Broken Prince: A Novel (The Royals Book 2)

by Erin Watt

  She’s right. When halftime comes around, Jordan and her squad put on a routine with so much boob and ass shaking that I feel like I should slip some of Daddy G’s business cards in their gym bags in case their trust funds ever dry up.

  “They’d get at least the five dollar tips,” I whisper to Val behind my hand.

  “Only five dollars? I’d want at least twenty per dude before I’d strip.”

  “What are you talking about? You’d strip for free,” I tease. Val has told me before that she has exhibitionist tendencies. When we go to the Moonglow club’s eighteen-and-over night, Val makes me dance in the cages suspended from the ceiling.

  “True. But I wouldn’t mind getting paid.” She gives me a thoughtful look. “How much did you say you earned while you were working at these clubs?”

  “I didn’t. And stripping is a lot different from cage dancing in front of a bunch of hot high school and college guys,” I caution. Most strip clubs reek of desperation and regret and I’m not just referring to the strippers’ dressing room. The guys on the floor waving their singles around over their eight-dollar steak lunches are as needy as the girls on the stage.

  Val wrinkles her nose. “I don’t know. It’d be nice to have the extra cash, and you must’ve been making serious bank to be able to support yourself and your mom on it.”

  “The money is the only good thing about it. Besides, you wouldn’t want to strip around here. Think if someone saw you and then you had to have classes with him or something. That’d be a hundred different kinds of awkward.”

  She sighs. “It was just an idea.”

  I feel a stab of sympathy. I know that Val’s status as the poor relation really bugs her. I wish I could give her part of my stash—it’s not like I need it—but she’s not the kind of person who’d accept a handout. She’d see it as charity, which she already has to accept from her aunt and uncle.

  “How about I hire you to be my bodyguard? Because everyone’s looking at me right now like they want to murder me. Especially that one over there.” I jerk my head toward the second row of the student section, where a familiar golden-haired girl keeps swiveling around to frown at me.

  “Ha. Abby wouldn’t hurt a flea. She’s too passive. Do you think she wears that Eeyore expression when she comes?”

  I slap a hand over my mouth to muffle my shout of laughter.

  But it’s true. Reed’s ex is pale, quiet, and mild-mannered, as opposite from me as you can get. Someone said that Abby reminds them of Reed’s mom. At one time that made me nervous as hell, because Reed adored his mom. These days, I don’t give a crap about trying to impress Reed Royal.

  Abby obviously still does, though. And she obviously views me as competition, because she won’t stop staring at me. If she’d asked, I could’ve given her a pretty good tip about how to win Reed over. First and foremost, don’t sleep with his brother.

  “Did she really hook up with Easton when I was gone?” I ask Val.

  “Yup. What an idiot, right? I mean, that’s a surefire way to send Reed running in the opposite direction.” Val purses her lips. “Or wait, maybe not. You made out with Easton and that didn’t scare Reed off.” Then she changes her tune again. “But you’re special. Abby isn’t. No way is Reed getting back together with her now.”

  “Even Abby is too good for him,” I grumble. “He deserves to be alone for all of eternity.”

  Val snickers.

  “Actually, I was really hoping someone would break his legs in the game, but unfortunately it looks like he’s still up and walking around.”

  “We could break them.”

  “Take a baseball bat to him in the middle of the night?” I say wistfully.

  “Sounds like you’ve already got this all planned out.”

  “I might’ve fantasized about it a few times,” I admit.

  “After we’re done with Reed, can we drive up to State?”

  “Obvs. Then we’ll put an ad on Craigslist offering our services to other women. We’ll name our bat ‘Vengeance.’”

  “Your bloodthirstiness is turning me on so much right now.”

  “Save it for one of the herd,” I tell her. “You have your eye on any of them?”

  “No. I’m still considering my options.” Meaning, the only thing she can see right now is Tam. I have the same problem, except my vision is blocked by Reed.

  We slump in the bleacher seats and turn our attention back to the game.

  The Riders win, as expected, and talk after the game immediately turns toward Winter Formal that Astor Park puts on after Thanksgiving and before Christmas. The dance talk is like foreplay for Jordan. She’s glowing when Val and I descend the stadium steps. Our progress is slowed by all the parents stopping to tell Jordan how much they liked her routine and how talented she is.

  Jordan thrusts out her boobs a little more with each compliment. The dads stare at her with lusty hunger and she looks like she’s getting off on it.

  “Nice show,” I tell Jordan as we draw even with her. She looks pretty fantastic in her form-fitting costume, and there’s a dewy glow on her cheeks left over from the exertion on the field.

  Her eyes flick over me with disdain and then dismissal. She turns to her cousin. “You’re too good for this piece of trash, Val. Why don’t you come to Shea’s party with me?”

  “Pass. I wouldn’t climb into your car if we were on Fury Road and the warboys were after me.”

  A few kids snort with laughter behind us. That only makes Jordan angrier.

  “I can’t believe we’re related.”

  “I know. I wonder about it too sometimes. How someone so nice, like me, could end up with a bitch like you for a cousin.”

  Jordan lunges at Val, and I stupidly step between them. Jordan’s fist hits the back of my head at the same time that Val charges forward. I bounce off them and land against the railing.

  “Holy shit,” some random guy yells. “Girl fight!”

  The stands empty and suddenly it’s pure chaos. Popcorn is flying everywhere. There are arms and hands and nails in my face. A strong arm lifts me down over the fence where someone else catches me and swings me out of the way. I look up to see Reed.

  Easton comes up on my other side and slings his arm around my shoulder, separating me from Reed. They proceed to trade scowls.

  “So are we going to the Montgomerys’ party?” Easton asks me.

  “I told you, I don’t like dressing up.”

  He snickers and points to my get-up. “Looks like you’re already in costume, little sis.”

  Oh man. He totally has a point.

  “Come on,” he coaxes. “It’ll be fun.”

  I cave. “Fine. Whatever. Where’s Val?” I turn back to the stands to see that the administrators have broken up the fight.

  An arm jerks me around. Reed again. “What the hell are you wearing? Whose jersey is that?” he demands.

  “It’s just a secondhand—”

  “Take it off.”

  “What? No way.”

  I look to Easton for help, but he’s frowning. “Now that I think about it, you can’t wear another school’s jersey to our games. That’s bad voodoo.”

  “You won,” I remind him.

  “Take it off right now,” Reed orders. His voice is muffled because he’s trying to tug his own jersey up over his head.

  “Forget it. I’m not putting your jersey on.”

  “Oh yes, you are.” His shoulder pads are up around his ears. “Dammit, East, help me out.”

  Easton ignores him. “You need a ride, sis?”

  “She’ll ride with me,” Reed says firmly. He shoves his jersey back down and his expression dares me to challenge him.

  So I challenge him. “Sorry, pal, but that’s not happening.”

  “Don’t call me ‘pal.’”

  “Don’t give me orders.”

  He gives me another order. “Val can drive your car to the party. You’re coming with me.”

  “Oh my God!” I
burst out. “What’s it going to take for you to get the message, Reed? We’re over.” My frustration and annoyance are reaching all-time highs. “I already have my eye on someone else.”

  His nostrils flare. “Like hell you do.”

  I look at the line of players standing along the track watching us, and an evil thought pops into my mind. My eyes narrow in on Wade, the quarterback. Wade’s a whore. Straight up, he had to use Reed’s Range Rover for sex one night outside the club because, according to Reed, Wade couldn’t wait to get home before banging some girl.

  Smirking at Reed, I move away from the Royals, waltz right up to Wade, and launch myself at him.

  His muscular arms close reflexively around me. And when I bend down to kiss him, his lips part automatically. He tastes like sweat, smells like grass, and is a pretty fantastic kisser. His tongue stays firmly in his mouth, but he can use his lips like a master.

  No wonder girls leave perfectly nice clubs to have sex with him in a stranger’s car. I grip his hair and tighten my legs around his waist. He groans in response and his fingers bite into my ass.

  Cheering breaks out, only to be cut off abruptly. The next thing I know, Reed is ripping me out of Wade’s arms.

  “What the hell, Carlisle?” he growls.

  Wade shrugs ruefully. “She jumped me. I couldn’t let her fall.”

  “You don’t touch her. No one touches her.” Reed throws his helmet in some poor player’s stomach and advances on Wade, his hands fisted.

  The big, blond quarterback laughs and puts up his hands. “I didn’t encourage her, man.”

  Reed glares and then points a finger at the rest of the team. “Ella is a Royal. She belongs to me. If any of you assholes want her, you have to go through me.”

  My jaw drops. “Screw you, Reed. I don’t belong to anyone, least of all you.” I kick him in the back of the knee, then turn to look at the line of football players. “I’m available. Who wants a go with the trashy stripper? I know tricks that even porn stars don’t.”

  Eyes light up but then immediately transfer to Reed. Whatever his expression is, it causes every gaze to drop the ground. Not a single guy steps out of line.

  “Cowards,” I mutter.

  Then I whirl away and stomp toward Val, who’s grinning at me from the sidelines. Screw these Astor Park kids. Screw them all to hell.

  16

  Savannah and Shea Montgomery live in an inland mansion on the grounds of the country club. At the main gate, Val reaches across me to hand the guard a white envelope. He shines some special light on it and apparently the secret message he reads with his special country club decoder ring lets us through.

  “Seriously, Val? What the hell is that?”

  She flicks the invitation in my lap. The heavy cream is completely blank. “UV ink. So it can’t be copied.”

  “Really?” I run my fingers over the stock and feel nothing but the paper itself. “What’s so special about a high school party that there needs to be guards and gates and top-secret invitations?”

  I toss the invite onto the dash and pull through the now open gate.

  “They like to limit the crowd,” she replies.

  “Wish they’d use their powers to keep assholes out,” I mutter. I haven’t seen Daniel Delacorte yet, but I know he’s still at school, walking the halls of Astor as if nothing happened between us.

  “If the asshole has money, he’s getting in.”

  She’s right, but it doesn’t make me happier. The pounding bass pouring out of the Montgomery house greets us even before we turn onto their cul-de-sac. We have to park at the end of a long line of cars leading up a hill.

  Val guides me through the main room and onto the porch. The Montgomery house is ultra-modern, all weird angles and planes and windows and steel. The backyard pool is lit up from underneath and there are spouts of water springing out of the concrete to arc into the water, but no one is swimming because it’s too cold.

  “I’m getting something to drink. What do you want?” Val asks, pointing to a cooler.

  “Beer is fine.”

  I spot Reed in the far corner of the porch. A fairy with big-ass wings and a floral crown is talking to him. Ugh. It’s Abby. Their heads are bent close enough that his dark brown hair is brushing the edges of her petals. That sounds vaguely pornographic. The scene is sickeningly similar to one of the first memories I have of Reed.

  Abby was his last girlfriend. Maybe she was his only girlfriend. Reed, unlike Easton, is picky. He slept with Abby, and then Brooke.

  I don’t know the rest of his sexual history. Maybe that was it. Maybe he lost his virginity to Abby. Maybe there’s a bond that will always draw them back together.

  Daniel, the rapist, once said those two belong together.

  Is that true?

  Do I care?

  Of course I do. And I hate myself for it.

  I turn away before I do something outrageous, like march over to them and tear Abby’s hair out and order Reed to stop talking to her because he’s mine.

  I’m not sure that was ever true, even during those private times when his fingers were in my hair and his tongue was in my mouth and his hand was between my legs.

  Inside, the house is filled with tight corsets, fake-blood spattered clothes, and probably even some fake boobs. Almost everyone has a costume on, except for a few. The nonconformists include the Royals. Those boys wear T-shirts and shredded jeans. When I first saw them, I labeled them thugs. They don’t look like prep-school kids. They look like dock workers with their heavy muscles, broad shoulders, and messy hair.

  People turn as we walk in, and I instantly regret my outfit. I’m the only slutty football player here, so once again I’ve made a spectacle of myself. It’s strange because in the past I’ve been so good at blending in, but ever since I came here I’ve been doing things that unwittingly put me in the spotlight.

  Fighting with Jordan.

  Making out with Easton.

  Hooking up with Reed.

  Running away.

  Wearing this ridiculous outfit.

  I grab Val. “I need to change. Or at least wash my face.” The heavy black stripes under my eyes look dumb compared to the perfectly made-up faces of all these princesses and ballerinas. It’s like Disney threw up in here—the adult, after-hours Disney.

  “You look gorgeous,” Val protests.

  “No. If I’m going to make it through these next two years, I need to tone it down.”

  Val shakes her head in disagreement but points a hand down the hall. “I’ll wait here for you.”

  It’s easy to find the bathroom because there’s already a line. I slump against the wall. Why am I trying to make everyone notice me? Is it because I want Reed to pay attention?

  The line shortens and finally the two girls in front of me push inside. I hear a snippet of conversation as the door opens.

  “Abby with Easton? I don’t believe you. Abby would never ruin her chances of getting back with Reed by sleeping with his brother.”

  “Why? It worked for that Ella girl. She made out with East at Moonglow and then, bam, she was with Reed.”

  “So, what, like Easton preps the girls for his brother?”

  “Who knows. Maybe they’re like the twins, which is gross.” There’s a long pause. “Oh my God, Cynthie! You think that’s hot?”

  “I don’t know. Like, come on, you wouldn’t want to be the meat in that sandwich? If it’s wrong, maybe I don’t want to be right.”

  There’s complete silence and then a huge fit of laughter followed by one of the girls saying, “Fuck, marry, kill the Royals.”

  The door swings shut, but I can still hear them. I make a mental note to turn on the faucet when I pee since the walls here are tissue thin.

  “There are five of them, Anna,” Cynthie complains.

  “So pick three.”

  “Fine. Fuck Reed, kill Gideon, and marry Easton.”

  Something seizes up inside me at the thought of another girl w
ith Reed. Hard enough to see him with Abby. I don’t need to envision him with a whole line of girls waiting to screw him.

  “Easton’s a dog,” Anna protests.

  “He’s a doll,” Cynthie says. “And reformed bad boys make the best husbands according to my maw-maw. Now you.”

  Okay, maybe Cynthie isn’t all that bad. Easton really is the sweetest guy under all that bravado.

  “Marry Gideon, because he’s the oldest and will end up running the Royal business. Screw Easton, because he has to have learned something for all the time he’s spent up girls’ skirts. Kill the twins.”

  “Both of them?”

  “Pretty much.”

  I wince. Harsh. Anna is harsh.

  “Abby and Reed looked cozy outside, didn’t they?” a honeyed voice whispers in my ear, interrupting my eavesdropping.

  Ugh. Jordan Carrington. She’s not in costume, which is a shame. She would’ve made a fantastic witch.

  “Don’t you have a boiling pot to stir?” I ask sweetly.

  “Don’t you have a Royal to screw?”

  “Maybe one or two,” I say in a breezy voice. “I bet that drives you crazy, doesn’t it, Jordan? That the Royals will screw everyone but you?”

  Her face flushes for a second, but she recovers quickly. “Are you seriously bragging about your sluttiness?” She rolls her eyes. “You should write a book about all your experience. It’ll be a real feminist empowerment story. Fifty Shades of Banging: The High School Years.”

  “Only fifty? That seems like a low number for a slut like me.”

  Jordan flicks a curtain of dark hair over her shoulder. “I was giving you the benefit of the doubt. Figured that even you couldn’t be so insecure that you needed three hundred guys to prove your worth.”

  I wonder if she’d believe me if I told her I’m still a virgin. Probably not.

  But it’s true. Before Reed, I hadn’t even given so much as a blowjob.

  We did a lot together, but not the final deed. I told him I was ready, but he wanted to wait. At the time, I thought it was because he was thoughtful. Now…well, I don’t have the first clue why he didn’t want my virginity.

  Maybe the girls in the bathroom are right. Maybe Reed likes for Easton to break them in for him. That thought churns painfully in my stomach.