Royal Bully Read online Rachel Van Dyken (Mafia Royals #0.5)

Categories Genre: Contemporary, New Adult, Romance Tags Authors: Series: Mafia Royals Series by Rachel Van Dyken

Total pages in book: 23
Estimated words: 22196 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 111(@200wpm)___ 89(@250wpm)___ 74(@300wpm)

Read Online Books/Novels:

Royal Bully (Mafia Royals #0.5)

Author/Writer of Book/Novel:

Rachel Van Dyken

Book Information:

The prequel to the much anticipated Mafia Royals series....
Something dark this way comes. He's gorgeous, mean, and mine. He catches me dreaming about him, and then just like my dream, he decides to make me his.
I should have said no when he asked me to swear fealty to him. The knife clued me in first. The blood second.
And third, it was the blessing of the most famous mafia bosses in the known world as they sat around the dinner table and told me that I had no choice but to join.
Because they knew my secrets. And running meant I was nothing more than target practice.
I said yes because of my bully. And he told me he'd keep me safe. But who keeps me safe from him?
Books in Series:

Mafia Royals Series by Rachel Van Dyken

Books by Author:

Rachel Van Dyken

Chapter One


I was hiding behind a potted plant, next to a beer keg, and a drunk frat brother who looked about one second away from needing an ambulance. I drank out of the red solo cup—liquid courage even though I wasn’t much of a drinker, while I watched him.

It’s not like I was the only one.

Everyone watched him.

We may as well be servants in his Kingdom, and he knew it.

Asher Abandonato.

It had been years since any of the Families had sent one of their own to school—one of the last guys—Dante, had left a blood bath in his wake. Rumors fed the gossip circles until it was decided that Dante basically chopped off fingers, thumbs, toes, laughing all the while he did it, and then destroying everything in his wake and don’t even get me started on Dom, he was the last, some may even say the worst.

And ever since then, nobody was allowed to party at The Spot, or Space or whatever they were calling it this year.

Mainly because even bleach couldn’t get out the bloodstains, and because others viewed it as some sort of Holy Ground.

Murals were painted inside the once famed party spot, just another way to cover up blood.

What kind of massacre took place at a University?

A better question? What kind of mafia family ran their own university and got away with it without having the FBI chase them down?

The Abandonatos were gods.

They owned everything.

Got away with everything.

And were too beautiful for words.

I bit down on my bottom lip as students watched in awe, Asher had taken one step inside the massive room at The Spot, and even the music was turned down like people were actually waiting for him to make some sort of speech. After all, he was a god among mortals. And we were partying in his domain, at his pleasure.

I sipped the tepid beer and watched.

They were waiting for something.

And I knew exactly what they were waiting for.

Because I’d asked him to come.

On a whim, during US History, when everyone was supposed to be watching the stupid movie, I’d dropped my pencil, he picked it up, our fingers brushed, and I jerked away in fear.

Fear that he was really as dangerous as everyone said he was.

And fear that I would have a violent reaction to his touch like everyone else did.

And I was right.

My reaction was completely uncalled for.

It was lust.

Not high school, oh goodie, I hope he kisses me lust.

But the kind that wraps itself around you so tight that it’s hard to breathe, the kind that doesn’t let up throughout the day, only increases with each breath and each step you take until you’re sick with it.

Ocean blue eyes searched the room.

I stayed behind the plant, what the hell was a plant doing there anyway? They were partying in a room where souls were probably still floating around? The fact that the frat was even able to get in the door was astonishing; someone said they stole a key, and there they were.

The next day in class, Asher asked me for a piece of paper.

An hour later, he handed me a note.

“You’re beautiful.” Was what it said.

Who wrote notes in college?

He did.

Beautiful, dangerous, Asher.

With his wavy whiskey-colored hair and his massive build. He could have any girl he wanted, the guy could party with Victoria’s Secret supermodels and fit right in.

So why me?

His eyes finally landed on the plant.

And then on me.

The crowd parted.

With a shaking hand, I lowered the cup.

And then he was there, in front of me, all six-foot-four of him, with muscles bulging in places that seemed impossible for a twenty-year-old.

“Hey,” he rasped.

I had no thoughts beyond asking him what kind of cologne he wore and then dashing to the nearest store, buying it, and spraying my pillow with it like a freak.

“Hi.” I found my voice.

Another step, until we were nearly chest to chest, I looked up into his blue eyes, waiting for something. We’d exchanged maybe two sentences in the last week. He’d called me beautiful, and I told him I’d be at the party tonight.

That was it.

“Dance with me.” He held out his hand.

I stared at it. “You? Dance?”

“Don’t you?” He grinned, his full smile was like a punch to the gut, no guy had a right to look so beautiful and lethal all at once. I could have sworn I heard a massive female sigh trickle around the room as I gave him my hand and walked with him toward the area where people were dancing.

He pulled me toward the corner, further away from the crowds, and then leaned in like he was going to kiss me. “You need to leave. Now.”

“What?” I jerked back.

He pulled me closer, then twirled me until my back was to him, I could feel his arousal pressed against me. I froze as his lips touched the outside of my ear. “They’re coming, and you’re too pretty to kill.”