Royally Ruined (Bad Boy Royals Book 2)

by Nora Flite

  ALSO BY NORA FLITE

  Bad Boy Royals

  Royally Bad

  Big City Billionaires

  Billion Dollar Bad Boy

  Other Books

  Never Kiss a Bad Boy

  The Bad Boy Arrangement

  My Secret Master

  Last of the Bad Boys

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Text copyright © 2017 Nora Flite

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Published by Montlake Romance, Seattle

  www.apub.com

  Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Montlake Romance are trademarks of Amazon.com, Amazon Inc., or its affiliates.

  ISBN-13: 9781542046572

  ISBN-10: 1542046572

  Cover design by Katie Anderson

  The dark points in my life were always ones I regretted. I never wanted them to have happened . . . and when I thought about them, I was ashamed. But I know better now. I know that the blackened bits of my past are just as worthy as the shiny parts people see every day. Thank you to the club I won’t name for giving me a method to pay my bills and feed myself. And thank you to the amazing women who hustled their butts off every day and night, inspiring me to work harder than ever. You changed me, and there is no shame in change.

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER ONE COSTELLO

  CHAPTER TWO SCOTCH

  CHAPTER THREE SCOTCH

  CHAPTER FOUR COSTELLO

  CHAPTER FIVE SCOTCH

  CHAPTER SIX COSTELLO

  CHAPTER SEVEN SCOTCH

  CHAPTER EIGHT SCOTCH

  CHAPTER NINE COSTELLO

  CHAPTER TEN SCOTCH

  CHAPTER ELEVEN SCOTCH

  CHAPTER TWELVE COSTELLO

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN SCOTCH

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN SCOTCH

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN COSTELLO

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN SCOTCH

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN COSTELLO

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN SCOTCH

  CHAPTER NINETEEN COSTELLO

  CHAPTER TWENTY SCOTCH

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE COSTELLO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO SCOTCH

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE COSTELLO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR SCOTCH

  EPILOGUE COSTELLO

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  - CHAPTER ONE -

  COSTELLO

  Once upon a time, I would have been a king.

  Firstborn.

  Royal blood.

  A family full of money and power and everything I could possibly dream of. I would have ruled justly, taken care of my loved ones, and done my best for my country. The key words in all of this are would have.

  Modern-day princes like me? Guys with Mafia roots who stay in control thanks to threats instead of our lineage? We’re often the bad guys.

  I sure am.

  It’s why I was checking my handgun under my coat; I didn’t need to look to know that it was loaded. And it’s why I was staring down the young woman who wanted nothing to do with me.

  “Hold up,” she said, her voice tangling high in her throat. “You don’t need to do this. Thorne knows me, ask him!”

  Thorne was one of my brothers. He’d made a point of stepping out of the dressing room when I’d demanded we check every girl here—dancer or otherwise—to make sure she wasn’t wearing a wire. He’d looked me in the eye and said, “It’s a dumb meeting with the Deep Shots to introduce new members. We don’t need to be so careful, no one is going to talk to the cops.”

  I’d calmly asked him one thing. “Do you want to search them, or do you want me to?”

  My brother had left before I began on the first girl.

  Even if Thorne trusted the people working here, I didn’t. I couldn’t. The vicious scar on my face was a constant reminder of that. Anyone can screw you over . . . especially the many dirty cops in this city.

  I hate cops.

  I’m pretty confident everyone working tonight hated me, too. Each of them had given me wide eyes—a look I was used to—as I made her put her palms on the wall so I could pat her down. If I were anyone else, they’d have probably cussed me out.

  But none of them struggled . . . none of them tried to reason her way out of it . . .

  Until her.

  “Hey, hey, whoa!” the blonde shouted at me. “Slow down. You don’t need to check me for anything, I work here, not for the police!”

  I stayed where I was, acting relaxed but knowing I could catch her if she tried to run. “This isn’t up for discussion. I’m checking every dancer here.”

  “I’m not a dancer, I’m a waitress!” She’d been the last to arrive in the dressing room. I had a hunch no one had told her why she was needed down here. “Also, why are you looking for wires and weapons on strippers? You do know their whole thing is getting naked, where would they even hide anything?”

  When I said nothing else, the woman lifted her arms. My muscles knotted up; was she going to fight me, or was she surrendering?

  Her tongue darted over her lower lip in a smooth pink swipe. “Seriously,” she said, “ask Hawthorne, he knows me!”

  “Doesn’t matter who knows you. I’m not asking much. I only want you to take off your clothes so I can search you.”

  Her face flushed pink, the color bringing out her freckles. The tiny piercing on the side of her nose glinted when she scowled. “Oh? That’s all? Well then, gee, I guess I’ll just strip down and—No! Fuck no! Get Thorne. I’ve been here for eight years, seen plenty of bad shit, and never once said a word. Why is this happening now, why search me tonight?”

  This was taking too long. The Deep Shots would be upstairs any minute.

  With clean precision I slid the tip of my pistol between us. There wasn’t much space; I’d set up my little “check station” in the corner of the dressing room farthest from the door. The beaten-up and vandalized lockers the girls stored their everyday clothes in were keeping the waitress from bolting in one direction.

  My body blocked the other.

  “Hey,” she said, flicking her brown eyes to the weapon, then back to me. I was surprised she held my stare so evenly. Few people could. “Can’t we be nice about this?”

  “Do I seem nice?” I asked.

  “No.” One corner of her mouth went up in an out-of-place smile. “And I thought Hawthorne was the asshole of your family.”

  When I was younger that would have hurt. But I’d been called worse things for a long while. “I’m not playing around. Clothes off. Now.”

  She stood taller. Most women don’t come close to my height, but in sneakers—who wears sneakers in a club?—her chin was even with mine. I could smell the sweetness of her skin. I’d expected typical stripper smell, but this wasn’t cotton candy and baby powder. This was something . . . richer. Like the inside of a treasure chest, metallic, with a sugary hint I knew and couldn’t place. It was familiar in a way that nagged me.

  Her voice was low, anything but soft. “If you’re going to see me naked, you should know my name.”

  “You don’t need to be naked, your bra and panties are—”

  She spoke over me. “Scotch. My name is Scotch.” Again her piercing shone from how hard she scrunched her nose. “And you? You’re Costello, right?”

  My family owned every single strip club in
this city, so her knowing my name didn’t startle me. Had she thought it would? Was that why she was talking so casually? She’s trying to distract me, I reminded myself, wondering if she hadn’t already. How long had we been standing here? “If you don’t take your clothes off, I’m going to take them off for you.”

  Scotch peered at me. I wondered if she doubted my promise. If she was smart, she wouldn’t. I’d do whatever it took to ensure no cops got involved in this meeting tonight, to keep the people important to me safe. If that included stripping a stubborn waitress, so be it.

  She turned away and faced the lockers and curled her nails under her pink-and-blue shirt, peeling it up to expose her back to me. “Get this over with. I have drinks to serve upstairs.”

  Tucking the gun back into my jacket, I said, “Smart girl.” I bent close, and that damn scent hit me again, confusing me and making me dizzy. Fighting through it, I brushed my hands over her skin, reaching around to feel for anything hidden on her stomach.

  Scotch trembled, her heart kicking at my chest through her spine. She was warm as a perfect cup of tea, smooth as ivory. I was supposed to be feeling for a wire, but I couldn’t stop thinking about how good she felt. How solid and feathery.

  When I trailed my fingertips over her hips toward her black skirt, the edge of it rustled under my touch. The gap between me and her spread legs shrank. The instant I brushed the inner part of her hidden thigh, Scotch inhaled through her nose. It wasn’t a scared sound; it was too thick. Static passed between us, and together we stiffened.

  She asked me, “Why are you going so slow?”

  Sweat crept over my brow. “I’m not. I’m being precise.”

  “Oh?” It came out like a purr. “How’s this for precise?” I pride myself on my speed, but this woman rammed her ass right against the front of my slacks before I could dodge. I’m not sure I would have dodged.

  My blood raced, battling with the excitement that was curling in my lower belly. How had this simple task become such a game of wills? How was this damn stranger getting under my skin so quickly? Get your shit together! I reprimanded myself. Scotch was grinning; I could see it even with her face turned away.

  She wanted to play.

  I didn’t. Or I did, but . . . No. I didn’t. I had a job to do. I snatched her wrists and pressed her hands above her head against the lockers so hard that the faded green metal rattled. Over it all I heard her surprised gasp and endured a thrill from it. “Not the wisest move you could have made,” I whispered in her ear.

  “Wait,” she said quickly, struggling to face me. I didn’t let her. “Hold on. What are you doing?” I bound her hands with one of mine, and my free fingers hooked into the top of her skirt. “What I promised I’d do from the start.” I pulled it lower, a mere inch, revealing the fish tail of her black thong. My cock swelled painfully. “Taking your clothes off for you.”

  She was breathing heavily. My mouth was a tingling mess and my senses were getting fried, but no matter how this girl was turning me on—and fuck, she really was—I was done playing games.

  Even if it meant making people hate me . . . even if it meant creating fear . . .

  I’d always do what had to be done.

  Once upon a time, I would have been a king.

  Now?

  I’m just a monster.

  - CHAPTER TWO -

  SCOTCH

  This was not how I’d expected my Monday to go.

  I couldn’t recall the last time someone had tried to feel me up in this club. It would have been early on, when everyone thought I was green and naive. It only took a few sharp knees to the groins to cut that behavior off.

  These days, the men who came here knew to keep their hands off me.

  But this man—no, this wolfish creature—he was something else. There was no fear in his eyes when I challenged him, only confidence and wild, unadulterated lust.

  The last bit was my fault. Definitely.

  Stupid, I scolded myself, even as I ground my ass against the front of his jeans. Really stupid. My goal had been to throw him off so I could bolt for the door. I’d already tried shouting at him, and it hadn’t worked; anyone else would have backed off.

  Costello Badd wasn’t like anyone I’d ever met.

  “Wait,” I managed to croak. Gathering myself, I tugged against his grip on my wrists. It didn’t budge, his long fingers easily holding both my arms over my head. The locker I was crushed against should have felt chilly. With how hot my body was, it didn’t.

  He yanked my skirt down again, further exposing my black underwear. Had the dressing room always had a draft? Goose bumps rippled over my skin; some were from Costello’s breath on my neck.

  A small noise rumbled in his chest. I felt it more than heard it. Aware of how close we were, I tried to push my knees together; Costello kicked at my heels, driving his leg between mine. “No,” he said sharply. His pause went on too long; it made me bite my lip. “Stay. I’ll make this quick.”

  I didn’t know anymore if I wanted him to be quick about it.

  His fingertips ran down my legs, front to back, as he searched for a wire that wasn’t there. As if I’d ever be so insane as to squeal on the Badds. But he hadn’t listened to me.

  If he had, I wouldn’t be feeling his skin-melting touch right now, I told myself. Costello was working me up like it had been his plan all along. The rigid bulge pushing into my lower back wasn’t his gun. It couldn’t be.

  “Are you almost done in here?”

  It was Hawthorne’s voice that echoed through the room. He stood in the doorway, his arm propped up on the frame as he squinted at us. I knew what he saw: me half-naked, skirt pulled down and shirt tugged high, while his brother was cupping my hips.

  Costello flew backward like my body had become literal fire. Had he realized how inappropriate he was being? I should have been relieved that I was free of his determined, expert touch . . . but I wasn’t.

  The absence of his heat was too obvious. It left me feeling more exposed than having my skirt around my ankles had. I need a drink after this. Too bad I didn’t drink on the job. It would have made life much easier.

  Thorne looked between us with his eyebrows raised. “Everything okay?” he asked.

  Yanking my skirt up quickly, I fixed my clothes while stomping toward him. He had the grace to wince. “Did you really think I would wear a wire in here?” I snapped. “After all these years?”

  Thorne threw up his hands in self-defense. His smirk slid on too smoothly, like a favorite pair of jeans. “Costello was just being safe. Take it easy.”

  “Oh, tell me to take it easy again,” I said, poking him in the shoulder. “Let me hear you say that while you’re getting defiled.”

  He blinked at me, then at Costello. “Did you defile her?”

  The blue-eyed brother didn’t look at either of us. “No.” Then he shoved through the door, leaving me and Thorne alone. If I hadn’t just spent several minutes with him whispering in my ear, I might not have known Costello had been in the room at all. The man was a ghost when he wanted to be.

  “Huh,” Thorne said, rubbing at the side of his neck. “He’s acting weird. Don’t you think so?”

  “I wouldn’t know. That’s the first time he’s ever spoken to me.” Spoken and so much more. The man’s abrupt exit had taken the wind out of my sails. Crossing my arms, I asked, “What are you two so scared about the police overhearing?”

  Thorne’s smile fell away at my question. “I told you, we’re just being safe. Doesn’t have to mean there’s anything going on tonight.”

  “Tonight? As opposed to at all?”

  “I mean—fuck, give me a break here. Just treat this like any other shift, okay?”

  I tightened my arms. “That’s not reassuring.”

  Thorne folded his hands behind his neck with a loud sigh. “Are you mad because it was Costello ‘defiling’ you and not me?” I shoved him as I walked by; he laughed, following me into the club. “Scotch, all you ha
ve to do is ask me nicely next time! I’ll happily do anything to you, don’t be shy!”

  His acting like a jackass was typical, and it made things feel more normal. After my encounter with Costello . . . normality was a state I desperately wanted to return to.

  The Dirty Dolls was in full swing. Which is to say, less of a swing, more of a limp. Monday nights bring in a quiet kind of crowd, the “One more drink before I go home” after-work types.

  A lone dancer stretched on the tip rail while a customer fed ones into her thong. Where are the other girls? I wondered. There should be at least six more, including Gina. Are they all giving lap dances or something? I spotted them in the darkened room; what I saw cut my stride in half.

  A group of men were lounging with the giggling dancers on the roped-off leather couches reserved for high-end clientele. One of them had slid out his gun and was showing it off to the woman clinging to him.

  What made my heart stop wasn’t the weapon, but the ring on the man’s finger: a gold band capped by a single bullet casing. All at once I knew who these men were. Why Costello had been running around making sure none of us were snitches.

  The Badds might run this state . . .

  But the Deep Shots were a dangerous gang with their own place on the food chain.

  Last I knew, I thought uneasily, these guys weren’t welcome in this club. Or any club owned by the Badds—which was all of them. The frustration the smaller gangs felt with their inability to push drugs or prostitution through Badd territory wasn’t a secret if you were part of that industry.

  People feared Costello’s family, but I kind of respected them. I mean, I worked in one of their businesses and, thanks to their rules, none of the dancers—including my best friend—had to resort to sex for cash. Every club in the city was clean.

  Why are they here? I had a million questions. The rock in my stomach grew as I watched the gang members. This was too weird; why would the Badds let them inside?

  “There you are!” Gina piped up, making me jump. I’d wandered toward the bar on autopilot and nearly bumped into the dancer, who was sitting cross-legged on a stool. As I clutched my chest, my best friend gave me a knowing look. “Oh, gosh. He did it to you, too.”