Tempest: A High School Bully Romance (Bad Boy Royals of Kingsbury Prep Book 1) Read online

  Tempest

  Bad Boy Royals of Kingsbury Prep #1

  Rachel Angel

  Tempest

  Published by Romance On the Go, an Imprint of Sparklesoup

  Copyright © 2019 Rachel Angel, a pen name of Kailin Gow

  All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage or retrieval system, without the permission in writing from the publisher except in case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. Do NOT post on websites or share this book without permission from copyright holder. We take piracy seriously.

  All characters and storyline is an invention from Kailin Gow. Any resemblance to people alive or dead is purely coincidence.

  For information, please contact:

  www.Sparklesoup.com

  First Edition.

  DEDICATION

  This is dedicated to my Mom, who raised me to be a strong woman by being one herself. She kicked cancer to the curb, ran her own business, raised four children, and sent me to learn karate and kung fu at an early age although I was the only girl in class. Yes, there were cute boys in the class, and one with blonde hair and dreamy blue eyes whom I had a major crush on. I’d like to thank my Mom for that too, because he is a muse for many of my books.

  I’d like to dedicate this book to my Dad, too, who revealed that one of our ancestor was a general and a kingmaker, which became the spark for Tempest’s character.

  Hope you all will enjoy this book as much as I enjoy writing it!

  ***TEMPEST is a reverse harem/ New Adult in mature high school bully romance novel. This is book one of six in the series. Contains foul language and sexual scenes; any sex featured is consensual.

  Take her down. Make her leave.

  Kingsbury Prep is a 500 year old institution.

  The most elite of prep schools that almost every student has royal blood.

  A commoner like Tempest Ryan does not belong.

  We will break her, break her will, break her heart.

  She will wish she never step foot into Kingsbury.

  We have declared war on her. The envelope has been tossed. Black.

  Anyone is game.

  ***

  I didn't asked to go to Kingsbury Prep. My little sister secretly sent in an application.

  I know I am nowhere near the ideal student for Kingsbury Prep.

  But I won't be pushed out of anywhere just because three spoiled brats known as the Royals deemed it so.

  Living on the streets, managing to go to school, work part-time at any odd job to take care of my sister taught me how to fight.

  And dream of a better life.

  I won't let them take away that dream for my sister. I won't let them win.

  They declared war on me and the whole school is game.

  Well, boys...you're in for a ride. Because you picked on the wrong girl. I'm capable of anything your royal butts can't even imagine. I don't play games. Life is tough enough already. But since you started it, watch your backs because I'm not called Tempest for nothing.

  Disclaimers

  Although Bad Boy Royals of Kingsbury Prep is fiction, there was a school in history which only allowed those of royal blood to attend. It was a school to train them to become global rulers and diplomats. The names of the countries of the royals have been changed for fictional purposes. In the writing of this series, specialists such as a weapons specialist, fighting specialist, and lawyer were consulted to best accurately depict certain scenes, while being fiction. While this takes place at a high school level academy, due to the maturity of the themes, language, and sexual content; this series is best suitable for a mature audience.

  This is also a Reverse Harem, which means the main female character will have three or more love interests.

  Possible triggers in this book for those sensitive to these issues: suicide, bullying, attempted rape.

  Finally, this is a bully romance which means enemy to lover romance. By no means do we promote or advocate any bullying of any kind, but seek to prevent it in real life. If anyone is facing bullying in real life, there are resources and help out there. One we recommend is:

  Shy Girls Social Club Handbook on Dealing with Bullies and Other Meanies by Kailin Gow

  https://www.amazon.com/Social-Handbook-Dealing-Bullies-Meanies-ebook/dp/B0049B2C7A

  Prologue

  Tempest

  You would think I was at some prison camp from World War Two, being interrogated in an enclosed room with nothing but a rusted steel desk in front of a rail thin man his not-so-pretty face have seen better days.

  “Sign right here,” he said, pointing at a line at the bottom of a typed contract. I wanted to read the document. My late father had taught me to always read the fine print.

  “Give me a sec to look over this,” I said, reaching for the document and trying to see what I was about to sign.

  “Sure, but if you take too long, we’re going for the next guy in line,” Scarred-faced said. “With the bets going so high on this guy, everyone’s in line.”

  “Got it,” I said, taking my phone to shine some light on the paper. I scanned through the document quickly, picking up on a few questionable items, which I circled and added a few of my own concerns. It was entirely one-sided, favoring the establishment, but I had no choice. I signed the contract.

  Scarred-faced smiled. “That was fast.”

  “Told you,” I said looking directly in his eye as my father had taught me growing up. Never show that you are weak when negotiating. “Speed reading.”

  “Got to try it myself,” Scarred-faced said gruffly. I got the feeling he didn’t need to, but was just trying to be friendly. Trying to be kind to those so desperate enough to appear before him and to sign away their life.

  “I trained myself how to,” I said.

  He looked over my paperwork and said, “Like you trained yourself for this?”

  “I had help,” I said, not wanting to elaborate on my skills. It would work to my advantage to keep quiet about my background.

  “18 years old. High school student. Bike messenger, tattoo artist, cleaning maintenance at a martial arts studio.” He looked me over, shaking his head. “Kid, you can back out now before it’s too late.”

  “I’m not a quitter,” I said. “Get me in before the crowd, and I’ll show you what I’m made of.”

  He looked at the line behind me and back at me, my face solid in determination. He got up and walked to the door. “Filled,” he yelled out.

  The crowd in line groaned as they broke off. He came back to me and handed me a slip of paper. “You’re in. I have a hunch about you, Kid,” he said. “Don’t prove me wrong.”

  I nodded and shook his hand. “I won’t. My little sister’s life is counting on me.” With that, I headed out towards the dark hallways outside the makeshift tin can office where I had just convinced a man that I could take down a champion even without proper training.

  What was I getting myself into?

  I had nervous energy, which was good since it got my adrenaline up. But doubt? I brushed it aside.

  Walking down the dark hallway barely lit to keep the whole scene underground and hidden, I kept my mind on what I had to do. Lily, my little sister, was all I had since our parents died mysteriously in an accident on a business trip two years ago. Along with their death came a shocking surprise. My parents’ company speci
alizing in scientific equipment and high tech robotics was taken over by their partner and friend, Stanley Sloane, who claimed my parents had to pay him back for his shares. Our family lawyer, Mr. Nichols, fought as much as he could, but in the end, Sloane took over the company and possessed our house, cars, and even our furniture, tossing us out on the streets.

  Our lives changed dramatically, needless to say.

  Because I had turned 16 and my sister was only 9 at the time, no one wanted to adopt both of us together. We didn’t have any relatives that we knew of, and the foster parents who wanted to adopt me, wanted to adopt me only to become their domestic servant or slave.

  It left me no choice but to claim independence and to assume the guardianship of my little sister. Fortunately, our lawyer Mr. Nichols, helped make that happen. Also the fact that I had kept my own savings, apart from the family account, made it possible for us to get a place of our own…a vintage 1950s Airstream trailer parked in a mobile park near San Francisco’s Chinatown. I sold the new car my parents had surprised me with for my sweet 16th birthday to help with expenses. To save on gasoline, I bought a bicycle instead, and immediately applied for a job as a bicycle courier. And the martial arts studio down the street had a help wanted sign for studio maintenance. It was the kind of job I needed which gave me a chance to practice jujitsu in the studio, a martial art I began practicing when I was 7 years old. With the added expertise of Master Lee, the owner of the Martial Arts Studio, I also trained in weapons, Shaolin Kung Fu, and Judo.

  Hopefully, everything I knew would be enough to win. Heaven knew I could use the money.

  Lily could use the money.

  I reached the door at the end of the hallway where there was a short man about my height, wearing a cap, slacks, and a t-shirt. I handed him my slip of paper, and he introduced himself. “I’m Ned. I’ll get you water, medication, and bandages while you’re here. Since this is an illegal underground fight, we cannot take you to the hospital. Should you require medical attention, we have a doctor and nurse onboard.” He looked me over at my toned athletic but feminine frame. I wasn’t built like a bodybuilder, but I was strong, like many who practice martial arts. “Do you need your hand wrapped?”

  I nodded “no”.

  “Bare-hand?” he asked.

  “I don’t know any other way to fight,” I said, shrugging.

  The serious face he had broke into a grin. “I like you, girl. My money’s on you.”

  “Thanks, Ned,” I said.

  “What can I get you?” he said.

  “Nothing for now,” I said. “Except a mirror?”

  He pointed to the mirror in front of the sink in the makeshift green room.

  I walked up to the mirror.

  My hand went to the little strip of silk hanging from my belt. I unfolded it and wrapped the rich purple silk over my head, covering my long violet hair the same time I masked my face. With the right cut outs for my eyes, only my nose and mouth on down was left uncovered.

  Tonight, I was not going to be Tempest Ryan, high school girl. Tonight, I would be the Tempest of All Storms. Dressed in a tight black jumpsuit like Catwoman, except for my purple mask, I was going to become Tempest Storm. In these underground fights, having an angle that made you popular helped bring up the wagers.

  I needed the wagers raised as high as possible.

  Ned chuckled. “Nice outfit.”

  “It’s an angle,” I said.

  “Most of the challengers don’t even bother coming up with an angle.” He tapped the side of his temple, “Smart.”

  I asked Ned. “About the Champ, what is his trademarked move?”

  Ned looked pensive for a second. “He is a very strong guy. Almost like Samson of Samson and Delilah biblical fame.”

  “So he’s strong,” I said. “But what is his weakness?”

  “He relies on his strength too much rather than skills. If you’re very skill, like I think you are, you can take him on.”

  “Great, thank you! This helps.” I said. I took a deep breath. “I’m ready.”

  Ned walks with me down the hallway and into an elevator.

  “There’s another weakness,” Ned said as we walked out of the elevator and into the wall-to-wall crowd, “I just thought of it.” He leaned in to whisper into my ear as we pass by spectators lining the walls of the abandon large warehouse where a stage was set up in the middle of rows and rows of chairs.

  The crowd was cheering and thumping the ground with a steady and deafening loud roar. “Begin begin!

  A bright blinding field light highlighted the far end entrance of the warehouse where all eyes were turned. The iron doors flung open and a tall broad-chest muscular figure in all white sauntered into the fight club. His hair was slick back on the sides but spiked up high like a punk rock star’s. Pure white as snow hair with a touch of silver dust. Like me, he was wearing a mask. A white and silver masquerade mask highlighted his brilliant silver eyes. An aristocratic nose, high cheekbones, and full kissable lips instantly gave him a regal almost princely air. Whoever he was, he was mesmerizing. Intoxicatingly beautiful.

  Ned nudged me and said, “He’s known as the White Night, aka the reigning champion.”

  “Isn’t he afraid he’d get his pretty face smashed up?” I asked.

  “He’s never been hit in the face before,” Ned said. “It’s against the rules because of who likes to participate. No hitting the face. We’d have male models, actors, billionaires, rock stars, and even wayward princes participate just because it’s an adrenaline rush for them and a different kind of thrill. White Night comes from that stock.”

  Taking in the perfect body and gorgeous face, I felt the urge to kiss him rather than fight him. I wanted to lick his lips and run his hard length against me. I wanted to feel his rock hard abs against my breasts and him in me as I ride him to climax. My face flushed and my lower half clenched just thinking about it.

  My instant reaction to his physical beauty threw me off, and I had to shake my head. What was wrong with me? I’ve seen plenty of hot and sexy guys before. Fought and even fucked a few of them for fun. This pretty white-haired boy was just another one of them. One I had to beat tonight.

  “White Night!”

  “White Night!”

  “White Night!”

  The crowd chanted as he entered the roped off area in the warehouse, large enough for some serious fighting. He looked around, surveying the crowd like he owned them, his chiseled male model face beautiful on cruel arrogance. The light spotlighted on him, and he seemed to illuminate. He brought up his arms to acknowledge the crowd, which brought on more cheers.

  He was clearly the favorite for tonight.

  He was clearly the favorite for any night.

  How could I compete against such charisma?

  Ned handed me a slip of paper. I looked down.

  Defeat the night, you win the day. Remove the mask, you get pay day.

  “Can I remove his mask?” I asked. “Would that be against the rules?” I asked Ned.

  He acted like he didn’t hear me.

  Rules or no rules, I needed that ‘pay day’. Besides, this fight would be my only one. I was going to fight only tonight. And be done with it.

  Suddenly, the spotlight beamed in my direction. Ned pushed me forward where I was waiting just outside the entrance to the main area. “Good luck, Kid,” he said. “Win this for your sister.”

  I nodded and walked confidently, boldly into the arena, my head held high. No pretty boy is going to win the prize money. He was only playing at this game for the thrill of it. I was here to win it because a life depended on it.

  Instead of cheers and the loud encouraging ground thumping of the spectators’ feet, there were gasps. “A young girl…” filled the room.

  I walked on, my face expressionless except for the cool confident smile I pasted on it. That smile was one of my secret weapons. It disarmed people especially when they assume because I was female, I would be weak.

>   “She’s beautiful,” I heard whispers from the crowd.

  “That purple hair…”

  “She’s going to get killed.”

  “She must be one of the posh ones, here for the kicks.”

  “My bets on White Night.”

  “Our bets on White Night.”

  “This is going to be a slaughter. White Night will win in less than 10 seconds.”

  “No way could she win.”

  I focused on what I had to do. Years ago before I was orphaned and had to live on the streets, I cared about what people thought about me. I cared about fitting into the right crowds, wearing the right shoes, eating with the right silver spoon. All that changed when my life changed, and I was suddenly responsible for the survival of not just my life, but my sister’s. Now I didn’t care what people thought about me.

  I walked into the roped off area…the main stage, and kept my eyes on White Night. He had taken off his jacket and his pants, leaving him in black brief shorts. His magnificent muscular body was perfectly chiseled, every muscle perfectly in place. The perfectly smooth and tanned skin of his chest and shoulders were covered in colorful tats, a beautifully drawn landscape of mountains, trees, flowers, and animals. His muscular arms were covered in tats of words and even of books. One particular tat of a beautiful woman sat right above his V.

  As a tattoo artist, I could appreciate fine work when I saw it. White Night’s tats were exquisite.

  Whoever he was, clearly he didn’t need the prize money as much as I needed it. The Tats on him would’ve cost somewhere in the six figures.