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  Cruel Abandon

  Fallen Royals, #5

  S. Massery

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2021 by S. Massery

  All rights reserved.

  Editing by Studio ENP

  Cover Design by S. Massery

  Cover Photo by Michelle Lancaster

  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.

  If you did not purchase this ebook from Amazon or receive a gift copy directly from the author, you are reading an illegal copy. Please let the author know at [email protected].

  Also by S. Massery

  Fallen Royals Series

  Wicked Dreams

  Wicked Games

  Wicked Promises

  Vicious Desire

  Cruel Abandon

  Wild Fury

  Broken Mercenaries Series

  Blood Sky

  Angel of Death

  Morning Star

  Contemporary Romance

  Something Special

  Something Sacred

  To see a current list of releases, please visit my website:

  http://www.smassery.com/books

  Contents

  Author’s Note

  Playlist

  I. The Destruction

  1. Liam

  2. Sky

  3. Sky

  4. Liam

  5. Sky

  6. Liam

  7. Sky

  8. Sky

  9. Liam

  10. Sky

  11. Sky

  12. Liam

  13. Sky

  14. Liam

  II. The Discovery

  15. Sky

  16. Liam

  17. Sky

  18. Sky

  19. Liam

  20. Sky

  21. Sky

  22. Liam

  23. Sky

  24. Liam

  25. Sky

  26. Sky

  27. Liam

  28. Sky

  29. Liam

  30. Sky

  31. Sky

  III. The Deception

  32. Sky

  33. Liam

  34. Sky

  35. Sky

  36. Sky

  37. Liam

  38. Sky

  39. Sky

  40. Liam

  41. Sky

  42. Liam

  43. Sky

  Epilogue

  Wild Fury Sneak Peek

  Also by S. Massery

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  To the fighters

  Author’s Note

  WARNING: this book has dubious consent and situations. Our hero behaves questionably at times.

  Fallen Royals Series (first 3 are a trilogy, books 4-6 are standalones):

  Wicked Dreams

  Wicked Games

  Wicked Promises

  Vicious Desire

  Cruel Abandon

  Wild Fury

  Don’t forget to sign up for S. Massery’s newsletter for news about future releases.

  Playlist

  Do I Wanna Know? - Arctic Monkeys

  The One - Fletcher

  Love, or lack thereof - Isaac Dunbar

  My Head & My Heart - Ava Max

  Maniac - Conan Gray

  Part I

  The Destruction

  1

  Liam

  Baker’s fist catches me by surprise. His knuckles skate across my jaw, my teeth cutting into my cheek. I jump away from him, and blood fills my mouth.

  He grins.

  I spit and try to focus, but I would swear there’s a familiar face in the crowd.

  He comes at me again, emboldened by the blood on my lips.

  Sometimes in life—no, almost every fucking time—there are rules. Law and order, if you will. It’s how society stays afloat. Most people hold on to the concept with their dying breath.

  And then there’s us.

  Baker leaves his side open, and I lunge for him. Duck his elbow and get inside his defense, hammering at him with both fists now.

  I went looking for a place to expel my energy. I went looking for a fight.

  Instead, I found chaos in the form of an underground fight club—Howl. We don’t operate by the rules. The fights are bloody and fast, and the winner takes all. The money, the pride. There’s a circle of chalk on the floor, and the only way the match ends is when your opponent concedes, passes out, or jumps out of the circle.

  The crowd is just another part of it. Some days, some fights, fill the room. Others will only bring in the diehard fans. The ones chasing the money.

  RJ sits halfway up a dilapidated staircase going nowhere. He’s in charge of the books, of paying out bets, and paying the fighters. His almost-identical twin, Colt, stands at the edge of the circle. He makes sure we all play fair.

  Well, as fair as we can.

  Baker knees me, narrowly missing my groin. It’s a cheap shot, but it gets me off him for half a second and forces me to raise my guard. I block a head shot—it would’ve landed on my ear, made the room spin if I was lucky. But he only glances off my forearm. I barely feel the burn of it and dart forward again, aiming for his face.

  He grunts and brings his arms up, but this isn’t boxing.

  We fall to the floor and roll.

  He’s a beast of a man, six-foot-six at least and packed with muscle. But that muscle isn’t helping him now, when he lands under me.

  The last few punches are different. A bitter mix of knowing the end is approaching and cruelty. I won’t stop until he taps out or passes out.

  My first hit lands on his jaw, whipping his head to the side. Blood sprays out of his mouth, and he raises his hand. He pushes at my face, but that’s… ineffective.

  Someone gasps.

  I snap my head up.

  The crowd never gets in my head during a fight, and it’s happened twice now.

  Baker uses my distraction and flips me off him. I hit the floor hard on my back and try to inhale.

  Get up.

  My lungs don’t work.

  “Get up, Liam!” someone shrieks.

  That damn voice.

  Baker is coming for me, about to drop on top of me the same way I was just on him. I roll, and his knees smack the concrete.

  Up, body. I climb up, sucking in a deep breath. This fight needs to be over.

  I scan the crowd once, but Baker needs my full attention.

  He staggers to his feet. I must’ve clipped him in the eyebrow or forehead at one point, because one of his eyes is filled with blood.

  Before he can regain his balance, I kick out. My heel catches him in the center of his chest, and his eyes pop open. His lips part, too. In slow motion, he stumbles backward.

  Out of the circle.

  The people hastily part for him—no one touches the fighters—and watch him fall.

  Silence.

  Then… cheering.

  I blink, rubbing at my face. It’s tender, scraped and bruised to hell. My eye will be swollen by the end of the night. The skin around it is tight, and my vision is a bit blurry on that side.

  Colt slaps my shoulder, grinning in my face. We’ve been friends for a year—about how long I’ve been fighting at Howl—and I flashback to the first time I won a fight. He had slapped a wad of cash into my palm and thanked me for playing.
<
br />   The money was a godsend.

  I didn’t know how I was going to keep affording school otherwise. I had a loan for the first semester and a scholarship for housing. My family had nothing extra for books or food, but I convinced them that I would be okay. I snuck into the dining hall sometimes, stockpiled when I could, or Theo helped me out.

  I hated his handouts.

  Still do.

  And then Theo got me into Howl, I won, and suddenly I had more than a grand in cash to my name.

  Colt lifts my arm above my hand, and the crowd screams louder. We rotate in a circle.

  I grimace and pull my arm away as soon as his grip loosens. I don’t like crowds. I like the anticipation of pain and adrenaline, and I like the cash. Not the people who get off on watching us.

  I go over and extend my hand to Baker, who takes it with a small smile.

  We’re friends outside Howl. Maybe not the best of friends, but decent enough. Not enemies, anyway. I haul him up. It’s a good day when one of us isn’t dragged out between RJ and Colt half-unconscious.

  A few people come over and congratulate me. For a second, I get the impression that I’m no better than a lucky statue everyone wants to rub. Their hands touch my shoulders, my back, my arms.

  I shudder.

  Baker loops his arm over my shoulders and steers me toward the exit.

  RJ is waiting for us, a big grin on his face. “What a cute couple,” he says. “You fight and make up so quickly.”

  “You wish you could touch this,” Baker says, releasing me and smacking his own ass. “Ain’t that right, Morrison?”

  I roll my eyes. RJ hands me an envelope, and as I slide it into my pocket, I scan the rest of the room. I’m still searching for the familiar face in the crowd, but all that remains are the dregs of the crowd. Those desperate to win Colt’s good graces and get invited back.

  “You good?” RJ asks me. “We were gonna hit up Tristan’s place.”

  “I’m going home and passing out. Baker’s got a mean punch.”

  Baker snorts. “Only when something distracts you.”

  I don’t answer. Something’s bothering me, but I can’t put my finger on it.

  Baker and I walk out together, leaving RJ and Colt with clean-up duty. Serves them right, as they keep half of the profit for themselves. We climb up a ladder, into the belly of an old warehouse, and hop the half-wall onto the street.

  At the street corner, Baker hooks his thumb in the opposite direction from campus. “My girl is waiting for me at Moe’s. I’ll see you later?”

  I grunt. The left side of my face throbs. I force my arms to remain at my sides and head home. The sooner I’m back, the sooner I can put ice on it and veg out. I have a psych exam tomorrow afternoon that’ll require my full attention.

  My phone beeps.

  Theo: How’d it go?

  I didn’t even bother checking the envelope, but it’ll get me through the month—maybe even longer. I hate focusing on financials, that it got so bad I had to borrow…

  Except, Theo said I didn’t owe him anything. Caleb said as much, too, when he visited last semester with gifts in tow. Namely, a new computer that I almost refused.

  They’re assholes, but they love me.

  And I needed the help.

  Me: Baker gave me a run for my money.

  Theo: Weird.

  I scoff and shove my phone back into my pocket. I pass the entrance to campus and continue down the block, to a brownstone nestled in a row of similar buildings. This particular one is owned by the college and falls under my housing scholarship. I have two housemates but the room to myself.

  Perfectly fine with me.

  The housing scholarship ends next semester, leaving me on my own for junior and senior year. I’m already planning out how many fights I’ll need to win to even consider paying rent in Boston.

  My two housemates, guys I knew from a few classes last year but don’t really have much in common with, are out. I toss my keys onto the kitchen island and rummage through the freezer for a bag of peas.

  No one better bother me for the next hour.

  I flop onto the couch, let out a groan, and kick my feet up on the coffee table. Carefully, I tilt my head and place the frozen peas on the left side of my face. I close my eyes and let myself zone out as I unwrap the bandages from my hands. I’ve done it so many times, I don’t need to watch. They’ll need to be cleaned or tossed, but that’s a problem for later. I drop them beside me.

  What feels like minutes later, the living room light flicks on.

  “Liam!”

  I jerk upright, barely catching the peas from hitting my lap. My housemates are standing in front of the television, staring at me.

  “What?” I ask, trading glances between the two of them.

  Henry will probably become president one day. He’s got the brains for it, the drive, and the ethics. And Tony has his eyes on NASA. How I ended up with these two guys for friends is beyond me… but now they’re watching me like I’m the freak in the apartment.

  “Guys…”

  Henry jabs Tony’s arm. “Show him.”

  I narrow my eyes.

  Tony fidgets, pulling out his phone and tapping on it. He hands it to me, eyes wide. “Don’t freak out on us, okay? Besides the fact that this is probably illegal…”

  “What the fuck are you talking about?” I snatch the phone from him.

  He leans down and hits ‘play.’

  The loudness of it is shocking. Someone yells, and then the video, which was blurry up until now, crystalizes.

  My heart plummets into my stomach.

  It’s me—the me from hours ago, shirtless, knuckles wrapped, as I threw Baker to the floor, straddled, and pummeled the shit out of him.

  “Where did you find this?” I ask. “Who—”

  “Some chick,” Henry says. “That’s not the point. The point is that it’s going viral.”

  I clench the phone. “Viral?”

  “Um…” Tony rubs his lower lip. “It had fifty thousand views last I checked…”

  I click out of the video, revealing the original post. A little counter in the bottom left of the screen reveals over sixty-five thousand views.

  And the caption: Didn’t think I’d learn this at college…

  A dozen comments are collecting below it, asking where this is. Who we are.

  But it’s the poster’s name that catches my attention.

  Skylar Buckley.

  The classic girl next door—turned informant and life ruiner, apparently.

  A quick scroll through her very public profile reveals she just started at Ashburn College. There’s a photo of her and her parents outside of one of the freshmen dorms.

  My mind zooms ahead to how bad this could go.

  “Damage control,” Henry suggests.

  I stand, dropping the bag of peas to the table. “You aren’t pissed at me?”

  “We were just a bit alarmed, really,” Tony says. “But honestly, you could’ve told us you were fighting. Did you think we thought you were just clumsy? Always coming back with bruises and cuts?”

  My face gets hot. I had thought they assumed the best of me, but that was foolish on my part. “Sorry. Right.”

  “This is going to be bad,” Tony adds. “Henry’s right about damage control. Getting the post taken down. Do you know who posted it?”

  My phone buzzes.

  Mom.

  I hit decline and shove it in my pocket, only to have it go off again.

  This time, it’s my younger brother.

  I grimace and answer it.

  “Fighting, asshole?” Jake says immediately. “Why risk your scholarship for one stupid—”

  I hang up.

  They don’t get it.

  I’ve been lying to my entire family about college. The fact that I’m still here is a miracle… but I have a feeling it might be crashing down around me.

  Right.

  I leave my phone and storm into my room
, pulling on a fresh hoodie and sneakers. My housemates watch me scoop up my keys and school ID.

  It feels good to have a purpose—and to leave my phone behind. I burst out onto the sidewalk and pick up a jog, headed back to Ashburn’s campus.

  I’m on a mission to acquaint myself with Skylar Buckley’s social media, delete the stupid video, and make sure she never gets in my way again.

  And try not to smash her phone while I’m at it.

  2

  Sky

  My bed tips, catapulting me from hazy, half-drunk sleep into full panic.

  Except, my arms don’t move. They’re stretched above me, tied.

  Tied.

  I struggle, kicking off my comforter. My feet are free, at least.

  “Always did panic when restrained,” a familiar voice says above me.

  I tip my head back. The room is dark, but light from the hallway slipping in under the door gives it just enough illumination.

  A familiar face.

  …Liam?

  I instantly flash back to earlier tonight, when I was trying to decide if that was really him fighting at Howl. Before tonight… I saw him at home a few months ago. Nothing more than an acknowledgement that he had returned for the summer.