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  Copyright © 2021 by NV Roez

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or 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.

  Cover design by Bellaluna

  Edited by Kaye Kemp Book Polishing

  This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places, businesses, incidents, and events are either used in a fictitious manner or stem from the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to real events or real people, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Contents

  Disclaimer

  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

  Epilogue

  Translation Page

  Dear Readers and Friends

  Afterword

  Prologue

  About the Author…

  Disclaimer

  Stratham Knights is a new adult/college age dark romance with enemies to lovers/hate to love themes that cannot be read as a standalone.

  This is a reverse harem, #whychoose series that contains mature adult content.

  Book(s) include sex between two or more partners, explicit language and scenes with graphic flashbacks and mentions of child abuse, rape, drugs, and domestic violence.

  To You,

  You are not broken.

  You were forged through fire.

  Keep moving forward

  And make them wonder…

  ~NV Roez

  1

  My legs burn. Sweat drips down my back while I keep up the steady thump of my sneakers on the treadmill.

  Thump, thump, thump...

  The ache in my lungs reminds me that I probably should've skipped the joint I smoked last night as Ellie Goulding's “Hate Me” plays in my earbuds.

  But I have to keep going. Just one more mile and then rest; one more stretch, one last push, then my body can slow down. But not before.

  If the last six years have taught me anything, it's that I have to keep my body ready. Ready to run, ready to fight. Just ready.

  Lindsey Stirling's “Shatter Me” comes on and I push harder, straining out the last bits of energy my muscles can give me this morning, trying to outrun the demons of my past.

  Thank God no one is in here with me as I grunt through my pain. Some might think my obsession to push my body's limits every day is borderline unhealthy. Those are the people who don't understand true fear.

  Good for them.

  The greatest lie those people believe is that the devil doesn’t exist. Spoiler alert — he does.

  I've learned it's best to keep my habits away from judgmental eyes to avoid the unwelcomed questions that always follow. I’m not a fan of history lessons. If I can get here by 5:15 am, I can get a full workout in before any of the university athletes intrude on Stratham University's state-of-the-art sports facilities. But then again, I've only been here since summer term, so fall term might be different.

  My music changes, signaling cool down time. My thighs rejoice while my left foot's instep screams in relief. Guess I'll need new running sneakers again.

  I open my eyes to the empty gym, wishing it wasn't raining outside. I want to feel the asphalt move beneath me and smell the rich New Hampshire mountain air or the salty ocean air at the Union Point Lighthouse that overlooks the port instead of the stale sweat and rubber of the gym, but at least it's empty.

  At least it's not Ventura Youth Correctional Facility.

  No. Not today, not ever again.

  That decrepit place still claims to be the reformatory solution to juvenile delinquency, as if it were a ‘cure’. That place was nothing more than a cesspool of broken souls, survivors of failed upbringings and weak-ass predators that prefer the easy catch.

  That was a different lifetime, though—a time that has no place in my present. One that no one here can ever know.

  I walk the treadmill, stretching out my arms, neck, and shoulders, getting lost in Travis Scott while my muscles start to cool down. I'd never been able to enjoy this part as much as I can now.

  No one is rushing me, pushing me out of the way, or herding me to the next part of the day. Yeah, Ventura left an impression on me whether I wanted it to or not.

  Dammit, fuck that place.

  This is a new life, Evelyn. No one knows you here. Your secrets are safe and buried.

  I turn off the treadmill, clear my head, and head to the floor mats for my ab workout. My nerves go on alert since I can't see the door from here, so I toss my duffel bag towards the corner, letting my keys with my kitty knuckles keychain on them fall within arm’s reach.

  I contemplated bringing my knife, but didn't think that would go over too well. So rose gold kitty knuckles it is. Besides, how much trouble could a bunch of rich kids look for at the prestigious Stratham University?

  No. Normal people don't carry knives to the gym.

  I do my breathing exercises to focus on the task at hand and keep my panic attacks at bay, and hit the floor. My abs are on fire by the time I finish my plank, push up, downward dog routine, but I'm loving it.

  “White Flag” by Bishop Briggs makes its appearance on my playlist, giving me the extra encouragement I need to hear to keep going.

  I'm on my final set of sit-ups when I feel the slightest touch on my shoulder on my way up. I immediately swing my left arm back, twist my body, grab my kitty knuckles with my right, and spin up to my feet in one swift movement.

  "Jesus Christ! What the fuck, Evelyn? It's just me, asshole," Celeste yells, clearly shaken by my abrupt movement. Shit.

  "Dammit, Cele. I'm sorry. I didn't know it was you."

  "Clearly," she says, rolling her eyes.

  She studies me, looking like she wants to say something but decides not to. Instead, she just hands me a latte with a smile and a shrug. "Since you decided to get up with the dead, I thought I'd gift you with caffeine before we head to orientation."

  I smile, knowing that I'll owe her big time for this. Not only did she get me coffee, but from the logo on the paper cup, she went downtown to Sugar & Spice Cafe.

  I grab the luscious liquid and down half of it before I catch a breath, burning be damned. Yes, it's that good.

  She checks her watch with a grimace. "I know you probably want to shower and change, but if you do, we'll be late."

  Honestly, I don't care, but I'm not telling her that, even if I did forget orientation is today. I'm still getting to know her, but she seems like a stickler for things like time and rules, so no need to push her buttons. Especially since she brought me the best coffee in the state. I grab my stuff, put my keys back in my duffel bag, and we head out to face the day.

  "Heeeey, Evie. How's it feel to be nineteen?" Taylor says, running up to us as we walk down Stetton Hall. He wraps his arms around me like he owns me and leans into my ear. "We should celebrate.”

  I immediately sli
nk out of his arms, giving him a pointed look, and shake my head. I swear, there is something seriously wrong with his mental wiring, but I can't knock the guy for trying.

  "Ugh, her birthday was days ago, Taylor. Why do you insist on existing in our space? She slept with you once. Get over it," Celeste tells him in her 'coffee hasn't kicked in, so I'll slice your dick off' tone that I'm starting to love.

  As tiny as she is, she does pack a serious punch. I've got three inches on her at 5'6", and Taylor has five inches on me, but the guy is still scared of her.

  He claims that it's because, at her height, she's closer to his manhood, and a dick punch is still a punch not worth risking. I laugh as he steps back, covering his family jewels.

  "Oh, come on, Cele, take it easy. You know she wants another round with the Womb Raider," he says with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

  I roll mine and keep walking. He's incorrigible. At least he doesn't call it Vlad the Impaler. What is it with guys naming their dicks?

  I learned shortly after the fourth of July party that it's just better to ignore his antics. Had I known that sleeping with him after that party would make him a clinger, I NEVER would have done it. Now, he won't go away. But Celeste tolerates him well enough, and he's become a friend to some extent, I guess.

  I've only known them for all of two months, but some days, it feels like longer. And for the first time in years, I feel somewhat normal. Sleep still eludes me, but the need to have to watch my back twenty-four seven has lessened.

  Celeste and I met when I got paired to room with her over summer term. She was disappointed that she was being forced to share her dorm room, since not a lot of students live on campus during the summer, but when she learned that I was a transfer—which is apparently rare—and the fact that I didn't know anyone here, I think she took pity on me. She won me over with her devotion to coffee. Between that, her ability to speak fluent sarcasm, and her 'don't fuck with me' attitude–what can I say–it's hard not to appreciate her. And she's the epitome of normal.

  Taylor, on the other hand, needs work. Don't get me wrong. He's cute with his shaggy chocolate hair, honey brown eyes, and lean body, but he just doesn't do it for me. He doesn't have a single serious bone in his body, and the corny dad jokes are just, well, corny.

  If I'm being honest, he was purely an experiment. Though I would never tell him that. I just didn't think he'd stick around—most guys don't. Hell, most people don’t. There isn’t exactly an abundance of people in my life.

  First lessons learned since coming here: I'm still the cold-hearted, unfeeling bitch everyone claimed me to be, and second, stay away from the guys in this rich, old port town.

  "Welcome to Stratham University. Returning students are directed to go to the commons room down the hall for orientation. New students, you'll be following me to the student center in Stratham Hall in five minutes."

  "Celeste, who's that?" I ask, while I blatantly ogle at the luscious man who's rounding up students for orientation. I know I'm swearing off guys here, but hell, I'm still human.

  "That would be Justin Prescott." She smirks at me and starts counting on her fingers. "One, he's a sophomore and already a Psi Kappa Psi Knight. Two, he's dating Juliette Davis, queen bitch of Zeta Sigma Rho. Three, plays on our varsity soccer team. Four, has the most delicious ass on the planet. Five, his family owns most of this town, including Sugar & Spice, and six, is a complete asshole. Well, not that last part, really. I'm just assuming he’s an ass since he's dating Juliette, but I could be wrong. Maybe I just hope he is so I don't feel so bad that I'm non-existent in his world. Lucky for me, he's in my spank bank, so we make hot and heavy even if he doesn't know it."

  I snort at her crassness. She is shameless, but I respect her for that. Why should guys be the only ones allowed to admit basic human needs like sex?

  We make plans to meet up after orientation since they fall in the “returning students” category and Stratham didn't hold orientation during the summer. That leaves me following the herd of new students towards the student center.

  The historic brick building is a fusion between the dark ages and the renaissance periods, much like the rest of the school—excluding the sports facilities. If I said it didn't look like a cross between Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters, Château de Chambord, and Kilkenny Castle, I'd be lying.

  Walking through the ornate archway that connects to Stratham Hall, I look up to see 'quaesitum est sapientia nobis', the school's motto 'with wisdom we conquer', engraved in the wood.

  Funny, Ivy used to say that. Is this where she got it from? Coming here was her dream, so it’s possible.

  I continue following the crowd on the freshly waxed hardwood floors and look around at all the thick-framed historic paintings of Stratham's elite littering the heavily wallpapered walls.

  I pause at the sudden pang of sadness in my chest, realizing that no one is here to see this with me. That she's not here to see this with me. They're all gone. My fingers absently rub across the three night orchids tattooed on the inside of my wrist, tied together on an ivy vine.

  "We did it, Ivy. We made it," I whisper to myself, fighting the lump in my throat. It's been years since I've cried, and I certainly don't plan on breaking now.

  Even though I've taken summer classes, I haven't actually spent a lot of time on campus. I turn towards the stained-glass windows and smile, knowing she would have loved them.

  Ivy had such an odd fascination with stained-glass windows. She used to beg me to walk to St. Michael's Cathedral just to stare at its windows. I didn't mind so much because St. Michael's was across from the beach, my favorite place. She'd make up stories about a lover being lost at sea, some poor widow waiting at the church or some other romantic bullshit.

  I used to make fun of her back then, but now, I’d give anything to hear even one more story. She was the sweet to my sour. Always the first one to see the cup half full instead of empty. I just couldn’t wrap my head around good stuff when all I could ever see was the bad.

  Still can’t.

  It's been six years since I lost my parents, but only four since I lost Ivy. My Ivy, my sister, my spirit... My twin.

  "...two weeks before classes start, and next week is the Titan's opening soccer game of the season for those interested. Any questions?" Justin asks the group as I realize I haven't heard a word he said. "Great. Best of luck this year," he adds after a beat and walks out of the room.

  Glancing around, I see all the students busying themselves at the different sign-up tables for clubs and whatever other activities Stratham has to offer. They all have those hideous name tag stickers that have the 'Hi, my name is' and the school year they're in.

  Nope, not making a sticker. They're all freshmen. Evidently, I'm the only new sophomore, or upperclassman for that matter, at this school.

  I turn just in time to see Dr. Lewis coming up to greet me with her warm smile and sharp suit. "How did summer term go, Evelyn?"

  I internally roll my eyes. "Fine, Dr. Lewis. It wasn't as hard as I thought it would be, so I'll take it as a win."

  "I'd say. Averaging a 4.1 GPA at this school in any term is a win. All the more proof you belong here. And please, call me Sadie. The only people who call me Dr. Lewis are the pompous assholes I get the pleasure of calling ‘colleagues’," she says with a smirk, and I smile back.

  She's probably the only person on Stratham's payroll that I'll get along with even if she is my guidance counselor and therapist.

  Despite my grades and test scores, one of the caveats that I had to agree to in order to come here was to see a therapist.

  Dr. Charles Weaver, president of Stratham University, said—and I quote—"He wouldn't feel comfortable for someone with my background to be integrated at the school, otherwise".

  He went on about not wanting to see the ivy league academic pressure 'break me'. Like I'm the only person on the planet whose parents died. Though, I might be the only one at school who's been to juvenile detention.<
br />
  He emphatically requested that little tidbit never be shared among the students and it was the one concession I completely agreed with. Not that I needed him to tell me that.

  "Thanks, Sadie. I'll see you next week for our first session," I tell her and dismiss myself from the room. No point in sticking around people I have no intention of getting to know.

  2

  I can handle most things. I've endured and survived some of the most unimaginable things life can offer, but this... this sucks.

  I've spent the last week preparing for classes, seeing how much I could get done before classes even start, and yet, I've let Celeste talk me into going to the school's soccer game. Why I convinced myself that I could ever be normal here has me wondering if I actually do need therapy.

  "You're not even ready to go yet?" Celeste walks into my room, frantically throwing her hands in the air like I've just committed a cardinal sin. She's been blazing through our dorm for most of the afternoon preparing for the Titan's opening soccer game. Apparently, this is a big deal.

  "This is the opening soccer game of the season, Evelyn. Can you at least pretend to care? You have to at least look like you've showered."

  I squish my eyebrows together as confusion plagues me. I have showered. I look down at my clothes wondering if I somehow managed to forget this vital hygienic function, but nope, I'm freshly showered.