Savage Kings (Savages of Kingsworth #1) Read Online L.M. Harrison

Categories Genre: Romance Tags Authors: Series: Savages of Kingsworth Series by L.M. Harrison

Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 116520 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 583(@200wpm)___ 466(@250wpm)___ 388(@300wpm)

Three beautiful, cruel boys rule Kingsworth Prep. And I’m the girl who almost ruined them…

It all started with that video I posted of them—you know, the one that went viral. But that was before I knew who they were.
Ezra Covington, Bellamy Thorn, and Dashiell Laurier.
Three untouchable royals who were just… well, royally touched.
Three gorgeous, ruthless kings used to getting exactly what they want.
Now they want me.
They want my screams against their mouths. My ruin beneath their fingers. My demons exposed to the world.
Little do they know, my demons bite back.
And that makes me just as savage as any king.

WARNING: Savage Kings is a bully romance that contains graphic content and situations that might make some readers uncomfortable. It is a reverse harem novel, meaning the heroine has more than one love interest. It is book 1 in the Savages of Kingsworth series and ends in a cliffhanger.



Mount Everest by Labrinth

Follow the White Rabbit by Madison Beer

Savage by Bahari

Flawless by The Neighbourhood

INFERNO by Sub Urban & Bella Poarch

Wrong by MAX & Lil Uzi Vert

Okay by Chase Atlantic

Panic Room by Au/Ra

Daisy by Ashniko

Middle of the Night by Elley Duhé

Oblivion by Grimes

Cherry by Lana Del Rey

Run by Awolnation

Follow the SAVAGE KINGS playlist on SPOTIFY for the full list of songs


What has been your greatest accomplishment?

Not going to juvie? Making it to my senior year with a decent GPA despite attending a different school each year? Saying no to drugs?

“This is a dumb assignment,” I mutter.

My first week taking dual enrollment courses at Rockford Community College has been… frustrating. Just like this “Get to Know You” assignment. It’s bullshit fluff I would’ve ignored in junior year, but now I’m trying to do something with my life. Meaning, no matter how lame the work seems, I’m determined to finish it.

Five minutes later, though, that first question is still glaring up at me accusingly.

What’s been my greatest accomplishment in my eighteen years on this planet?

Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

Abandoning my homework, I tilt my head against the headrest and catch sight of my nephew in the rearview mirror. Richie is out, his little face smooshed against the side of his booster seat. A steady line of drool trickles out the corner of his open mouth.

I can’t help but grin as I lean forward and take my phone from the dashboard. It’s 11:30. Well past Richie’s bedtime and half an hour after my sister’s double shift at the tragically named Pump & Go. We’ve been out here waiting for the last 45 minutes, our usual routine when Indigo works this late on Fridays.

It’s not ideal.

Richie should be home, sleeping peacefully in his crib instead of a booster seat. I should be doing my schoolwork under better lighting than the shitty bulbs over the gas pumps. And my sister shouldn’t be killing herself for minimum wage in this dump, where her co-workers rarely show up on time.

It’s not ideal at all, but that's never been a word to describe our lives.

We’re survivors, not thrivers—or at least, we haven’t been. We’ve been trying to break the warped cycle our mother raised us in, but it’s slow-going. Neither of us wants to end up like Mom, though.

My phone buzzes, wrenching my attention from my oh-so-happy thoughts, and my friend Marisa’s name flashes on the screen. Tossing my homework onto the back floorboard, I open her text with little thought.

Graceeeeeeeeee! Party tonight! We’re all getting fucked up one last time before Colin and Rosie leave for college. You in? We’re at Trident Beach.

Painful knots coil in my stomach. Normally, I would be happy to join my friends for a wild evening of cheap beer, but that single word, “beach,” stops me cold. I drag in breath after breath. Try to force the ugly memories of the last beach party I attended back inside their rusty box, where I keep them hidden in the far corners of my mind.

Inhale, exhale, forget, repeat, I tell myself until the nausea passes and I can swallow without tasting blood and tears and fear.

I type my excuse, and I’m seconds from sending it when I hear it. Voices. Loud voices coming from the front of the gas station. Tensing, I listen closely. And the tiny hairs on the nape of my neck stand on end when I recognize one of them.

“Please, I just want to go home. Will you let me go already?” the woman begs, and my breath hitches.

Because it’s my sister.

Panic pulsing through me, I dive for the pepper spray we keep in the dashboard, then sprint around the building. I come to a stop when my gaze lands on Indigo.

Surrounded by not one but three guys.

“I mean it!” Her eyes are wide and terrified as she glances around at them. “I will call the cops if you don’t stop.”

The one blocking her path takes a deep drag of the cigarette dangling from his fingertips. “Come on, don’t be that way.”