by Amity Cross
Blood Rites (#2.5 Royal Blood) by Amity Cross
Copyright © 2015 Amity Cross / Nicole R. Taylor
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except where permitted by law.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
All song titles, song lyrics, products and brand names mentioned in this book are the property of the sole copyright owners.
Cover Design © Amity Cross / Nicole R. Taylor
Necromancers Motorcycle Club Logo by Jemina Venter @ #BookNerdFangirlDesigns
Contents
Part One: Blood Rites
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Part Two – Blood Price
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-One
Twenty-Two
About The Author
One
Vaughn
The thing about double lives is that no matter how hard you try not to cross the streams…nature always finds a way to fuck you over.
I stood on a side street in Kensington, London, the noise of the city ebbing and flowing around me. This whole area stunk of money and society, and the stores on this street were of the boutique variety. High prices and quality.
My gaze ran over the display of crystal in the shop window I stood out front of. Twenty-seven years on the planet and my life had amounted to this? What was next for my empire? Expansion was on the horizon, international expansion, but I needed a partner to take me there.
“Vaughn?”
I glanced up at Nathaniel Hawkes, my trusted bodyguard and advisor. He was the brawn of our outfit. Standing at six foot five, he had the shoulders of a rugby player and the aim of a military trained sniper. He was deadly with a weapon and his fists. He was ugly as fuck with his shaved head pockmarked skin, but he was quality. We looked a right pair together, slick suits that screamed wealth and a dangerous kind of refinement.
“Ready for some fun, Hawkes?” I asked, grinning.
“Always.” He gestured for me to lead the way.
Opening the door to the shop, I strode inside, the little bell ringing to signal our entrance. The shop floor was lined with all sorts of items, antique grandfather clocks, an assortment of vases and sculptures and display cases of crystal and jewelry. All old, all vintage and all worth a lot of money.
Our target emerged from out the back, a huge smile on his face. He was this thirty something, deadbeat business owner, who couldn’t seem to handle his cash flow very well for such high-ticketed merchandise. His business was suffering for his crack habit. When he laid eyes on us, his expression fell.
“Good morning,” I declared. “Expecting someone else?”
I picked up a business card and flipped it over. Jameson Jones, Pawnbroker. Glancing up at Jones himself, I flung it at him, my eyes narrowing. He looked like he was about to piss himself.
“Your payment is late, Jones,” I said, running a finger along the top of the glass display case. Diamonds sparkled under the lighting as I moved. Rings, necklaces, exquisite workmanship. Too bad he didn’t make them or I’d probably spare him the right hook he was about to cop to his jaw.
“I know. I’m sorry, but—”
I held up a finger to silence his pathetic excuses. Hawkes hovered by the door and there was a click as he locked it. Jones glanced from me to Hawkes with a look of absolute terror.
I rarely went with the brawn to send a message to my clients, so Jones was right to be terrified. The short of it was, from time to time I enjoyed getting my hands dirty. As long as it didn’t mark my suit and I got what I wanted, then we were all good.
“Fifty thousand pounds, Jones.” I leaned over the display case. “That’s a lot of money for a man like you.”
“Business is slow…”
Excuses. Men like Jones were all the same. The never knew their limits, they always got in too far over their heads and ended up paying the ultimate price. I glanced down at the diamonds. Not quite fifty grand, but it was a start.
Jones began to pale. “No, not those, I need them for a very important client, Mr. Vaughn.”
“Some society rich bitch?” I asked, cocking my head to the side.
“They’re vintage…heirlooms.” He wrung his hands together, becoming agitated.
Narrowing my eyes, I said, “Come here.”
Jones hesitated.
“Come here, Mr. Jones,” I snapped, pointing to the floor in front of me.
He rounded the counter, his features pale, and stood before me. Curling my fingers into a tight fist, I struck. My hand connected with Jones’ jaw and his head snapped to the side. I sucker punched him so hard he stumbled against the display case and fell to the floor. While he was down, I kicked him viciously in the stomach.
I gestured to Hawkes who rounded the counter and began gathering the diamonds as Jones moaned on the floor like a pathetic weasel.
My daytime career was Financial Investment. My secret nighttime career was hard drugs, women and weapons. Military grade arms, cocaine, heroin, that kind of thing. Big money, bad men. The two lives never crossed and that’s the way I liked it. My extracurricular activities were kept off the society pages and in the shadows, where they belonged.
I met the right people, or the wrong if you wanted to look at it that way, at a young age and found my talent for talking shit was well received. It made me money and lots of it. Not that I needed it, coming from a rich, titled family, but millions became billions and soon I’d be giving daddy a trust find, not the other way around.
I was a bad boy well on the way to becoming a very bad man. They didn’t call me the bad boy of High Society for nothing.
“Consider this a down payment, Mr. Jones,” I said, fixing my sleeves. I made sure my cufflinks were still secured and brushed my jacket with an elegant hand. Appearances were everything. “I expect it will be no trouble acquiring the other twenty-five thousand?” I glanced down at Jones, who was holding his stomach, a pained expression on his ugly fucking face.
He shook his head while he rolled around on the floor like an animal. “No, no trouble, Sir.”
Turning on my heel, I gestured to Hawkes who unlocked the door, the bag of diamonds firmly in the inside pocket of his suit jacket. My mood was quelled for the moment, a nicely aimed fist had done the trick as usual.
Stepping out onto the street, I pulled out my mobile phone, Hawkes following me like a bad smell. The European Summer was in full swing, but someone had forgotten to give London the memo. What I wouldn’t give to piss all this shit off and fly to Greece for three months. Nothing but sailing, beaches and plenty of beautiful women to sink my cock into.
Turning, I went to stride down the street, but I collided with a woman walking the other way. She smacked into my chest, dislodging the phone from my hand. I grasped her shoulders, steadying her before she bit the dust too.
The phone clattered to the ground and I cursed loudly. The woman bent to retrieve it, her long fingers curling around the annoying piece of
metal and straightened up. She was tall and slender, wearing a black sundress printed with red flowers with a neckline that drew my gaze straight to her tits. Her chestnut hair was loose around her shoulders and I caught the scent of cherry blossom in the air.
My gaze met hers as her expression fell, but I wasn’t sure if it was because she’d smashed the screen on my phone or she thought I was hot. Her? Well, she was fucking stunning.
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” she exclaimed, looking utterly forlorn. “I didn’t mean—”
“No bother,” I said, cutting her off. I reached for the phone, my fingers brushing against her skin.
She glanced up at me and her cheeks flushed a sexy shade of red.
It was like a goddamned romance novel, but by the way my cock was reacting at the slightest touch from the mystery woman, I knew that I’d do anything it took to fuck her. I hadn’t felt anything like it in my entire life. Big brown eyes, pouty red lips, flawless ivory skin… I could lose myself in a woman like her in more ways than one.
“What’s your name?” I asked, flashing my best smile.
She flushed again. “Lorelei.”
Lorelei.
Two
Lorelei
I glared at my mother. She was at it again.
I sat in a fancy tearoom in Kensington, an assortment of cakes and tea in fine china before us and couldn’t understand how she could be so…insufferable.
“You’re not getting any younger, Lorelei,” she was saying. “All the eligible bachelors will be gone by the time you make up your mind.”
“Mother,” I hissed, my gaze flickering to the other patrons and the staff. Rich heiresses and wives that had nothing better to do than gossip and spend their husband’s money.
“It’s the truth, darling. We need to secure your future.”
“My future?” I scoffed, totally fed up with the same old argument. “Your social standing more like it.”
“Lorelei,” she scolded.
“I have to get back to work, Mother.” I stood, gathering my purse. Brunch with my mother always ended one of two ways and this was one of them. The other was very, very similar.
I strode across the posh tearoom, disapproving eyes following my progress. There were more pressing matters to worry about in this world than who I did or did not marry. The rumor mill was going to have a good time with this one.
I let the door of the tearoom slam closed behind me and breathed deeply. Freedom, sweet bloody freedom!
My mother was obsessed with my relationship status. Being wealthy came with responsibilities, she always said. I hadn’t known any other life, other than being the daughter of a billionaire businessman, so I wasn’t quite sure what it felt like to be normal. I was sent to the most exclusive private schools in the UK and rubbed shoulders with some of the most up themselves girls in the entire world. They were the daughters of Lords and Barons and all of these archaic titles bestowed upon them by the Queen or by birth and I was just plain old Lorelei Lansford with the rich daddy. You think that would be enough, but no…it mattered what blood you had in your veins.
The whole thing made me want to asphyxiate on my own vomit.
My saving grace was my father, of all people. He’d worked for his fortune from a young age, making his mark in Corporate Resale. Buying failing companies, making them profitable, then selling on to the highest bidder. He came from humble roots and my mother had been the daughter of a rich socialite. He suffered my mother because he loved her and I supposed that's why he was so lenient on me. He wanted me to fall in love one day, not be married off like one of his companies for some business alliance.
I strode down a side street of boutiques in Kensington, desperate to get away from Mother's constant whining over my singledom. I didn’t care one iota for it. My work at the gallery commanded most of my attention. Art and antiquity. That was my thing, not popping out spoilt brats from between my legs.
Seriously, I was twenty-five years old and I wanted to be in control of my own destiny. Why was that such a bad thing? It wasn’t like I was falling over myself for the first guy who—
I smacked into something hard and stumbled, instantly realizing I’d collided with some poor man in my haste to get away from my overbearing mother. Strong hands grasped my shoulders and I gasped as the stranger’s phone hit the footpath. The screen shattered and I felt my cheeks heat. Great, just great.
Hastily, I bent to retrieve it.
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” I exclaimed, trying to smooth things over. “I didn’t mean—”
“No bother.”
I glanced up at the stranger and instantly flushed. He was handsome. I mean, there were good looking guys, then there was him. He was tall and lean with broad shoulders, blue eyes and sandy blond hair. His jaw looked like it was bloody chiseled from marble for heaven’s sake. And the suit he wore…dark navy with a subtle pinstripe, cream dress shirt and silver tie. Shit, were those platinum cufflinks?
He reached out for his shattered phone and his fingers brushed lightly against my skin. Shivers ran up and down my arm and I flushed scarlet.
“What’s your name?” he asked silkily.
Even his voice was pure sex. Oh hell, my knickers were becoming damp. I flushed for the millionth bloody time.
“Lorelei.”
A grin pulled at his perfectly sculpted mouth and I felt weak at the knees. He held out his hand. “Sebastian.”
Automatically, I curled my fingers around his and my whole body seemed to come alive. His grip was firm, his skin kind of rough for someone so refined in appearance. I wondered what he did.
All too soon he let my hand go and I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding in. Holy shit.
“I’m on my way to work,” I blurted, unable to tear my gaze away from his.
He smiled, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “Oh? Where is that?”
Oh. I blinked. “The gallery, just down the street.”
“Space Gallery?” he asked, tilting his head to the side.
“You know it?” I couldn’t hide my surprise. If he’d been into the gallery, I would’ve remembered him. I mean, all my most private parts were currently salivating for him. Who could forget that?
His lips curved into a smile. “I know it, yes.”
A big hand clamped down on his shoulder and I blinked, the spell broken. Bloody hell, I was totally in some kind of sexual thrall. Was this what people went gaga over when they said they were attracted to someone? If it was, then I finally understood.
He glanced at the man beside him and nodded. I didn’t realize we had an audience to our casual flirting and I flushed. More like eye fucking, Lorelei. The man was tall, impeccably dressed like Sebastian, but he wasn’t nearly half as attractive. He looked like a bodyguard and I felt my curiosity bristle.
“Please excuse me, Lorelei,” Sebastian said, inclining his head. “I have business I must attend to. Are you fine to walk to the gallery?”
I nodded, disappointment bristling.
“Please watch where you are going,” he said, his voice full of amusement. He brushed his hand against mine again. “Precious cargo.”
Oh, and he was smooth, too. I shook my head like it’d clear the daze I was in.
“Yes. It’s only… I mean…” I sucked in a deep breath. “I’ll be fine, thank you.”
He smiled once more before stepping around me and off the footpath. He slid into the back of a black town car and his buff friend got into the driver’s side. Blinking, I watched them pull out into traffic, wondering what the hell had just happened. Nothing that exciting ever happened to plain old rich bitch, Lorelei Lansford.
Turning, I walked down the street in a daze. The way his fingers brushed against my skin...that tingling feeling. That was an actual thing? I thought it only happened in romance novels. Maybe I should’ve asked him for his number. No, that was much to forward. Maybe he wasn’t interested.
Oh god, Lorelei, I thought. Get a grip!
I pushed ope
n the door to the gallery and breathed in the earthy smell of wood. That could only mean one thing and my skin began to hum. The new paintings had been delivered and crates were being cracked open in preparation for hanging. Now that was an aphrodisiac.
“Bex,” I called out, waltzing into the office. What a bloody day and it wasn’t even lunchtime!
“The new collection is here,” came her chirpy reply and she clapped her hands together in glee.
Rebecca Hemsworth, Bex for short, was not only my best friend, she was one of the gallery curators. Me, being the other. Together we were light and dark. I was willowy with chestnut coloring and she was tall and striking with her blonde hair and freckled nose. Yin and Yang and all of that. Match made in bloody heaven.
Her father owned the gallery through one of his companies and she’d asked to work here, spinning that she needed 'real world experience'. In reality, art got her off as much as it did me. Space Gallery was her baby and together we had built it into one of the hottest upcoming spaces in London.
“Are you okay?” she asked, swirling around on her office chair.
I leaned against the desk and sighed. “Yeah, I’m okay. Brunch with my mother.”
Bex laughed and turned back to the computer. “Same old, huh?”
“Same old,” I replied with a groan. Well, Mother was only part of it, the other was the mystery guy I’d smacked into on the way over here. Sebastian. Whoever he was.
As my lady bits began to tingle at the thought of his touch, I began to wonder if I would ever see him again.
In a city this size he could be almost anyone. Sighing, I decided to let it go before I could even develop a crush on the poor guy. Love was something that had always eluded me. Art on the other hand, that was screaming for my attention.
I ventured out the back to take a peek inside the crates, eager to get to work.
Three
Vaughn
I stared out the window of my office, watching busses and cars fly by on the street below.
There were a lot of things I should doing, financial acquisitions, reports, making sure those dickheads in Exeter were handling that shipment of military grade rocket launchers with care. There were always a million things that needed my attention, but today I could only think about one thing.
