Broken Prince: A Novel (The Royals Book 2)

  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.

  It 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 wi
th 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.”

  His blue eyes do a thorough examination of me from head to toe. Then he speaks in a gruff voice. “Are you okay?”

  My breathing is so short it’s a wonder I don’t pass out. No oxygen is getting in. My lungs burn and my vision is red and hazy. Did he not listen to a word I just said?

  “You look thinner,” he says flatly. “You haven’t been eating.”

  I move to close the door.

  He just shoves a palm against it and pushes it open, stepping inside while I glare at him.

  “Get out,” I snap.

  “No.” His gaze continues to sweep over me, as if he’s checking me for injuries.

  He should be checking himself, because he’s the one who looks like he got beat up. Literally—there’s a purplish bruise peeking from the collar of his T-shirt. He’s been in a fight recently. Or maybe several fights, judging by the slight grimace on his face when he draws a breath, as if his rib cage can’t handle the act of breathing.

  Good, a vindictive part of me crows. He deserves to suffer.

  “Are you okay?” he repeats, his gaze never leaving mine. “Did anyone…touch you? Hurt you?”

  Hysterical laughter bubbles out. “Yes! Someone hurt me! You hurt me!”

  Frustration clouds his face. “You left before I could explain.”

  “There’s no explanation you could give that would make me forgive you,” I spit out. “You screwed your father’s girlfriend!”

  “No,” he says firmly. “I didn’t.”

  “Bull.”

  “It’s true. I didn’t.” He takes another breath. “Not that night. She was trying to convince me to talk to my dad on her behalf. I was trying to get rid of her.”

  I stare at him in disbelief. “She didn’t have any clothes on!” I stop abruptly, my mind snagging on one particular thing he’d said.

  Not that night?

  Anger rises in my throat. “Let’s pretend for a second that I believe you didn’t have sex with Brooke that night,” I glare at him, “which I don’t. But let’s pretend I do. You still slept with her some other time, didn’t you?”

  Guilt, deep and unmistakable, flickers in his eyes.

  “How many times?” I demand.

  Reed runs a hand through his hair. “Two, maybe three.”

  My heart seizes. Oh my God. A part of me had expected a denial. But…he’s actually admitting to having sex with his dad’s girlfriend? More than once?

  “Maybe?” I screech.

  “I was drunk.”

  “You’re disgusting,” I whisper.

  He doesn’t even flinch. “I wasn’t with her when you and I were together. The moment you and I hooked up for the first time, I was yours. Only yours.”

  “Oh, lucky me. I got Brooke’s sloppy seconds. Hurray!”

  This time he does wince. “Ella—”

  “Shut. Up.” I hold up my hand, so grossed out I can barely look at him. “I’m not even going to ask you why you did it, because I know exactly why you did. Reed Royal hates his daddy. Reed Royal decides to get back at his daddy. Reed Royal has sex with his daddy’s girlfriend.” I gag. “Do you realize how messed up that is?”

  “Yeah. I do.” His voice is hoarse. “But I never claimed to be a saint. I made a lot of mistakes before I met you.”

  “Reed.” I meet his gaze head-on. “I will never forgive you for this.”

  A flash of determination lights his eyes. “You don’t mean that.”

  I step toward the door. “Nothing you say or do will make me forget what I saw in your bedroom that night. Just be happy I’m keeping my mouth shut about it, because if Callum finds out, he’ll lose his shit.”

  “I don’t care about my dad.” Reed advances on me. “You left me,” he growls.

  My jaw drops. “You’re mad at me for leaving? Of course I left! Why would I spend another second in this awful house after what you did?”

  He moves even closer, his big frame invading my personal space, his hand coming out to cup my chin. I shrink from his touch, and that makes his eyes blaze hotter.

  “I missed you every second you were gone. I thought about you every goddamn second. You want to hate me for what I did? Don’t bother—I was hating myself for it long before you showed up. I slept with Brooke and that’s something I’ve gotta live with.” His fingers tremble against my jaw. “But I didn’t screw her that night, and I’m not letting you throw away what you and I have just because—”

  “What we have? We have nothing.” I feel sick again. I’m done with this conversation. “Get out of my room, Reed. I can’t even look at you right now.”

  When he doesn’t budge, I plant both hands against his torso and shove him. Hard. And I keep shoving, keep slapping at his muscular chest until I move him, inch by inch, to the doorway. The slight smirk on his face only heightens my anger. Does he find this funny? Is everything a game to this guy?

  “Get out,” I order. “I’m done with you.”

  He stares at my hands, which are still pressed up against him, then at my face, which I’m pretty sure is redder than a tomato.

  “Sure, I’ll go, if that’s what you want.” He cocks one eyebrow. “But we’re not done, Ella. Not by a longshot.”

  I barely wait until he’s stepped past the threshold before I slam the door in his face.

  9

  The first thing I see when I wake up is the fan over my bed. The smooth, heavy cotton sheets remind me I’m no longer in that shitty, forty-dollar-a-night hotel room anymore, but back in the Royal Palace.

  Everything is the same here. I even smell Reed on the pillowcases, like he slept in here every night while I was gone. I throw the pillow on the floor and make a mental note to buy some new sheets.

  Did I make the right decision coming back? Did I have a choice? Callum proved he could run me down anywhere. I made what demands I could. The hand-scan security lock on my bedroom door. A credit card in my name. A promise that once I was done with high school, the scrutiny would be lifted.

  The question I should be asking myself is whether I’m going to let one guy ruin my life. Am I so weak that I can’t handle Reed Royal? I’ve been in charge for years, first taking care of my mom and then myself. The hole in my heart left by Mom’s death eventually healed over. The hole that Reed put there will heal too.

  Right?

  Rolling over, I spot the phone that Callum gave me lying on the nightstand. I left it behind along with the car, the clothes, and everything else I’d been gifted. But separating myself from the Royals, specifically Reed, didn’t mean I stoppe
d thinking about him. I couldn’t leave that behind, and those memories haunted me every mile I traveled.

  I grab the phone with purpose and force myself to face the mess I left behind. Seeing all the messages is bittersweet. Every other time I’ve picked up and left, no one has missed me. Mom and I never stayed in any one place for longer than a couple of years.

  This time, I have more than thirty messages from Valerie, along with several from Reed. I delete those without reading them. There are a few from Easton, but I suspect those are also from Reed, so I delete them, too. The other messages are from my boss, Lucy, the owner of The French Twist, a bakery close to Astor Park Prep. Those start out with concern and end with impatience.

  But it’s Val’s messages that bring an uncomfortable knot to my stomach. I should’ve said something to her. I thought about it a lot while I was gone, but I was afraid. Not just that the Royals might weasel information out of her, but also because she was a link to something I wanted to forget. I feel bad about how I treated her, though. If she up and disappeared, I’d be pissed.

  I’m sorry. I’m the shittiest friend ever. Do you still want to talk to me?

  I set the phone down and stare at the ceiling. To my surprise, the phone rings immediately. Val’s picture pops up.

  I take a deep breath and answer it.

  “Hey, Val.”

  “Where have you been?” she shrieks. “I’ve called and called!”

  I open my mouth to feed her the illness excuse, but her next words stop me.

  “And don’t tell me that you were sick because no one is sick for two weeks and can’t even make a phone call! Well, unless she’s patient zero at the beginning of a zombie apocalypse.”

  As I listen to her concerned words, I realize that this is a test of our friendship. Even after I seemingly ducked her calls for two weeks, she’s still accepting me back into her life. Yeah, she’s asking questions, but ones she deserves an answer to. She’s important. Important enough for an honest answer, no matter how embarrassing it is.

  “I ran away,” I confess.

  “Oh, Ella, no.” She sighs sadly. “What did those Royals do to you?”