line. Three matching Lamborghini Urus's - one black, one orange, one yellow. The massive prick in the black one leans his elbow on the doorframe, blatantly eyeing me and my form with his brows dipped in the center, so I smirk and blow my smoke in his direction.

He glares.

I laugh lightly, rolling my eyes when they make no move to leave. Just to be an asshole, I throw my arms out and offer a fake as fuck bow, double flipping off while I do it, then I turn around and hop the wooden fence to cut through the park like I did on my way here this morning. When I arrive at the penthouse a little while later, I manage to slip in unnoticed and drag my tired ass upstairs to face plant the big ass bed that's not mine and never will be.

One down, eighty three to go.

Chapter 5

Callie

“Sneaking out again, are we?”

I jump, spinning around to find a very good looking man standing in the hallway at the bottom of the stairs - the same hallway I know leads to the master bedroom. Dark brown hair and chocolate brown eyes, dressed in black slacks and a white shirt with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

Fuck me, they look just like him.

They must get their eyes from their Mom, though - someone I believe to be dead considering she's never been mentioned around here. I don't really know anything about these people, I'm not even sure how long Elijah and Katherine have been married, but I sure as shit don't care enough to ask. It's none of my damn business as far as I'm concerned.

“I don't sneak.” I lie, because yeah, okay, I've been purposely slipping in and out of here unseen for the last four days, not wanting to run into any of them here.

“If you say so.” He grins, sweet as fuck, but I’m not buying it. “It's nice to finally meet you, Callie. I'm Elijah Kingston, your mother’s-”

“I know who you are.”

His grin transforms into a smirk and I can't deny he looks every bit as intimidating and wicked as his boys do when he looks at me like that.

Now, that they get from him.

“How are your stepbrothers treating you, Callie?” He asks, laughing lightly when I glare.

“Your sons are treating me just fine, Mr Kingston.”

“Tell the truth.”

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