The Unwanted Spy

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Monday, August 10

  Tuesday, August 11

  Wednesday, August 12

  Monday, September 18

  Tuesday, September 19

  Thursday, September 28

  Friday, September 29

  Sunday, October 22

  Saturday, October 28

  Sunday, October 29

  Monday, October 30

  Tuesday, October 31

  Wednesday, November 1

  Monday, November 6

  Back of Book Author's Note

  More Books by Scarlett

  Find Me Online

  The Unwanted Spy

  Spy Academy: The Royals #1

  Scarlett Haven

  Copyright © 2020 Scarlett Haven

  http://scarletthaven.net

  All rights reserved.

  Cover by Paradise Cover Designs

  Edited by Janet at Dragonfly Editing

  Edited by Eva Fernandez

  Beta read by Lydia King and Jessica Feeney

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, places, events, or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

  Monday, August 10

  Welcome to The Royals.

  There are four men staring at me.

  No, staring isn’t the right word—glaring is more like it.

  If looks could kill, I’d be eight feet under right now.

  Earlier this morning, when I arrived at Spy School to start my senior year, I was summoned to Michael Sinclair’s office before I even stepped inside the school. My suitcases currently sit by the door.

  Spy School is a school where young people train to become spies and assassins. It sounds made up—a bunch of teenagers training to be spies—but it’s true. I am fifth generation Spy School.

  Michael Sinclair, the director of Spy School, slides a gold envelope across the desk. Light dances off the shiny paper, and my heart stops.

  “Is that...” My voice trails off, and I’m not even able to finish my sentence.

  “Open it,” he urges.

  I grab the envelope off the table, holding it in my hands carefully, like I could break it if I held it the wrong way. I hold my breath as I open it. I’m cautious to not rip it. I want to cherish this letter forever. My hands shake as I pull the paper out.

  There are four words printed on the card—four words that I have been dying to hear my whole life, but never thought would happen.

  Welcome to The Royals.

  I take a deep breath trying to calm my racing heart, but it doesn’t help. I am absolutely freaking out.

  “Are you sure?” I look from the paper to Michael Sinclair.

  “You think I would tease you with this?” He folds his hands on the desk in front of him, leaning forward. A small smile curves at the corner of his lips. “Roxy, I know how hard you’ve trained for this. You, more than anybody else, deserve this.”

  I open my mouth to respond, but I’m not sure what to say.

  Sure, I’m Roxy Villareal. My parents are Spy School Royals, as were my grandparents and great-grandparents. It’s the only reason I even know about the top-secret group in the first place. But being a legacy doesn’t guarantee a spot in The Royals.

  I’m not good enough to be a Royal. I know that. I’m not the best fighter, or runner. I’m not even good at walking and chewing gum at the same time. I’m clumsy and I trip all the time. My mom always says it’s because I’m not good at watching where I’m going. I’ll walk into poles. Or people. Sometimes trees. One time I fell into a manhole, but that’s beside the point. The point is, I’m not a good Spy School agent. No matter how hard I train, I never can seem to get it right. So, I’m surprised that I am being offered a spot on The Royals right now.

  “Sir, I mean no disrespect, but I had a black eye last week because I walked into a wall.” My face grows warm as I hear snickers from the guys in the corner. I try to ignore them. “I’m not good enough to be in The Royals.”

  “It doesn’t matter if you think you’re good enough because I know you’re good enough.” Michael Sinclair speaks with such conviction in his voice, I almost believe him.

  I glance to the corner of the room, where the four guys are still standing. Their arms are crossed over their chests and they are definitely still glaring. Whoever they are, they are not happy about me being here.

  I clear my throat, looking away from them. “Who are the angry dudes?”

  Michael Sinclair’s eyes flash to the corner of the room for a moment before they land back on me. “Those are your teammates.”

  I suck in a breath.

  I’m supposed to work with the angry guys?

  “The only reason you are here is because one of those guys put your name in to be considered,” Michael says, but he’s looking at the guys as he says it. “That is how The Royals work.”

  My eyes widen.

  One of those four guys put my name in to be considered?

  I turn around to look at them, trying to figure out which one would’ve done it.

  I look at the tallest one first. He’s pale, like he spent his summer indoors. He has long blond hair that doesn’t quite reach his shoulders and his eyebrows are scrunched together, like he bit into a sour lemon. His light green eyes are narrowed at me, like he’s upset to even be breathing the same air as me.

  Nope, definitely not him.

  I look directly to his left. The guy is a lot shorter than the blond guy, but he’s not short. He has short, black hair that sticks up all over. I kind of think he just woke up that way and left it because certainly nobody fixes their hair like that. He has a pair of black-framed glasses that cover his deep blue eyes. He is looking at me with raised eyebrows and his mouth pressed into a thin line. He’s not angry, but also not happy. Maybe he’s waiting until he knows me to decide if he likes me or not. Still, I don’t think he is the one who voted for me.

  Next to him is a guy who is almost as tall as the first one. He’s got short brown hair that is on the verge of being shaggy. His blue eyes are narrowed, but his shoulders are relaxed. He is trying to look angry, but he’s not. Maybe he is the one who voted for me and he doesn’t want the other guys to know. He could be trying to hide it, I suppose.

  I glance at the fourth guy. He’s a few inches shorter than the guy beside him. He has dirty blond hair and his skin is sun kissed. He has his arms crossed over his chest. The sleeves of his shirt are tight on his biceps, but he doesn’t look huge. He has a medium frame, he’s just very athletic. His light brown eyes are trained on me, as if he’s assessing me the same way that I am him. He looks neutral—neither happy nor unhappy that I’m here.

  I turn to Michael Sinclair again, who is watching me.

  “Which one voted for me?” I ask, needing to know.

  “You’ll just have to wait for them to tell you.”

  I let out a breath, my shoulders sagging forward. I have a feeling that none of them are going to confess that they wrote my name down, especially considering how upset their teammates are about me. Not a single one of them are thrilled about me being on the team.

  “Roxy, I think that you are going to be a great addition to this group.”

  His words are soothing, but they do nothing to loosen the knot in my gut. I have a really bad feeling about this.

  I peek over at the guys again, and they are all still glaring at me.

  Excellent.

  “I have a jet waiting for the five of you at the airport,” Michael says.

  I turn to him. “A jet?”

  “The Royals train away from other Spy School agents. I fi
nd that my Royals are more focused when they’re training on their own,” he explains.

  I’m almost scared to ask where we’re going to be training. As beautiful as Switzerland is, it’s very cold here. I cross my fingers and hope for somewhere tropic, but I fully expect him to say something like Alaska, Russia, Canada, or somewhere equally cold.

  “Where do we train?” I ask, praying to the Spy School gods for tropics. I chant it over and over again in my head.

  “Florida,” he answers.

  It takes everything in me not to get up and start dancing. The only thing that keeps me in my chair is that I know I would make a fool of myself. I normally wouldn’t care, but I don’t want my new teammates to see me trip over a chair during my dance.

  Michael Sinclair shakes his head. “I see that you are pleased.”

  I nod. “I hate the cold.”

  “Ah, that’s right. Your parents were stationed in South America for most of your life.”

  They were. And while it was pretty lonely, it was also very pretty. We almost always lived within walking distance of the beach, and that is where I would spend any free moment I had, which wasn’t often.

  Michael Sinclair stands up from his desk, holding his hand out to mine. I do the same, shaking his hand.

  “Welcome to The Royals, Roxy.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  I can’t stop the smile from coming. Finally, all my extra training and hard work has paid off. It’s really happening. I am really a Spy School Royal now. Not even the four guys who keep glaring at me can wipe the smile from my face.

  Don’t screw this up.

  There are two black SUVs waiting for us at the front of the school. I put my suitcases in the trunk of one, then climb into the backseat. I imagine at least one of the guys will climb in with me, but instead they all get into the other. Maybe they want to give me time to process everything that has happened, and I’m thankful for that. I do need time to process. But part of me wonders if maybe none of them wanted to ride with me. I try not to be hurt by their decision. They don’t know me yet. They have no obligation to ride with me.

  The driver takes off, leaving the school behind. I turn to get one final look, realizing that this might be my last time seeing the school. I will have no reason to come back here after this. Occasionally, agents will come back for meetings with Michael Sinclair, but even that is rare. I had no idea that last year would be my final stay at the school. I’m going to miss it.

  As the building disappears out the back window, my phone starts ringing. My stomach twists when I see my mother’s name pop up on the phone.

  I groan and the driver looks back at me, probably to check and see if I’m all right.

  “Just my mother.” I hold up my phone, trying to delay answering it, but ignoring her would be worse than just answering it and getting it over with.

  After taking a deep breath, I answer.

  “Hey, Mom.” I try to sound cheerful, but even I can hear the dread in my voice. Anybody would dread talking to their mom if their mom is the literal spawn of Satan. Okay, maybe not so literal, but my grandfather is just as harsh as my mother, so it does run in the family. Fortunately for me, the demon gene skipped a generation.

  “Roxy.”

  I cringe when her voice comes through the speaker.

  “I made it to school safely,” I tell her, not that she’ll care. Usually, I don’t hear from my parents from August through May, which is the way I prefer things.

  “I hear a congratulations are in order.” She sounds... happy. “Michael Sinclair just gave us the wonderful news.”

  Hope wells up inside of me.

  Have I, Roxy Villareal, actually done something that my mother approves of?

  “Thanks. I could hardly believe it when I got the invitation. I’m on my way to the airport now.” I grin as I think about my future in The Royals. My life will never be the same again.

  “That’s wonderful.”

  I don’t know what to make of her pleasant disposition. Usually, when my mom talks to me, it’s to yell at me for doing something wrong. But this… I could get used to this. Maybe now that I am a Royal, she will stop treating me like a doormat and treat me like a daughter.

  “I met my teammates. They seem nice,” I say.

  Met is a strong word. And nice is just a flat out lie. But my mom is talking to me and not yelling at me. I feel like I have to keep whatever this is going.

  “Your father and I are both proud of you.” She pauses, her voice lowering to an almost growl. “Don’t screw this up, Roxy Villareal, or I swear we will disown you.”

  Ah, there is the mother I know all too well.

  “I promise I will work harder than I ever have in my life.” I don’t just say the words to reassure her. I mean them. Now that I am a Royal, I can’t slack off. We are the best of the best. The ‘best’ at Spy School thinks that The Royals are just a myth. And I will make sure that I live up to Michael Sinclair’s standards. I will make my parents proud, and I will make my new team proud.

  “You’d better. And don’t even think about calling me to whine later because it’s hard.”

  I start to respond, but the call ends.

  “Love you, too,” I say to the lock screen on my phone.

  The driver glances back at me so I offer him a smile, not wanting him to feel sorry for me.

  Normally, a call like that from my mother would ruin my day, but not today. Today, I am much too happy to let something like that get me down.

  I am proud of myself. Apparently, I am good enough for one of those grumpy guys to want me on their team. All four of them had to put in a name, and out of four people, Michael Sinclair chose me. That feels pretty incredible.

  The driver pulls the SUV beside the other one and I get out to grab my stuff. The guys all get onto the jet without a backward glance. It’s not like I expected them to help me with my bags or anything like that, but I didn’t expect them to just completely ignore me.

  Well, I guess nothing has really changed since joining The Royals. My parents still hate me. I don’t have any friends. And I’m still all alone.

  “You need help with that?” the driver asks as he shuts the trunk.

  I shake my head. “I’m good, but thank you.”

  “No problem, Miss.” He smiles. “And don’t worry about what your mom said. I think nearly half the kids from Spy School have messed up home lives. It’s what makes us good agents—all that anger.”

  I laugh. “Maybe you’re right. Thanks.”

  “Good luck on your journey.” He nods at me, then walks back to the driver’s side of the SUV, getting in.

  I pause to look at the private jet in front of me. This isn’t my first time on a private jet—when you’re raised by Spy School agents, sometimes it seems like you spend more time in the air than you do on the ground. But today feels different. Today, I am getting on a jet with my teammates, and we’re going to start our new life together. Those angry boys are going to become like family to me. They have to, with all the time we’re going to be spending together. And even though the thought of being stuck with them makes my stomach ache, I think all of us together will be a good thing.

  I wheel my bags toward the plane. For better or worse, this is my new life.

  We don’t like you.

  When I walk onto the jet, everybody gets quiet.

  Like, awkwardly quiet.

  The boys turn in their seats to look at me.

  Ah, they’re still glaring. Lovely.

  I want to walk up to them and introduce myself, but with the way they’re looking at me, I kind of don’t want to. Still, these are my teammates. We’re going to be living together and training together. I should at least know their names.

  I hold my head up high and walk down the aisle of the plane. Just as I am about to get to the nearest guy, I trip over my own feet and end up on the floor with my face full of carpet.

  The guys laugh hard, like it’s the funniest thing they�
��ve ever seen in their life. I have to resist the urge to walk to the back of the plane and sit by myself. Instead, I push myself up off the ground and stay in front of where the guys are sitting.

  They sit in four seats facing each other. There isn’t room for me in their little group, which I am beginning to think is deliberate.

  “Hi, I’m Roxy.” I decide not to tell them my last name because I know the name Villareal is kind of a big deal. I want them to like me for me and not because of who my family is.

  “I’m Ian Kessler,” the one with glasses says. He seems like he’s not going to be so bad. He doesn’t glare as much as the other guys do.

  “Alek Vasiliev,” the tall blond one says. I’m surprised to hear a slight Russian accent, though now that I think about it, he looks like a stereotypical Russian with his pale skin combined with light hair and eyes.

  “I am Kalvin Fuller, but everybody calls me Kal.” Kal is the one with the sun kissed skin and dirty blond hair. I try to place him by his accent, but he could be from anywhere in America.

  “I’m Weston Newman, call me West.” West crosses his arms over his chest. He is the one with shaggy brown hair. I thought he could be the one who voted for me, but the way he’s glaring now, I’m thinking he didn’t vote for me. In fact, he seems pretty pissed to have me here.

  I stand there, waiting for them to say something, but past introductions, they say nothing.

  I rock my weight back on my heels. “Well, I guess I’ll take a seat.”

  I sit down in a seat behind them, buckling in.

  My stomach is in knots because that meeting was an complete and utter disaster. If I were on my own right now, I’d probably have a good cry, but I can’t cry in front of these boys. That doesn’t seem like something they would ever let me forget, and they would definitely make fun of me for it.

  I look out the window as the plane begins to move. Right before it takes off, somebody plops down into the chair right beside me.