Vicious Desire Read online

  Vicious Desire

  Fallen Royals, #4

  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 © 2020 by S. Massery

  All rights reserved.

  Editing by Studio ENP

  Proofreading by Paige Sayer Proofreading

  Cover Design by S. Massery

  Cover Photography 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.

  This ebook is can only legally be obtained via Amazon, or sent directly by the author and/or PR company.

  Contents

  Also by S. Massery

  Author’s Note

  Prologue

  1. Riley

  2. Eli

  3. Riley

  4. Eli

  5. Riley

  6. Eli

  7. Riley

  8. Riley

  9. Eli

  10. Riley

  11. Eli

  12. Riley

  13. Riley

  14. Eli

  15. Eli

  16. Riley

  17. Eli

  18. Riley

  19. Riley

  20. Eli

  21. Riley

  22. Riley

  23. Eli

  24. Riley

  25. Riley

  26. Riley

  27. Riley

  28. Eli

  29. Eli

  30. Riley

  31. Riley

  32. Eli

  33. Riley

  34. Riley

  Epilogue

  Also by S. Massery

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  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

  To my grandma:

  You might’ve been so scandalized by these stories,

  But so proud, too.

  Author’s Note

  WARNING: This book might very well mess with your head. The storylines deals with some traumatic subjects.

  Please feel free to email S. Massery for more information.

  Vicious Desire is a standalone, but it is recommended to read the Wicked trilogy first!

  Fallen Royals Series:

  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.

  Prologue

  Riley

  My gram used to say a million things had to line up just right for magic to happen. So many decisions, steps, stars aligning. All to bring us a moment.

  A split second alters your life forever.

  I always imagined she was talking about good magic. The kind that changes us for the better. One sudden crack of lightning, and suddenly we’re on a new path.

  I was so, so wrong.

  The magic I got was rotten, thick and cloying. It buried itself in my bones and made sure I never forgot about the moment.

  The split second.

  I spent all my wishes on something that blew up in my face.

  On a boy with an alluring smile and dark eyes.

  No.

  Eli Black is the sort of person I never should’ve looked twice at—and he never should’ve noticed me.

  But he did.

  And oh, how I wish he didn’t.

  1

  Riley

  I drop my keys on their hook, fixated on the postcard.

  Who sends freaking postcards?

  My best friend, that’s who.

  Wish you were here! she wrote. The picture is of the Empire State Building, like I’d never been to New York City before. Like I couldn’t jump in my car and be at her apartment in an hour and a half. It’s kind of cute, actually. It puts the city in a different perspective.

  It’s been three weeks since Margo left, and her departure has created a crater-sized hole in my chest. I didn’t realize how badly I needed a best friend until Margo infiltrated my life at the beginning of last year. School started a week ago, but no new friends have magically crawled out of the woodwork. In layman’s terms?

  I’m totally moping.

  I can’t blame Margo. I was used to being alone, so much so that loneliness was like a second skin. I was comfortable in it. Slept in it, breathed through it. Loneliness was my armor. Being around Margo, having a true friend… I shed that skin for friendship.

  We’re still friends, but I’m alone again.

  “Ri?” my brother yells. “Is that you?”

  I kick off my shoes and force myself to set the postcard down. Even the loops of her name create an ache in my chest. I take a deep breath and inhale an odd scent. “Yep. Are you… cooking?”

  “Stir-fry,” he calls.

  The smell is worse in the kitchen.

  Noah stands at the stove, rattling a pan back and forth over the flame.

  “Why?” I ask. That’s all I can manage.

  “Dr. Penn said I should try something new, and…” He shrugs. “Cooking is supposed to be good.”

  “If you don’t kill us.” I offer him a smile and slide the window open. It’s brisk outside, and my cheeks are getting hot. “Where did you find this stuff?”

  Boxes of rices line the counter along with bottles of mixed spices and soy sauce.

  I peer over his shoulder, eyeing the browning broccoli.

  “Jeez, Ri. You stink.”

  I elbow him. “Pretty sure that’s the food, dumbass.”

  “Yeah, maybe.” He grins.

  I hop onto the counter. It’s been a while since he and I have had the chance to really talk, and now seems as good a time as any.

  If we were in a different universe, he’d be at Yale, studying for some fancy bachelor’s degree. And I… well, I’d still be here.

  “Earth to Riley,” Noah says, pinching my thigh.

  I swat him away. “What?”

  “You get a weird look in your eye sometimes.”

  I sigh. “I was just imagining what it would be like to have a brother who cooked edible food.”

  But in reality, my mind goes down a different path: what it would be like if my brother wasn’t here at all.

  “You can talk to me, you know.” He clears his throat. “After what happened this summer…”

  “It’s fine.” I jump down and force myself to smile. “I’m going to shower. Save some of that slop for me.”

  I can already guarantee that Mom is in bed, and Dad will be out late.

  It’s a pattern. Everything goes along the same tracks, circling the same conversations, late nights, fights. We can’t fight it any more than we can fight Gram’s so-called magic, which I’m pretty sure is fate’s evil cousin.

  I’m halfway naked when my phone rings, buzzing against the bathroom
counter.

  Margo.

  “Long time no see,” I say.

  My chest goes all weird and tight again.

  “How did it go?” she asks. “Did you—”

  “Get your postcard? Yes.” I sit on the edge of the tub and rest my head on my hand. “I think the tryout went well. I ran home just to blow off steam.”

  She hums. “It’s going to be great. And school?”

  I swallow. “Apparently Jackie is the new captain of the cheerleading team. She seems comfortable on her pedestal.”

  Jackie was my friend once upon a time, along with a few other cheer girls—including Amelie and Savannah. We haven’t spoken since sophomore year.

  Margo sighs. “You should try to make friends. When do you find out if you made the—”

  “Cross-country team?” I pick at my nails. “Yeah, they offered me a spot. Everyone is kind of cold.”

  “Riley Appleton, when have you ever not done something because the people were a little cold?” Margo demands. “You love running. You love running so much, but you hid from it all last year. I’m still upset I didn’t find out about it until this summer.”

  I chuckle. “Yeah, well, it just fell to the wayside. You know how things go.”

  She certainly does. Caleb came into her life—or rather, back into her life—like a wrecking ball.

  The fact that Eli is all the way up in Maine eases some of the anxiety in my chest. He’s gone. No wrecking ball boys for me—he’s done enough damage to last a lifetime, thank you very much.

  Whenever I think of him, I imagine dumping his things across his living room floor.

  That was the last time I actually spoke to him.

  Did he try to speak to me after that? Yes.

  Did I listen? No.

  I’ve held strong… and I even went so far as to make sure he never tries to beg for forgiveness. What Eli Black did was unforgivable.

  So I did something unforgivable back.

  “...coming home for Thanksgiving.”

  I frown, taking a moment to berate myself for letting my thoughts slip. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out what she was saying, though.

  “That’s months away,” I protest. “You’re not coming home any sooner?”

  “Our colleges—both of them—advised that we not go home on weekends. Apparently it is detrimental to becoming adults.” She snorts. “I wish I could make that shit up. Don’t they know Caleb and I already…”

  I tilt my head, straining to hear in the background, for the reason she would’ve just stopped. Caleb and Margo live in New York City, but they go to different schools. I’m hoping to join Margo at NYU next year, if...

  “Dad’s coming over for dinner,” she tells me. “I’ve got to go.”

  “Oh, okay.” Disappointment is hard to swallow.

  “We can talk this weekend, okay?”

  In a way, I’m the girlfriend who got left behind.

  I shove the emotions away and fake a smile. Mom once said a fake smile will make your voice brighter, even if you don’t mean it. And I definitely don’t mean it now, when all I’d like to do is scream at Margo to come home.

  Stop it, Riley.

  “This weekend is great,” I say. “Have fun!”

  “You, too. Go meet a cute nice boy or something.”

  My stomach inexplicably twists. “Will do.”

  I’m not a broken person. In fact, I’ve come a long way since last year. Just a few months from now will mark a full year of being single.

  I shower quickly, unable to allow even that time to feel sorry for myself. It’s easy to cry in a shower—that’s common knowledge—but the truly difficult part is holding yourself together. It’s torture in a way.

  Instead, I focus on school. Everyone’s been leaving me alone since Eli graduated. I dropped off the radar, plain and simple. I need to stay off the radar and concentrate on my grades. It’s the last push before I send in my NYU application…

  That, and my personal essay.

  What sort of devil invented the personal essay? Who likes talking about themselves? Not only that, it has to be interesting and individual. Unique.

  There are over seven billion people on the planet.

  I’m not unique.

  I’m just trying to survive.

  I latch on to that: survival instinct. I don’t need emotion. I’ll just do the work. Run on the damn cross-country team. And wish on a shooting star that I get into NYU.

  2

  Eli

  Riley Appleton thinks I’m hours away.

  She would prefer that I forgot about her, left her behind.

  That was never my plan—only hers.

  We were going to be happy, her and I. That was the path we were on before the fucking path blew up in our faces. Now we’re both coated in the ashes of our former relationship, and I can’t wait to smear it across her pretty face.

  Show her that the bully she knew before has nothing on the person I’ve become.

  Ruined.

  She moves in front of the window, carrying a plate of food. Her brother is right behind her. He’s thinner than I remember, lost some of the muscle he carried in high school. They transferred in his senior year, but he made an impact as a soccer player. And little Riley, the quiet freshman, had been tucked under Amelie’s wing.

  Hmm, now that I think about it, Riley has a way of detonating all her relationships.

  It’s a wonder she’s still close to Margo.

  I suppress the rage rattling my bones.

  I came here for one thing: to see her. To give in to the need clawing at my throat.

  It’s been a year since she spoke to me, and I craved the sound of her voice. I dreamt of it for months. Of us. Of what could’ve possibly happened for her trust in me to shatter.

  She and her brother sit on the couch and turn on the television. A bit of the screen is visible through the window, the couch positioned perfectly to give me a profile view of Riley’s upper body.

  They’re not talkers, those two. I’m not sure they’ve ever had a real conversation in their lives. If I were there—as I often was—I’d be the one running my mouth. Sometimes I can’t shut up.

  I stay at their curb in a borrowed car for far too long.

  Long enough that the neighbors might get suspicious about the idling, older-model car. Dad just bought it a few months ago to fix up, but he hasn’t got very far. He said he wanted something to keep his hands busy when he wasn’t working.

  It’s laughable. He’s always working.

  I spent more time on this car than he ever did, meticulously following books and diagrams to switch out engine parts, to clean the undercarriage and replace broken or damaged pieces.

  It runs just fine now, but it sure is ugly.

  I lean forward when Riley does. It’s unconscious, mirroring her movements.

  My enchantress.

  She once snared my attention without trying, and she’s held it ever since.

  If only it wasn’t laced with real anger. If she hadn’t stabbed me in the back.

  If, if, if.

  There’s no fixing the past. We’re beyond that.

  I craved her voice, but now all I want are her screams.

  3

  Riley

  My alarm is an awful, horrible thing. It beeps at me at five o’clock, when the sky is lightening, but the sunrise is still a long way off.

  I roll out of bed and stumble around my room, doing my best impression of a morning routine. Brush my teeth, pull my hair back into a ponytail, dress in running gear. I lace my shoes up tightly and slip my water bottle’s elastic around my wrist.

  Noah’s door is shut, and my parents’ bedroom door is closed, too. It seems to be the new normal—everyone locks themselves away.

  My dad appears in the doorway and follows me downstairs.

  “You should carry pepper spray,” he says for the hundredth time. “Just in case.”

  “It’s Rose Hill, Dad.” Nothing bad
ever happens in Rose Hill, where the median income is over a hundred thousand dollars. I don’t run close enough to Stone Ridge to justify it.

  “Think about it.” He kisses my cheek. “I’ll have coffee on when you get back.”

  I smile. The first real one of the day. They’re generally reserved for Dad. He’ll leave for work as soon as I get home, and we won’t see him until after dinner… maybe not at all.

  His job in the city exploded in the last year. He works longer hours because he’s in high demand, and no one deserves it more than he does.

  “How far today?” he asks.

  “Five miles on Thursdays.”

  He nods. “And another three at practice?”

  “I’ll be a marathoner before you know it.”

  “Have fun. I’ll pick up Mace or something.”

  I roll my eyes, but it’s nice that he cares. It’s the little things.

  The air is colder than I expected for mid-September, and the clouds hang low.

  I shake off my nerves—they always creep up before a run—and break into a jog. I’ll take the first mile or so slow, then pick up the pace.

  Running invigorates me. I can actually breathe at this time of day.

  I zip along the familiar streets, navigating cracks in the sidewalk. Our neighborhood has a little park in the center, a grassy lawn and walking paths. It connects to a recently renovated trail through the woods. It loops neatly, but there’s also the option to keep going, all the way along a fast-paced stream to the state park.