Alpha Prince (Twisted Royals, #1)

by Sidney Bristol

  “Madeline, pull around behind that building.” Julia needed to blow off some steam.

  “Julia, I’ll take care of it. Don’t worry. This guy? He’s going to bring her right to me. He said so himself.”

  Madeline eased the car to a stop behind a donut shop and shifted into park.

  A trip for two was cheaper than three, and for all that she’d paid Franco over the years, he hadn’t done a single damn thing for her. His partner was the useful one. The one in New York. Franco was dead weight she was glad to be rid of.

  Julia pushed her door open and got out.

  The air was humid, she could smell the on-coming rain. God, she hated it here. It was always raining. Couldn’t Taylor have picked a more convenient place to go and die?

  Julia stalked around the car, her heels clicking on the concrete.

  She yanked Franco’s door open.

  “Get out,” she said.

  “Julia, I know you’re upset. If you’ll just calm down—”

  “Calm down?” Julia reached in, grabbed a handful of Franco’s hair and yanked, hauling him out by his head.

  She slammed the car door shut once, clocking him in the head, and then again in the shoulders. Franco stumbled out, going to his knees.

  “You crazy bitch.” Franco clutched his head.

  “I’ve about had it with you.” Julia pounded her fist on the fender.

  Madeline popped the trunk.

  She only appeared to be the prim, proper secretary.

  In truth, Madeline was quite cutthroat, a quality Julia appreciated in an assistant.

  Julia’s favorite gun, the one registered to Taylor, was in the front seat. Franco didn’t deserve that one. Julia reached into the bag that she’d grabbed on their way out that morning and brought out the shotgun.

  “Put the weapon down. Police,” someone behind her bellowed.

  Ian stared down the sights of his gun. Julia’s red lipstick made for a great target. She stared at them, her jaw slack in shock.

  “Put the weapons down and get on your knees,” Owen said again.

  “She’s not going to,” Ian whispered.

  Julia’s face twisted into a mask of rage, and she lifted the shotgun.

  Ian squeezed off a shot at the same as Owen. One went wide, hitting the car, while the other nailed Julia in the shoulder.

  She screamed and pulled the trigger.

  Franco dove toward the trunk, but the car shot off and away from them, the driver probably thinking that now was a good time for a change of employer.

  Ian fired a second time.

  Julia went backward, landed on her ass and then slumped.

  Ian stared at the quickly growing puddle under the woman. Her death gave him no joy. No satisfaction. There was no justice in this.

  Franco huddled on the ground, hands up.

  “Oh, thank God you’re here. She was going to kill me! She kidnapped me,” Franco babbled.

  Owen began spouting Franco’s rights, cuffs in hand.

  Ian crossed to Julia and pressed his fingers to her pulse.

  Not even a flutter.

  He slid his fingers over her eyes, closing the lids.

  “It didn’t have ‘ta be this way,” he whispered.

  Ian’s phone vibrated.

  He stood, answering the unknown number.

  “Ian Kelly.”

  “It’s Vito. Man, you gotta get back here.”

  “Owen,” Ian bellowed right as the cavalry rolled up, sirens and lights on.

  “What’s wrong? What happened?” Owen straightened, bringing Franco with him

  “It’s Taylor, she...” Ian couldn’t say it. He didn’t know what’d happened, but it had to be bad.

  “In the car. Now!”

  “Our hands are tied. We can’t treat one problem without making another worse. The good news?”

  “There’s good news in all o’ this?” Ian leaned forward, watching Taylor’s still-sleeping form.

  “She’s breathing entirely on her own now. We’re going to leave the tube in for a while longer. Just in case,” the doctor said softly. “It shows that she’s fighting. All we can do now is wait, let the drugs wear off. Once that happens, we can formulate a treatment plan. Until then, we’re going to keep her comfortable.”

  Ian shook his head.

  How did they know if she was comfortable? It wasn’t like they could ask her, not with that tube down her throat.

  The doctor and his aide left quietly.

  Ian, Vito and Owen sat in silence while the machines beeped and whirred. Ian watched the numbers and graphs. These were Taylor’s only way to show them she was still fighting. That she wasn’t giving up. And he had no idea how to translate them.

  “I’ve got to get down to the station. Keep me in the loop?” Owen pushed to his feet.

  “Yeah, man. Will do.” Ian got to his feet and slapped Owen on the back. “Thanks, for everythin’.”

  Ian paced the room, got a glass of water and sat back down.

  Vito had graduated from the wheel chair to walking on his own and even got himself a pair of pants at some point.

  “What if she doesn’t make it?” Vito asked.

  “She has to,” Ian said.

  “But...what if she doesn’t?”

  “I’m not givin’ up on her. She’ll make it.” Ian leaned forward, willing Taylor to hear him. She was his heart. She couldn’t die now. “I love her.”

  After a moment, Vito sighed, “Me, too.”

  Ian wasn’t stupid. He knew what the other man was saying. It wasn’t Vito she’d reached for, but neither had Taylor told Ian how she felt. He wanted her to look him in the eye and say they had a future. There was no guarantee she loved him back though. And that was killing him.

  “I think you’re better for her than me.” Vito stretched his leg out.

  “You’re goin’ to need to work on that leg or it’ll lock up on you. I know a good physical therapist, if you’re stayin’ around a while.”

  “I’ll be here as long as Taylor’s here.”

  “I hope that’s a long time.”

  “Me, too.”

  They descended into silence. Taylor didn’t so much as flinch in her sleep without either of them seeing.

  Outside the light began to fade.

  The nurses changed shift.

  Ian’s phone died.

  And Taylor’s condition didn’t change at all.

  Chloe and Delilah, escorted by half a dozen of the guys in their ridiculous prince outfits, showed up in some sort of effort to lighten the mood, but nothing worked. Eventually, Vito returned to his room to get some sleep, and Ian took over the padded bench under the window to try to rest.

  Maybe when he woke up it would all be a dream.

  Taylor padded down the hall. She wasn’t herself. She was younger. Back in time.

  She’d been here before in this memory, and yet, this was the first time all over again.

  She was ten years old. Home from school. Dad had been downstairs. There’d been a loud bang, and Taylor went running for her parent’s room, only she didn’t know what door her mother was behind.

  The walls changed, the colors shifting, the doors different.

  The hall stretched on forever, darkness behind her, darkness ahead of her.

  This wasn’t her house.

  Her mother wasn’t behind these doors.

  And she wasn’t ten anymore.

  She didn’t know who or what she was.

  Why was she looking for something?

  What was it?

  Why was it so cold?

  Something growled, the sound coming at her from all sides.

  What had been the hall in her home was now different, the view warping and twisting. She was trapped in a labyrinth and she had no idea how to get out.

  Taylor clawed at a door, twisting the knob, and threw herself into the room. The door jerked shut behind her, and she pitched forward into a pile of leaves.

  Gray light filt
ered down through the branches overhead.

  Where was she? What was she trying to do?

  She sat there, pulling her knees up to her chest.

  She was looking for someone—but who? Why? Where was she? Why couldn’t she remember?

  “You have to be quiet. Shh!”

  Ian groaned and pried one eye open.

  Delilah?

  What now?

  A little girl with dark hair hoisted a puppy up over the bedrail.

  Not Delilah.

  “Stacey?” Ian sat up, blinking away the griminess in his eye.

  Stacey whirled, dropping the puppy unceremoniously over the railing and onto the bed next to Taylor.

  “Hey, hey.” Ian pushed up and scooped the pup out before he could do so much as get his legs under him. “What are you—oh my God.”

  He sat back on his heels as, one after another, the puppies rolled out of a tiny, pink suitcase.

  “They said Taylor was sick.” Stacey sniffled and wiped at her face.

  Her hair was a snarl of curls, her socks didn’t match, and Ian wasn’t sure, but that might be the same dress she’d worn the night before the fire.

  “Oh, Stacey, come here.” Ian pulled the girl into his arms and watched over her shoulder as seven puppies went in seven different directions.

  Christ.

  “Who brought you here?” Ian held Stacey at arms’ length.

  “I got on the bus.”

  “You got on the bus, with a bag full of puppies, an’ came all this way on your own?” Ian shook his head. She was Taylor’s sister, all right.

  “Is she going to be okay?” Stacey turned to peer at Taylor.

  “We don’t know yet.” He glanced to his left, just in time to see a pup take a poop. Dorky or Dopey, something with a D.

  Awesome.

  The door swung open, sweeping a puppy aside.

  “Oh, my heavens. What have we here?” Aunt Liv shut the door and covered her mouth with her hand.

  At least it wasn’t a doctor.

  “Hi, Aunt Liv.”

  “Morning. Who are these little fellas?” Aunt Liv bent and scooped up one puppy under her arm.

  “These are the seven rugrats, and this is Stacey. Stacey, this is my friend, Aunt Liv.”

  “Hello.” Stacey waved.

  Ian pulled out his phone and shot off a text to Owen, his best source at finding out where Stacey was supposed to be.

  “Where were you, Stacey?”

  “Where, when?”

  “Where did you sleep last night?”

  “In my bed.”

  “Stacey.” Ian leveled his stare at the girl.

  “I don’t know.” She dropped her head. “It’s a big house with a lot of people in it.”

  Ian hated the sad turn of Stacey’s mouth, the tears threatening to spill out. He’d love to keep her there, maybe her presence would call Taylor back, but he couldn’t. She was now a ward of the state, or however that worked. The people in charge of her would miss her soon, if they hadn’t already.

  By some luck, Owen was awake and connected Ian with Stacey’s case worker, who in turn was able to phone the foster family. After a brief chat with them and a promise to keep an eye on Stacey until someone could swing by to get her, they had one problem figured out at least.

  “What are we goin’ to do about the puppies?” He peered down at a puddle of pee.

  “I’ll find a box or something. Put them in the bathroom until I get back. Here’s something to eat, dearie.” Aunt Liv slipped out of the room, leaving Ian and Stacey to corral all seven puppies.

  Cleaning up puppy poop was not high on Ian’s list of things to do after waking up, but he managed to wipe it all down, and prayed someone came to take the garbage out soon.

  “I don’t want to go back,” Stacey said.

  “I know you don’t, kiddo. I know you don’t.” Ian patted the bench next to him and Stacey came to him.

  “Is she going to get better?”

  “I hope so.”

  “I thought the puppies might make her happy.”

  “I bet they would if she were awake.”

  Stacey asked questions, one after the other, until Aunt Liv returned with a large box. They corralled the puppies into the makeshift pen and left them in the bathroom, where, hopefully, no one looked for a while.

  “I brought my ma’s book. I thought maybe you might like to read to her?” Aunt Liv pulled a leather-bound volume of worn pages from her purse.

  “She’s out cold, Aunt Liv.” Ian crossed his arms over his chest and stared at Taylor.

  “The mind is still active.” Aunt Liv sank into the empty chair, her book perched on her lap.

  “I wish it were that simple,” he muttered. Like a fairy tale was going to do anything for her. This was the real world. Life didn’t work like that.

  “What if you kissed her? Like in the stories?” Stacey asked.

  Ian wanted to groan. Instead, he wrapped his arm around Stacey and kissed the top of her head.

  “Owen told me about her condition.” Aunt Liv nodded at Taylor. “The stories teach us things, give us hope. If you don’t want to read to her, you could talk to her, at least. Your voice will guide her in a way medicine can’t.”

  Ian made a noise of agreement to shut Aunt Liv up. This wasn’t a story. He couldn’t wake Taylor up with a kiss. They had to let the drugs run their course and hope for the best. That was the real world. This was life. And sometimes they didn’t get a happy ending.

  Ian smelled like dog shit and stale coffee.

  The foster family had picked Stacey up not a moment too soon. The nurses weren’t too thrilled to find a box of puppies in the bathroom. He was wearing out his welcome with them. Vito, Kade, Chloe, Owen and the rest had come through at various points during the day, wishing Taylor well, checking on Ian.

  It was one of the longest days of his life.

  And it wasn’t over.

  About the only progress they’d been able to make was removing the breathing tube. Taylor was fine on her own, but for whatever reason, she hadn’t woken up yet. It wasn’t like the doctors were putting her under, it was the cocktail of drugs Franco had pumped her full of doing their thing. Even he didn’t know what he’d given her.

  In all the times, in all the shit conditions he’d lived through, never had he felt more powerless.

  He got up and paced the room. Again.

  At some point, he should shower, get the smell of puppy off him, but he was too restless for something like that.

  He turned back toward the windows.

  Aunt Liv’s book sat on the end of the bench where she’d left it.

  He knew she meant well, but fuck, what had a story ever done for anyone?

  Taylor needed a miracle.

  Ian picked up the book, its worn cover catching the light.

  What the hell?

  He settled into the chair closest to her and flipped to the first story.

  Snow White.

  Of course.

  “Once upon a time,” he said softly.

  The point was for her to hear him.

  He cleared his throat and glanced at the door.

  “Once upon a time,” he said with more force.

  Ian settled into a rhythm, reading page after page. He’d seen the cartoon versions so many times that it was a little jarring to read stories that were not quite so...happy. They were somehow—fitting.

  Taylor was an orphan with an evil step mother who wanted to kill her.

  Ian had been disowned by his mother and forgotten by his father in the bottom of a bottle.

  They were brought together by chance, knitted together by something that felt like fate.

  Their story couldn’t end like this, could it?

  After an hour or so of reading, he closed the book. His eyes were beginning to cross and the words jumbled together. He glanced over at the monitors keeping time.

  Nothing had changed, not for the worse or the better. She was si
mply...holding steady. Waiting, maybe?

  Ian scrubbed a hand over his face and leaned forward, taking Taylor’s fingers in his.

  “I wish you’d wake up and tell me how this ends. How we end. If we end. I know I scared you blurtin’ out the truth like that. Truth is, it kinda scares me, too. What am I supposed to do now? You’re...you might be dyin’ on me, an’ I just found ‘ya.”

  Taylor didn’t pry open an eye. She didn’t tell him to shut up and let her rest. There were no more requests for food. She kept laying there. Asleep.

  Ian leaned over the side of the bed and kissed her lips. Gently. Briefly.

  Sooner or later, something would happen. She’d wake up, she’d pass on, something. He just didn’t know if he’d be ready when that time came.

  Taylor pushed her way past the branches and brambles.

  She was going somewhere. She’d had the trail a moment ago, but now it was cold. Or silent. She couldn’t remember which.

  Every so often, she remembered what she was doing, or where she was going.

  She was so tired.

  The trail was gone now.

  Taylor stopped and turned in a circle.

  The way behind her was dark, the shadows stretching toward her. Little voices whispered not to go back that way, that it was dangerous. She had to keep pushing forward. But which way did she go?

  A single apple hung on a limb a couple feet away.

  She’d been eating an apple...

  When?

  Where had she been?

  That was important.

  Taylor scrambled toward the fruit.

  Ian—she’d known he would be angry with her for eating it, and she’d done it anyway.

  She tugged the apple from the limb and glanced around.

  “Ian?”

  That name tickled something in the back of her mind.

  It was important.

  Was that who she was looking for?

  Hadn’t he been right here?

  He had—and then he was gone.

  “Ian? Ian, where are you?”

  Taylor turned and jogged between the trees, leaving the shadows behind her.

  Ian.

  She had to remember that name.

  She liked that name. Ian was a good person. She loved him.

  That...felt right.

  “Ian, are you out here? Where are you?”

  Taylor’s side hurt and she began to sweat. She glanced over her shoulder, but the darkness was closer than before. How? Had she taken a wrong turn?