The Bastard Prince (Crellids Book 1)

by Chloe Walsh

  "A doctor for a whore? You must be joking." His father laughed. "She will bleed out on the floor before I waste resources or risk my privacy for a woman."

  "There's a lot of blood," Jet pushed. "Too much." He squirmed in discomfort. "Down there."

  "Down there?" Fabio laughed. "Call it a pussy, son. And don’t fret; she is not the first whore to take a hard fuck. She'll heal."

  "But she might need –"

  "She is not your problem," Fabio cut him off by saying. Shaking his head, he sneered, "You are too soft-hearted, son. It will be your downfall."

  "She's my friend," Jet bit out, shifting me closer to him. Bracing my weight against him, I dragged in quick, shallow breaths. "She is Royce's daughter. Surely, she deserves better than this, father? She's been here since she was a little girl."

  "You weren't thinking about what your friend deserved when you were choking her with your cock," Fabio countered cruelly. "I upheld my side of the bargain to her father. I promised to raise her clean and give her to my most deserving son." He narrowed his eyes. "That was supposed to be you."

  "I know." Jet bowed his head, absorbing the shame his father was forcing him to feel. "I failed you."

  "Yes, you did," Fabio agreed coldly. "Now, get her out of my sight before I have a change of heart." He waved us off with another dismissive flick of his wrist. "Oh, and Jethro? If I find out that you have taken her off this property to seek medical attention, if I find out that you have brought any kind of attention to me, I will personally see to it that you both die roaring."

  5

  Eight months had passed since my arrival at the Crellid estate and life was different here.

  I was different here.

  Lonely.

  The Crellid mansion was a scary place for a girl to live and I was homesick.

  Not for my father. I was too mad at him for dying to feel anything else. I desperately missed Peter, my bird, and my tutor, Miss Charlotte.

  There were no girls my age to play with here, and the older girls that slept in the cages underground were always busy.

  Not that it mattered.

  They weren't allowed to speak to me.

  The Crellid children never spoke to me, either. The girls were like zombies and the boys frightened me. They were always trying to touch parts of my body that shouldn’t interest them.

  Mrs. Solo, my tutor at the Crellids, told me that I should be happy Fabio's older boys wanted to touch and grope me. She encouraged me to focus my attention on Jethro, one of the youngest boys with the sweet smile, but I had already picked my favorite.

  The Spanish one.

  I didn’t care about his last name, or that he was a bastard. I didn’t care that Fabio had promised me to him without my permission, and I didn’t even care that he didn’t speak the same language as me.

  He was big and dark and pretty, and he never tried to touch my private parts.

  He was my absolute favorite person at the Crellids.

  Maybe in the world.

  "I want to fuck this," Trigger growled, breaking through my thoughts, as he threw his hands up in frustration and kicked the book away.

  We were camped out in my bedroom and he was scowling at the floor.

  As per usual, he was frustrated and spitting mad.

  "It is pointing!" he barked, shaking his head angrily.

  "Pointless," I corrected quietly, burying my smile at his outburst.

  From watching his interactions with his half-siblings, I knew the very last thing I should be doing was laughing at him.

  He turned mean and used his fists all the time.

  His siblings were scared of him.

  So was Miss Solo.

  Not me.

  "Pointing is something you do with your finger. See –" Giggling, I wiggled my index finger in front of his face. "Pointing."

  "You ha-ha-ha," he accused, giving me a look of outrage. "On me?"

  "It's at you, not on you, and I'm not laughing," I lied, sidling closer until our shoulders were touching.

  He was thirteen, but he looked like a man. He was just so big. And his smell? It was so yummy. I always wanted to move closer to him.

  "I promise," I added. "And you are doing so well, Trig. Honestly. Your English is getting better every day."

  "I want to fuck this." Another burst of Spanish escaped him and he dropped his head in his hands. "I want to fuck this…fucking fuck!"

  "Well –" I grinned and patted his big shoulder. "You seem to have the swear words locked down."

  "Ah…swear word?" Brows furrowed, he turned to look at me. "I do not…uh…know that swear word?"

  "Fuck," I explain, blushing. "Fuck is a swear word."

  "Fuck," he repeated slowly, dark brown eyes lock on mine. "You fuck, or no?"

  "I don’t know what you mean," I laughed and then quickly blushed, unable to take the heat that emanated from those big brown eyes.

  "Eres un, corderito," he said then, giving me a curious look. "Riéndose de un lobo."

  "Are you making fun of me?" I whispered, edging closer to the huge boy with the golden skin. "Are you calling me mean names, Trigger?"

  "No te preocupes." A hint of a smile ghosted his full lips. "No te morderé, corderito..."

  Clenching my eyes shut, I bowed my head and held perfectly still, willing the pain shooting through my body to fade, and my childhood memories of Trigger Laperro to not hurt so damn bad.

  "It's okay, Ash," Jethro told me, letting us inside his older brother's quarters, but I knew that was a lie. "Just wait here, okay?"

  He pushed me into a chair in the foyer and disappeared from sight.

  Several minutes later, the sound of his voice filled my ears and I stiffened.

  "Why the fuck not?" Trigger demanded, appearing from the hallway Jet had disappeared down, freshly showered, and with nothing but a towel around his hips.

  "Because he said not to," Jet strangled out, hurrying after his brother. "I didn’t know what to do."

  "Ashton," Trig said gruffly, and I flinched.

  Stopping several feet from me, he ran a hand through his wet hair and exhaled heavily, clearly noticing my physical reaction to him. "He said that you are still bleeding?"

  "No," the word was barely audible but I managed to squeeze it out. "I don’t think so."

  Another tremor racked through his body as he stood several feet from me, looking utterly helpless. "I will take you to a doctor –"

  "No!" I snapped, tone harder now.

  He frowned. "Corderito, let me take care –"

  "I am not explaining this to anyone," I strangled out, pulse racing at the thought. "I just need to sleep. That's it. That's all I want to do."

  Jet shook his head. "But –"

  "I'm not fucking going!" I screamed, spitting the words at them as my body shook violently.

  Brows furrowed, he offered me a clipped nod. "Are you –" Pausing, he swallowed deeply and turned his hardened stare on Jethro, "Leave, baby prince."

  Jethro did just that.

  Turning on his heels, he quickly left his quarters without another word.

  Traitor.

  "Are you staying?" Trigger asked when the door closed behind Jet. "Here?" His heated gazed locked on mine. "With me?"

  "Doesn’t look like I have much of a choice," I replied wearily, knees bopping. "You claimed me, remember? I'm yours to do whatever you wish with." Sighing heavily, I dragged myself to my feet and tipped my chin up. "However, if it's not too much to ask, I'd appreciate a couple of days to heal before you give me to your men."

  "Don’t," he warned, narrowing his eyes.

  I glared back at him, defiance burning in my eyes. "I'm a whore, remember? A filthy puta traidora."

  He flinched.

  Good.

  Feel some of my pain, Trigger!

  Releasing a furious growl, he stalked towards me and I cowered from him. "Stop it," he choked out hoarsely as swept me into his arms, cradling me to his chest. "I will not hurt you."
/>   Rigid, I locked my limbs tight, not bothering to resist when he carried me down the hallway and into the master bedroom.

  There was no point in fighting back. Not anymore.

  My life didn’t belong to me.

  It belonged to him.

  Setting me down on the edge of his king-sized bed, Trig pulled the covers back and gestured for me to climb in.

  I didn’t move.

  "Do you want to shower?" he asked then. "Or to bathe?"

  I shook my head.

  "Then lie down."

  I remained frozen to the spot.

  "Corderito, I will not fuck you again," he snapped, flustered. "Not without your consent."

  "You will never have my consent," I strangled out, emotions over spilling now. "You are a –" My voice broke off as a huge sob racked through me. "I h-hate you!"

  "I know," he deadpanned. "Lie down."

  "I said that I hate you!" I screamed, furious with his lack of response. "I hate you, Trigger Laperro! I fucking hate your guts and I wish you never came back!"

  "I know!" he roared back at me, bristling now. "I heard you loud and clear, corderito." Reaching for me, he lifted me into his bed. "Believe me, I know."

  "All of those things you vowed to your father in Spanish tonight," I sniffled, curling up in a ball on his mattress and then scooting far away when he whipped off his towel and climbed in beside me. "About killing him and enjoying knowing that he'll burn in hell?" I glared at the side of his face as he reached for the small lamp and flicked it off, bathing us in darkness. "Well, I made those same vows." A hiccuped sob tore through me. "I'm g-going to k-kill you, Trigger."

  "You cannot kill me, corderito," he replied quietly, turning his back to me. "Ya estoy muerto."

  6

  "Good job," I praised, unable to wipe the smile from my face. "Buen trabajo, Trigger."

  "I slow," Trigger grumbled, dark eyes locked on mine. "I not read good."

  "No –" Shaking my head, I reached up and cupped his cheek. "You are brillante."

  Offering him another wide smile, I trailed my thumb over his bruised cheekbone.

  "I'm so proud of you." And I was proud of him. I was proud of myself, too. No one else had been willing to teach the boy how to speak in our language.

  We'd both been at the estate for many years now and not a single one of the tutors had made any progress with him.

  Neither had the Crellids, or Fabio's men – no matter how brutally they tried to beat him into submission – or into speaking in English.

  Trigger was viciously hostile and violent to anyone that came within a one-mile radius of him, and he only communicated in Spanish.

  He was relentlessly stubborn and refused to learn or submit to his father's way of life.

  He didn’t refuse me, though.

  No, he always gave me his very best version of himself.

  It was almost like a dirty little secret between us, sneaking into each other's bedrooms and practicing each other's languages.

  I freaking loved it.

  Years of combing through books, practicing Spanish, and sneaking into Fabio's personal library had won out.

  Trigger was finally making progress with not only speaking in English, but the written word, too.

  My heart was soaring at a ridiculous height right now. It excited me deeply to know that we could hold a conversation in both his language and mine.

  If I was to be his one day, I didn’t want there to be a language barrier. I considered these tutoring sessions a solid investment in my future.

  Because I was fully on board with becoming his.

  I wanted this boy to claim me.

  I needed him to.

  Huffing out a breath, Trig tore his gaze off mine and turned his attention back to the book in his hands. "Lit…tle…pig, lit…tle…pig, let me…co…me…in, " he slowly churned the words out and furrowed his brows. "Pig?" He turned back to gape at me. "I read pig?" He made an oinking sound with his nose for emphasis, looking affronted. "Piglet?"

  Giggling, I nodded back at him. "Sí."

  "I want to fuck this," he growled, tossing the book across his bedroom floor. "I am man, corderito. No read piglet book."

  Corderito.

  Little lamb.

  I shivered with pleasure. "You have to learn," I replied, scrambling off his bed to retrieve the storybook. "Don’t be embarrassed, mi lobo."

  "Ashton laugh at her Trig," he grumbled, eyes narrowed. "Ha-ha-ha."

  "I would never laugh at my Trig," I vowed, stifling a laugh.

  Climbing back up beside him, I folded my knees beneath me and flipped the page open, finger hovering over the words.

  Nudging his big shoulder with mine, I resisted the urge to breathe in his scent and whispered, "Try again."

  "I not read piglet," he declared, shoving the book away once more. "Be gone."

  "Now you're just being a brat," I huffed, folding my arms across my chest. "Bad wolf."

  "Lobo malo?" His brows shot up. "Trig?"

  "Yes, you." Feeling playful, I dove for him, pushing him onto his back. "You're a bad wolf," I laughed, pinning his big arms above his head. "I'm going to teach you a lesson on manners."

  "More Ashton lessons?" he chuckled, allowing me to pin him down, and the way he said my name had my toes curling up. Ash-teen. "I will listen."

  "You don’t throw books," I feign-scolded, climbing onto his lap to straddle his hips. "It's rude and not very gentleman-like."

  "Not safe for corderito," he growled from beneath me, brown eyes blazing with heat. "A wolf will, as you say, gobble up a lamb."

  "Then gobble me up," I dared, leaning my face close to his. "Or I'd settle for a kiss."

  "Bad lamb," he purred, hands moving to clamp down on my hips. "Ashton behave for her king."

  "I wouldn't tell me what to do if I were you," I threatened, tightening my hold on his wrists. "Just give me what I want."

  "And what is it that I can give you?" he teased, smirking up at me. "What does my Ashton want?"

  I blew out a shaky breath. "You."

  He grinned. "Not yet."

  I narrowed my eyes back at him. "Then when?"

  He winked. "Soon."

  "Trig!"

  "Ashton?"

  "I'm done waiting." Tightening my hold on his wrists, I begged, "Go to your father, organize the initiation, claim me, and then we can leave. We can get out, Trig, we can do this. You'll have all my father's fortune. We'll have it all. We won't need Fabio –"

  "You are still child," he told me. "You do not see." His dark eyes burned into mine. "No initiate." He shook his head. "You are a small girl."

  "I am not small," I growled, insulted. "And I'm not a child. I've never been a child!"

  "Young," he corrected gruffly. "And Trig will no do that to his Ashton."

  "I'm of age," I growled. "And concentrate on your words. You can do better."

  He shook his head. "Not the age in real world, corderito."

  "I live in this world," I urged. "And so do you."

  "No." He shook his head again. "I will not touch you like that."

  "Trigger –"

  "Not, as they say, a discussion to be up for," he replied. "Not happening, mami."

  Huffing out a disappointed breath, I released his wrists and folded my arms across my chest, still sitting on him. "You suck."

  "I suck," he mused, hands moving to rest on my thighs. "I be gentleman, no?"

  "Don’t throw my words back at me," I grumbled, feeling thoroughly annoyed. "I'm so pissed off with you right now."

  "Grow the patience, mi reina," he chuckled, not one bit fazed by my anger. "Now –" Clamping his large hands around my waist, he lifted me off his lap and set me down next to him. "It is Ashton turn to learn."

  "My turn?" I questioned, watching him carefully. "Español?"

  A small smile ghosted his full lips. "Not today, corderito."

  A reluctant flurry of excitement burst to life inside of me when I watched Trig cl
imb off the bed and drag the familiar steel case out from beneath it.

  "Come," he ordered, setting the case on his desk and clicking the lid open. "You choose."

  Springing off the bed, I practically bounced over to him, feeling a swell of complicated, over-heated feelings fester inside of me.

  "Really?" I breathed, peering around his big body, gaze locked on the impressive array of weapons. "Me?"

  "Sí," he confirmed gruffly.

  Grabbing my hip, he pulled me closer to stand in front of him.

  "Choose, mi reina," he whispered, breath fanning my cheek, as his big chest brushed against my back. "Ladies, as they say, come first."

  Settling on the pretty, silver dagger, I carefully lifted it up and turned to face him. "I hope you're ready for this, mi rey."

  Trigger grinned down at me. "Do your worst, mi reina."

  Thirty minutes later, I was huffing, puffing, and seriously out of breath.

  "Faster," he commanded, ducking and dodging my attack. "Arms up. Move your feet," he ordered, easily dodging my killer blow. "You fight like a girl."

  "I am a girl," I growled, hunching on the balls of my feet and then pouncing for his throat.

  He knocked me away with one arm and chuckled when my dagger clattered across the floor.

  Landing on my butt with a loud ooof, I narrowed my eyes and glared up at him. "That wasn't the act of a gentleman."

  "You do not live in a world of gentlemen. You are a lamb living in the wolves' den," he replied, leaning close to press a kiss to the tip of my nose. My eyelids fluttered closed at the contact. "You must become the predator and not the prey…"

  The moonlight shining through the window illuminated the tattoos etched across his broad, tanned back and I repressed a shiver, pushing my memories aside.

  From the age of ten to seventeen, when he left me, I had consistently stared at Trigger Laperro's back – his whole body, to be exact.

  When I first met him, his skin was mostly ink free, but as the years passed by, the tattoos had slowly accumulated to the point where he was now covered.

  His back.

  His chest.

  His arms.

  His neck.

  His thighs.

  Everywhere…