Cruel Prince (Royal Hearts Academy, #1)(40)

I zoom in as she discards her green apron and reaches for a broom. She starts sweeping but pauses to shove her hand inside the pocket of her jeans.

A few seconds later her earbuds are firmly in place and she’s singing while she cleans.

I know exactly what song is pumping through her eardrums the moment she starts mouthing the lyrics.

“Sic Transit Gloria...Glory Fades” by Brand New.

Stupid name for a song, but it doesn’t take away from its worth.

Gritting my teeth, I tap my touch screen stereo and the taunting melody with cryptic lyrics fills my speakers.

The first time Dylan played it for me, I told her it reminded me of a cat and mouse chase gone wrong.

The irony isn’t lost on me tonight.

Neither is the way Dylan’s beginning to sway to the music.

The jeans and t-shirt she’s wearing aren’t particularly sexy, but the way the denim hugs her razor-sharp hipbones and molds around the curve of her ass as she moves to the beat most definitely is.

My dick stirs to life as I continue watching, but I’m too turned on to stop or scold myself for it.

Truth be told, I prefer this to our exchange in the closet where it took every ounce of willpower—the kind I wasn’t aware someone like me possessed—not to spread her thighs and watch my cock disappear inside her.

Observing her through a screen allows me the chance to let my dirty fantasies roam without the impending guilty conscience that always follows.

Here, in my car, I can pretend Dylan isn’t the conniving traitor she is, but the girl I once believed she was.

The one I broke the rules for.

Including the most important one of all.

Her phone falls out of her pocket due to her movements and she bends over to pick it up, granting me an even better view of her round behind.

I bite my knuckle as a punch of white-hot heat licks down my cock. “Fuck.”

I press my hand against my zipper to ease the ache, but it only makes it worse. Especially when she puts her hair up and I catch sight of the bite mark I left on her neck.

My other hand tightens around the steering wheel. I want to sink my teeth into every inch of her flawless flesh. Show her how much she makes my blood burn and my skin crawl.

How much she fucks me up.

I bet if I knocked on the door right now, she’d let me in. And with enough convincing from my mouth and fingers, I’d have her bent over the counter, taking every inch of my punishing dick hard and fast from behind.

Mind spinning, I grip my door handle.

And then it happens…just like it always does.

Guilt sinks its claws into my chest.

He never got to have a job.

Why should she?

Scrubbing a hand down my face, I inhale a breath and turn off my stereo.

Get your head in the game, asshole.

I eye the crowbar on the floor of my passenger seat.

The plan was to come here right after her shift so I could frame her for robbing her boss and get her fired. Not jerk off while she dances and sings.

Dylan Taylor doesn’t get to be happy.

She deserves nothing but misery and heartache. The same kind she inflicted on me and my family.

Peering down at the screen, I watch her wipe down the glass countertop.

She’ll be closing shop in a few more minutes.

I scan the parking lot for Tommy’s car since he was the one who dropped her off, but there’s no sign of it.

Good. I won’t have to slam my crowbar into his skull and spend the next twenty-five-to-life in jail.

Pressing a few keys on my laptop, I shut the video camera off for the night so I won’t get caught.

After putting on my gloves, I reach over the seat for my crowbar at the same time my phone starts vibrating.

Oakley’s name flashes across the screen, but I ignore it.

When it goes off a second time in under a minute, I press a button on my steering wheel and accept the call.

The fucker is relentless, and he’ll keep dialing until I answer. Especially now that he knows I’m ticked at him for befriending Dylan.

“Yo.”

I stuff the crowbar into the pocket of my black hoodie and flip my hood. “What’s up?”

“Not much, running a few errands. Was wondering if you wanted to meet up for a little impromptu smoke sesh.”

Ordinarily I would, but fuck him and his weed for defying me. “Can’t. I’m busy tonight.”

“Oh, word? What you getting into? Maybe I’ll swing by.”

I should tell him it’s none of his business, but if shit goes south, I could use the alibi. “I’m chilling with Britney.”

I leave the implication hanging in the air.

“Interesting,” he muses.

I don’t have time to deal with him being butthurt or passive-aggressive about being snubbed. He did it to himself.

“Yeah. Catch you lat—”

My driver side door opens. Shit.

“Britney?” Oakley ducks his head inside my car. “Unless she’s in the trunk, I’d say you’re a fucking liar.” Quirking an eyebrow, he assesses me. “And unless you’re planning on skiing down the roof of that building, I’d say it also looks like you’re about to do something really dumb.”

Ripping my ski mask off, I shove him back and step out of my car. “Fuck off.”

He lights up a joint. “Is there a way to fuck on? If so, I’d much rather do that.”