Ruthless Chaos: A Dark College Bully Romance (Ruthless Society Book 1) Read online

  RUTHLESS CHAOS

  RUTHLESS SOCIETY: BOOK 1

  RAVEN RAGE

  Copyright © 2022 by Raven Rage

  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, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Cover Design by Melissa Cunningham.

  Developmental Editing by Melanie Yu, Made Me Blush Books.

  Proofreading by Aurora Reed.

  Created with Vellum

  CONTENTS

  Ruthless Chaos

  Author’s Note

  Join The #RAGELIST

  Prologue

  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

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Read Tara’s Story

  About the Author

  Also By Raven Rage

  RUTHLESS CHAOS

  Alexander Duke is everything I should be afraid of.

  Dark. Dangerous. Destructive.

  Among the sinister students of Saint Frederic University, he’s the most notorious.

  I’m sucked into Alexander’s twisted world of wickedness and obsession after a risque run-in on my first night.

  Beneath his disarming exterior lies a monster hungry for one thing—me.

  I want him to leave me alone. He won’t stop until he’s owned me completely.

  I have secrets of my own to protect. Secrets that could get me killed.

  How can I protect my secrets if I can’t even protect my heart?

  Allie Clarke is the one girl I can’t get out of my head.

  She’s everything I hate—naive, graceless, innocent.

  Yet, she’s also everything I can't resist. A chance encounter sends me spiraling into an abyss of maddening lust, a dark obsession that can only end one way—devastation.

  It’s my senior year, and the chance to become part of the world’s most powerful secret society is finally within my grasp. I’ve worked for this my entire life.

  Yet, one fragile freshman threatens to set my whole world on fire.

  The worst part? I want to dance with her in the flames.

  For the mold-breakers, the mavens of mayhem, and the champions of chaos. We rule the world.

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  Dear beautiful reader, thank you for picking up Ruthless Chaos!

  Alexander and Alize’s story is dear to my heart—I’ve poured countless hours into this labor of love. They are raw, real and far from perfect, which is why I wanted to warn you before you embark on this journey with them.

  Their love is a dark romance. In its simplest form, it’s about a guy who thinks hurting someone is love, and a girl who thinks pain is peaceful. He wants to ruin her, and she discovers that she likes it.

  Alize will seem naive at some moments in this book—you’ll learn about her upbringing which will make her behavior understandable. Please be patient with her, she’s my baby. Her character will develop over the course of this trilogy.

  Their love story is unconventional, and Alexander is not a hero. He’s a villain, and will remain one. You will get both Alize and Alexander’s POV throughout. Your mental health is important to me, so if any of this makes you uncomfortable, please put this book down.

  This book is intended for people 18+ and contains self-harm, suicidal ideation, dubious consent, bullying, public humiliation, mentions of rape and torture, graphic depictions of violence, and sexual assault. Saint Frederic University is a breeding ground for psychopaths, and we accompany Alize as she tries to navigate their ruthless society.

  If you still wish to read Ruthless Chaos, it is my hope that you will enjoy it. Alize and I are alike in many ways. I drew from many of my own experiences while writing this story. This book is the first in a trilogy that will end in an HEA for our couple, though it does end on a cliffhanger in this book.

  Happy reading!

  Love,

  Raven R.

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  “I desire the things that will destroy me in the end.”

  —SYLVIA PLATH

  PROLOGUE

  ALIZE

  I slide the blade across my thigh quickly.

  The line of pressure erupts into a slicing pain that chases away the anxiety building in my chest. Red beads near the mark, then spills over, mixing with the other bloody lines.

  With a hissing sigh I take the blade to my skin twice more until all I can feel is pain.

  The blood trickles down my thighs and into the shallow puddle of water in the bath, tinging it pink. This should hold me over, at least until I can talk to my father. That man always puts the fear of god in me, and this is the only way I can get myself calm enough to tell him what I need to.

  A tendril of shame curls in my chest, but I ignore it.

  I’ve lost track of the times I’ve told myself that I’d stop this. That I would find a better way to deal with my anxiety. But nothing ever works. My options are few in this gilded cage.

  I’m walking on a tightrope, and this is my safety net.

  It’s my comfort. When the feelings get too much and threaten to swallow me, it is the only thing I can trust. It’s the only thing I can depend on.

  When I feel like the pain has purged me enough, I continue with my morning routine.

  The blood still leaks from my thighs while I shower, but I hardly pay it any mind. The bloodletting is cathartic, and I spend a second admiring the color of it swirling down the drain. Once I’m out of the shower, I dress my wounds with antibiotic ointment and change into some loose-fitting clothes.

  I’m in the middle of taming my curly mane when the door to my bedroom creaks open. The steps are too light to be my father’s. There’s only one other person who would come into my room without knocking.

  Dolores.

  When I get out of the bathroom, I find her setting the table in the corner of my room. A serving cart is nearby, and the aroma wafting from the food makes my stomach rumble.

&n
bsp; Today is a special morning, so I get a special breakfast.

  Dolores smiles at me while I sit, and she places a napkin in my lap. I smile back, genuinely. She’s the only person I can trust in this house, the only person who won’t rat me out to my father.

  And she’s suffered for keeping my secrets. I’ll never forgive him for that.

  “I had them make your favorite,” she signs when she’s finished setting the table. “Croissants.”

  I bop my head, signing back. “Thank you. I don’t know what I would do without you.”

  A choking sound leaves her, but I know it’s meant to be a laugh. I remember what it used to sound like. Her laugh was practically the soundtrack to my childhood.

  While she plates my food, I take a sip of the orange juice and study her movements. Though she’s doing her best to hide it, I can tell Dolores is just as nervous as I am. Her eyebrows are drawn together, her jaw set. Even her hairstyle is more reserved today—instead of letting her salt-and-pepper curls free, they are swept back in a bun.

  I’m sure everyone on the estate feels varying degrees of anxiety about my father coming home today. He’s like a storm.

  Michel Moreau always leaves destruction in his wake.

  “You promise to be good today?” Dolores asks me.

  I put my half-eaten croissant down and give her a smile that I hope hides my uneasiness. “Yes, I will be.”

  “And you will tell the master that I have taken good care of you?” Dolores’ fingers tremble, and guilt pricks the hairs on the back of my neck.

  It’s a conversation we always have before my father returns, but it never gets easier. Especially when Dolores wears the evidence of my father’s rage. It took years for me to be able to even look at her without bursting into tears.

  I’m eighteen now, but she still suffers for a childish mistake I made when I was six.

  “I will,” I sign, locking eyes with her. “I know I say this often, but I wish I hadn’t snuck away to the lake when you told me not to.”

  Her eyes are sympathetic, even though I know she’s aflame on the inside.

  “You were a child, Allie. You did what children do.”

  I look away from her and out the nearby window.

  In the distance, beyond the sprawling green gardens, the surface of the lake glimmers. Perhaps Dolores is right and I did do what a child would do.

  But my father did what most parents wouldn’t

  Her screams from that day still haunt my dreams. There was blood—so much blood. It was on her dress, on the floor. The hallway where it happened smelled like bleach and disinfectant for days afterward. The other housekeepers avoided me for weeks. I thought I had killed her.

  When she came back, I was happy. But she’s been different ever since then. The ugly scar from my father’s knife stretches from her cheek to her neck and she can’t speak anymore.

  I’ll never be able to hear her laugh again.

  “I wish it never happened,” I sign.

  Dolores’ smile is sad. “Just don’t do anything to upset your father and it won’t happen again.” Her words are meant to cheer me up, but they only make me sink deeper.

  My eyes drift to the window again, a lump forming in my throat.

  There’s truth to her words, but I can’t do that. I only hope this time my father takes out his anger on me. It’s the threat of his violence that has stopped me from telling Dolores about my plan.

  If she doesn’t know, he can’t blame her for withholding information from him.

  “Do you know what time he will get here?”

  My father and I barely speak when he isn’t home.

  The staff always seem to know more about his whereabouts than I do. Because Dolores and I are so close, they try to keep their conversations secret, but that doesn’t stop her from eavesdropping.

  She tells me that they often forget she’s around because she can’t speak.

  “He’ll be home before dinner. Marie started making his favorite dessert earlier than she usually does.”

  I nod, filing away the information.

  Whenever my father is home, he usually insists we take dinner together in his study. It’s an all-around uncomfortable experience for me, but he seems to enjoy it. I think it gives him the illusion that we’re a functional family.

  Dinner will give me the privacy I need to have the conversation I’ve been rehearsing in my head ever since my acceptance letter came in.

  It’s like a fever dream. I got accepted into Harvard to study law. It feels like my very own real-life version of Legally Blonde—if Elle Woods was a five-foot-four socially awkward black girl, that is.

  If anybody asked, I would tell them I applied as a joke.

  Deep down though, I knew that Harvard application was my only chance at something other than the life my father had planned for me. All my life, he’s kept me locked up like a prisoner—moving from place to place with a cast of tutors to homeschool me.

  The only reason I even got that semester in high school last year was because the state mandated it as part of my homeschool curriculum.

  Harvard is my chance at normalcy.

  A chance for me to experience life as a young adult instead of pining away for it while I watch TV characters live out my wildest dreams. I want to feel the rain on my face in a strange town. I want to be able to make a friend without fearing that my father will find them and hurt them eventually.

  I want to be free.

  Today, I’ll tell him and face the consequences.

  The sound of dishes clanking together pulls me out of my thoughts. Beside me, Dolores is stacking the empty dishes from my breakfast.

  I drain the last bit of orange juice from my glass and start helping her clean up. She doesn’t like it when I help her, but I do it anyway.

  The last thing I remember is giving her a cheeky smile.

  The world grows quiet for a moment, then everything gets too bright and too loud all at once. A huge blast tears through the room, flinging me so quickly and so fast it’s like I’m being torn from my limbs. Sharp and constricting pain stabs me all over my body. It’s all I can feel, and I can’t tell where it starts and stops.

  It feels like I’m on fire.

  There’s gravel in my eyes when I blink. My vision is cloudy, thick fog hangs all around. I try to take a deep breath. The air burns going down.

  Little by little, I regain my bearings.

  I’m lying on my back, I guess, since I’m staring at the ceiling. Or, what used to be the ceiling. There’s a huge hole in it, and the sad gray sky looks down at me. I blink quickly, but my vision doesn’t clear much. It’s like I’m peering through water.

  My mind reels as I try to piece together what just happened.

  This can’t be real, right? There is no way this is happening right now. There’s a thick ache in my throat. I’m struggling to breathe, like my lungs aren’t working. The pain worsens with each breath.

  If this is what dying is like, then I was right to think I don’t have the guts to commit suicide. I’ve never felt this horrible, ever.

  I turn on my side.

  There’s a huge hole in the floor right beside me. Through it, I make out the mangled interior of the foyer. There are burnt pieces of wood, shattered glass, and crumbling concrete everywhere.

  Thick particles of dust and ash swirl around in the air like dirty snowflakes, buoyed by tendrils of smoke. I struggle to push myself up. Adrenaline starts to take over, and my heart rattles in my chest.

  “Dolores?” I shout. My voice sounds as horrible as I feel, like I’ve been chewing glass. Despite the biting pain, I force myself to stand.

  The world spins when I do. For a split second, everything goes black.

  I was flung to the far corner of the room. Dolores was standing right beside me before this happened. She should be close by.

  I keep calling her name, hoping she hears and makes some sort of noise I can use to find her. My ears are ringing, but every few ste
ps, I hold my breath and listen.

  I must save her.

  Anxiety meshes with the pain searing my limbs. My steps are slow and labored as I drag one of my feet since I can’t put pressure on it. I glimpse rivulets of blood rolling down my arms and legs.

  Shit, that can’t be good.

  I keep up my search for Dolores. If she’s unconscious, I’ll need to find her and take care of her until one of the guards comes to help us.

  It’s like I’m watching myself from a distance. None of this feels like it’s actually happening. Maybe it isn’t. Maybe this is all a dream, and I’ll wake up soon. For a while, that thought calms me.

  But even if this is a dream, I need to find Dolores.

  The fuchsia fabric of her dress flashes in the corner of my eye, and my heart leaps. She’s laying down, probably just as disoriented as I am from the explosion. I stumble towards her, scraping my arm as I squeeze through the tiny gap between a fallen piece of the roof and a collapsed stone column.

  I scream when she comes into view.

  Only the lower half of her body is intact. The rest of her is a mangled mess of blood and flesh. I choke back a sob, unable to look away. One side of her head is crushed by the marble bust of me that my father had commissioned last year. Thick, black blood seeps into the charred carpet beneath her.