Dirty Wicked Prince (Court Legacy Book 1)

Sloane

The screams hit the moment I braked at the stop light. A woman on the sidewalk just ran past my car.

A hooded dude sprinted behind her.

He chased her. He was big and broad, and I had a moment of: what the fuck?

I watched the pair in shock, an actual emergency taking place in front of my eyes. The light changed, but I pulled over and left my car. The man had chased her around the corner, and in a panic, I rounded my dad’s old Chevelle to the back.

I popped the trunk, hoping my dad’s baseball bat was still in there. The screams continued down the block, and I wrestled around until I found the bat.

And something else.

My father had a legit air horn back here, one of those with the funnel and everything. I wished I’d been surprised.

“Stop it!” the woman screamed, running backwards. “What do you want?”

My gaze shot forward, and I left my trunk. I left my car and all sense included. To make myself appear more intimidating, I pulled my long hair in, then tugged my hood up. I raced down the street in an act of bravery I most certainly didn’t have after that.

The woman’s screams led me on.

I found the pair pretty quick, the woman on the ground and the guy above her trying to get her up. It was easily a guy. He was huge, large back and even longer limbs.

“Get up, you little bitch,” he growled at her, tugging her. His voice was distorted and weird like he had some kind of scrambler on it. She kicked at him from the ground with her tennis shoes, and he cursed. “Fucking cunt. If you don’t get up and make this easy, I swear to God—”

“Eh, motherfucker!”

Dude whipped around.

He wore a skull mask.

Like a full, evil skeleton mask and the hoodie and all-black attire made him even more intimidating. I had no idea what age he was, couldn’t tell since he was dressed head to toe in black. He could have easily been older or even around my age, eighteen. “What the fuck—”

I raised my bat, ready to knock this guy’s goddamn head off. “Want to test me? I’ll knock your fucking nuts off. No fucks given.” I gripped the bat with a confidence I most certainly didn’t have, and maybe the guy saw that, because he merely tilted his head like I was crazy. He started to stride in my direction, but then I raised the air horn. I shook my head. “Don’t take another fucking step.”

I started to squeeze the button, but he shook his head.

“Fucking crazy-ass,” his weird voice growled before doing a little jog backwards. He raised his hands, washing them of me apparently. He sprinted down the block around the corner, and I could breathe again.

I dropped the bat, my adrenaline pulsating. The woman sat on her side, rubbing her hip, and I ran over to her. “You okay?”

She seemed like it, rolling to her front. She was older than me, middle-aged and with exceedingly red hair. She had gathered it up in a messy bun, and with all that Lycra she wore, something told me this woman had been out for a run tonight.

“Fine. I’m okay,” she huffed, brushing her legs off. She sat upright. “Could have been worse. Would have been if you hadn’t have come.”

I supposed it’d been a good thing I’d been driving past. I placed my hands on my legs. “Can you get up? Do you need help?”

I could call someone, but when I offered, she passed that off. She did, on the other hand, allow me to help her up.

She brushed herself off. “I’m not parked far from here. Little miscreant thought he could rob me blind. Though, I told him I had no money. I don’t carry any when I go out jogging.”

Sometimes that unfortunately didn’t matter and did make me kind of scared. I’d just moved here myself and would like to leave my house if I felt like it without getting friggin’ assaulted.

“This a common thing around here?” I asked her, the woman getting herself together. “Being robbed? I have to say that wasn’t on the brochure when I came to town.”

Not that I’d gotten one, or really anything. My brother, Bru, and I had just gotten here a couple days ago, and we’d come with very little to our name. We really didn’t have anything. Never had.

The woman gazed up at me after what I said, her expression curious. “Oh, did you just move?”

Nodding, I acknowledged that. “Yeah, my brother, Bru, and I start school on Monday.”

“Which school?”

“Windsor Preparatory Academy?” I stated, her eyes flashing for some reason. “Why?”

After she got herself straightened up, she stood tall before me. She placed a hand on her chest. “I’m actually the headmaster,” she said, then gave me her hand. “Elaine Mayberry. Though, I suppose on Monday you’ll be calling me Principal Mayberry or Dr. Mayberry. My students call me either or.”

Well, this was a small world. I shook her hand. “Please tell me school’s a little less rough than casually striding down the streets of Maywood Heights.”

Really, I thought this would be a sleeper town, not much going on.

I compared it to bigger. Bru and I came from Chicago, so needless to say a city of less than two hundred thousand and surrounded by cornfields would be completely different for us.

Principal Mayberry didn’t say anything at first, but she did smile at me. She placed her other hand on top of mine. “Mind your Ps and Qs and you should be okay.” She eyed my bat on the ground behind me. “And something tells me you’ll be all right everywhere outside of the academic sense anyway.”

I had no idea what that meant, but I guess I had no reason not to trust her. She was my principal. I asked if she needed a ride to her car or anything, but again, she passed me off.

“Oh, and I didn’t get your name,” she said, popping one of her AirPods into her ear. This woman was brave. Apparently, she was about to finish her run despite what had just happened to her.

“Noa Sloane,” I said, shaking her hand. “Though my friends call me Sloane.”

Literally no one called me Noa, so best to get that going now.

Principal Mayberry smiled. “Nice to meet you, Ms. Sloane,” she returned, jogging backward. “I guess I’ll see you on Monday. And thanks again for saving my life.”

I saluted her off, which made her nod, and after getting myself together, I got my ass back to my car. I actually left it with the doors open and everything. Had I done that in Chicago, there wouldn’t have been a car left to return to.

Maybe Maywood Heights wasn’t as dangerous as I thought.