Royal Protection: Little Queens Duet 1

by Amy Briggs

  Royal Protection

  Little Queens Duet 1

  Amy Briggs & Jess Epps

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Royal Protection: A Little Queens Duet: By Amy Briggs & Jess Epps

  Copyright © 2017 Amy Briggs & Jess Epps

  All Rights Reserved

  No part of this book may be reproduced, copied, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical without the expressed permission of the author.

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Cover Design copyright © FuriousFotog

  Cover Photography copyright © Wicked Warrior Photography

  Editing by: Jenn Wood

  For the wannabe rock stars out there. This one’s for all of us.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Playlist

  Acknowledgments

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  About the Author

  I stared at Mr. Royal with a raised eyebrow, both shocked and amused at his request. Not only was it unorthodox, and as much as I wanted the money that came with a gig like that, deception wasn’t something I was entirely comfortable with. Lying to get your job done made doing your job more difficult. His gray hair only highlighted his bright blue eyes, and as I glanced around his office, checking out all the awards and records on the wall, he continued to justify his request.

  “I can see your apprehension, son,” he interrupted my thoughts. “What you need to understand is that I’d do absolutely anything to protect my daughters, but they are stubborn. I’m far less concerned with Carmen, to be honest; she is a bit of a scrapper and doesn’t trust anyone, but Miranda…” He sighed before continuing, “Miranda isn’t taking these threats seriously, and I’ve tried doing this the right way.” The concern on his face was apparent, but I was still on the fence and had questions.

  “So, they’ve blatantly refused to have a security detail on this tour? And Miranda is receiving specific threats from a stalker or fan? You’ve already been down this road?” My trepidation was centered around being undercover on a cross-country music tour with these chicks. Unless I had full access, it would be almost impossible to protect either of them.

  Rolling his eyes, and stifling a chuckle, he replied, “Oh, yes. Yes, I have. When you meet them, you’ll see.”

  “And you believe this is the only way?” I questioned.

  “I do,” .He paused and leaned forward over his desk. “Look, I realize that being undercover security and on tour at the same time is an unusual request, and it’s probably not the easiest gig, but I’m willing to compensate you generously. You come highly recommended from other people in the industry. It has to be just you. If I try to set up some kind of detail, they’ll be onto us; as it stands, Carmen will probably doubt you, right out of the gate. Discretion is critical, and obviously, the girls cannot find out about this or they’ll kill us both,” .He let out a half-hearted chuckle, causing me to grin. “Her mother and I have tried everything from begging to demanding, and at the end of the day, I’m still their manager and have the ability to make some of these decisions in their best interest. And I’ll be paying you from my own personal funds so that you work for me, not them.” That seemed to be important to him, from the stern and stoic expression on his face.

  “Okay, so let’s say I’m in - which I’m not saying yet. What’s the cover you had in mind, and what’s the expectation here?” I didn’t have any reason not to go. My private security firm was doing extremely well since I’d been in the business, and my team was one hundred percent trustworthy. With a high profile set of clients like we had with in the Little Queens, I understood why their dad wanted me, but before I agreed to anything, I wanted him to lay out his plan for how this would work, and decide whether or not it was legit.

  “I want you to pose as a journalist,” he stated, causing me to laugh out loud.

  “A journalist?” He had to be crazy.

  “Yes, a journalist,” he replied.

  “How do you propose that work?” Mr. Royal certainly had me entertained.

  “You’re going to go on tour with them, as if you were chronicling the tour for a magazine. You’ll stick with Miranda, but you’ll also spend some time with Carmen, obviously. So, you’ll ask a lot of questions, get to know them all, and you’ll find yourself part of the crew essentially. I’ll instruct the girls that it’s my decision as their manager to have a journalist out on tour with them, because it’s fantastic PR for them.”

  “So, you think they’ll buy it?” I was intrigued by this whole proposition.

  “I do. Miranda is a smart businesswoman, and she’ll agree with me on this. Carmen… well, she is probably going to give you a hard time. That’s just her way. She’s my little girl, but she’ll likely put you through the ringer at some point,” he explained.

  “Okay, but Miranda is the one you want me to watch. She’s the one with a stalker of some kind?” I asked.

  “Yes. Miranda has been receiving threatening letters, and they’ve gotten worse. I’m concerned for her safety, and that’s why I’m willing to deceive them to do it. Mr. King --” I interrupted him.

  “You can call me Ryan.”

  “Ryan,” he paused, “If you ever have the opportunity to have children, you’ll understand what it’s like to be a parent. I would do anything to protect them.” He let out a sigh. “Anyway, are you in? What do you think?”

  I contemplated the pros and cons of taking on the job, and even though I somehow knew it would be trouble, I heard myself say, “Sir, I’m in.”

  We always opened with my favorite cover. It wasn’t a typical way to open a show, but we weren’t a typical rock band. My sister and I made the decisions, sometimes with some input from our dad, who was our manager, and sometimes from our band, but ultimately it was Carmen and I. Our dad had been a studio musician for as long as I can remember, and when Carmen and I decided to make it official, and become professional musicians, he supported us. As the lead singer, I picked a lot of the songs based on how I was feeling, but we always opened with “Pour Some Sugar on Me” by Def Leppard. Every. Show.

  The guys in our band hated doing it. They thought it was stupid to open with a cover to begin with, and on top of that, playing an 80’s hit wasn’t what they wanted to play at all. From my perspective, it was the perfect oppor
tunity to get the crowd tuned up, and it also gave Carmen a killer drum beat to work with. We felt like the vibe for the night was set from the first song, and yeah, we were songwriters, but some people had already gotten it right, and it was such a crowd pleaser. In addition to all that, it gave me a chance to get to know the crowd a little, while really warming my voice up; it highlighted our style out of the gate and always set a tone for a show. We’d been doing it so long that it was tradition, and changing it made us both feel superstitious after a while.

  “Okay guys, do you want to just do one run through of the whole thing and bang it out, or do you want to break it up and be here all day? Your choice,” I offered to the group in front of me. Scanning the band, I watched them all look at each other, trying to decide if one run through, start to finish, was better than spending all day off and on at the venue we rented practicing.

  “That depends,” our bassist, Mike, blurted out.

  “On what,” I grinned. It made no difference to me what we did, but I liked letting them have a say in a handful of things.

  “On whether or not you have the set list ready,” he smirked at me.

  “Well, it’s your lucky day, gents,” I sang. Holding up a piece of paper with the songs and outline my sister and I put together, I said, “Right here in my hot little hands is just the thing you’ve been waiting for.” As I dangled the paper in front of them and they all pretended to rush me for it, I laughed, fully enjoying the enthusiasm of the group. I twirled around, then tossed it for them to catch.

  They huddled around each other, reading the songs off, nodding their heads in approval, for which I sighed a breath of relief. “This is the best one yet!” Johnny, the guitarist, exclaimed.

  “Well, we’re happy if you’re happy,” Carmen teased. “Okay, guys, .Are we settling in for the long haul, or do you wanna do a sound check and try to run straight through the whole thing?”

  “Run through,” they said, practically in unison.

  Carmen glanced in my direction and gave me smirk. “What?” I asked her.

  “Nothing, you just picked a winner. It’s gonna be our best tour yet sister,” she replied.

  I lunged in her direction, scooping her into a hug. “We picked it together. It’s our band,” I semi-scolded her.

  “Okay, if you say so,” She gave me a slight eye roll and that same signature smirk as she made her way to her drums to get situated.

  I had two guitars I played during most gigs. An Ovation, which is an electric acoustic, for our acoustic set and a handful of songs; it’s also what I played and practiced and wrote on. I also had a classic black and white Fender Stratocaster. That’s the one I played on stage a lot, because it was what I grew up playing. I didn’t play lead guitar when I had one of my guitars on stage anyway; it was damn near impossible for me to walk and chew gum, let alone ‘perform’ with a guitar and sing. I just didn’t multitask well like that on stage. For the softer acoustic stuff, it was easy, but for our ‘big show’ songs, our high energy songs, I just couldn’t do it.

  We all went over to our instruments to get ourselves ready; tuning up, talking to, or whatever ritual each of us had. Me, I played my guitars so often, even just sitting around strumming on them, that they were usually already in tune anyway, but I still checked. On a sound check slash run through day, we could take our time, but we also wanted to make sure the sound was right, timing wasn’t an issue, that kind of thing. It was also the perfect time for us to make any changes or adjustments we wanted in the lineup.

  While it wasn’t our first tour, it was our first headlining tour. It was a big fucking deal. We weren’t selling out stadiums or anything yet, but we had enough of a following that we weren’t the opening act anymore, and in a handful of cities where we were popular, we did sell out at the venues where we were booked. That was so surreal to me; performing full time, going on the road, and selling out mid-size venues. It was a dream come true for us. If our dad hadn’t encouraged us, we probably never would have gone for it. Well, Carmen would have. She was a risk-taker. She was fearless. I preferred to weigh the pros and cons of literally everything I did.

  When this band started, Carmen was already playing drums freelance with a couple different bands where she could get gigs and exposure, but she didn’t have a regular band. She knew from the day she was born this was for her. I, on the other hand, had some misguided belief I needed to go to college, even if that was a back up and music was in my heart. She basically waited for me to graduate and not have a job before approaching me about forming our own band. I was reluctant to go full-time into music, but after some sister time playing together, and writing some songs, I never looked back.

  We started the run through, only pausing briefly between songs to make some minor adjustments. After about seven songs, just shy of halfway through, I saw a man sitting in the back, watching us. Well first, I noticed his tanned, muscular arms, painted with colorful tattoos that caught my eye. As I sang the high-speed, fierce “Killer Heart”, a song Carmen and I wrote on a whim, I tried to ignore his piercing eyes. He studied me while I belted out the melody, distracting me with his stare, causing me to stop mid-song.

  The band took a moment to realize I’d stopped, when I placed the microphone back to my lips. “This is a closed rehearsal. You shouldn’t be here,” I announced to the stranger, and the rest of the venue, which was essentially empty except for us and our sound guy.

  As the stranger stood up, walking toward the stage where I was standing, I noticed his beautiful white teeth as he grinned at me. Reaching for the badge around his neck, he yelled up to me, “Actually, I do belong here. Name’s Ryan. Ryan King.” He slowly shifted his smile to a smirk, placing his hands in his front pockets with a shrug. His smug attitude was infuriating.

  “And what is it you’re to be doing… Mr. King,” I continued talking to him through the mic.

  “Well sweetheart, I’m going on tour with you.” I snapped my head back to see Carmen raising her hands at me, mouthing, what the fuck is going on? As I started to respond to her that I had no clue, this King guy explained, “Look, I work for the Independent Rock out of San Francisco. We’re an up and coming magazine on music. Our focus is bands that bring back real rock and roll, and this was all worked out with your manager. Didn’t you know?” He was still grinning at me, clearly aware I had no idea about any of this.

  Irritated that I did not know what he was talking about, I ignored his question and turned to walk to Carmen at her drum set.

  “What the fuck is going on, dude,” she snapped at me with a little snarl.

  “This guy says he’s with some magazine and he’s going on tour with us. Apparently, he worked it all out with Dad.”

  “Are you kidding me? That sneaky motherfucker,” she hissed.

  “Yeah, tell me about it. But, it sounds exactly like something he’d do,” I replied, raising my eyebrow to her and pursing my lips.

  “It sure does. So, now what? We’re in the middle of a rehearsal.”

  “We’ll break, and call Dad. Regroup in an hour and finish the run through?” I said, questioning her.

  “Yeah, fine,” she huffed. then turned her attention to the rest of the band “All right, guys, we need to take a break and make a call. We’ll regroup in an hour, okay?”

  Grumbling, they meandered off. None of us really wanted to break but honestly, we needed to call our dad and find out what the hell was going on. This was so typical of him; making decisions without talking to us. In all fairness, they were always good decisions, and they benefited both our brand, and us but it was annoying as hell to have things sprung on us, especially hot dudes skulking in the back.

  Walking back to the front of the stage, I addressed the reporter, or writer, or whatever he was as he stood in the same spot, waiting for me. “Well, Mr. King, come on up here. We’re going to go give our manager a ring, so we can get on the same page and set some ground rules.” By this time, Carmen had walked over and was full-on attitud
e; eyeballing this guy so hard it made me want to laugh.

  “Easy with the laser beams, sister, you’re gonna catch the dude on fire, and I suspect this isn’t his fault,” I teased her, starting to giggle. I was annoyed, but not especially mad, because a writer going on tour with us was probably great PR. I just didn’t care for my father setting shit up without talking to us.

  She laughed gently. “All right, all right.”

  As the writer walked toward us on the stage, I once again took note of his masculine features. A chiseled jaw, offset by the smirk he wore, he was devilishly good-looking, even though his presence was disrupting my rehearsal.

  “You can call me Ryan,” He extended his hand to me as he approached.

  “Ryan, I’m Miranda. Miranda Royal. This is my sister, Carmen.” I paused, my hand still in his, admiring his tattoos along his forearms. “I’m guessing you already knew that though, eh?”

  Carmen gave him a half-hearted handshake as he turned his attention back to me. “Yes, I did,” he chuckled. “But it’s great to meet you. Sorry about the confusion here, but I promise you I’ll stay out of your hair. I’m here to observe, chronicle, maybe do a few interviews. The idea is to get to know you on stage, but also to really get a glimpse into the women behind the music.”