Broken Prince: A Novel (The Royals Book 2) (6 page)

I hang up and swipe a hand across my face as the blood from the cut drips down into my eye. Stepping over Daniel’s body, I drawl, “Later, Wade. Hunter.” I give the big, silent lineman a nod.

He returns the gesture with his own chin jerk, and I head outside to get some air.

* * *

D
ad is frothing
at the mouth when he appears in the waiting area outside Headmaster Beringer’s office. He doesn’t comment on my bloody forehead. He just yanks me up by the lapels of my blazer and brings his face close to mine.

“This needs to stop,” he hisses.

I shrug out of his grasp. “Chill out. I haven’t been in a fight in over a year,” I remind him.

“You want a medal for that? A pat on the back? Jesus, Reed, how many times do we have to go through this routine? How many goddamn checks do I need to write before you smarten up?”

I look him square in the eye. “Daniel Delacorte drugged Ella at a party and tried to rape her.”

Dad sucks in a sharp breath.

“Mr. Royal.”

We turn to see Beringer’s secretary standing in the headmaster’s open doorway.

“Mr. Beringer will see you now,” she says primly.

Dad stalks past me, tossing over his shoulder, “Stay here. I’ll deal with this.”

I try to hide my pleasure. I get to kick it out here while Dad cleans up my mess? Sweet. Not that I consider it a “mess.” Delacorte had it coming. He’s deserved a beating since the night he tried to hurt Ella, but I got sidetracked from delivering retribution because I was too busy falling in love with her.

I plant my ass back in the plush waiting room chair, studiously avoiding the disapproving frowns that Beringer’s secretary keeps flashing my way.

Dad’s meeting with Beringer lasts less than ten minutes. Seven, if the clock over the door is accurate. When he strides out of the office, his eyes contain that triumphant gleam he usually has after he closes a lucrative business deal.

“All taken care of,” he tells me, then gestures for me to follow him. “Go back to class, but make sure you come straight home after school. Your brothers, too. No unnecessary stops. I need all of you at home.”

I instantly tense up. “Why? What’s going on?”

“I was going to wait until after school to tell you, but…since I’m already here…” Dad pauses in the middle of the huge, wood-paneled lobby. “The PI found Ella.”

Before I can even begin to process that bombshell, my father stalks out the front entrance, leaving me staring after him in shock.

T
he bus rolls
into Bayview much, much too soon. I’m not ready. But I know I’ll never be ready. Reed’s betrayal lives inside of me now. It slinks through my veins like black tar, attacking what’s left of my heart like a fast-acting cancer.

Reed broke me. He
tricked
me. He made me believe that something good could exist in this awful, screwed-up world. That someone could actually give a damn about me.

I should have known better. I’ve spent my entire life in the gutter, frantically trying to crawl my way out of it. I loved my mother, but I wanted so much more than the life she gave us. I wanted more than seedy apartments and moldy leftovers and a desperate struggle to make ends meet.

Callum Royal gave me what Mom couldn’t: money, an education, a fancy mansion to live in. A family. A—

An illusion
, a bitter voice mutters in my head.

Yeah, I guess it was. And the sad thing is, Callum doesn’t even know it. He doesn’t even realize he’s living in a house of lies.

Or maybe he does. Maybe he’s fully aware that his son is sleeping with—

No. I refuse to think about what I saw in Reed’s bedroom the night I skipped town.

But the images are already bubbling to the surface of my mind.

Reed and Brooke on his bed.

Brooke naked.

Brooke touching him.

A gagging noise flies out of my mouth, causing the elderly woman across the aisle to glance over in concern.

“Are you all right, sweetie?” she asks.

I swallow the ball of nausea. “Fine,” I say weakly. “I have a bit of a stomachache.”

“Sit tight,” the woman says with a reassuring smile. “They’re opening the doors now. We’ll be out of here in a jiffy.”

God. No. A jiffy is too soon. I don’t ever want to get off this bus. I don’t want the cash that Callum forced on me back in Nashville. I don’t want to go back to the Royal mansion and pretend that my heart hasn’t been shattered into a million pieces. I don’t want to see Reed or hear his apologies. If he even has any.

He hadn’t said a word when I walked in on him and his father’s girlfriend. Not one word. For all I know, I’ll walk through the door and discover that Reed is back to his old cruel self. Maybe I’d prefer that, actually, and then I can forget I ever loved him.

I stumble off the bus, holding my backpack strap tight to my shoulder. The sun has already set, but the station is all lit up. People bustle around me as the driver unloads everyone’s luggage from the belly of the vehicle. I don’t have any bags, only my backpack.

The night I ran, I didn’t take any of the fancy clothes Brooke had bought me, and now they’re all waiting for me at the mansion. I wish I could burn every scrap of fabric. I don’t want to wear those clothes or live in that house.

Why couldn’t Callum leave me alone? I could have started a new life in Nashville. I could have been
happy
. Eventually, anyway.

Instead, I’m in Royal clutches again, after Callum used every threat in the book to bring me back. I can’t believe the lengths he went to in order to find me. Turns out the bills from the original ten grand he gave me had sequential serial numbers—all he had to do was wait until I used one, and then he was able to pinpoint my location.

I don’t even want to know how many laws he broke to trace the serial number of a hundred-dollar bill in this country. But I guess men like Callum are above the law.

A car honks, and I stiffen when a black Town Car pulls up to the curb. The one that followed the bus from Nashville to Bayview. The driver gets out—it’s Durand, Callum’s chauffeur-slash-bodyguard, who’s as big as a mountain and just as forbidding.

“How was the ride?” he asks gruffly. “Are you hungry? Should we stop for food?”

Since Durand is never this chatty, I wonder if Callum ordered him to be extra nice to me. I received no such order, so I’m not at all nice as I mutter, “Get in the car and drive.”

His nostrils flare.

I don’t feel bad. I’m sick to death of these people. From this point on, they’re my enemies. They’re the prison guards and I’m the inmate. They’re not my friends or my family. They’re nothing to me.

* * *

I
t seems
like every light in the mansion is on when Durand stops the car in the circular driveway. Since the house is pretty much a sprawling rectangle of nothing but windows, all that dazzling light is nearly blinding.

The oak doors at the pillared entrance fly open and Callum appears, his dark hair perfectly styled, his tailored suit clinging to his broad frame.

I square my shoulders, prepared for another showdown, but my legal guardian smiles sadly and says, “Welcome back.”

There’s nothing welcoming about it. This man tracked me all the way to Nashville and threatened me. His list of dire consequences if I didn’t return seemed endless.

He would have me arrested as a runaway.

He would report me to the police for using my mother’s identification.

He would tell them I stole the ten grand he gave me and have me charged with theft.

None of those threats are what made me cave. No, it was his emphatic declaration that there was no place I could run that he couldn’t find me. Anywhere I went, he’d be there. He’d hunt me for the rest of my life, because, as he reminded me, he owed it to my father.

My father, a man I never even met. A man who, from the sound of it, was a spoiled, selfish jerk who married a money-hungry shrew while neglecting to tell her—or anyone else, for that matter—that he knocked up a young woman when he was on shore leave eighteen years ago.

I don’t owe Steve O’Halloran a thing. I don’t owe Callum Royal, either. But I also don’t want to be looking over my shoulder for the rest of my life. Callum doesn’t bluff. He would never stop hunting me if I ran again.

As I follow him into the mansion, I remind myself that I’m strong. I’m resilient. I can handle two years of living with the Royals. All I have to do is pretend they’re not around. My focus will be on finishing high school and then I’m off to college. Once I graduate, I’ll never have to step foot in this house again.

Upstairs, Callum shows me the new security system he installed on my bedroom door. It’s a biometric hand scan, supposedly the kind of security he has at Atlantic Aviation. Only my handprint can grant access to the room, which means no more late-night visits from Reed. No more watching movies with Easton. This room is my cell, and that’s exactly what I want.

“Ella.” Callum sounds weary as he follows me into my room, which is as pink and girlish as I remember. Callum had consulted with a decorator but picked everything out himself, proving that he knows absolutely nothing about teenage girls.

“What?” I ask.

“I know why you ran off, and I wanted—”

“You know?” I cut in warily.

Callum nods. “Reed told me.”

“He
told
you?” I can’t contain or hide my surprise. Reed told his father about him and Brooke? And Callum didn’t kick him out? Hell, Callum doesn’t even look upset! Who
are
these people?

“I understand why you might’ve been too embarrassed to come to me yourself,” Callum continues, “but I want you to know that you can always talk to me about anything. In fact, I think we should file a police report first thing tomorrow morning.”

Confusion washes over me. “A police report?”

“That boy needs to be punished for what he did, Ella.”

“That boy?” What the heck is going on right now? Callum wants to have his son arrested for…for what? Underage sex? I’m still a virgin. Can I be prosecuted for—jeez. I flush deep red.

His next words shock me. “I don’t give a damn if his father is a judge. Delacorte can’t get away with drugging and attempting to sexually assault a girl.”

I suck in a breath. Oh gosh. Reed told Callum what Daniel tried to do to me? Why? Or rather, why
now
and not weeks ago when it happened?

But whatever Reed’s reasons were, I resent him for saying something. The last thing I want to do is get the cops involved, or to find myself caught up in a long, messy court case. I can imagine exactly what would go on in that courtroom. High school stripper alleges some rich white boy tried to drug her for sex? No one is believing that.

“I’m not filing a report,” I say stiffly.

“Ella—”

“It was no big deal, okay? Your sons found me before Daniel could do any real damage.” Frustration floods my belly. “And that’s not why I ran off, Callum. I just…I don’t belong here, okay? I’m not cut out to be some rich princess who goes to prep school and drinks a thousand-dollar glass of champagne at dinner. That’s not me. I’m not fancy or wealthy or—”

“But you are wealthy,” he interrupts quietly. “You’re very, very wealthy, Ella, and you need to start accepting that. Your father left you a fortune, and one of these days we’ll need to sit down with Steve’s lawyers to decide what you’re going to do with that money. Investments, trusts, that sort of thing. In fact—” He pulls out a leather wallet and hands it to me. “Your cash for the month, per our agreement, and a credit card.”

I suddenly feel light-headed. The memory of Reed and Brooke together is the only thing I’ve been able to concentrate on since I left. I forgot all about the inheritance from Steve.

“We can discuss it another time,” I mumble.

He nods. “Are you sure you won’t reconsider telling the authorities about Delacorte?”

“I won’t reconsider,” I say firmly.

He looks resigned. “All right. Would you like me to bring you up something to eat?”

“I ate at the last rest stop.” I want him gone, and he knows it.

“Okay. Well.” He edges to the door. “Why don’t you turn in early? I’m sure you’re exhausted after that long bus ride. We can talk more tomorrow.”

Callum leaves, and I feel a pang of irritation when I notice he didn’t shut the door all the way. I walk over to close it at the same time it flies open, nearly knocking me on my ass.

The next thing I know, a pair of strong arms wrap tightly around me.

At first I stiffen, because I think it’s Reed, but when I realize it’s Easton, I relax. He’s as tall and muscular as Reed, with the same dark hair and blue eyes, but the scent of his shampoo is sweeter, and his aftershave isn’t as spicy as Reed’s.

“Easton—” I start, then gasp because the sound of my voice only tightens his grip.

He doesn’t say a word. He hugs me as if I’m a security blanket. It’s a chest-crushing, desperate embrace that makes it hard to breathe. His chin lands on my shoulder and then burrows in my neck, and although I’m supposed to be mad at every Royal in this mansion, I can’t stop myself from stroking one hand through his hair. This is Easton, my self-proclaimed “big brother” even though we’re the same age. He’s larger than life, incorrigible, often annoying and always screwed-up.

He probably knew about Reed and Brooke—there’s no way Reed kept that a secret from Easton—and yet I can’t bring myself to hate him. Not when he’s trembling in my arms. Not when he sags backward and gazes at me with such overwhelming relief it takes my breath away.

And then I blink and he’s gone, stumbling out of my room without a word. I feel a spark of concern. Where were the smartass remarks? Some cocky comment about how I came back because of his fine bod and animal magnetism?

Frowning, I shut the door and force myself not to dwell on Easton’s strange behavior. I’m not allowing myself to get caught up in any Royal drama again, not if I want to survive my time here.

I stick the wallet into my backpack, whip my sweatshirt off, and crawl onto the bed. The silk coverlet feels like heaven against my bare arms.

In Nashville, I was staying in a cheap motel with the scratchiest bedspread known to man. The thing was also covered with stains I never, ever want to know the source of. I’d landed a job waiting tables at a diner when Callum showed up, same way he’d shown up in Kirkwood and dragged me out of the strip club.

I still can’t decide if my life was better or worse before Callum Royal found me.

My heart clenches as I picture Reed’s face. Worse, I decide. So much worse.

As if he knew that I was thinking about him, Reed speaks from behind my closed door. “Ella. Let me in.”

I ignore him.

He knocks twice. “Please. I need to talk to you.”

I roll over on my side with my back to the door. His voice is killing me.

A growl comes from the other side of the door. “You really think this scanner is gonna keep me out, baby? You know better.” He pauses. When I don’t answer, he goes on. “Fine. I’ll be back. Grabbing a toolbox.”

The threat—which I know isn’t an empty one—has me flying off the bed. I slap my hand on the security panel and a loud beep fills the room as the lock clicks. I throw open the door and meet the eyes of the guy who was in the process of destroying me before I left. Thank God I put a stop to that. He’s never getting close enough to have any impact on me again.

“I am
not
your baby,” I hiss out. “I am
nothing
to you, and you’re nothing to me, you understand me? Don’t call me baby. Don’t call me anything. Stay the hell away from me.”