Savage Royals Read online

  Savage Royals

  Boys of Oak Park Prep #1

  Callie Rose

  Copyright © 2019 by Callie Rose

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or had, or actual events is purely coincidental.

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  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Backmatter

  Thank You For Reading

  Chapter 1

  Death has a tangible aura that can never be mistaken for anything else.

  Something hangs in the air when someone dies, like their soul hovering just outside their body. It thickens the atmosphere around them, an absence so heavy it feels like it has its own gravitational pull.

  Of course, I wasn’t thinking about death at all that night—not until I walked in on it.

  I wasn’t thinking about much as I rested my forehead against the cool glass of the city bus, watching the darkened streets pass by outside. Neon lights flickered in the windows of dive bars, their bright colors sliding in and out of focus as I blinked my tired eyes. My feet ached badly, and I knew my old injury would throb in my legs tonight and make it hard to sleep.

  I’d spent all day making the rounds between tables at Seb’s Diner, taking order after order. Although dozens of people had come through the little truck stop diner, not many of them had tipped. I was still too short on cash, and I needed to hand something over to Dad to keep the lights on. He’d been fired from the power plant nine months ago, and the only thing keeping us afloat now was what I brought home.

  Since my mom’s death when I was seven, it’d been just me and the old man. I wasn’t just his daughter, I was his caretaker and maid. I was the cook, the main breadwinner and—when he got frustrated and the wrong kind of drunk—the punching bag.

  A sigh left my lips as the ancient bus creaked to a halt, and I pushed open the back doors, stepping out into the quiet night. Half the street lamps in our neighborhood were busted—shot out or burnt out—and I kept my keys clutched in my fist as I shuffled toward home.

  Dad had demanded I bring him a fresh pack of smokes when I got off work—it was now stuffed inside my bag, along with the bottle of vodka he loved so much.

  I hated both those fucking things.

  My fingers twitched to grab them out of my backpack and chuck them in the trash before I went up, but I wasn’t stupid. I didn’t want a fight. Not after standing on my feet for fourteen hours.

  I climbed wearily up to the third floor, and once inside, I closed the door softly, leaning back against the warped wood and closing my eyes.

  It was in that moment of quiet that I first felt it.

  The unmistakable aura of death.

  As if someone had sucked all the oxygen out of the room, out of the whole apartment.

  I opened my eyes and lifted my head, breathing shallowly as I listened to the silence. The apartment was too quiet. Usually, the TV blared at this point in the night, and if Dad had heard me come in, he’d be screaming my name and telling me to bring him a drink.

  “Dad?” I whispered, but the deathly stillness sucked the word into void.

  Maybe he just passed out. Maybe he’s asleep.

  My stomach pitched as I pushed away from the door and slipped into the living room. The light was off, and my heart thumped hard against my ribs. Something was off. Wrong.

  My hand traced the outdated wallpaper until it found the switch and flipped it, bathing the room in harsh yellow light.

  The sight in front of me snatched the air from my lungs. My dad was slumped in his massive easy chair, half hanging over the side. One arm fell limp, fingertips nearly brushing the floor.

  “Dad?” I rasped.

  I knew he wouldn’t answer—the imprint of death was all over this fucking place—but my mouth formed the word anyway. His pale skin looked slack under the light, and his eyes were half-open, staring unseeing, the whites tinged with yellow. Evidence of the liver decay that’d eaten him from the inside out.

  I swallowed down bile, running a shaky hand over my face as the numbness wore off and the full effect of his death slammed into me, making a thousand emotions ricochet through my chest.

  Shock. Grief. Confusion. Fear.

  Relief.

  My knees buckled, and I sank down to the floor, gaze still locked on my dad’s still body. Tears burned my eyes as guilt took the place of relief.

  I shouldn’t be glad he was dead.

  He wasn’t a good person, but he was the only person I’d had.

  “God, okay,” I whispered to myself. “Have to call someone.”

  Fumbling inside my bag, I slipped out my cellphone and dialed 911. My voice shook, and my words were a messy jumble as I tried to explain what’d happened, but the operator took down my information with the calm precision of someone trained to maintain order in chaos.

  Once the call ended, I stared at the dark screen of the phone until the sound of sirens roused me from my thoughts a while later. I pushed myself up from the floor and stumbled to the door, avoiding looking at my dad again. When I pried the door open, two men in blue uniforms stood outside. Wordlessly, I stepped out of the way and let them in.

  “Are you okay?” a third man asked as he stepped up to me and flashed a light in my eyes.

  “I’m—f-fine.” My mouth struggled to form the words.

  The man frowned. “You’re in shock. What’s your name? How old are you?”

  “T-Talia,” I muttered. “Sixteen.”

  All I could give him were short answers. It was hard to focus when I kept looking over my shoulder to see what the other men were doing to my dad. My heart felt like it was beating too slow and too hard, as if it were trying to pump a lifetime’s worth of blood with each heavy thud.

  On the downstairs stoop, the man wrapped me in a blanket and checked me over. Cops arrived on the scene as he worked, red and blue lights flashing in mismatched rhythms outside our dingy apartment building. Once the paramedic made sure I wasn’t going to faint, a female police officer asked me a bunch of questions, which I answered in a blur.

  She took down my information as the paramedics wheeled my dad out on a stretcher, nodding along as I spoke as if she’d heard this story a hundred times before.

  Maybe she had.

  “What happens now?” I tore my gaze away from her, watching them close the ambulance doors with my dad inside.

  “Someone from social services will come by to talk to you soon. Do you have anyone you can stay with for now?”

  “I have some friends I can crash with for
a while,” I said quickly. “I’ll be okay.”

  The woman flipped her notebook shut. “Go there. Don’t stay here tonight.”

  “Okay.”

  She nodded then patted me on the shoulder and rejoined her partner before their car pulled away. A minute later, the ambulance drove off too, leaving darkness in its place.

  A few neighbors had cracked their blinds to see what was going on, but no one had come downstairs. I wandered back inside, hurried through the living room, and walked down the hall to my bedroom. Without even bothering to change, I crawled into bed and closed my eyes.

  I’d lied to the police officer. I had no one else. No family. No friends.

  There’d been only me and my dad. And now there was only me. I wrapped myself up in my worn comforter and stared at the picture on my desk. I could barely make it out in the darkness, but I didn’t need to see it. The image was imprinted on my brain.

  Full, dark brown hair like mine. Deep hazel eyes. A smile that was sad and soft and beautiful all at once.

  I wish you were here, Mom. God, I wish you were here.

  “Talia. They need you in the principal’s office.”

  I glanced up from behind my history textbook. I’d been staring at the words as Mr. Napier lectured, but not really seeing anything.

  My heart skipped a beat as the girl sent to fetch me huffed impatiently. I already knew what it was going to be about; I’d been dreading it for the past three days. Since the night my dad died, I’d kept going to class and work as usual, had tried to keep the wheels of my life moving—but the empty chair the paramedics had dragged his body away from seemed to loom like a monster in the little living room, a reminder that my life would never be the same.

  Swallowing, I closed my book and tucked it away, then headed down the hall to the office, where Principal Bradford waited with a short, round-faced woman.

  “Talia?” she asked, stepping forward.

  “Yeah, that’s me.”

  “I’m Janet Pelletier. I’m from Child Protective Services. Can we talk in here for a minute?” She opened the door to a small conference room.

  “Sure.”

  I pushed inside and dropped into a seat. She smiled as she sat down, and it set my teeth on edge. What was there to smile about? My dad was dead. I was about to lose the only home I’d ever known.

  “Talia.” The smile stayed on her face like it’d been tattooed there, but her voice softened as she sat down across from me. “I’ve been looking over your case, and I’m so sorry about your father. We’ll find you a good foster home for a few years, and—”

  “What if I don’t want that?”

  “Well, you’re only sixteen. You need at least two years under an adult’s custody before you’ll be able to take care of yourself. My job is to place you in—”

  Her phone buzzed, an almost imperceptible noise. She turned it over to glance down at the screen and sighed. “I’m sorry, I should get this. I’ll be right back.”

  I watched her walk out of the room and slumped back in my chair, my fingers twisting together nervously.

  Two years?

  I’d be stuck living with some randos who’d probably give even less of a shit about me than my dad. I’d heard all the horror stories of foster care. I didn’t want to go.

  “Sorry about that.” Janet’s heels tapped across the floor as she returned a few minutes later. “Actually, I’m very glad I took that call.” Her perma-smile widened. “We won’t have to put you in foster care after all. Your relatives want to take you in.”

  I blinked at her. “What… relatives?”

  “Your grandparents,” she said, like it should be obvious. “They’re in a small city in California, and they just reached out to our offices. They’re willing to take custody of you; they want you to come and live with them.”

  My jaw fell open. Was she serious? I’d never heard anything about relatives in California. My dad’s parents were dead, and I knew almost nothing about my mom’s side of the family.

  Who the hell are these people?

  “I don’t… have any family,” I stuttered. “Just my dad, and he’s gone. My mom died ages ago. I’ve never heard anything about grandparents.”

  “Trust me, this is a good thing,” Janet said as she smiled at me again. “Family is better and more familiar—”

  “How can they be familiar if I don’t know them?”

  “Well, it’s better than being in a stranger’s home,” she said gently, but I could hear an edge creeping into her voice too. She was probably used to delinquents mouthing off at her, and she wasn’t going to stand for it. “They’re very wealthy, and they have the connections and resources to help you flourish. Trust me, this is a good thing.”

  I didn’t trust her. I had a hard time trusting anyone. My dad had taught me that lesson, whether he’d meant to or not.

  “Who are they?”

  She glanced at her phone again. “The last name is Hildebrand. They appear to be very well known and respected in California. I’m sure you’ll be happy out there.”

  I nodded slowly, trying to process her words.

  It wasn’t like I had a choice. I needed somewhere to live, and even though I tried not to let it, a little spark of hope lit in my chest at the idea.

  A family.

  I’d always thought my dad and I were all alone, but the prospect of meeting people who were connected to me by blood pulled at something deep in my gut.

  “Look.” Janet leaned forward, her lips pursing slightly. I recognized her tone as one adults used when they were about to “get real” with the kids. “I know this all seems scary and sudden, and I truly am sorry. It’s a lot to deal with on top of processing your dad’s death. But believe me, I’ve placed hundreds of children in foster homes and elsewhere, and I can tell you beyond a shadow of a doubt—the ones placed with family members almost always do better.”

  Her phone buzzed again, and her gaze flicked down and back up, interrupting the rhythm of her prepared speech. Then her hand slid across the table to rest on mine.

  “You’re being given a gift here, Talia. Take it.”

  Chapter 2

  LAX was fucking massive. I almost got run over by several people hustling to catch their flights as I made my way through the maze of bodies. When I finally reached the pick-up area, I blinked as I stepped outside into bright, warm sunshine.

  “Talia,” a voice called.

  I glanced up as a woman climbed out of a sleek town car. Her honey-brown hair was pulled up into a neat bun, not a single hair out of place. She wore a dress that hugged her body, the fabric light blue and soft. From a distance, she looked like she could be in her forties, though up close I could see the subtle signs of wrinkles and age.

  She must’ve had some work done, but it was subtle.

  I could pick out the resemblance between us easily. Both of us were lithe and a bit on the taller side, with long legs and high cheekbones. She gestured to the car, and a man bustled out to take my luggage and pop it into the trunk.

  It felt weird relinquishing my bags to him when I could’ve just as easily done it myself. The social worker had mentioned my grandparents were wealthy, but everything about this woman, the car, and the silent man dressed in black screamed of affluence.

  “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Jacqueline Hildebrand.” She extended her hand to me daintily.

  I took it and shook, at a loss for words. I wasn’t sure what I’d expected. A hug? I honestly didn’t know if I wanted one, but shaking hands with my grandmother—one of my last remaining blood relatives—felt weird as hell. It felt more like meeting a queen than greeting family, and for a second, I debated whether I was supposed to shake her hand or kiss it.

  “Come on. Your flight was twenty minutes late, and Philip is expecting us back at the house.”

  She slid back into the town car and patted the seat beside her. I climbed inside, leaning back against the plush leather seats. We joined the press of traffic leaving the a
irport, and for a while, I focused on watching the driver navigate the bumper-to-bumper traffic. When we finally made it onto a highway, things opened up a bit, and as we emerged from the dense traffic and drove along a coastal road, I wanted to press my face to the window like a five-year-old.

  Holy shit. It’s so different here.

  Sand Valley was a small, blue-collar town. It was arid and barren, grungy and tired. The sun that shone there must be the same one shining here, but you’d never know it.

  “Do you live near LA?” I asked breathlessly.

  The woman—my grandmother—laughed. “No, we’re quite a ways north of Los Angeles. In Roseland. It’s quieter, smaller, more elite.”

  I winced at the way she said elite. The word sounded sharp as a blade, and I had the distinct feeling she found LA distasteful.

  “We’ve enrolled you at Oak Park Preparatory Academy.”

  “Oak Park?” I asked, tearing my gaze away from the coastline.

  “Yes. It’s one of the most prestigious schools in the country and only a short distance from where we live. Your mother went there when she was young.”

  I blinked at her, my heart clutching in my chest. My mom had died when I was seven, so my memories of her were hazy at best. More like memories of memories. “My mom? What was she like? Did she like the school?”

  Jacqueline’s lips pressed into a line. “Yes. She liked the school. And she did well there, as we expect you to.”

  “I never…” I stuck my finger through a hole in the knee of my jeans, twisting it nervously. “I never knew about you guys. I didn’t know I had any other family besides Mom and Dad.”