Bad for the Billionaires: A Bad Boy Billionaire Bundle

by Penelope Bloom

  Titus approaches a small device in the ground that looks like a metal traffic cone. He slaps the side of the cone with his stick and steps back, dropping into an athletic pose like a baseball player, body turned and bat gripped firmly in both of his hands. There’s a huff of air and a golf ball sized object spits up from the metal object. Titus swings powerfully as the ball descends, making contact with a ringing thud that sends the ball flying more than half the distance to the target. He watches it land and then throws his bat to the ground, locking his eyes on me.

  “That’s how to properly hit the ball, my love,” he adds, reaching to brush my chin with his forefinger. His eyes dart to Roark as he touches me, and I see Roar’s knuckles go white on the handle of his bat. “Care to show her how not to hit the ball, big brother?”

  Roark approaches the metal ball-spitter, dropping into a similar stance. He taps the metal with his bat and waits. The ball fires up, but Roark doesn’t even wait for it to reach its peak and come down. He catches it on the rise in a blur of movement that sends it streaking through the air, to just within a few yards of the target.

  There is scattered applause from the servants who wait in the tents and a group of nobles wearing similar uniforms and holding bats of their own, but Queen Korinthia and Titus both look like they just sucked on lemons.

  “Can I try?” I ask.

  Titus turns toward me with an incredulous expression on his face. “You want to take a bat?” he laughs to himself. “Sure, just try not to hurt yourself.” He snaps his fingers and points to the bat he threw down earlier. One of the young men nearby sprints forward, grabbing the bat and presenting it to me like some holy relic.

  I take it, testing the weight and finding it’s not dissimilar to a tennis racquet. Thankfully, I played tennis throughout high school--mainly to give me a reason to stay away from home longer. I put a second hand on the bat, gripping it like I’m going for a two-handed backhand, and try a couple practice swings. I move up to the metal object, remembering after a few seconds the way the princes tapped the metal to get the ball to rise up. I do the same, waiting with the bat drawn back.

  The ball puffs up and I take a wild swing, missing entirely. The ball plops back into the hole with a hollow sound. I grit my teeth, refusing to be embarrassed. It’s just a stupid game. I’ve never played before, and I obviously won’t be good right away. But this bat is just a different length than what I’m used to, and with a tiny tweak I’m sure I could hit the ball.

  “I think we’ve seen enough,” says Titus so loudly I’m sure all the servants in the nearby tents can hear. “Let’s put this to rest before you end up breaking a nail.”

  Before he can get closer, I tap the metal again, bending my knees and relaxing, trying to imagine Titus’ smug face on the little ball as it comes spinning out of the hole in the ground. I swing as hard as I can and this time make contact with the ball. My shot doesn’t go nearly as far as the men’s, but it flies straight and judging from the raised eyebrows and surprised gasps, it’s a good shot for a beginner.

  “Ha!” cries Prince Roark. “Give her a week and she’ll be beating you, Titus.”

  Titus does his best to look amiable, but his eyes linger on Roark after he turns his back for too long. Queen Korinthia claps her hands together twice, beckoning her servants. Within seconds, three servants are at her side, hoisting the chair she sits on and literally carrying her like some ancient ruler across the lawn. She doesn’t even have the presence of mind to be embarrassed by the display--if anything, she’s looking at me like I should be impressed.

  I slow my pace as the Queen and her bearers pass by at a speed to catch up with Titus, who is nearly to where his ball landed.

  “I know,” says Prince Roark, who walks up beside me as I head for my ball. “You must think us ridiculous by now.”

  “N-no,” I stammer.

  He smirks. “Worried I’ll take you down to the dungeon again if you misspeak?”

  I stop in my tracks, eyes wide.

  “Easy, Elizabeth,” he says. “I’m only kidding.”

  “Of course,” I say, but I feel the oddest sense of disappointment. Is that really what I want? Do I really want to go back down there with this man who I should be terrified of? If the rumors and mystery surrounding Prince Roark weren’t enough to make it clear that I should stay away, the fact that I’m supposed to be marrying his brother certainly should. Then again, the idea that I could be sold off to marry someone I’ve never met without my consent is an insult, and even if the person I was promised to didn’t seem to be a slimebag, I’d hesitate to make good on a promise like that--if I had a choice, that is.

  My eyes wander the courtyard, lingering on the men who patrol the second floor balconies of the palace all around us and the way the sun bounces off the pistols at their hips. I think back to the long walk from the gates to the palace, wondering if I could even find my way out again, and even if I did, there were the guards at the gate--not to mention the hundreds and hundreds of yards worth of open space I’d need to run and hope no one spotted me.

  I’m trapped here.

  I may not have realized it last night because reality hadn’t had time to sink all the way in, but now I see it clear as day. The only way out of here is by gaining trust. Maybe I can somehow fake my way through this arranged marriage long enough to build trust. Once I’ve built trust, maybe they will give me the opening I need to slip away.

  “But if you try to escape again, I won’t have any choice,” he adds with a glint in his eye that is far from threatening.

  My mouth feels suddenly dry. “Oh?” I ask. “You would be the one to catch me? Not one of the guards?”

  He flicks his eyebrows up, looking down thoughtfully. “You shouldn’t trust anyone here, Princess,” he says, “but there’s one thing you can count on. If you try to escape again, it’s going to be me who catches you.”

  He stops walking abruptly and I nearly collide with him.

  “Your ball,” he says, tapping the ground with his bat before moving on to his.

  “Wait!” I call out. “What do I do with it?”

  He turns back and casually flicks his bat down on the ball, making it jump a few feet into the air. Roark mimics a swing and then turns to walk toward his ball again.

  “Oh,” I say to myself quietly. “No big deal. Just hit the thing up into the air and then hit it again…”

  8

  Roark

  Watching Elizabeth with my brother has been more trying than I ever expected. Last week, I had to watch her through an entire round of fielding, trying not to stare at her tits and ass in her athletic dress, and trying not to run my Blade through Titus’ gut every time he spoke to her or insulted her. The past few days have been no easier, either. We’ve brushed shoulders or exchanged a handful of flirtatious words several times, and yet here I sit in the dining hall while she is at my brother’s side, listening to another of his inflated stories. I grip my fork tightly, trying not to watch.

  I’m grateful that propriety keeps my brother from putting his hands all over Elizabeth, as doing so--in public, at least--would mark her as impure and invalidate their union to come. Remembering that I laid my mark on her ass sends a thrill through me, one that nearly satiates the growing desire to act out and feed the darkness. It has been rising in me again. For a few days after I punished Elizabeth, I had a calm and peace like I’ve never known, like I could imagine a life where I wasn’t compelled to inflict violence. Punishing her bought me more time than violence ever has, but I feel the need growing again, rising up in me like something black and hungry.

  Still, it’s a small comfort to know If Titus knew what I’ve done with her already, the marriage would be called off.

  Dirk still hasn’t gotten back to me about any legal means of stopping the arrangement, even though he’s supposed to be a legal expert. I’ve taken to my own studies at night, pouring over centuries of legal documents to search for some loophole or kink in the system. If I wasn�
��t sure of my intent before I started searching, I am now. If anything, devoting so much energy to the hunt for answers has emboldened my purpose more, even though every avenue I look down seems to create a bigger and bigger wall between Elizabeth and I. Either no princes have stepped in to invalidate the arranged marriages of their brothers before, it it hasn’t been written about.

  Elizabeth smiles politely when Titus finishes his story. As usual, he laughs the loudest at the supposed punch line. I watch her carefully, noticing the way her demure eyes dart to me regularly, or the way her hand shakes slightly when she raises her knife to cut into the meat before her, or even the way she flinches back if Titus moves closer. She’s afraid. Afraid of this place, of these people, of me, most likely.

  Yet, if she was truly afraid of me, the signals she’s sending me are highly misleading.

  “Roark,” says my mother from the head of the table. “Roark,” she says more firmly.

  I look up, only now realizing everyone is turned toward me expectantly.

  “Lady Catherine asked you a question,” she says through gritted teeth.

  “Pardon,” I say, setting down my napkin. “It seems I’m all out of answers today.”

  The screech of my chair is almost deafening in the silence that follows, but I don’t fail to catch the hint of a grin on Elizabeth’s face before I turn to leave the dining hall.

  I couldn’t take more of it. I feel the familiar heat of need growing inside me by the minute, so my tolerance for petty aristocratic bullshit is at an absolute low. My mind flashes with images of people I’ve hurt, of the blood I’ve spilled and the pain I’ve caused. The gruesome images only drive the hunger on, intensifying it until I can barely stand it.

  But for the first time, something unexpected happens. The bloodlust moves from my chest to my stomach, and then lower… and lower still.

  The images of blood and faces contorted in pain fade in my mind, replaced by the perfectly round and white ass of Elizabeth and the sight of me bringing the paddle down on her. The damn woman is going to make me start a civil war and I barely even know her.

  I pass out of the innards of the palace where only royalty and those with express permission from royalty are allowed to enter, and I step into the main entry, which is surprisingly busy for this early in the afternoon. Men and women--half of whom are likely just here to complain about something or another--bustle and shove their way toward the waiting area where a team of bored men instruct them to wait their turn.

  I’m about to head outside for a breath of fresh air when I see Dirk jogging up to me.

  “I thought I told you to bury your face in a book until you found something of substance,” I say.

  He comes to a stop, expression grim. “You could say I found something, I guess. But you probably won’t like what I found.”

  “Try me.”

  “The only way to nullify the arranged marriage between Prince Titus and Princess Elizabeth is if Prince Titus issues a blood challenge against you and loses.”

  “You’re sure?” I ask.

  “You think I’ve spent the last several days sitting on my thumb? You know how many virgins I’ve let slip by because I wanted to do this favor for you?”

  “Okay, okay. But what if I were to issue a blood challenge to him.”

  “It’s not the same, not unless you’re planning to actually kill the man. But the last time a prince killed his brother was in the seventeen hundreds, and it led to a civilian uprising that ultimately sent him to the dungeons where he died a few months later.”

  “Encouraging,” I say. “Though I don’t recall asking specifically about Prince Titus and Princess Elizabeth. I was asking hypothetically.”

  “Right,” says Dirk. “And I just gave up some of the sweetest pussy in the Shrouded Kingdoms for your hypothetical question. Like fuck.”

  “Eloquent as always,” I say, smirking.

  Dirk shrugs. “You don’t pay me for my pretty tongue.”

  “You sure?” I ask.

  He barks a laugh. “Fair enough. Maybe you do.”

  “I need you to do me another favor. Tonight.”

  He quirks an eyebrow. “I’m listening.”

  “Send a message to Princess Elizabeth. Let her know I’ve cleared the guards between her room and the exit. Tell her the only thing between her and the escape she craves is me. If I catch her, she knows the price. If I don’t, she earns her freedom. I’ll even escort her through the city walls and get her a car to take her home.”

  Dirk frowns “So you want me to tell Prince Titus’ bride-to-be she can try to escape?”

  I nod.

  “And this has nothing to do with the question you had me spend days researching, right?”

  “Right.”

  Dirk licks his lips, showing a rare flash of nervousness. “You know what you’re risking, don’t you?”

  “Yes. If my brother catches wind of this, he’ll be sure to leverage every ounce of power my mother has to get back at me. It could start a civil war.”

  “And you’re sure you want this?” he asks.

  “I’m sure.”

  I wait in the darkened hallways of the palace just after midnight. I have bribed the guards into taking an early night like I promised. The hallway I’m in overlooks the exit from Elizabeth’s staircase, so I’ll know if she plans to try escaping. The challenge will be running the length of the long hall and descending the stairs quickly enough to catch up to her.

  My mind wanders while I wait, specifically over how I should interpret her decisions. If she stays in her room, I first thought there was only one clear meaning: she’d be telling me she had no interest in repeating our encounter from the night she tried to escape. What if she denies my offer because she thinks it’s some sort of trap? Or a test?

  If she does try to escape, I’ll be equally in the dark. She might truly believe she could get past me. If she really wants her freedom from this place--and who could blame her for that--I just offered her the only real way to get it. As plausible as it all is, the hunger in me only wants to accept one outcome, one possibility, and one motivation. She will try to escape, and she will want to be caught.

  If I catch her though, I’ll never know the truth, so I decide to take an immense risk--an intolerable risk. If I’m wrong, the entire kingdom may pay the price, but the alternative is unacceptable. I’m going to let her go if she chooses to go. It’s the only way to know if she wants to be caught. If she lingers or comes back to wander until I find her, I’ll know her true intentions.

  Elizabeth emerges from the doorway of her tower about an hour after midnight. She wears a thin dress that has me urging to get her back in the dungeon and see what’s underneath, but not yet, not by force. I need to know she wants it without a doubt, that she wants me and not Titus. If I’m going to go forward with this and risk destabilizing one of the strongest kingdoms in the Shrouded Kingdoms, I had better be damn sure.

  9

  Elizabeth

  I run through the darkened hallways of the palace, wind rushing in my ears and bare feet slapping against the marble. The sounds of my frenzied run echo through the vast hallways and chambers, but no one comes. Was that man really telling the truth?

  He showed up at my door after the servants left for the night and gave me the strangest message: Prince Roark will clear a path for me to escape, but I can only earn my freedom if I manage to make it out without him catching me. I wrote it off immediately as a lie, but when I tried to sleep, I could think of nothing else. If he told the truth, it meant two things.

  One was that my only real opportunity to escape this place might be tonight. The other implication was that Prince Roark wants me badly enough to risk what I have to imagine are dire consequences. If I were to actually escape, I’m sure one of the guards he must have bribed into leaving these halls will talk, and then Titus will find out. Little brother or not, my time here has already taught me that Prince Titus is not a man to be crossed, and neither is his moth
er, who wears her loyalty to her youngest son so plainly that even a blind dog could see it.

  Another possibility occurs to me as my pace slows and I move through the final stretch of my flight more slowly. Maybe Prince Roark knew there was no risk in letting me escape, because he knew he would catch me. This could have just been a ploy to get me alone at a time he could have me again without anyone finding out. The idea should terrify me, especially as I creep through nearly pitch-black rooms and stairwells with the hairs on the back of my neck prickling like I’m being watched. Instead of frightening me though, the idea sets my stomach on fire, and it’s not long before the heat spreads between my legs, leaving no doubt to what my body wants.

  After what feels like ages, I reach the front gate. As promised, it stands wide open, giving me a view of the sparkling city ahead and the distant hills that lead to my freedom. I take a step forward, but hesitate. The life I lived up to this point in the outside world was far from good. My parents acted like I didn’t exist most of the time, and my sisters made sure the existence I did have was as miserable as possible. But turning eighteen was going to be the start of something new. I was going to leave home and go off to college, even if it meant taking on debt and working my ass off.

  I was going to make a new me. A better me. Except nothing I ever dreamed of making for myself came close to what life could be like here. Even if I’m tied up with a sociopathic maniac like Prince Titus. This is the place where Prince Roark exists, where people walk the city streets on foot instead of behind steering wheels, and where ghosts of simpler times are everywhere, giving day-to-day life a fairytale charm. It’s also a place where I’m a princess. A princess. What girl hasn’t dreamed of this? What would all the little girls out there say to me if they knew I was running from a life that might as well be spun from a dream? Especially if they knew what I was running back to?

  I sigh. More than anything else, Prince Roark looms in my mind. I’ll never forget what it was like being in his hands in that dungeon, or the rush of pure adrenaline that came when I gave myself over to him to do as he pleased.