Savage Royals (Boys of Oak Park Prep #1) - Callie Rose

Chapter 1

Death has a tangible aura that can never be mistaken for anything else.

Something hangs in the air when someone dies, like their soul hovering just outside their body. It thickens the atmosphere around them, an absence so heavy it feels like it has its own gravitational pull.

Of course, I wasn’t thinking about death at all that night—not until I walked in on it.

I wasn’t thinking about much as I rested my forehead against the cool glass of the city bus, watching the darkened streets pass by outside. Neon lights flickered in the windows of dive bars, their bright colors sliding in and out of focus as I blinked my tired eyes. My feet ached badly, and I knew my old injury would throb in my legs tonight and make it hard to sleep.

I’d spent all day making the rounds between tables at Seb’s Diner, taking order after order. Although dozens of people had come through the little truck stop diner, not many of them had tipped. I was still too short on cash, and I needed to hand something over to Dad to keep the lights on. He’d been fired from the power plant nine months ago, and the only thing keeping us afloat now was what I brought home.

Since my mom’s death when I was seven, it’d been just me and the old man. I wasn’t just his daughter, I was his caretaker and maid. I was the cook, the main breadwinner and—when he got frustrated and the wrong kind of drunk—the punching bag.

A sigh left my lips as the ancient bus creaked to a halt, and I pushed open the back doors, stepping out into the quiet night. Half the street lamps in our neighborhood were busted—shot out or burnt out—and I kept my keys clutched in my fist as I shuffled toward home.

Dad had demanded I bring him a fresh pack of smokes when I got off work—it was now stuffed inside my bag, along with the bottle of vodka he loved so much.

I hated both those fucking things.

My fingers twitched to grab them out of my backpack and chuck them in the trash before I went up, but I wasn’t stupid. I didn’t want a fight. Not after standing on my feet for fourteen hours.

I climbed wearily up to the third floor, and once inside, I closed the door softly, leaning back against the warped wood and closing my eyes.

It was in that moment of quiet that I first felt it.

The unmistakable aura of death.

As if someone had sucked all the oxygen out of the room, out of the whole apartment.

I opened my eyes and lifted my head, breathing shallowly as I listened to the silence. The apartment was too quiet. Usually, the TV blared at this point in the night, and if Dad had heard me come in, he’d be screaming my name and telling me to bring him a drink.

“Dad?” I whispered, but the deathly stillness sucked the word into void.

Maybe he just passed out. Maybe he’s asleep.

My stomach pitched as I pushed away from the door and slipped into the living room. The light was off, and my heart thumped hard against my ribs. Something was off. Wrong.

My hand traced the outdated wallpaper until it found the switch and flipped it, bathing the room in harsh yellow light.

The sight in front of me snatched the air from my lungs. My dad was slumped in his massive easy chair, half hanging over the side. One arm fell limp, fingertips nearly brushing the floor.

“Dad?” I rasped.

I knew he wouldn’t answer—the imprint of death was all over this fucking place—but my mouth formed the word anyway. His pale skin looked slack under the light, and his eyes were half-open, staring unseeing, the whites tinged with yellow. Evidence of the liver decay that’d eaten him from the inside out.

I swallowed down bile, running a shaky hand over my face as the numbness wore off and the full effect of his death slammed into me, making a thousand emotions ricochet through my chest.

Shock. Grief. Confusion. Fear.

Relief.

My knees buckled, and I sank down to the floor, gaze still locked on my dad’s still body. Tears burned my eyes as guilt took the place of relief.

I shouldn’t be glad he was dead.

He wasn’t a good person, but he was the only person I’d had.

“God, okay,” I whispered to myself. “Have to call someone.”

Fumbling inside my bag, I slipped out my cellphone and dialed 911. My voice shook, and my words