by Hart, Stella
Broken Princess
Ruthless Rulers Book 3
Stella Hart
Copyright © 2019 by Stella Hart
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Contents
1. Logan
2. Logan
3. Willow
4. Willow
5. Willow
6. Logan
7. Logan
8. Willow
9. Logan
10. Willow
11. Logan
12. Logan
13. Logan
14. Willow
15. Logan
16. Logan
17. Willow
18. Logan
19. Willow
20. Willow
Epilogue
Also by Stella Hart
Sneak Peek of Wild Elite
1
Logan
A wash of cold swept over me, and every part of my body seemed to go on pause. I couldn’t believe it. All this time….
My brain stuttered as I stared into space, trying and failing to collect my thoughts. The Christmas party around me seemed to have faded into oblivion, and when Cleo ended our call, I barely even registered it. I couldn’t hear or comprehend anything beyond the new scrap of information bouncing around inside my skull.
One time when I was a kid, I got bowled over by an older and much bigger cousin during a football game at my uncle’s summer house. He knocked me flat on my back, and the force of the impact snatched all the air from my lungs. I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t speak. Couldn’t move.
That was exactly how I felt now. Stunned into immobility.
A woman in a long blue dress stepped past me a moment later, and the sight of her snapped me out of my trance. Willow…
I lifted my phone and opened my messages. My fingers jumped all over the place as if in spasm as I tapped out a text, but the rest of my body remained rigid, weighed down from the shock.
Hey, I wrote to Willow. Sorry to break up your chat with Simone, but I need to talk to you right now. Come back to the East Room.
Five minutes went by with no response. Even though it was barely any time at all, it felt like eons had passed.
I kept staring at my phone screen, bouncing one foot on the floor and nervously rubbing at the back of my neck as I waited. When another three minutes passed with nothing but silence on Willow’s end, I gave up on texting and tried calling her instead.
A tinny automated message played in my ear. The number you are trying to reach is unavailable. Please try again later.
“What the fuck?” I muttered to myself before hanging up and pressing the redial button.
The same message played again. The number you are trying to reach is unavailable. Please try again later.
With a frustrated groan, I recalled something Willow told me earlier this evening. Apparently, cell phone signals were being jammed in some parts of the White House as part of the security measures for tonight’s event. If she was in one of those areas, that would explain why my calls were going straight to the automated voicemail. Either that or she’d turned her phone off for some reason.
Frowning, I strode across the room, heading for the short hall which led to the guest bathrooms. When I reached the door to the ladies’, I pushed it open and stepped inside, shoulders straight and chin raised high.
Two women in dark satin gowns were primping themselves at the pink marble vanity on the far-right side of the room. When they saw me come in, they gasped and scurried to the door behind me, filling the air with the cloying scent of their perfume as they passed. In the mirror, I could see them throwing dirty looks at me over their shoulders before they exited.
I didn’t care. I couldn’t just stand outside and wait for Willow to come out. The news I’d received from Cleo was far too important for that sort of politeness. I felt like I’d fucking explode if I kept it to myself for a second longer.
“Willow?” I called out, stepping down the row of toilet stalls. “Are you still in here?”
There was no reply. Every single door was open, and the stalls were all vacant.
I headed to the end of the row and stepped around the corner. There was another line of marble sinks and gold-framed mirrors there, along with two blue velvet ottomans for those who wanted to rest their legs for a while before they headed back out to the party.
Both seats were unoccupied.
I tried texting Willow again. When you get this, let me know where you are right away. I really need to tell you something. It’s about You-Know-Who.
With a gnawing feeling in my guts, I stepped out of the empty bathroom and into the hall. On my way back to the East Room, I spotted a familiar face—Willow’s friend Kate.
“Hi, Logan!” she said in a saccharine tone when she saw me approaching. “How are you?”
I gave her a tight smile. “Hey, Kate. I’m looking for Willow and Simone. Do you know where they went?”
Her forehead creased. “Willow… and Simone?” she said with bovine slowness.
“Yes,” I said, tapping my foot impatiently on the thick carpet. “I really need to find them.”
“I saw Willow at the party about twenty minutes ago, but Simone isn’t here,” Kate replied, thin brows drawing together.
My own brows shot up. “What? She left?”
“No. She was never here.”
I tipped my head to the side. “What are you talking about?”
“She’s had the flu for the last few days, so she didn’t come tonight.”
Something started to hum in the back of my mind; a warning tone, almost too low to hear. “Are you sure about that?” I asked.
Kate nodded. “Uh-huh.”
“But Willow told me she was hanging out with her.”
“You probably misheard her,” she replied, nose wrinkling. “Trust me, Simone is as sick as a dog at the moment. It’s so freaking annoying. She was meant to come to this pop-up art show with me the other night, but then she bailed at the last second because she was practically dying. Then Marissa couldn’t come either, because she decided to go on a date with—”
I held up a hand to cut her off. “Sorry, Kate, you’ll have to finish this story another time. I really have to go.”
“Whatever.” She let out a short huff and flounced away.
I headed in the opposite direction, limbs moving stiffly and sluggishly, as if someone else were controlling them remotely. There was an ache in my chest which grew sharper and more painful with every step I took.
Willow lied to me. That much was obvious now.
Why did she do it? And where the hell was she?
An idea suddenly popped into my mind. I stopped and opened the necklace tracking app on my phone, squinting down at the flashing green dot on the screen that marked Willow’s current location. She was close.
I zoomed in to figure out exactly where she was and narrowed it down to a small restroom in another hall leading away from the East Room. I hurried down there and pushed the door open.
“Willow?” I called out.
Once again, there was no response.
I peered around with furrowed brows, wondering why the hell the tracking app directed me to this exact spot when the room was clearly empty. When I turned my gaze to the vanity, I saw something glinting on it under the soft yellow light. My heart sank as I moved closer to check it out.
It was Willow’s necklace.
“What the fuck?” I m
uttered, picking it up and slowly running my fingers over it. The blue pendant was cold to the touch.
For a stupefied moment, I stared into space with wide, unblinking eyes, every inch of my body turning numb. Then panic started bursting through me in short waves of shock and dismay as the chilling reality of the situation set in.
Willow was gone.
She left me.
A vicious cramp twisted my guts, and I dropped the jewels on the tiles as furious heat flushed through my system. This was all my fault. Of course Willow ripped off the necklace and fucking left me. Why wouldn’t she?
She didn’t know how sorry I was for everything I’d done, and she didn’t know how much I’d fallen for her. She probably thought I was a heartless monster who planned on keeping her trapped with me for the rest of her life, and because of that, she figured she had no choice but to get out as soon as she had a chance.
With an anguished groan, I slid a hand into my pocket, feeling the folded letter there. If I’d just swallowed my pride and given it to her before we came to the party tonight, she would’ve realized how I truly felt about her. Then she might’ve chosen to stay with me instead of slipping away in the night like a fugitive.
“You fucking idiot,” I muttered to myself through gritted teeth, crumpling the letter up in my fist.
Why the hell did I wait so long? Why didn’t I just suck it up and tell her how I felt instead of waiting around for some stupid fireworks, as if they would make a fucking difference? Did I actually think it would be romantic? Did I think it would be enough to make her forget all of the awful things I’d done?
Jesus, how could I be so fucking stupid?
An avalanche of desolation rolled across the room and crashed into me, knotting my guts and weakening my knees. I couldn’t stop picturing Willow out there in the punishing winter night, clawing her way through the darkness, all alone.
It wasn’t safe out there, not for someone like her. She knew that, and she was probably freezing and terrified right now, but she’d risked it all just to escape me anyway, obviously thinking I would hurt her again if she stayed.
She had no way of knowing I wouldn’t do that. It was the rest of the world that wanted to hurt her now, not me.
I closed my eyes and let out a heavy sigh. “Where did you go?” I whispered, wishing she could actually hear me. “I fucking need you here.”
I didn’t just need her around for the sake of her safety. I simply needed her. My life was cold and hollow without her in it. A drab, monotonous existence that was nowhere close to real living.
In the time I’d spent with her, she’d breathed warmth, color and meaning into my world, and she’d taken the tattered patches of my heart and sewn them all back together so that I could feel again. She never even knew it.
Now she might never know.
I straightened my shoulders and looked in the mirror, glaring at myself. My face was ashen, the tendons on my neck were standing out, and my eyes had turned glassy. I grimaced, sorely tempted to smash my fist into the mirror until my reflection was nothing but a cracked, distorted mess of blood and shattered glass.
I spotted something out of the corner of my eye a second later, and the sight sent another giddy rush of fear through my blood. On the bottom left corner of the mirror, just above the gilded frame, there was a small letter daubed in pink lipstick. Q.
Shit. Willow didn’t leave willingly. Not unless she was tricked.
She was taken.
2
Logan
My jaw clenched as I stared at the teak double doors in front of me through narrowed eyes, picturing everything that lay in the lavish sitting room beyond. Red and gold Persian carpets over dark hardwood floors. Custom cabinetry and antique furnishings. Floor-to-ceiling windows draped with thick velvet curtains. Roaring fire in the hearth.
And Q.
I closed my eyes for a brief second, picturing Willow’s beautiful face, and then I pushed one of the doors open and stepped inside the room, carefully balancing a silver tray on one arm.
“Hi, Mom,” I said, stretching my lips into a tight, forced smile.
She was sitting on one of the black leather Chesterfield sofas with a silver tablet in her lap. When she heard me, she glanced upward, surprise etched on her face. “Logan, you’re home early!” she said. “I wasn’t expecting you back till after midnight. What happened to the party?”
“I decided to skip the fireworks.”
“Ah. What’s that?” She nodded toward the tray in my left hand.
I stepped over and deposited it on the coffee table which stood in the center of the rug at her feet. “It’s your favorite herbal tea,” I said. “I brought the nighttime dose of your medication, too. I figured you probably hadn’t taken it yet.”
She shook her head. “No, I usually take it right before bed, but it’s so sweet of you to bring it to me! Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” My fake smile grew warmer and wider as I poured two cups of tea. “I was just thinking… maybe we should invent a new winter tradition. We should have a drink every night in front of the fire, just like this.” I stretched a hand toward the white marble fireplace. “Unless you’re already busy. Sorry, I should’ve asked.”
Mom shook her head and put her tablet down. “No, I’m not busy at all. I was just reading something,” she said, quickly switching off the screen before locking the device and leaning down to slide it under the sofa.
“What were you reading?” I asked, taking a seat next to her.
She waved a hand. “Nothing much. Just a trashy thriller book about an Australian housewife who spies on her neighbors.”
Sure. “Sounds interesting.”
“Not really. I’d much rather talk to you,” she said, reaching forward to pick up her teacup. “What brought on this idea for a new tradition, anyway?”
I feigned a shamed expression and rubbed my chin. “Willow mentioned something to me a while ago. She said that you feel like I haven’t been around much lately,” I said. “I want that to change. I know I’ve been helping you out with the Carlton campaign stuff, but that doesn’t feel like enough. I want us to hang out more. Talk more.”
Mom’s brows rose as I spoke. She set her cup back down on the table and leaned closer to me. “I’m so glad to hear that,” she said, eyes sparkling with excitement. “This is all I’ve ever wanted. More time with you.”
“Me too,” I said, letting her wrap her thin arms around me in a tight hug.
As I looked over her shoulder, my smile faded. I focused my flinty gaze on a painted family portrait on the opposite wall, and a cold sensation flushed through my body, turning every muscle rigid.
I was still finding it hard to believe that my mother was Q, but I knew it was the truth. The DNA test results proved it.
Cleo said that she compared the saliva sample I took from Q’s underground lair to the one she took from my mouth, and it showed a familial match so close to mine that it could only be a parent. We already knew the saliva came from a woman, so that left us with only one possibility for Q’s identity.
My mom.
She’d misled me and everyone else for all these years, putting on the façade of a bored, air-headed housewife whilst secretly running a clandestine organization in the upper echelons of American society. Most people wouldn’t be able to pull off such a feat for so many years, but the disarming image she’d built for herself worked perfectly as a cover.
No one would ever suspect her. I certainly never did, and if I hadn’t scrounged up cold hard evidence in the form of DNA, I probably never would, either. It just didn’t seem possible that my mother—the sweet, unassuming woman who loved organizing charity fundraiser balls—could be responsible for so much darkness. So much death and destruction.
At the same time, it seemed wildly obvious that it was her now that I knew the truth, and I wanted to fucking kick myself for never suspecting it. There were so many clues lying in plain sight.
Her side of the
family, the Hales, were much wealthier and far more powerful than my father’s family—or any other family in the country, for that matter. They had everything, but they shunned the glitz and glamor that usually accompanied obscene riches like theirs, opting for extreme privacy instead. They were also deeply interested in the world of politics and the sort of social control which came with it.
I should’ve picked up on that. I should’ve wondered why the hell none of the Hales were ever tapped for Order membership despite everything they had to offer to the group. I should’ve realized it was because they more than likely started the society in the first place and kept their involvement a secret so that no one would ever ask questions or realize just how much power they truly had.
I should’ve fucking known.
Now that I finally did, my mind was flooding with endless questions.
Was the supreme leader of the Order always a Hale? Was that why I’d always been kept in the dark—because I was technically a Thorne?
How exactly were the new Order leaders chosen over the decades, and what the hell did the code names mean?
As the current leader, what was my mother’s end game? What was this ‘greater good’ she claimed the Order was working toward, and how many people had she destroyed over the years to get what she wanted?
Why was she so desperate to hook me up with Willow only to take her away from me as soon as we started getting along? What was she going to do to her?
Why did she try to kill Chloe? Even though Willow ran her over and Quinn covered the whole thing up, my mother was still the one who set the whole ‘accident’ up in the first place. How the hell could she do that to her own daughter? And what would she do to me if she ever found out how much I knew? Right now I was one step ahead of her, but that wouldn’t last forever.
