Bad for the Billionaires: A Bad Boy Billionaire Bundle

by Penelope Bloom

  He turns, feet planted wide and shoulders pulled back proudly.

  “Or what?” he asks. “You’ll shoot me? Right here? For fooling around with this slut?”

  “Roark, don’t!” shouts Elizabeth.

  “Stay there,” I say to her. I spin the weapon in my hand, triggering the release of the knife from my weapon’s barrel. I hold it in a cross-grip, left hand extended with palm to the floor, ready to grapple for control of Titus' free hand.

  Titus smirks. “Oh? You just want to taste some steel?” he asks. “Why didn’t you say so, brother?” With a smooth motion, he draws his own blade and flicks the knife free, kneeling into an athletic stance, left shoulder facing me. “Fight till first blood?” he asks.

  “Fight till you agree to keep your fucking hands off her,” I growl. It’s a blood challenge, but I initiated it, so winning means nothing as far as Elizabeth and I are concerned, but right now I just want to see him bleed.

  He laughs, taking a step toward me and testing my guard with a wide, arcing swing. I don’t bother striking the blow away. Titus fights with too much flair and flash, he always has. He doesn’t just want to win duels, he wants to win in a way that leaves no doubt he was the superior duelist, even if it means putting himself at a disadvantage. A lesser man would’ve flinched back or swatted his strike away, but I don’t even blink.

  Titus’ cocky smirk falters when I don’t take the bait. He does a showy spin of his Blade, tossing it from his right to left hand before shuffling his feet and lunging in to jab for my stomach. I sidestep the attack and aim to slam the handle of my pistol down on the back of his neck, but he moves with surprising quickness, spinning out of the way.

  “Please!” shouts Elizabeth. “If this is because of me, I want you both to stop. Someone is going to get killed.”

  “Killed?” asks Titus, who is grinning at me while circling slowly. “A death won’t be likely here, my sweet. It would be a terrible, unfortunate accident if my brother were to die.”

  “So unfortunate it would land you straight on the throne,” I say, weapon at the ready.

  His lip pulls up in a snarl as he dashes toward me, arms a blur as he strikes, jabs, thrusts, and uses his free hand to grapple with mine between blows, both of us struggling for the upper hand, even if it’s only a split second of throwing our opponent off balance with a well-placed shove or tug. My hand rings with the impacts as I bash away attack after attack, waiting patiently for my opening.

  We break apart, both panting now. Sweat trickles down the back of my neck, and Titus’ forehead is covered in a sheen of sweat, too.

  “You’re good, brother,” says Titus. “You always were. But you’re too timid. You defend when you should strike. You wait for an opportunity instead of making one. All the power is in my hands here.”

  “We’re dueling to first blood,” I remind him. “Unless you’re trying to make my ears bleed with your constant talk, I suggest you make your move.”

  He growls, launching into a furious assault. His blade is a silver streak as he spins into attack after attack, aiming high and low and never slowing. For a while, it’s all I can do to defend, but then I notice he’s entering into the same attack pattern he used in his last attack. Spinning backhanded strike to my neck, low sweeping kick followed by an upward jab to my stomach, and…

  I sidestep the thrust aimed for my chest, pin his arm to my side, and yank him toward me to add as much force as I can to the punch. My fist collides with his nose like a thunderbolt, blasting his head backwards and taking his legs from under him in a single instant. He slams to the ground, head bouncing off the carpet. His hand goes limp and the Blade thumps to the carpet. Unconscious.

  “First blood,” I say down to his unconscious form.

  “Roark!” cries Elizabeth, who rushes to my side and hugs me tightly.

  I put an arm around her, not wanting the embrace to end. “You feel good,” I say.

  She pulls back, frowning at me. “Don’t you dare try to make light of this. You could’ve been killed.”

  “I’m not going to let anyone put their hands on you if you don’t want it, Princess. I don’t give a shit if it’s a prince or a servant. No one touches you without permission.”

  She sighs, smiling a little. “So you’re not just my prince now, you’re my bodyguard too?”

  “Don’t you dare try to make light of this,” I say.

  She narrows her eyes at me. “Very funny.” She pauses, shivering a little.

  “Are you okay?” I ask.

  She nods. “It all happened so fast. He kept trying to get me to come away from the party with him. I refused politely and then even a little rudely. He finally just grabbed my arm and yanked me in here. I wasn’t sure what would happen if I screamed, and before I could decide, the door was closed. I thought--that--I thought he was going to…”

  “You’re okay now,” I say, brushing her hair aside and kissing her forehead. The door I kicked open doesn’t give anyone from the dance floor a view of us from where we stand in the room, so I know it’s safe.

  “Thanks to you,” she says. “Why couldn’t it have been you?” she asks.

  I grin. “Couldn’t what have been me?”

  “The one I was supposed to marry. Everything could be perfect if it was you and not him.” She suddenly looks away and her cheeks blaze with red. “I’m sorry, I am probably freaking you out. I don’t mean--well, I just, ugh. Please pretend I didn’t say--”

  I silence her with a kiss. She freezes when my lips meet hers, body rigid, then she melts into me, kissing me back until I pull away with a small smile. “Better if we don’t push our luck,” I say, nodding toward the open door. “But you’re not freaking me out. Not at all.”

  She bites her lip, still not making eye contact for a few seconds until her embarrassment seems to have passed. “Now, what are we going to do about the passed out prince whose bleeding all over this carpet?”

  “We leave him to bleed. He’ll live.”

  “Won’t you get in trouble for this?”

  I laugh. “No. Duels are a common way for gentlemen to settle disputes. If both parties agree to the terms, anything that happens within those terms is outside the reach of the law, even when royalty is involved.”

  “This is how gentlemen settle disputes?” she asks in disbelief.

  “Of course. What would you propose instead?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe talking about it? I just don’t see how beating each other senseless proves anything.”

  Titus sucks in a surprised breath, eyes fluttering open. He starts to sit up, but I drop to one knee and punch him again across his jaw, knocking him back out.

  “Sorry, what were you saying?” I ask.

  Elizabeth shakes her head. “You’re a barbarian. You know that, right?”

  “Perhaps it’s time I show you my cultured side, then. Let’s go out there and dance.”

  “Is that a good idea?” she asks. “What if Titus finds out?”

  “I hope he does,” I say, taking her hand in mine. “Come on.”

  I lead Elizabeth out to the dance floor with her small hand in mine, noticing the way we draw scandalized looks. We leave a trail of turned heads and pairs of whispering couples as we pass to an open space at the far end of the room. The song is slow, so I pull Elizabeth close by the small of her back, my hand nearly spanning her entire back.

  She looks up at me with wide, searching eyes. “What are we doing?” she asks.

  “Dancing,” I say, gently pressing her head into me so that her cheek rests against my chest. “That,” I say before adding more quietly, “and probably starting a civil war.”

  “That’s not funny, Roark,” she says.

  “I wasn’t joking.”

  I half expect her to pull away, but her hands only tighten around me and she presses herself to me more firmly, rocking back and forth with me was we step to the rhythm of the slow music coming from the band.

  “This all still feels l
ike a dream,” she says into my chest, voice barely audible over the music. “This place. These people. Not being constantly insulted by my family. You,” she adds after a short pause.

  “I hope it’s not a dream,” I say. “You can’t get away from me in this world, but I suppose waking from a dream would be a hard escape to stop.”

  She laughs. “Who says I can’t escape?”

  “Well, maybe it’s not a matter of can’t, but won’t. You don’t want to leave here because you know I’m still not done with you.”

  “Oh?” she asks. “So confident now, aren’t we? What makes you think I want to just be used until you’re ‘done’ with me and then tossed aside?”

  “See, that’s the thing,” I say, turning her head up so I can look into her face. “I have a lot of ideas about what I want to do with you, and to you. My best guess is it’d take at least a hundred years or so to do them all.”

  She gives me a skeptical smile. “This sounds like something a man would say to lure an innocent, naive girl into his trap. Tell me, Prince Roark, are you trying to trap me?”

  “No,” I say, lowering my voice and leaning down so my lips are near her ear. “I’m trying to fuck you. And we’ll see where it goes from there.”

  She pulls back and covers her mouth as she laughs, drawing looks from the couples dancing around us. “You’re direct. I’ll give you that.”

  “So I’ve been told.”

  “So, Mr. Direct,” she says, threading her fingers behind my neck, sending chills down my back at her touch. “What happens if Prince Titus doesn’t get the bride he was promised?”

  I watch her face as the speckled white lights play across her face and we twirl in the mass of moving bodies to a slow, steady song that’s in no rush to finish. She’s magnificent, from the tip of her pert little nose to the splash of freckles that span across the bridge of her nose and across her cheeks. There’s a lack of self-consciousness to her expression that I love. Everyone in the Shrouded Kingdom learns to guard their emotions from a young age and only show their feelings in extreme cases, but Elizabeth wears hers plainly for the world to see.

  Her lips are parted now, eyes hopeful and searching as she waits. She’s trying to figure out if we can really be together or if I’m proposing some sort of extended affair. She has a right to know the truth, though.

  “That depends,” I say. “If his intended bride were to call off the wedding, she would likely be thrown in the dungeons until she changed her mind. If she were to call off the wedding to be with his brother… That would be unprecedented, so I can’t say what would happen.”

  “Give me an educated guess,” she says.

  “Titus and my mother would call in every favor they could, rally forces, and try to have me killed. They might come after you, too, or they could spin the whole thing in a way that made it looked like I was forcing you to be with me all along and you were just an innocent victim.”

  “So calling off the marriage for you would be a really bad idea,” she says.

  “You’re saying you won’t?” I ask.

  “I didn’t say that,” she says.

  11

  Elizabeth

  Marcella sits on the edge of my bed while she works on my toe nails. Kadene and Niera are busy around the room straightening things and watering the plants sitting near the windows.

  “Are you happy?” I ask Marcella. “Doing the work you do, I mean.”

  She gives me a strange look. “Happiness is not for everyone, Princess,” says Marcella. “You’ve told me of your childhood. You know this.”

  “I wasn’t happy living with my parents,” I say. “But I wouldn’t have been able to suffer through it if I didn’t think I’d find happiness someday. Do you have that?”

  Marcella looks up thoughtfully, chewing her lip. I notice Kadene and Niera have lifted their heads from their work and are listening in.

  “I am a servant here, Princess. I mean no offense, but no, I would not say I’m happy. I will serve until I am too old to do so, and then if I’m lucky, I’ll be allowed to live out my final days as an old woman, when I’m too feeble to do any of the things I’ve longed to do.”

  “Marcella,” I say softly, leaning forward to put a hand on hers. “Couldn’t you escape to the outside? You may not get a great job, but at least you’d have your freedom.”

  “My cousin escaped when she was fourteen,” says Kadene, who steps forward, sitting on the edge of the bed. Her mousy face pulls into an angry scowl. “They found her two days later and slaughtered her like a pig. They didn’t even bring her body back so we could mourn her properly.”

  “Who?” I ask. “Who would kill a little girl?”

  The three servants lower their heads at the same time, none willing to look at me.

  “Who?” I demand.

  It’s Niera who looks up finally. There’s an apology in her eyes as she answers. “The royal family, my princess.”

  “But why?” I ask. My chest tightens to think of Roark ordering such a thing. He wouldn’t though, would he?

  Marcella resumes working on my nails, not looking up from her work as she speaks. “Because those in power here wish to keep it that way. They get to play shadow politics with the outside, visit the outside when they wish, enjoy any freedoms they like, and yet they still get to live out this fantasy they have created, like medieval kings and queens. Everyone wins, so long as they are on the top of the social ladder.”

  “Marcella…” I say, failing to find the words to express the guilt I feel. While I know I personally haven’t done anything to cause this, I feel responsible in a way. Even if my power as a newcomer to this place is probably laughable.

  “You don’t need to say anything,” says Marcella. “You’re a kind woman, I can tell. If you do become queen some day, just remember me. Okay?”

  “Of course,” I say. “I’ll remember all of you. Though I think my chances of becoming a queen are very slim.” My mind plays back the dance and the way Titus finally emerged from the room where he was lying bloodied and unconscious. I had expected him to come confront us, but instead he only glared our way before leaving. And now it has been two days without so much as a call to have breakfast with him.

  “You mean because of you and Prince Roark’s love affair?” asks Kadene, who leans forward eagerly like a pigeon waiting for a scrap of bread.

  Marcella bulges her eyes at the girl. “Kadene!” she hisses.

  “It’s okay,” I say. “I don’t know if you could really call it a love affair.” Unless you want to give my stomach the butterflies. “I have spent some time with Prince Roark though, yes. And I suspect Prince Titus doesn’t approve.”

  Niera shares a mischievous grin with Kadene.

  “What’s he like?” asks Niera.

  I smile a little, searching for the words. “Intense?” I try, but the single word doesn’t seem to do him justice. “He’s like a force. I don’t know if that makes sense. But when I’m around him, it’s like he’s a man who goes beyond the boundaries that hold normal men, like there’s nothing he couldn’t take if he wanted it--nothing he couldn’t do if he chose to. It’s overwhelming and exhilarating all at the same time. I guess when a man like that chooses to spend time with you, it’s more flattering than you can imagine, because, well, he could be doing anything else. Literally. But he’s there with you.”

  Niera bites her lip, smiling. Kadene wears a clear expression of jealous wistfulness, and Marcella looks worried.

  “It sounds like you’ve done more than just spend time with him,” says Kadene.

  Marcella doesn’t bother to scold Kadene this time, and I see the worry deepen in her expression as she pulls at a strand of her long brown hair.

  My cheeks redden, but I nod. “What should I do?” I ask.

  “Follow your heart,” suggests Niera. “If you feel the way you say you do, you have to choose him. You’d be miserable to let a man like that slip away.”

  I’m surprised the shy, red
headed Niera is being so bold right now, but she seems to have a romantic side and it’s making her forget her shyness for now.

  “That’s dangerous advice, Niera,” says Marcella. “Even the lower classes know Prince Titus has his eyes on the throne. There’s only one way for him to get it, too. Roark would need to be out of the picture. Getting tangled up with Roark would turn you into an obstacle, and Titus has a long history of eliminating obstacles from his path.”

  A chill runs through me, making my stomach turn over. “Roark is the eldest brother, though. Doesn’t he have more resources at his disposal? Can’t he protect himself?”

  “That’s just it,” says Marcella. “Titus is more or less an open book. He is a brutal man with clear intentions. Most agree he would go to any length to get what he wants, even if it was something as underhanded as poisoning his brother. But Prince Roark is a mystery. There are dark rumors surrounding him, things that suggest he might be far more dangerous than Titus, but no one knows. As far as resources go, Titus likely has the upper hand because Queen Korinthia would throw her allegiance behind him in any dispute.”

  “So it would be Roark against the kingdom?” I ask.

  “Well,” says Marcella. “It would be Roark and you against the kingdom. Though I wouldn’t put it past Roark to have a few tricks up his sleeve.”

  Calian meets me after Marcella, Kadene, and Niera are done prepping me for the day--a routine which still hasn’t managed to stop feeling surreal. Having a team of three women spend an hour making me as beautiful as humanly possible every morning has done wonders for my self confidence. Go figure.

  “Prince Roark would like me to escort you outside the palace walls. If you would?” he asks, offering his arm for me to take.

  I take Calian’s arm, noting the way he walks with such a straight back it seems like he must have a stick stuffed in his silky leather suit somewhere. His hair is slicked back away from his sharp features as well.

  “How have you been adjusting to life as a Princess?” he asks as we make a slow path through the palace, passing servants, guards, and small groups of chattering men and women in expensive clothes. “I had meant to check in with you more often, but the prince has been keeping me busy.”