Cruel Prep: A Dark High School Bully Romance (Princes of Ravenlake Academy Book 1) Read online

  Cruel Prep

  A Dark High School Bully Romance

  Nicole Fox

  Contents

  Mailing List

  Also by Nicole Fox

  Cruel Prep: A Dark High School Bully Romance

  1. Lily

  2. Lily

  3. Lily

  4. Finn

  5. Lily

  6. Lily

  7. Finn

  8. Finn

  9. Lily

  10. Lily

  11. Finn

  12. Lily

  13. Lily

  14. Lily

  15. Lily

  16. Finn

  17. Lily

  18. Finn

  19. Finn

  20. Lily

  21. Lily

  22. Finn

  23. Finn

  24. Finn

  25. Lily

  26. Lily

  27. Lily

  28. Finn

  29. Finn

  30. Lily

  31. Lily

  32. Finn

  33. Finn

  34. Lily

  35. Lily

  36. Finn

  37. Finn

  38. Finn

  39. Lily

  40. Lily

  41. Lily

  42. Finn

  43. Finn

  44. Lily

  45. Lily

  46. Finn

  Epilogue

  Sneak Preview of Cruel Academy

  Mailing List

  Also by Nicole Fox

  Copyright © 2019 by Nicole Fox

  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.

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  Also by Nicole Fox

  Princes of Ravenlake Academy (Bully Romance)

  *Can be read as standalones!

  Cruel Prep

  Cruel Academy

  Cruel Elite

  Bratva Crime Syndicate

  *Can be read in any order!

  Lies He Told Me

  Scars He Gave Me

  Sins He Taught Me

  Belluci Mafia Trilogy

  Corrupted Angel (Book 1)

  Corrupted Queen (Book 2)

  Corrupted Empire (Book 3)

  De Maggio Mafia Duet

  Devil in a Suit (Book 1)

  Devil at the Altar (Book 2)

  Kornilov Bratva Duet

  Married to the Don (Book 1)

  Til Death Do Us Part (Book 2)

  Heirs to the Bratva Empire

  *Can be read in any order!

  Kostya

  Maksim

  Andrei

  Tsezar Bratva

  Nightfall (Book 1)

  Daybreak (Book 2)

  Russian Crime Brotherhood

  *Can be read in any order!

  Owned by the Mob Boss

  Unprotected with the Mob Boss

  Knocked Up by the Mob Boss

  Sold to the Mob Boss

  Stolen by the Mob Boss

  Trapped with the Mob Boss

  Volkov Bratva

  Broken Vows (Book 1)

  Broken Hope (Book 2)

  Broken Sins (standalone)

  Other Standalones

  Vin: A Mafia Romance

  Box Sets

  Bratva Mob Bosses (Russian Crime Brotherhood Books 1-6)

  Tsezar Bratva (Tsezar Bratva Duet Books 1-2)

  Heirs to the Bratva Empire

  The Mafia Dons Collection

  Cruel Prep: A Dark High School Bully Romance

  Princes of Ravenlake Academy (Book 1)

  Ravenlake Prep is hell on earth... and Finn Foster is my personal devil.

  I can’t even remember the night “The Incident” happened.

  The doctors said I was concussed.

  The cops said I was a liar.

  My classmates said I was a skank.

  All I know is this:

  I’m now trapped at Ravenlake Prep with a boy who’s determined to ruin my life…

  And I don’t even know why.

  Finn Foster is a monster, plain and simple.

  Cruel. Rich. Devastatingly handsome.

  His family owns this town.

  That means he can get away with destroying anything he wants.

  Including me.

  Because I have dark secrets trapped somewhere in my broken brain.

  And Finn will do anything it takes to keep them there.

  CRUEL PREP is a full-length high school bully romance and Book 1 in the Princes of Ravenlake Academy trilogy.

  1

  Lily

  It’s the first day of the rest of my life.

  A new chapter. That’s what my mom keeps calling it. She says that like it’s a good thing. Like I should be excited.

  So then why do I feel this awful nausea in the pit of my stomach?

  Maybe it’s because part of me already knows the truth: this chapter is going to be just as horrible as the last one was.

  I shake my head to clear those thoughts I approach the old church building. We’re in South Texas, but this building looks like a medieval goth’s wet dream.

  Creepy black steeples stretch towards the sky like talons. A stained-glass window peers out like a single, predatory eye.

  This place used to be the home of a cult, back in the 80s. After it got shut down, the wealthy families of Ravenlake, Texas, pooled their cash to fund the creation of an elite private school. Mostly so their offspring wouldn’t have to mingle with dirty peasants like me over at Public.

  And that’s how Ravenlake Preparatory Academy was born.

  As I push through the massive front doors, one thought keeps chiming in my head over and over again like a church bell.

  I don’t belong here.

  It’s obvious just from looking around how right I am about that. The princes and princesses of Ravenlake Prep are swirling on all sides. They’re all decked out in Balenciaga sneakers, Prada dresses, All Saints leather jackets. They look like runway models.

  Me? I’m wearing off-brand Converse and ink-stained blue jeans, with my long blond hair tied back in a frizzy braid.

  But I keep my head down. Try not to stand out, to blend into the crowd. Last summer gave me enough public attention to last a lifetime. My goal here is to simply survive. The fewer people who know who I am, the better.

  A woman from the front office with breast implants and hair extensions gives me the briefest, least helpful tour in human history. She points in the general direction of the classrooms, which are located in the two modern wings built onto the original church building. Then she nods towards the cafeteria with hardly more than a grunt and hands me a slip of paper with my locker combination written on it.

  “Good luck,” she says.

  But as she walks away, I swear I hear her add in a dry mumble, “You’re going to need it.”

  I’m left standing in the intersection of two major hallways, all alone. Without the faintest idea of where I’m supposed to go.

  The other students wrinkle their noses as I pass. They keep their distance from me. But they’re still close enough that I can still hear their
whispered comments.

  “I didn’t know we were expected to mingle with kids from Public.”

  “Since when does Ravenlake offer pity scholarships?”

  “She’s only here because her momma is cleaning our toilets.”

  I try to ignore them. But it’s hard when a lot of it is rooted in truth. I am from Public. I am here on scholarship, and my mother is now a member of the Ravenlake custodial staff.

  We’re not here by choice. We’re here because of “The Incident” that happened last summer. But we’re here nonetheless. And as Mom keeps saying, I just have to make the best of it.

  I’m ten minutes late to homeroom because the architects designed to label the classrooms with a mix of Latin words and Roman numerals, which makes precisely zero sense to me. It’s like they’re trying to filter out the riff-raff every step of the way.

  As soon as I open the door, I hear the rustle of thirty heads turning to look at me. My face flushes red.

  I scan the room and see an empty seat in the middle of the group of students. I lower my head and move towards it, but before I can turn down the center aisle, the teacher seizes my arm.

  “Lily DeVry?”

  I swallow and turn to her, plastering a fake smile on my face. “That’s me.”

  As though pulling her lines from every high school movie ever made, she clears her throat and announces me like the next cattle up at auction. “Class, we have a new student with us this year. I expect you to make her feel welcome.”

  The room remains silent and completely still, with the lone exception of a beautiful redhead in the front row who raises a single eyebrow in disbelief. Clearly, the teacher should expect disappointment. The only thing I am welcome to do at Ravenlake Prep is leave.

  “That Lily DeVry?” a female voice asks, her whisper loud enough for the entire room to hear.

  I’d been hoping to stay anonymous at least until lunchtime. Mission failed.

  The teacher releases my arm. I hurry to a seat in the back row and slump down as far as I can.

  I keep my head down throughout the rest of homeroom announcements. When the bell rings, I pack my bag and try to blend in with the herd as they shuffle from the room.

  Just as I walk through the door, the girl in front of me with long, shiny black hair spins around, the ends of her hair whipping me in the nose. Her glossy frown is set as she glares at me, arms crossed over her chest.

  “Why are you here?”

  “To learn at this fine establishment,” comes my rehearsed answer.

  I practiced it in the mirror all last night. It sounds snarky, like I intended, but still could probably do with a little more venom if I really want people to leave me alone.

  I don’t want problems with anyone here, but I’m sure as shit not going to let a bunch of rich kids think they can push me around. Besides, I learned in a self-defense class in middle school that most aggressors will back off when they realize their target is willing to put up a fight.

  Her eyebrow arches. “Do they not have schools on your side of town?”

  “This is my side of town.” As of two weeks ago, my mom and I live less than a mile from Ravenlake Prep. I can see the school’s spires from our motel window.

  “You may live here, but it will never be your town,” she sneers. She’s close enough that I can smell her floral body spray. It is thick and artificial, and I want to ask why she doesn’t use her extensive allowance to buy a more bearable scent, but I bite my tongue. Pick one fight at a time, you know? “Not after what you did.”

  What I did? God, these people really are out of their minds.

  The moment the story of The Incident broke over the summer, people began twisting the details. I so badly wish I could set the record straight. But it’s impossible. Not just because no one believes a word I say anymore.

  But also because I don’t even remember exactly what happened. Thanks a lot, concussion. The scant details I told the cops who interviewed me after everything went down were enough to cause way more chaos than I ever wanted.

  Best to move on and do my best to forget even that.

  I pull my mouth into a smile and give the girl a sarcastic thumbs-up. “Thanks for the warm welcome.”

  She snaps something at me that sounds an awful lot like the c-word. I push past her and make my way into the stream of students, but I block it out.

  I block all of it out. It’s a skill I’ve had to perfect after The Incident. By the end of this school year, I expect to be a professional.

  If I survive that long.

  2

  Lily

  “Welcome, new students!” the woman in the red pantsuit says, pressing a hand to her full bosom. “I’m Principal Cooprider. It’s a pleasure to greet you all on your first day here at Ravenlake Prep.”

  I take a look around at my fellow new students. I’m the only senior here at this stupid new student luncheon. Everyone else seated at the long tables is a pimply-faced freshman, and even they are glancing at me with scorn and condescension written all over their faces.

  Great. I’m even below the fresh meat on the social totem pole.

  I don’t pay much attention to the proceedings. A string of prominent Ravenlake Prep staff is introduced. Athletic director, theater coordinator, blah blah blah. I don’t plan on participating in any of this stuff. My only goal is to make it through this year and then get the hell out of this town and never, ever come back.

  It looks like things are about to wrap up, praise the Lord, when the auditorium doors behind us burst open and a tall man strides through like he owns the place.

  When he gets close enough for me to see his face, I realize that’s because he does own the place.

  Not officially. But Mr. William Foster is responsible in one way or another for just about every dollar that’s gone to the Ravenlake Prep budget. In fact, he’s responsible for just about every dollar that’s gone to the budget of the whole damn town.

  Most of the people in Ravenlake, Texas worship at his feet like a king. It’s easy to see why—he really looks the part. Arrogant smile, slicked-back dark hair that bears a single gray streak racing from his right temple backwards, a thousand-dollar Armani suit that he wears like a second skin.

  If I had to draw a cartoon rich person, I’d sketch this exact man. He is a stereotype if I’ve ever seen one. And yet, still intimidating.

  But even if the rest of the town falls all over themselves to pay homage to Mr. Foster, you won’t catch me doing anything like that.

  Not after the stuff he said about me in the newspapers this summer.

  We’ve never spoken. Not officially. But Mr. Foster thinks he knows me very, very well. In his front page op-ed, he wrote: “Lily DeVry is nothing more than a reckless young girl with a wild imagination and a desperate need for attention. I don’t blame her, of course. She’s just a child. The issue is parenting.”

  I can handle people saying negative things about me, but publicly and baselessly shaming my mother? Abso-fucking-lutely not.

  I try to calm myself as Mr. Foster mounts the stage and turns to survey the assembled new students. Dr. Sharon, the therapist I started going to after The Incident, told me to picture my body filling up with cool water like a vase anytime my emotions started to get out of control.

  So that’s what I do. Drop by drop, until I can unclench my fists and breathe again.

  Up at the podium, William Foster is taking a weirdly long time to smile at each and every person here. I think it is meant to be a sign of warmth and kindness, but it comes off as kind of sinister, like if a shark smiled at you.

  The freshmen squirm in their seats when his eyes land on them. I, however, force myself to sit still and meet his gaze straight on. If he recognizes me, he doesn’t show it. He gives me the same placid smile he gives everyone else, and then clears his throat when he is finished.

  “Welcome to Ravenlake Prep.” His voice echoes off the stone walls and climbs to the ceiling, bouncing around the rafters. He ha
s a voice for the pulpit. It carries. And though the whole town seems to worship at his feet, Mr. Foster boasts a particularly devoted following at Ravenlake Prep. Maybe the days of this building holding a cult aren’t entirely over.

  “I make it a point to meet every new student who walks through the doors of this school. As a businessman, I like to know where my investments are going.”

  He raises a brow, waiting for everyone to laugh at his teasing joke. The administration chuckles immediately. The freshmen take a bit longer to catch on. I don’t join in at all.

  Suddenly, I start to feel a little claustrophobic. I don’t know if it’s the creepy stone architecture or Mr. Foster himself, but I need to get the hell out of this room.

  I mumble something under my breath about “bathroom,” even though none of the freshmen seated around me give a shit. Then I take off, head ducked, straight for the doors Mr. Foster just came through.