Broken Prince: A Novel (The Royals Book 2) (3 page)

Instead, I stay quiet and think of what I’m going to say to her when we find her.

“Let’s go. I have an idea.” I pivot and head toward the entrance.

“I thought we were going to Gainesville,” East mutters from behind me.

“This’ll save us the drive.”

We make a beeline for the security office, where I slip a hundred bucks to the rent-a-cop and he gives us access to the camera footage from Gainesville. The guy rewinds the tape to the moment the bus from Bayview pulls in, and my heart seizes up as I scan the passengers. Then it drops to my stomach when I realize that none of those passengers is Ella.

“What the hell,” East blurts out as we leave the bus station ten minutes later. “The ticket lady said Ella was on that bus.”

My jaw is so tight I can barely get a word out. “Maybe she got off at a different stop.”

We trudge back to the Rover and slide in. “Now what?” he asks, his eyes narrowed menacingly at me.

I rake a hand through my hair. We could drive to every bus station on the route, but I suspect that’d be a wild goose chase. Ella’s smart, and she’s used to running, used to skipping town at a moment’s notice and making a new life for herself. She learned it from her mother.

Another queasy feeling twists my gut as a thought occurs to me. Is she going to get a job at another strip club? I know Ella will do whatever she needs to do to survive, but the thought of her taking her clothes off for a bunch of skeezy perverts makes my blood boil.

I have to find her. If something happened to her because I drove her away, I won’t be able to live with myself.

“We go home,” I announce.

My brother looks startled. “Why?”

“Dad has an investigator on retainer. He’ll be able to find her a lot faster than we will.”

“Dad’s gonna lose his shit.”

No kidding. And I’ll deal with the fallout the best I can, but right now, finding Ella trumps everything.

A
s Easton predicted
, Dad is livid when we tell him Ella’s missing. I haven’t slept in over twenty-four hours and I’m exhausted, too exhausted to face off with him tonight.

“Why the
hell
didn’t you call me earlier?” my father booms. He paces the massive living room in the mansion, his thousand-dollar wingtips slapping the gleaming hardwood floor.

“We figured we’d find her before it came down to that,” I say tersely.

“I’m her legal guardian! I should have been informed.” Dad’s breathing grows labored. “What did you do, Reed?”

His furious gaze bores into me. He’s not looking at East, or the twins, who are on the couch wearing identical looks of concern. I’m not surprised Dad’s decided to lay the blame at my feet. He knows my brothers follow my lead, that the only Royal who could’ve driven Ella away is me.

I swallow. Shit. I don’t want him to know that Ella and I got involved right under his nose. I want him to focus on finding her, not distract him with the news that his son is hooking up with his new ward.

“It wasn’t Reed.”

Easton’s quiet confession shocks the hell out of me. I glance at my brother, but his eyes are on Dad.

“I’m the reason she’s gone. We had a run-in with my bookie the other night—I owed him some cash—and Ella got spooked. This dude’s not the friendliest guy, if you know what I mean.”

The vein in Dad’s forehead looks like it might burst. “Your
bookie
? You’re mixed up in that shit again?”

“I’m sorry.” Easton shrugs.

“You’re sorry? You dragged Ella into one of your messes and scared her so badly that she ran away!”

Dad advances on my brother, and I immediately step into his path.

“East made a mistake,” I say firmly, avoiding my brother’s eyes. I’ll thank him later for taking the heat. Right now, we need to calm the old man down. “But it’s done, over with, all right? We should be concentrating on finding her.”

Dad’s shoulders drop. “You’re right.” He nods, his expression hardening. “I’ll call my PI.”

He storms out of the living room without another word, his heavy footsteps echoing in the corridor. A moment later, we hear his study door slam shut.

“East,” I start.

He turns with a deadly look. “I didn’t do it for you. I did it for her.”

My throat tightens. “I know.”

“If Dad knew about…” He trails off, warily glancing at the twins, who hadn’t said a word during the entire exchange. “It would distract him.”

“You think the PI will find Ella?” Sawyer asks.

“Yes,” I answer with conviction I don’t feel.

“If she uses her mom’s ID, we can definitely find her,” East assures our younger brother. “If she figures out how to get a fake ID…” His shoulders slump in defeat. “I don’t know.”

“She can’t hide forever,” Seb says helpfully.

Yeah, she can. She’s the most resourceful person I’ve ever known. If Ella wants to stay hidden, then she will.

My phone buzzes in my pocket. I eagerly grab it, but it’s not the person I want to hear from. Bile coats my throat when I see Brooke’s name.

A little birdie told me your princess is missing
.

“Ella?” East says hopefully.

“Brooke.” Her name burns my tongue.

“What does she want?”

“Nothing,” I mutter, just as another message pops up.

Callum must be beside himself. Poor man. He needs someone to comfort him
.

I grit my teeth. She ain’t subtle, that’s for sure.

In our mad search for Ella, I haven’t allowed myself to think about Brooke’s pregnancy and the deal I struck with her last night. Now I can’t ignore it, because the messages keep coming.

You have a job to do, Reed.

You made a promise.

Answer me, you little prick!

You want some baby mama drama? Is that it?

Jesus. I don’t need this right now. I choke down my rage and force myself to respond.
Relax, bitch. I’ll go talk to him
.

“What does she want?” Easton repeats angrily.

“Nothing,” I say again. Then I leave him and the twins in the living room and drag myself to my father’s study.

I don’t want to do this. I really, really don’t want to do this.

I knock on the door.

“What is it, Reed?”

“How did you know it’s me?” I ask as I push the door open.

“Because with Gideon gone, you’re the leader of your merry band of brothers.” Dad throws back his tumbler full of Scotch while reaching for a refill. And I wonder why I can’t get East off the bottle.

I heave a breath. “I think you should call Brooke.”

Dad halts in the middle of stoppering the Scotch.

Yeah, you heard me, old man. And trust me, I’m as shocked as you are.

When he doesn’t respond, I force myself to push forward. “When you bring Ella back, we’re gonna need help. We need someone to provide a buffer.” I gag on my next words. “A woman’s touch, I guess. Ella was tight with her mom. Maybe if Brooke had been around more before, Ella wouldn’t have left.”

My father frowns at me. “I thought you hated Brooke.”

“How many times do you want me to say I’m a dumbass?” I stretch a painful smile across my face.

He remains unconvinced. “She wants a ring and I’m not ready for that.”

Thank God. I guess the booze hasn’t erased
all
his good judgment.

“You don’t have to marry her. Just…” I lick my lips. This is effing hard, but I press on because I made this deal. I can’t have Brooke telling people that demon spawn is mine. “Just know it’s cool if you bring her back. I get it. We need people to care about. Who care about us.”

That much is true, at least. Ella’s love made me believe that I could be a better person.

“That’s generous of you,” Dad says dryly. “And hell, maybe you’re right.” He fingers the full glass. “We’ll find her, Reed.”

“I hope so.”

He gives me a tight smile and I back out of the room. As the door is closing, I hear him pick up the phone and say, “Brooke, it’s Callum. Got a minute?”

I quickly send her a text.

It’s done. Don’t tell him about the baby. It’ll just distract him.

She sends me back a thumbs-up emoji. The thin metal casing bites into my fingers as I clench my phone, fighting back the urge to throw it at the wall.

“
R
eed
.” Valerie Carrington catches up to me on the back lawn, her chin-length hair blowing around in the crisp October wind. “Wait.”

I reluctantly stop, turning to find a pair of dark eyes blazing up at me. Val is pixie-sized, but she’s a commanding force. We could use someone with her bulldozer approach on our O-line.

“I’m late for practice,” I mutter.

“I don’t care.” She crosses her arms. “You need to stop playing games with me. If you don’t tell me what’s going on with Ella, I swear to God I’m calling the police.”

It’s been two days since Ella took off and we still have no word from the PI. Dad’s been forcing us to go to school as if everything is normal. He told the headmaster that Ella is home sick, which is the same thing I tell Val now. “She’s home sick.”

“Bull.
Shit
.”

“She is.”

“Then why can’t I see her? Why isn’t she texting or returning my calls? It’s not like she has cholera! It’s the
flu
—there’s a shot for that. And she should still be able to see her friends.”

“Callum pretty much has her quarantined,” I lie.

“I don’t believe you,” she says bluntly. “I think something’s wrong, like seriously wrong, and if you don’t tell me what it is, I’m going to kick you in the balls, Reed Royal.”

“She’s home sick,” I repeat. “She’s got the flu.”

Valerie’s jaw opens. Then closes. Then opens again to release an aggravated shriek. “You’re such a liar.”

She follows up on her threat, lunging forward to knee me in the balls.

Agonizing pain shoots through me. “Son of a
bitch
.” My eyes water as I cup my junk.

Valerie stalks off without another word.

A loud hoot sounds from behind me. Still gripping my aching nuts, I groan as Wade Carlisle sidles up to me.

“What’d you do to deserve that?” he asks with a grin. “Turn her down?”

“Something like that.”

He runs a hand through his messy blond hair. “You gonna be able to spot me, or should we go find some ice first?”

“I can spot you, asshole.”

We head for the gym—I hobble and Wade cackles like an old lady. The gym is reserved for the football team between three and six, which gives me three hours to work out until my body and mind completely shut down. And that’s exactly what I do. I lift until my arms ache, pushing myself into a state of pure exhaustion.

Later that night, I go into Ella’s room and lie on her bed. The scent of her skin grows fainter every time I enter. I know that’s my fault, too. East popped his head in last night and said the room stunk of me.

The house stinks, all right. Brooke has been here every night since Ella took off, her hands on Dad and her eyes on me. From time to time, her palm lingers over her stomach as a warning that if I step out of line, she’s going to bust out the pregnancy news. The baby must be Dad’s, which means it’s my half brother or sister, but I don’t know what to do with that or how to process it other than that Brooke’s here and Ella’s not—and that’s the perfect symbol for everything that’s wrong in my world.

* * *

T
he next day
is more of the same.

I go through the motions, sitting in my classes without hearing a word the teachers say and then heading for the field to attend afternoon practice. Unfortunately it’s just a walk-through so I don’t get to hit anyone.

Tonight there’s a home game against Devlin High, whose offensive line breaks apart like a cheap toy after every snap. I’ll get to pummel their quarterback. I’ll get to play myself numb. And when I get home, hopefully I’ll be too drained to obsess over Ella.

Ella once asked me if I fought for money. I don’t. I fight because I enjoy it. I like the feel of my fist in someone’s face. I don’t even mind the pain that blooms when someone else lands a punch. It feels real. But I never needed it. Never really needed anything before she came along. Now I’m finding it hard to breathe without her next to me.

I reach the back doors of the building just as a group of guys breeze out. One of them jostles my shoulder, then snaps, “Watch where you’re going, Royal.”

I tense up as I lock eyes with Daniel Delacorte, the creep who drugged Ella at a party last month.

“Nice to see you again, Delacorte,” I drawl. “I’m surprised your rapist ass is still at Astor Park.”

“You shouldn’t be.” He sneers. “After all, they let all kinds of scum in.”

I don’t know whether he’s referring to me or Ella.

Before I can reply, a girl runs between us, her hands covering her face. Loud, choking sobs momentarily distract both Daniel and me, and we watch as she runs to a white Passat in the student lot and climbs inside.

He turns back to me with a smirk. “Isn’t that the twins’ girlfriend? What happened? Did they decide that they were tired of their beard?”

I swing around and take another glance at the girl, but it’s definitely not Lauren Donovan. This one is blonde and willowy. Lauren’s a tiny redhead.

Turning back, I give Daniel a contemptuous look. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.” The twins’ relationship with Lauren is screwed up, but it’s their business, and I’m not about to hand Delacorte any ammo over my brothers.

“Sure you don’t.” His lip curls. “You Royals are sick. The twins sharing. Easton slamming everything that moves. You and your dad dipping your wicks in the same pot. Do you and the old man compare notes about Ella? I bet you do.”

I clench my fists at my side. Punching this douchebag’s lights out might feel good, but his daddy is a district court judge and I suspect I’d have a harder time buying my way out of an assault charge backed by the Delacortes.

Last time I got in a fight at Astor, Dad threatened to ship the twins off to military school. We were able to smooth everything over because a few other kids were willing to swear that the other punk threw the first punch. I don’t remember if he did or not. All I remember is him saying my mom was a drugged-out whore who offed herself to get away from me and my brothers. After that, all I saw was red.

“Oh, and I heard your daddy got little orphan Ella pregnant,” Daniel crows, on a roll now. “Callum Royal, pedophile. Bet the board of directors of Atlantic Aviation love hearing that.”

“You’re gonna want to shut your trap,” I warn.

I surge toward him, but Wade appears suddenly at my side and yanks me backward.

“What you going to do, hit me?” Daniel taunts. “My dad’s a judge, don’t you remember? You’ll be hauled into juvie so fast your head will spin.”

“Your dad know that the only way you get any chicks is because you drug them?”

Wade shoves Daniel back. “Move on, Delacorte. No one wants you around.”

Daniel is dumb as rocks because he doesn’t listen. “You think he doesn’t know? He’s bought off chicks before. Your Ella won’t talk either because her mouth is so full of Royal dick.”

Wade’s arm shoots out to bar my attack, and if it was only Wade, I would’ve been able to shrug him off. But two other guys from my team appear and grab Daniel, and even as he’s dragged away, he still can’t shut up. “Your control over this school is slipping, Royal! You won’t be king here much longer.”

As if I give a fuck about that.

“Get your head straight,” Wade warns. “We’ve got a game tonight.”

I jerk out of his hold. “That piece of shit tried to rape my girl.”

Wade blinks. “Your girl…? Wait, you mean your sister?” His jaw drops. “Aw man, you’re macking on your
sister
?”

“She’s not my sister,” I growl. “We’re not even remotely related.”

I push Wade off and watch with narrowed eyes as Daniel gets into his car. I guess the asshole didn’t learn his lesson after Ella and a couple of her friends stripped him down and tied him up as revenge for what he did to Ella.

Next time we cross paths? He’s not getting away that easy.

* * *

A
s Coach goes
over some last second changes with Wade, our QB, I methodically wrap one hand with tape and then the other. My pre-game ritual has been the same since I played Pop Warner ball, and usually the routine centers me, narrows my focus to only what’s going down on the field.

Dress, tape, listen to some beats. Today it’s 2 Chainz and Yeezy asking me to bury them next to their hoes.

Tonight, the ritual doesn’t work. All I can think about is Ella. Alone. Hungry. Terrorized by men at a strip club or on the street. The scenes Easton described at the bus station keep replaying themselves over and over. Ella violated. Ella crying. Ella needing help and no one there to answer her.

“You still with us, Royal?” A sharp bark catches my attention and I look up into the annoyed face of my coach.

Across from me, East makes a winding motion with his finger. Time to finish wrapping up and go.

“Yessir.”

We run down the short tunnel and onto the field behind polo-playing Gale Hardesty and his horse. It’s a miracle none of us have stepped in horse shit during this circus routine.

I slap one taped fist into another. Easton joins me.

“Let’s kill these motherfuckers.”

“Absolutely.”

We’re in complete agreement. Neither of us can take out our aggression on one another, but the game here and a fight afterward? Maybe both of us can work ourselves into a livable state.

Devlin High wins the toss and elects to receive. Easton and I crack our helmets together and run out on defense.

“How much did you pay the refs tonight?” the tight end chirps as I line up across from him. He’s a mouthy ass. I can’t remember his name. Betme. Bettinski. Bettman? Whatever. I’ll look at his jersey after I’ve smashed his ass into the turf on the way to his quarterback.

The ball snaps and Easton and I fly into the backfield. The tight end barely touches me, and East and I are there to greet the running back as he gets the handoff. I lower my head and drive my shoulder into his gut. The ball pops loose and the crowd releases a giant roar that extends long enough to let me know that someone from Astor Park is running it deep.

A teammate grabs me by my pads and hauls me to my feet as Easton crosses the goal line.

I look down at the running back and offer my hand. “Dude, head’s up—East and I are in a piss-poor mood and we’re gonna take it out on you tonight. Might want to spread the word.”

The little guy’s eyes widen in alarm.

Bettman shoulders his way over. “Lucky hit. Next time it’ll be your ass on the turf.”

I bare my teeth. “Bring it.”

If I get enough hits in, maybe I’ll be able to push Ella out of my mind for more than five seconds.

Wade slaps my helmet. “Nice tackle, Royal.” He cheers when East comes off the field. “Going to let the offense on the field, Easton?”

“Why? We can do it all tonight. Besides, heard you might’ve pulled a groin with a cheerleader from North High.”

Wade grins. “She’s a gymnast, not a cheerleader. But yeah, if you wanna score a few more times, it’s good with me.”

Over his shoulder I see Liam Hunter giving us the death glare. He wants as much time in the game as possible. It’s his senior year and he needs the film.

Ordinarily I’ve got no problem with Hunter, but the way he’s staring at me right now makes me want to take a swing at his square jaw. Damn. I need a fight.

I slam my helmet into my hand. On the field, Bettman keeps jawing, his mouth working when his blocks don’t. I get into his face after one play, but East drags me away.

“Save it for after,” he warns.

By halftime, we’re up by four touchdowns—one more by the defense and the other two by the offense. Hunter got a couple of highlights for his college recruiting reel after pancaking a few D-line men. We’re all supposed to be in good spirits.

Coach doesn’t even give us a motivational speech. He walks around, delivers a few pats on the head, and then hides himself in his office to tinker with his fantasy lineup, smoke, or jack off.

As the guys start chattering about the post-game party and whose pussy they’re going to destroy, I pull out my phone.

Fight 2nite?
I text.

I glance up at East and mouth
you in
?