Lost Boys: A Dark High School Bully Romance (Crazy Vicious Love Book 1) Read online

  Lost Boys

  Crazy Vicious Love #1

  Eva Ashwood

  Copyright © 2019 by Eva Ashwood

  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.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Thank You For Reading

  One

  Twelve o’clock, pre-dinner preparations underway. Guest rooms cleaned, first course prepped.

  Three o’clock, grounds inspected, driveway tidied, decorations begin going up.

  Five o’clock, Mom and Dad prepare for the evening, dressed and groomed for greeting guests.

  Six o’clock, guests arrive. Cordelia begins getting ready. Cocktails served downstairs in main hall.

  Seven o’clock, Cordelia downstairs. Pre-dinner socializing.

  The itinerary repeated in my head: twelve, three, five, six, seven. Mom always liked our dinners running smoothly—and for my mother, that meant every minute, every second, was planned down to the letter, every ‘i’ dotted, every ‘t’ crossed and absolutely nothing out of place.

  Least of all, me.

  I sat in my room at my vanity, the sounds of orchestral strings and tinkling brass drifting up from downstairs where my mother and father’s guests were surely sipping from flutes of expensive wine, helping themselves to hors d’oeuvres, and talking amongst themselves about their next big investment or whose heiress daughter was going to marry their sons.

  It was a scene I was intimately familiar with. After all, this had been my life for the last seventeen years.

  I’d been born into this world, and I knew my place in it. As the only child of Elizabeth and Gideon van Rensselaer, I was to remain poised and proper at all times, with never a hair out of place, a lash uncurled, nor a stray comment from my mouth that could bring some unspoken shame to my parents. I was the perfect vessel to carry on the family legacy; the only thing that could’ve made me more perfect in my parents’ eyes was if I had been born a boy.

  “There we go Ms. Cora. Ah, aren’t you stunning?”

  Ava stepped out from behind me, examining me with satisfaction. She’d been with my parents for as long as I could remember. A kind woman in her forties, her fawn-brown hair was always pulled back in a thick bun, and her warm, round face wore a smile that could melt the coldest of demeanors.

  In some ways, she was like a second mother to me. She had taught me how to tie my shoes and how to braid my own hair—before my actual mother had declared braids too “common”. When I’d started my period, she was the one I’d gone to, and the one who’d gone out of her way to make sure I had everything I needed to weather that particular storm. I talked to her about boys, because it was just… easier. Knowing my mother, it wasn’t hard to see why.

  I smiled at her in the reflection and looked at her handiwork. My hair fell in thick blonde ringlets around my face, which was lightly made up with just the right amount of product to highlight my natural features. Heavy makeup, according to my mother, was gauche. Choosing to live on the wild side, Ava had even given me a bit of a glow this evening—a dusting of shimmery silvery powder at my cheeks and along my exposed collar bone, just for a slight pop. It contrasted well with the deep green dress my mother had chosen for the evening, one that matched the shade of my eyes. Rensselaer jade, they were called among my mother and father’s peers. Our social circles knew them well.

  My red painted lips quirked, and I stood up, turning to Ava.

  “It looks incredible. You always make me look lovely,” I said. “That’s good. I know Mom and Dad want tonight to go perfectly.”

  “Hm.” Ava pursed her lips, something she did when she had something to say but was too polite to actually say it. “Well, if there’s going to be anything perfect tonight, it’s going to be you, my dear girl. And just think of all the handsome young men I’m sure your father’s invited. They won’t be able to take their eyes off you.”

  I flushed.

  “Well, I know that Dad invited the Kings. Their son is… Well, I haven’t met him personally, but I’m sure he’s nice.”

  Ava chuckled and nudged me toward my door.

  “I’ll clean up; you go on. Your mother has you on a strict presentation schedule. Wouldn’t want to do anything to disrupt that,” she said, her mouth twitching into an almost-smile.

  I laughed a little, leaving her to tidy the vanity and clear away the clothes I’d been wearing before I’d put on the green dress. I knew that by the time I came back up to my room later tonight, tired from socializing and ready to collapse into bed, the room would be spotless again, not a thing out of place.

  Ava took care of me like that.

  My family’s manor was expansive. We—my family, the van Rensselaer line—were often referred to as American Royalty, and if that were true, our home was definitely our palace. My father’s family were old steel and oil tycoons who had diversified over the years; Dad had his hands deep in real estate and investments these days. My mother, a Stratler before she married my father, came from a family of textile producers, though there wasn’t much money left to the Stratler name these days. She barely ever talked about her side of the family. Anytime I asked about them, she told me there wasn’t anything worth talking about.

  Leaving my bedroom at exactly 6:55 p.m., I walked through halls of mahogany and gilded oak, decorated with tapestries and paintings of our ancestors, knowing that one day it would be my job to do what my parents were doing now—make sure our legacy ran strong and true with every new generation, and that no one could have a reason to forget or talk ill of the van Rensselaer name.

  I doubted that would happen during the festivities tonight. No one who’d been invited this evening had any reason to dislike my family—and they had plenty of reasons to want to get along well with Mom and Dad. My father’s friendship and good word had started business empires.

  As I descended the large set of double stairs to the sounds of voices, laughter, and music, I shoved down the little thrill of nerves that ran up my spine. I was no stranger to these kinds of events, but part of me still hated being put on display like this. My parents always made my entrance the final and grandest one. Given the volume of conversation drifting up toward me, it felt like the entirety of the Baltimore elite was in our house.

  Well, to be honest, they likely were.

  The
adults were already well into the merriment, with a few of the sons and daughters mingling with their own flutes of wine and champagne. Rules could be bent when it came to a van Rensselaer party. Guests turned when they saw me appear at the top of the large, curving staircase. It had been built for just this sort of grand entrance, and I made sure not to glance down at my feet as I walked down, my dress brushing each step as I descended with perfect grace. More than one appreciative glance came my way, and with each one, no matter who it was from, I returned a smile. Just like Mom had taught me. Appreciation given deserves appreciation in return.

  I passed by the Carlsons, giving Mr. and Mrs. Carlson a sweet nod on my way past them. Then the Remingtons, the Ellises, the Beaumonts—families that had almost the same clout that Mom and Dad had. Almost, because Dad always had just a little more. It was a status that the van Rensselaer family had always ensured they were able to boast.

  Eventually, I found Mom and Dad, a pair of divinity in the crowd.

  Mom was a vision in red. A deep wine gown perfectly complemented her blonde hair, which was the same color as mine—white-gold, like spun flax. Dad stood next to her, his tailored black suit embellished with accents of the same wine red that Mom’s dress carried.

  They matched, a perfect set, and I was the combination of the two of them. Mom’s blonde hair and grace, and Dad’s green eyes and resilience.

  When I reached them, I dipped my head slightly. I didn’t have a close relationship with either of them, but whatever affection we might show on a normal day was turned down even further at an elegant party like this. Over-affection was the enemy of poise, and for one of Mom and Dad’s parties, poise was always paramount.

  “Mom, Dad,” I greeted instead. “I hope I haven’t missed out on too much?”

  “Cordelia.” Dad beamed at me, his hands on my shoulders as he kept me at arm’s length, appraising me. “My, my, you were right, Elizabeth; the green certainly brings out the beautiful shade of her eyes.” He fingered a coil of my hair, smoothing it out before giving a nod. “Perfect. Now, let’s see if we can find Sebastian. I wanted you to meet his son, Barrett.”

  I nodded and took Dad’s left arm as he moved through the crowd with Mom on the other side of him. It was always how we made our rounds; Dad in the center, the head of the house, the pillar that kept the van Rensselaer family together, and the two prized women of the house—his wife, always prim and dutiful, and his daughter. Like my arrival, our trek through the grand entrance was marked by greetings, smiles, compliments given, and compliments paid.

  When we walked up to Sebastian King, something shifted.

  Dad straightened out his suit, preened himself almost, as though he were the one who needed to go out of his way to impress. My brow rose, but only for a moment as Dad began the pleasantries, his deep voice smooth and commanding as ever. Sebastian, a charismatic man with salt-and-pepper hair, grinned at the three of us. I would never say it aloud, but he looked almost wolfish. I could say the same for his son, Barrett.

  Barrett had hair longer than most boys in our circles, neat and slicked back from his face, save for a few strands that fell over his eyes—like his father’s eyes, they were a deep, warm amber. I’d seen him in passing before, and where his father gave off a jovial, effortlessly confident air in the way he held himself, Barrett had a different aura about him.

  More dangerous.

  Lascivious.

  Suddenly, I felt less eager to meet him properly, no matter how handsome he was—but I knew that simply leaving was out of the question.

  “Ah, Sebastian, I almost forgot. You’ve met my daughter, Cordelia. But I don’t believe that she and Barrett have met?” My father smiled even more broadly as he made the introduction.

  “Pleasure to meet you,” Barrett said before his father could speak. He took my hand, pressing a kiss to the top of it. His lips lingered there as he looked me in the eyes with that wolfish gaze of his.

  If I thought him a wolf, what did he think of me?

  A little rabbit to be slain?

  I pulled my hand from him politely. Dad and Sebastian exchanged a look, Dad giving a nod and Sebastian smirking before the two older men and my mother slipped from us. And just like that, I was left alone with Barrett.

  It’s strange, the feeling of isolation when you’re surrounded by people.

  “Likewise.” Forcing a smile, I ignored the way his touch had made my spine tingle, and not in any sort of pleasurable way. “It’s a shame I’ve known your father so long, but we haven’t been introduced.”

  Barrett laughed, a cocky, lecherous grin tilting his lips. “Well, if we had, I’m sure we wouldn’t be spending the evening hammering out pleasantries. At least, not in a room full of people.” His head tilted as he sized me up. “It is a shame though. I’ve heard so much about the van Rensselaer’s gem. I can see why people call you that with those eyes of yours. You must be popular with the other sons.”

  The only indication that the comment stung was the slight clench in my jaw—but I knew better than to let it show. Instead, I did what I knew. I smiled.

  “Only with the ones I choose,” I said. “Though—if you’ll excuse me. I think my father’s trying to get my attention. It was nice to meet you, Barrett.”

  Before Barrett I-Don’t-Know-How-To-Act-In-Public King could say anything else in response, I gave a slight curtsey and slipped away.

  I had a feeling that wouldn’t be the last I saw of him, but for now, I could at least curb some of the discomfort of being in his presence. And the easiest way to do that was by removing myself from it.

  Of course, Dad hadn’t called to me. In fact, he’d be angry to know I excused myself from talking to Barrett so quickly, given the fact that he’d sought the boy and his father out specifically to make the introduction. But that was okay. Just this once, I was willing to risk Dad’s ire. I didn’t want to let him think for a second that I liked Barrett—I knew he was starting to give consideration to my future, to finding a good match for me, and I’d rather chew my own arm off than go on a date with Sebastian King’s creepy eldest son.

  I intended to slip outside, just for a moment. Just enough time to allow Barrett to find someone else to speak with, and for me to scan the crowd to actually find my father and mother. I also needed to come up with a reason for walking away from Barrett like I had. I knew there was more than just an innocent reason that my father had introduced the two of us. He would have questions, and I would need to be able to answer them smoothly.

  Just a moment alone, just a moment to breathe.

  With the number of people in the mansion, it would be easy to disappear—

  But before I could do any of that, a commotion from the front foyer made me stop. Raised voices carried even over the music, until the musicians my father had hired stopped playing entirely. A ripple of shock went through the air, palpable.

  One by one, several large, uniformed men—armed men—parted the crowd of partygoers. What’s the phrase people like to use? Like the Red Sea? Only there was no Moses, and certainly nothing biblical in the sight before me. Disbelief clouded my brain, almost refusing to let me believe what I was seeing was real.

  “Everybody stay back,” the officer in the front said. His voice boomed, echoing deep with authority. Everyone in the grand entrance was silent, keeping their distance from the imposing figures filing into my home. Uniformed officers gave way to a man and woman in pressed suits, badges attached to their chests.

  “Gideon van Rensselaer. Can you please step forward?” that same officer in the front said.

  What the hell was going on?

  I scanned the room quickly, waiting to see if my father would come forward as commanded. In my entire seventeen years, I had never seen that man obey commands in his own home.

  He gave them. Always.

  But tonight, the world turned upside down. Dad moved forward out of the crowd as the officer had demanded, our guests parting for him as surely as they had parted for the offi
cers in question. The room was completely silent, as if the sudden appearance of what amounted to nearly an entire SWAT team in our home had snuffed out all the sound in the house.

  As my father came to a halt, my attention was pulled between him and the man who had called to him.

  The man was bigger than my father. Taller. Broader. Scarier.

  “What’s the meaning of this?” Dad asked. Confusion and anger filled his expression, but he still sounded calm—like he was still the head of his house and he knew it. Confidence and relief flooded me at the sound of my father’s voice. That sound had reassured me ever since I was a little girl, because when Dad spoke, the bad things went away.

  For the first time since the officers had invaded the party, I was able to take a full breath.

  It’s okay. Everything is going to be okay.

  “The meaning of this is you’re under arrest, Gideon van Rensselaer.”

  My father paled.

  “Arrested? Arrested for what? On what grounds?”

  “Felony fraud, Mr. van Rensselaer.”

  Two

  The world stopped in the moments after the officer made his declaration. Felony fraud? My father? No. They had to have the wrong man. Business could be messy, I knew that much, but my father would never—

  Officers began to spread out in our home as guests made prompt exits. People who had been friends with my family for years slipped off as though they would rather be anywhere else but here. Even Sebastian… I saw him as one of the first to leave, with Barrett at his side. He didn’t even look at me. For all his posturing earlier, it was a cold slap in the face.