Broken Prince: A Novel (The Royals Book 2)

by Erin Watt

  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.

  4

  “Reed.” 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.

  The 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.”

  A
s 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.

  As 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?

  He nods emphatically. I toss the phone between my hands and wait for a response.

  Fight @ 11. Dock 10. E in?

  E’s in.

  Coach comes out of his office and signals that halftime is over. After the offense scores again, we’re told that this will be the last set of downs for the starting squad. Which means I have to sit for the rest of the third quarter and all of the fourth. This sucks balls.

  By the time I line up across from Bettman, the trigger on my temper is about a centimeter long. I dig my hand into the artificial turf and test the bounce in my legs.

  “Hear your new sister is so loose it takes two of you Royals to fill her.”

  I snap. Red washes over my eyes and I’m on that jackass before he can pull his hand off the ground. I rip his helmet off and swing with my right fist. The cartilage and bone on his nose gives way. Bettman cries out. I punch him again. A mob of hands hauls me away before I can land another hit.

  The ref blows a whistle in my face and jerks his thumb over his shoulder. “You’re out,” he yells, face redder than a boiled lobster.

  Coach screams from the sidelines. “Where’s your head, Royal? Where’s your fucking head!”

  My head is securely on my shoulders. No one talks about Ella that way.

  Back in the empty locker room, I strip down to my jock and sit my bare ass down on a towel in front of my locker. I realize my mistake within seconds. Without the action of the game to distract me, all I can do is obsess over Ella again.

  I try to push thoughts of her aside by concentrating on the faint whistles and cheers from the field, but eventually images of her creep in until they flash in front of my eyes like a movie trailer.

  Her arrival at the house looking sexier than any girl had a right to be.

  Her coming down for Jordan’s party wearing the good-girl outfit that made me want to tear all her clothes off and bend her over the banister.

  Her dancing. Damn, her dancing.

  I shoot to my feet and find my way to the showers. Angry, with lust pumping through my body, I wrench the cold water knob on and duck my head under the freezing stream.

  But that does nothing.

  The need is relentless. And hell, what’s the point of fighting it?

  I take myself in hand and close my eyes so I can pretend I’m back in Jordan Carrington’s house watching Ella move. Her body is sinful. Long legs, tiny waist, and perfect rack. The tinny music from the television transforms into a sultry track when told through the sway of her hips and the grace in her arms.

  I grip my dick tighter. The image switches from the Carrington house to her room. I remember the taste of her on my tongue. How sweet she was. How her mouth formed this perfect, fuckable O when she came for the first time.

  I don’t last long after that. The tension tingles at the base of my spine and I imagine her below me, her shiny, sun-colored hair against my skin, her eyes staring up at me with greedy desire.

  When my body quiets, the self-loathing ret
urns in full force. I stare at my hand wrapped around myself in the middle of the locker room. If I could sink much deeper, I’d be halfway to China.

  The release leaves me hollowed out. I turn on the hot water and wash up, but I don’t feel clean.

  I hope the guy I fight tonight is the biggest, meanest asshole in three states and that he lays the hurt on me—the one that Ella should deliver but isn’t here to get it done.

  5

  East and I skip the post-game party and head home to kill an hour before the fight. I’ll regain some control and perspective when I’m smashing some dude’s face in with my fists down at the docks.

  “Need to call Claire,” East mutters when we walk inside. “Wanna see if she’ll come over later.”

  “Claire?” I wrinkle my forehead. “I didn’t know you were tapping that again.”

  “Yeah, well, I didn’t know you were screwing Brooke. Guess we’re even.”

  He lifts his phone to his ear, dismissing me.

  His actions sting. East has been icing me out ever since Ella took off.

  When I get upstairs, my bedroom door is ajar, and a sick sense of déjà vu washes over me. Suddenly I’m transported back to Monday night, when I found Brooke in my bed.

  I swear to God, if that bitch is playing games with me again, I’m gonna lose my shit.

  But it’s Gideon I find in my room. He’s sprawled on my bed, tapping on his phone. When I enter, he greets me with cloudy eyes.

  “Didn’t think you were coming home this weekend,” I say carefully. I texted him on Tuesday to let him know Ella was gone, but every time he tried calling me this week, I pressed the ignore button. I wasn’t in the mood to deal with Gid’s guilt trips.

  “You would’ve liked that, huh?”

  “Don’t know what you’re talking about.” Avoiding his gaze, I strip out of my T-shirt and replace it with a wife beater.

  “Bullshit. You’ve been avoiding this conversation since Ella skipped town.” Gideon pushes off the bed and advances on me. “Can’t avoid it anymore, little brother.”