SWNOVELS Cruel King: Chapter 6
You could’ve escaped the battle, but you asked for a bloody war.
Coach yells at the front lines, his voice reverberating over the pitch like he’s a general at war. Or maybe he’s the strategist.
The royal blue baseball cap with RES’s golden crown covers his bald head.
He rolls his notes into what resembles a bat that he doesn’t hesitate to strike the slacking players with.
We just finished our first practice game for the season. The main team lost against the second-year team. Two to nill.
Two to fucking nill.
The negative energy radiating off Coach Larson is like a black halo over my mood.
The two teams stand in straight lines opposite one another as Coach paces between us.
The second team wear neon yellow over the team’s jersey while my team have the official royal blue jerseys and white shorts.
“Ladies,” Larson snarls, his small eyes and bushy brows give him a meaner, harsher look. “Is this how we’re starting the season after last year’s defeat?”
“No, Sir,” all of us yell.
“I didn’t hear you, girls.”
“No, Sir!” we bellow.
He nods as he continues his back and forth with his hands crossed behind his back. The paper bat hits his spine with every move. “The school might put you on a pedestal, but that’s only because you’re getting Royal Elite’s name out there. The moment you stop benefitting the board, the team is gone.”
A few murmurs break amongst the players, but they know better than to interrupt Coach.
“What did you think? Your parents pay for your education, not sports. Royal Elite is all about academics. The only reason they indulge with a few sports teams is because they want to promote that the school isn’t all about nerdy, snobbish teenagers. Are we or are we not going to prove to them that we breathe football?”
“We are!”
“Are we or are we not going to win the schools’ championship this year?”
“We are!”
“I didn’t hear you.”
“We. Are!”
“Captain.” Coach stops in front of me with a dark look.
He doesn’t approve of the way I’m leading the team since the finals’ loss in July, but he also knows I’m the reason they’re in check. He might be the strategist, but I’m the leader of the troops on the field. Besides, he trusts I won’t allow anything to screw this up. We both want that championship.
“I need results.”
“You will get them, Sir.”
Still standing in front of me, he points at Daniel, one of the benching players. “Good game, Sterling. You held the fort.”
He smirks in that cocky way that half sports’ players have.
Coach moves to Chris who’s standing beside me and gives him a harsh glare. “Vans. You’re out of the startup line next game.” He throws a look over his shoulder at the opposite team. “Astor, you’re in. Show me what you got, boy.”
“Yes, Coach!” Ronan grins like a goofball.
Coach Larson heads into the locker with his assistant coaches and the medical trainer trailing after him.
Chris lunges forward, to start a scene with Coach, no doubt.
I stand in his way, blocking his path. He’s like a bull, eyes black and jaw clenching. I hit my shoulder against his and shake my head.
“Fuck this, King!” He spits out. “I won’t give up my position for a second year.”
“Maybe you should’ve played better, huh?” Ronan waggles his eyebrows.
My gaze meets my cousin Aiden’s bored one and I say in a levelled tone, “Take him away.”
“Naw.” Ronan jumps in place, ducking on his own. “Come at me, bro.”
“Ronan,” I warn. He’s treating it as fun and games, but Chris is volatile as shit right now.
And most of the time, really.
Aiden clutches Ronan’s arm while Xander pushes him from the other side.
“Just to be clear,” Xander, a striker and a little wanker, throws over his shoulder. “This has been long overdue, Chris. You don’t deserve a place on the team since the summer.”
Aiden offers me a knowing look before he, Xander, Ronan, and Cole stalk to the locker rooms.
They’re nicknamed the four horsemen because whenever they’re on the field, they bring conquest, war, famine, and eventually death.
I call them the four fuckers.
Aiden, Xander, and Cole snatched their positions from the seniors. Ronan is the last to join.
The rest of the second-year players follow Aiden and his band of thieves. I might be the captain, but if they had to choose, they’ll probably take the ‘young’ King’s side.
Chris continues lunging forward like a train losing its course. Zach and Alex, two seniors, try to pull him back, but it’s like he’s on RedBull — or fucking drugs judging from his performance.
I swing my fist and punch him in the chest. He stops with stupefaction written all over his face. The rest of the senior players and the freshmen watch for my reaction, unblinking.
“What the fuck was that for?” Chris spits out.
“For losing your place.”
“It was Coach, he —”
I get in his face. “Did Coach play with your legs? Did he let Aiden score the first and lose the ball to Xander so he can score the second? Did he leave the defence like a pathetic deserted land?”
“Well, no, but —”
“No buts, Chris.” I point a finger at his chest. “You’ve been playing like shit since the quarterfinal game and during summer camp. If you don’t snatch your place back from Ronan, you’re out. For. Fucking. Good. I don’t need half-wits on my team.”
He opens his mouth to say something, but I’m not listening anymore. The rest of the players part as I make my way to the showers.
Christopher and I are friends. Maybe not exactly friends, but colleagues. We both liked the high of alcohol, cigarettes and girls.
We’ve been rebels against our last names and families.
I loathe my uncle and he hates his uptight father who’s the metropolitan police’s deputy commissioner. Chris and I found each other on detention when we were juniors and bonded.
If there’s trouble, we shit all over it. Both of us live for that disapproving look on our guardians’ faces.
We even bet on whether his father or my uncle will pay the largest cheque to the school to cover all the trouble we cause year in and year out.
But Chris has been spiralling out of control. He’s been a knee too deep in the excitement part, he doesn’t even play decently anymore.
Football isn’t only a game for me. It’s not a high of the moment and a pumping of adrenaline. It isn’t the roaring of the crowd or the chants.
It’s a state of mind.
It’s the only fucking thing I own in a life that’s shackled by Uncle’s chains.
Football is the only thing I’m doing for myself and no one will fucking take it away from me.
For that, I need to take care of a certain princess problem that’s two months overdue.
Aiden and his band of thieves walk with me to the car park, all chatting about the upcoming game. Or more like, Ronan and Xander are bickering while Aiden and Cole shake their heads at them.
Chris left without even going into the locker room. Half the reason why I unleashed on him in front of everyone is because I know he holds grudges. Here’s to hoping he’ll release it on the pitch by finally sobering up and snatching his place back.
“I’m telling you, fuckers, I want hookers on my birthday.” Ronan taps his chest. “That’s the least you can do for all the parties I throw you all year round.”
Xander throws a jab to his side. “And what, you want one that comes out from the cake, too?”
“Fuck yeah.” His eyes twinkle. “All in bunny uniform, s’il te plait.”
“Bestiality alert.” Cole deadpans.
“Fuck off, Cole.” Ronan glares. “Don’t kill the fantasy.”
“Okay, hold on. Let me get this straight. So we’re getting hookers sent to… a House of Lords’ member. Like hello, hookers house, can you send some bunny strippers to Earl Astor’s mansion?” Xan laughs. “You realise they might send us the police or… I don’t know some MI6 agents?”
“Chill, arsehole. We’ll do it in the summer house.” He waggles his eyebrows. “Test time. My best friend will hire hookers for me. Raise your hand, but don’t push… I know you all want to.”
He turns in our direction to find all of us staring. Except for Xan and Cole who are laughing.
“Come on, anyone? Cake bunny hookers are my fucking fantasy.”
“And we have to make your fantasies come true because…” Aiden trails off with a poker face.
“Because I would’ve made your fantasies come true in return!” Ronan pauses. “Wait no. That didn’t come out right. I have some disturbing images right now.”
Xan waggles his eyebrows. “Like?”
“Like Cole and Aiden’s kinky shit. I’m not making that rubbish happen.” He pauses. “Back to my fantasy. It’s completely doable. Anyone?”
Aiden shakes his head. “Pass.”
“Besides,” Cole recovers from his fit of laughter. “You do realise that none of us is old enough to hire hookers.”
“Captain is.” Ronan meets my gaze with puppy eyes.
“Stop looking at me like that or you’ll be the only cake bunny hooker on your birthday.”
The guys burst out laughing, both Xander and Cole teasing Ronan who’s sulking and swearing that he’s not throwing any parties for us anymore.
Aiden falls back in step with me, letting his friends trudge ahead. “I heard you punched Vans.”
Except for his friends and me, everyone is a last name to Aiden. He doesn’t even bother to learn people’s names.
“Why?” I ask. “You’re going to tell your daddy about it?”
Aiden raises an eyebrow. “Do you honestly think Jonathan needs me to tell him anything that happens in this school?”
I scoff.
He probably has paparazzi on us or some shit. Jonathan King owns this school — and probably everyone in it.
There was a coffee shop that Aiden and I frequented a lot. What did Jonathan do? He bought the fucking thing.
But hey, he didn’t do it blindly just because he’s a control freak and wants to cage us from every corner. No. That’s not how the tycoon of King Entreprises works.
He studied the place like hell first and only took over the thing when he knew that it’d be two hundred per cent profitable.
Oh, and yeah, he abso-fucking-lutely sent his harem of lawyers and PR team to intimidate the owners into selling.
“You’re playing with fire, Lev.” Aiden’s words bring me back to the present.
I stop and face him so we’re toe-to-toe. Only I have a few inches on him. “Yeah?”
“One miss.” He raises an index finger. “Whether it’s alcohol, fights, or any disaster, and you’re done for with my daddy. It’s checkmate.”
My jaw clenches so hard, my teeth hurt. I want to pummel Aiden into the wall and punch that smug look off his face.
Before I can act on the impulse and give Uncle the trouble he’s been pining for, Ronan’s high-pitched voice breaks the tension. “Oh. Shit.”
Cole winces as he throws me a look over his shoulder.
“What is it?” I walk ahead of Aiden and stop short in front of my black Jaguar.
On the windshield, there’s something written in white paint.
‘Run along, King. You don’t need to beg for it.’