London Academy 1 Read online

  London Academy 1

  Copyright © 2019 Klarissa King

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission—this includes scanning and/or unauthorised distribution—except in case of brief quotations used in reviews and/or academic articles, in which case quotations are permitted.

  Previously published under pen-name Thalia King as “The Shae” in 2019.

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, whether alive or dead, is purely coincidental. Names, characters, incidents, and places are all products of the author’s imagination.

  London Academy Trilogy

  Imprint: Independently published

  CONTENTS

  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

  CHAPTER16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  LONDON ACADEMY

  BOOK 1

  CHAPTER 1

  “How much further?”

  Piper flicked her slender hand ahead. “It’s just down there.”

  “I’m so famished, you’re beginning to look like a gourmet hotdog,” grumbled Nigel.

  Piper shot her friend a lazy side-eye.

  He tugged on the firm collar of his shirt and asked, “What is this mysterious place you’re taking me to?”

  “Taco Tuesdays,” she said, skipping over a hole. The cobblestones were threatening her brand new stilettoes.

  Damaged heels came with the territory of London—the backstreets, trendy cobblestone lanes, and constant strolls through the many parks. Rupert Street in Soho, London was especially cruel to shoes. The street catered to the latest food market lovers of the city, but the cobblestone was, to Piper, a curse upon London.

  Her aching calves seemed to think so, at least.

  “Taco what?” said Nigel, incredulous.

  “Taco Tuesdays,” she repeated, and looped her arm through his. “They make tacos. Those little crispy things that have cheese and tomato stuffed inside of them.”

  Nigel scoffed and shook his head. The combed brown hair flattened to his head didn’t budge. “You dragged me all the way to Rupert Street for tacos.”

  Piper beamed, flashing her whitened teeth, and crooned up at him, “Oh, Nigel, do be careful. Your snobbery is showing.” She tucked a black lock of hair behind her ear. “Besides,” she said, “it was April who recommended the place.”

  Nigel said nothing, but his footsteps became lighter, and the tension in his shoulders softened. April’s stamp of approval was valued by most of the students at Westminster Private School.

  Taco Tuesdays was crammed between a fresh fruit shop and a beer garden. The sizzling scent of cooked beef hit Piper and Nigel when they reached the little shop. Nigel sniffed the air and his stomach rumbled before he whipped open the glass door.

  “Busy,” he said, peering inside. “I’d hate to see what it’s like on an actual Tuesday.”

  Piper ducked under his arm and stepped inside. Nigel was right, it was busy.

  Tables were teeming with university students, and the food bay was swarmed by people pointing at the fillings they wanted.

  Before Nigel could, Piper whirled around, touched her nose and said, “Not it!”

  Nigel cursed and glanced at the queue at the salad bar. “Fine. What do you want?”

  “Chicken, with the lot.”

  He sighed and shoved into the crowd.

  Piper smirked at his back before she wandered to the wall and gazed into the smudged mirror. Green glowed in the reflection, encased in the almond shape of her eyes.

  The heat-wave outside had dampened her hair into limp clusters of black, and had glittered her face with beads of sweat.

  She looked dreadful, she decided. Even in a strappy singlet and baggy draw-string pants, her pores leaked sweat.

  It was London, she thought, that had weakened her against the warmth. Most of the year, the city was drenched in muggy weather and dull skies. Then, those few weeks a year came and plunged the city into a metropolitan steam bath.

  Snatching a napkin from a nearby table, Piper dabbed away the moisture from her forehead and chin. She wasn’t one to gussy herself up in public, but desperate measures—

  “You missed a spot,” said a smooth voice.

  Piper hovered the napkin over her chin and flushed.

  She turned around, scrunching the damp serviette in her hand. A tall guy, waves the colour of sawdust and eyes like molten silver, stood in front of her.

  Piper let out a breath of relief when she realised, he hadn’t been speaking to her. He’d been teasing his companion, a dark-haired young man, for spilling salsa all over himself.

  The brunette one wiped the sauce staining his black t-shirt, while the blond watched with a smirk.

  “I don’t know why you bother,” said the dark-haired guy. His dark chocolate curls hung over his eyes, giving him a broody-me look. “You only make it worse every time.”

  “If I wanted your opinion on how to remove stains, Ash, I’d ask for it.”

  “If you were to ask for it, I’d suggest you find a new favourite food,” said Ash. “At least until you learn how to eat without a bib.”

  The dark-haired guy cursed in a language Piper didn’t understand.

  Ash shrugged and ran his fingers through his tousled hair. He turned his head to inspect himself in the mirror, but found himself staring straight into Piper’s emerald eyes.

  A brief flicker of shock passed over his face before he settled on a lopsided grin that ignited a flutter in her stomach.

  Piper didn’t know which was more humiliating—getting caught eavesdropping and staring at strangers, or the strange giggle-snort that got caught in her throat when he’d smiled at her.

  The one with hair the shade of mahogany wood noticed her, too. How could he not, after that horrendous noise she’d made? And now, she was certain that her face had reddened into the bright shade of the salsa on his shirt.

  The brunette looked her up and down, eyes of steel narrowing, before he snapped his attention to his friend. “Let’s go.”

  Ash winked at Piper before he followed the other out of the shop. The door swung shut behind them with a chime, and the sauna-street swallowed them up.

  Piper exhaled and slumped against the mirror. The cool surface pressed against her dewy singlet, and she rubbed her hands over her flushed face.

  “Who was that?”

  Piper dropped her hands, and saw Nigel standing in front of her, holding out a taco.

  She took it and shrugged.

  “Did you at least get his number?” Nigel fixed his gaze on the door. “He was delectable.”

  Piper’s shaped eyebrows arched. “Delectable? He isn’t a cheesecake, Nigel.”

  Nigel licked his lips and shook his head. “You don’t need to tell me that. He’s yummier than any cheesecake I’ve ever seen.”

  “Which one? The brunette or the blond?”

  “I don’t discriminate,” he said. “I’ll take either, or both. I like sandwiches.”

  “Your boyfriend might have something to say about that,” said Piper.

  She continued to lean against the mirror, relishing in the touch of cold it offered her skin. Also, she didn’t want to go back out into Rupert Street and risk humiliating herself in front of the dreamy cheesecak
e again.

  “Boyfriend is a strong word.” Nigel’s voice dropped, losing all pitches of fun, as he added, “Jack has been ghosting my calls.”

  Piper picked at stray strips of lettuce. “Do you know why?”

  “I might if he answered the phone and told me what’s changed. I’m not a mind-reader.”

  “When was the last time you spoke to him?”

  “Three days ago.” He paused and lapped up leaked sour cream. “We went to the pictures—that new cinema Downtown. Everything was fine, we kissed at the end, and said goodbye.”

  “Maybe you’re a bad kisser.” Piper smirked, but Nigel bit into his taco, his mahogany eyes downcast. “You should talk to April,” she said. “She’s the expert, not me.”

  “She’ll tell me to play the mystery card,” he said. “Last time I asked her for dating advice, she told me to sleep with his friend. That way, he could see how unattainable, desirable and free-spirited I am.”

  Piper choked on a mouthful of chicken, and glanced up at Nigel. From the steady gaze he gave her, she could tell he wasn’t lying.

  Nigel said, “April’s advice on boutiques, restaurants and fashion trends are valuable. But on relationships? No, thank you.” He looked down as his pocket buzzed.

  Piper dove her hand into his pocket and pulled out his phone.

  “It’s Charles,” she said, reading the screen.

  Nigel swapped the taco for the phone and answered it. He grunted a few times, an ineloquent sound reserved for his older brother, before he hung up.

  “He needs me to take over at the bookstore,” said Nigel. “One of the workers called in sick.”

  “On a Friday?” said Piper. “How convenient.”

  Nigel hummed and kissed her on the cheek. “See you tomorrow?”

  “Lunch at mine,” she agreed. Nigel left and took his taco with him. She couldn’t blame him—they were scrumptious. Though, as Piper looked down at her sticky hands, she realised how messy they were to eat.

  Once the mirror and the shop’s air conditioning had cooled her down enough, she wandered out into Rupert Street. The narrow road had been blocked off from traffic with little black pillars that came up to Piper’s waist. It was a street that belonged to pedestrians.

  The bookstore that Nigel’ parents owned was a few streets away. His family had a chain of them dotted around London, but the Soho store was the closest.

  They were successful, enough to buy him a place at one of London’s most prestigious private schools. Westminster was crawling with London’s elite. Piper’s mother was a paediatrician, a well-respected one at that. She had her own practice in Central London, and even worked at the hospital every other week.

  As Piper turned the corner at the end of Rupert Street, she hit a wall—a wall made of flesh and clothes.

  Staggering back, she looked up at the strange man and held up her hands.

  “I’m so sorry,” she said. “I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

  Piper took a step to the side, but so did the stranger.

  A forced smile, one that was deemed polite, tugged at her lips and she stepped to the right. He mirrored her again.

  “How about I go left,” she said, “and you go right.”

  He stared down at her with eyes that resembled melted chocolate, stirring in a pot. Streaks of grey marked his sandy-brown hair, and wrinkles creased at the corners of his thin lips.

  “Piper Reed,” he said. His voice was warm, soft even; a sharp contrast to his hard eyes.

  Piper raised an eyebrow and gazed up at him. “Have we met? I apologise, but I don’t recall—”

  “Not exactly,” he said, clasping his hands together. It reminded her of a stern teacher about to start a lecture about her behaviour in class. “I didn’t mean to frighten you, Piper. I only wanted a moment of your time. Is there somewhere we can go?” His gaze drifted to the busy road where red double-decker buses whizzed by. “Somewhere private.”

  Danger alert! Stranger danger!

  Those words shouted in her mind.

  She raised her chin and narrowed her eyes. “I don’t think so. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have somewhere I need to be.”

  “Of course,” he said, inclining his head.

  His hand dove into the pocket of his pressed trousers, and for a moment she froze.

  All sorts of images came her to her mind; guns, knives, needles. But when his hand slid back out from the pocket, it held a small white rectangle—a business card.

  “My name is Colt,” he introduced.

  His eyes scanned her face for any signs of change, of recognition. A crease formed between her brows as she reached out and plucked the business card from his fingers.

  Piper hadn’t realised that she was trembling until she brought the paper closer to herself and looked down at it shaking in her grasp.

  There it was. Right there, in bold print.

  Her heart jumped up into her throat, and oxygen thickened in her head.

  Piper could’ve sworn the ground had wobbled beneath her, if only for a second.

  On the business card, shouting up at her, was his name, ‘COLT STIRLING’, and beneath it was a phone number.

  “I take it you do recognise my name,” he said with an edge of triumph.

  “I might.” Her voice came out in a raspy whisper.

  Her eyes found his again. His were so unfamiliar, hard and uninviting. The mocha touch to his silver-streaked hair bore no resemblance to her jet-black ponytail.

  But the name…

  It wasn’t common. But it was a name she remembered, treasured.

  “About that conversation,” he said, shattering her thoughts like glass. “You have my information. Should you want to know more about me, you know how to reach me.”

  Piper swallowed and watched him sweep past her in a blur of black and white. His business suit melted into the crowd that flooded the pavement, and it took one blink of her eyes for him to vanish.

  Even after he’d left, and she stood alone on the main street, Piper stared at the crowd, the business card in her hands.

  The realisation of what had just happened sent coils of dread roping down her spine.

  Piper whipped out her phone and called the one person who made sense in that moment. Her best friend.

  April’s annoyed voice sang through the phone. “This better be good, Pipes. I’m getting my back-to-school pedicure as we speak.”

  Piper, rooted to the spot, tried to respond, but all that came out was a choked sound.

  “What? Speak up, I can barely hear you over that traffic. Oh, now that I have you the phone, would choose fuchsia for your toenails, or go with the classic peach? I am partial to fuchsia, but I refuse to tan my skin to complement the undertones of it, and—”

  “April.” Piper cleared her throat. “I think … I just met my father.”

  CHAPTER 2

  The black cab Piper had hailed rolled through the Friday traffic.

  She shifted on the sticky leather seat and looked out the window. Even her ear perspired as she held her phone against it.

  April had listened to the brief retelling of Piper’s bizarre meeting without interrupting once. That was quite the feat for April

  When Piper had finished, April was quiet for a while. Then, she asked, “What are you going to do? Are you going to call him?”

  “I want to,” admitted Piper. “But I should speak to my mother about it first. For all I know, he isn’t who he claims to be. And my mother will want to meet with him before I—”

  “Nonsense.” April’s sharp voice cut her off. “Just call him, Pipes. Find out what he wants from you before you go running off and meeting with strangers. I mean, who is this man? He could be a money-grabber! Maybe he found out about your mother’s wealth, and, well … you’re a way in.”

  “I’ll talk to my mother first,” said Piper. It made the most sense. Her mother wouldn’t put her in any dangerous situation, she would go to the meeting with her.


  “What is the matter with you?” shouted April.

  Piper’s eyes widened. “It’s the smart thing to do—”

  “I specifically said cream-peach. Look at that toenail. Does that look cream-peach to you? No, it doesn’t—it looks salmon.” April’s shrill voice softened. “Sorry about that, Pipes. I’m surrounded by morons.”

  “I’m pulling into my street now,” she said. “I’ll call you later.”

  “You’d better,” demanded April before she hung up.

  Piper leaned back in the seat and watched as the main road became Lancaster Street—a leafy street in Notting Hill with stretched buildings painted in pastel colours.

  The cab pulled up at the pink building, and Piper paid the driver double the fare. Her heart skipped a beat as she climbed out and saw a red Prius parked out front.

  Her mother’s car.

  Rosemary Reed wasn’t home during business hours often. She spent most of her time at her private practice, and the least at home.

  Piper climbed the steps and let herself in.

  The terrace building was home to four apartments, each with two levels. Piper’s was apartment 4, so she raced up the carpeted stairs to the third floor.

  The apartment door matched the exterior of the building—painted in a soft shade of coral. She jimmied her keys in the lock and swung the door open. Vanilla struck her the moment she entered. Her mother must have lit candles in the living room.

  She closed the door behind her and scanned the foyer.

  The double-doors to the right were open, revealing the chrome living area. Ducking her head inside, Piper saw that her mother wasn’t there. She climbed up the wide staircase and pushed through the door that separated the levels.

  Down the high-ceilinged corridor was her mother’s home office. It was in there that Piper found her, poring over stacks of manila envelopes and medical files. Rosemary Reed was nothing if not predictable.

  Rosemary didn’t look up as Piper entered. “You’re home early,” she said. “Are you staying for supper, or are you going out with April tonight?”

  The business card crunched in Piper’s hand as she approached the desk. She stopped at the edge and studied her mother.