Royally Ruined (Bad Boy Royals Book 2)

by Nora Flite

  My uncle reached into his pocket for a cigarette; Mom intervened, smacking him sharply in the shoulder. “Dammit, Margie.”

  “Not in here,” she said, leaving no room for argument—they’d had this talk several times. Turning toward me, she offered a half smile. “Sit down, honey bun. We’re listening.”

  I was proud of them. With Costello hovering in the kitchen corner, leaning there as if he could blend in and be forgotten, I knew this was hard on their nerves. But they sat there quietly as I began to tell them everything.

  Their whole sit-and-listen shtick fell apart minutes in.

  “Wait!” My father slammed his palms onto the tabletop. “You’ve been waitressing where?”

  “The Dirty Dolls,” I said. “It’s a club—”

  “A strip club!” Uncle Jimmy made big meaty fists. “I’ve been there before; how have I never seen you?”

  “The real question is how you never saw me,” Gina said, shrugging. “We’ve worked there for what, eight years now?”

  “Eight years?” My dad grabbed at his chest. I started to sit up until I realized he was overreacting and not having an actual heart attack. “Heather, how could you?”

  Ugh. I didn’t know how to answer that, not with Gina sitting in earshot. Costello’s warm voice rolled over into our conversation, saying, “It’s not the kind of place you think it is. My family has owned the club since I was young. We make sure it’s clean; nothing bad goes on in there.”

  My tiny pitter-patter of pride melted under my uncle’s response. “Please. Everything your family touches is corrupt. Everyone in this room knows that.” His glare froze on me. “Especially you, Heather. I’ve warned you for however long that the Badds are a dangerous family. They bring destruction. Ruin. And that’s all.”

  Gina stood up, knocking her chair over. “Hey! That’s wrong! Costello is as good as those guys can get!”

  “Keep out of this, Ginavene, please.” My father sighed. “I can’t believe you two were working in that place, and now . . .”

  My ears were buzzing from the constant argument. All of them were getting louder, hands shaking in the air to emphasize whatever points they had. They all thought they were right. And maybe they were—about some of it. But not all.

  Costello’s hand settled on my shoulder. Bracing myself, I said, “Someone wants me dead.”

  I wanted a photo of them right then, their eyes wide, jaws hanging slack. Yeah. I had their attention again.

  Standing up, I gently put my hand on top of Costello’s; my father and uncle shot their attention there. I said, “The same person who assaulted Gina tried to murder me. Now he’s convinced everyone that I was the one that tried to kill him. If it wasn’t for Costello, I’d be dead already. You can say he brings ruin all you want . . . but for me, he’s been a hero.” His fingers tightened and my ribs followed suit, unable to contain my blossoming heart.

  Deep in my mother’s eyes, I caught something: Pride? Joy? She looked at my father, her arm moving as if she’d taken his hand under the table. The way he twitched, eyeing her, I was sure she must have. “Heather,” she said slowly, “I believe you.”

  “You do?”

  Glancing at Costello, she said, “If you think you’re safe here, you’re all free to stay.”

  “Margie!” my uncle snapped.

  Her eyes darkened on him. “What? You want to tell Heather she’s lying? You know she wouldn’t, and if anyone can tell someone’s intentions, it’s her. If this young man was going to hurt her, he’d have done it by now.”

  “Thanks, Mom,” I breathed out. Relief flooded me, making me tired. But this wasn’t over with. One look at my dad made that obvious.

  He hunched farther over the table. “Costello,” he said, as if the name were a piece of rotten meat in his mouth. “Who’s this person chasing after my daughter?”

  “Darien Valentine,” he answered.

  Both my uncle and my father sat back, sharing a distraught look. “The Valentines?” Uncle Jimmy asked, palming his scalp. “The Boston Valentines?”

  “The same.”

  “Jesus,” my father whispered. Swallowing, he reached down to touch his injured leg. “But why?”

  “Pride,” I said, sitting back down.

  Costello leaned closer to me while he talked to everyone else. I appreciated his warmth; under the table I touched my foot to his. His shoe pushed back gently. “Darien Valentine is the youngest son of the family. He’s unhinged, but everyone believes him. If he says Scotch—Heather,” he corrected himself, and my family looked confused. “If he says she shot him, that’s all his family needs to declare revenge. Handing her over to him is what everyone expects us to do.”

  “Everyone,” Uncle Jimmy said, “including your father, I’m guessing.”

  Fine lines passed over Costello’s forehead. “Yes.”

  Chuckling without humor, my uncle leaned backward. “That’s interesting.”

  “Uncle?” I asked.

  He was still staring at Costello. “You’re working against Maverick Badd. Why?”

  The man beside me went stiff. “Because we don’t agree on how to handle this situation.”

  A long silence swam through the kitchen. Why was everyone giving me partial looks, like they were trying to stare at me without me noticing?

  “All right,” my dad grunted. “Let’s figure this out together.”

  I perked up. “Seriously? You’ll all help us?”

  There was much nodding, some smiling, but I was zoomed in on my uncle. His arms were knotted into a pretzel over his barrel chest. There was no happiness in his tone, just defeat, when he spoke. “I understand the problem. The Valentines, the Badds . . . they both want you dead, Heather.” There: pure sadness glistened in his eyes. Then he looked down, away, his thick eyebrows hiding everything. “The second one of them sees you . . .”

  I swallowed loudly. He knows he can’t take me to the station.

  Uncle Jimmy had tucked his chin to his chest. He was concentrating on his arms, refusing to look at any of us. I knew how hard for him this was. Many nights he’d stomp into my mother’s kitchen, slump in the very chair he was in now, and just groan.

  He’d light a cigarette—and sometimes my mother wouldn’t make him put it out. “The fucking Badds,” he’d grumble. Then he’d notice me and wince. “Sorry for my mouth,” he’d say, but I never minded. It was rare for me to see such an angry adult, so it just fascinated me.

  As I got older I learned what had him so stressed. He was the top detective at the local police department. For as long as I’d lived, he’d been hunting Costello’s family. Again and again he’d try to catch them in some act he could book them for.

  But he always failed.

  His job was to catch the bad guys, and they refused to be caught.

  Watching him now, my belly knotted up with regret. I hated that I had to ask him to help not just me . . . but Costello. He loathed the man. But when he lifted his head and met my nervous stare, I knew he loved me more.

  “For you,” he said, “I’ll do anything.”

  I started to perk up, but he stabbed Costello with a glare and said, “I want to talk with you first. Alone.”

  “Hold on,” I said. Costello’s nod was stiff. Under the table his foot left mine. “Hey! I said hold on! This isn’t about him, I’m the one with the murderous psychopath chasing me.”

  Chairs scraped the floor as everyone took their cue to leave. “The spaghetti can be reheated when you’re all hungry,” Mom said, pointing at the containers sealed with plastic wrap on the counter.

  I floated in a web of uncertainty. Gina caught my eye, reaching out to hook my elbow with hers. “Let’s go get the upstairs set up,” she said, glancing behind me at my uncle and Costello. “Does your mom still have that big heavy red sleeping bag? I loved that thing.”

  She pulled me and I went. My parents were huddled, whispering as they moved into the living room. They sent a few looks my way as we ascended the s
taircase to the second level, where all the bedrooms were.

  They’re talking about me, I thought. But of course they are. They just learned I was waitressing at a strip club for years. I’d never lied when I said I was a server, I’d just never told them where I was working. It hadn’t mattered. Or so I’d thought. I’m mixed up with the exact kind of people my dad and uncle have been fighting for decades.

  Gina opened a door, leading us into my old bedroom. “Hah, she didn’t even get rid of the art on the walls!” My mother had no heart for removing memories. I’d been living downtown with Gina since I was eighteen, but these pale green walls were still covered in my photography from high school.

  “Mom is sentimental,” I said, digging blankets out of the closet. “I’ll take the floor. The bed isn’t big enough for us both.”

  “Mnhm. Definitely not big enough for two people, unless they slept on top of each other.” Her grin went from ear to ear. “Maybe you and Costello should sleep in here.”

  “Gina!” She flopped heavily onto the bed and kicked off her socks. My parents kept the house at a toasty eighty degrees in winter. “Oh, sweetie pie. Don’t act like there’s nothing going on between you two.”

  Flinching, I hugged the sleeping bag I’d pulled down. “Like what?”

  “Like this.” Rolling over, she started humping the bed and making increasingly louder fake moans.

  I threw the sleeping bag at her face. “Gina! Come on, my parents are right downstairs!”

  Blowing me a kiss, she stretched out on the red material. “I’m teasing. But you need to tell me the truth. You’ve been hanging out with him every night for forever now, right?”

  “It hasn’t been forever!”

  “Two weeks now, if my memory serves?”

  I bristled uncomfortably. “Time is weird when you’ve been running from people trying to murder you.”

  “Sure, sure. Was that enough of a mood killer not to screw him?” Blushing furiously, I looked for something else to throw. Her triumphant grin was killing me inside. “Heather! You slept with him and you waited until now to tell me? What kind of friend are you?”

  She made room for me and patted the spot on the bed beside her. Joining her, I put my face in my hands and groaned. “Why are you busting my chops so hard?”

  “To make you feel better.” Her arm slid around, hugging me. “I’m a master at cheering you up.”

  Snorting, I leaned into the hug. “Hardly.” Except it was working. Her gentle ribbing had been such a factor in my world, and having it back was refreshing. For a while we stayed like that, hugging without a word. My eyes trailed over my old room, studying the photos, which were mostly of buildings. I’d wanted to get used to using a camera and developing film, like in old crime-solving movies. I didn’t care about the subject matter.

  “Hey,” she whispered, half laughing. “Did your parents really not know where you worked?”

  “Of course not. I never told them.”

  “Just seems weird they wouldn’t figure it out by now. Even a hunch.”

  “Mn. They’ve always trusted me. As long as I seem happy, they won’t dig deeper.”

  “Yeah.” She fidgeted, her grip going slack around me. I couldn’t see her face from my angle because her hair hung in the way. “You’re good at seeming happy.”

  “Gina?”

  “Why didn’t you ever tell me I was holding you back?”

  “What?” I sat up straight. She was smiling, but there was no denying the tears that threatened to spill over in her eyes. “Gina . . . it’s not your fault.” I’d forgotten she’d been trying to eavesdrop on me and Costello. Had she heard everything?

  Gently she pushed me away. Her arms wrapped around to hug her now, leaving me out of the picture. “I knew you wanted to be a cop when you were younger. I mean, we played the damn games together, where your uncle would set up clues and we’d run around solving them . . . It’s not like I wasn’t aware, I just thought . . .”

  I reached for her hand; she let me take it, but she kept staring at the floor. Gina didn’t blink, and I knew that if she did, the tears would break free. She whispered, “I never asked you to guard me. I thought you stayed because you liked working with me.”

  “I did like working with you!”

  “No. You liked feeling like you were keeping me safe.” Her chin swayed up, her smile crinkling at the corners as it struggled not to shatter. “And you did! You kept me from being hurt so many times, and with Darien, you—” Choking, she covered her face as warm water streamed between her fingers.

  Curling her to my chest, I stroked her hair. “Shh shh shh,” I soothed. It took all I had not to break down with her. The last time I’d seen Gina in person, she’d been a battered mess. Talking to her on the phone wasn’t the same as touching her. This woman was my best friend; she’d seen me at my worst, my best, and all the bits that slide in between.

  So why did I feel like I’d betrayed her somehow?

  “Gina,” I started. She was trembling, letting out so much pent-up emotion. She was just as scared as me this whole time. “It wasn’t your fault. I should have been brave enough to tell you what I wanted to do. And I should have trusted that you could take care of yourself. I’m so sorry I kept this secret for so long.”

  She could barely talk, her words sounding like, “Ifb ohb kay!” Sniffling, she embraced me to the point of choking. Her face was wet on my neck. “I’m . . . sorry . . . too!” Her hiccups turned into laughter.

  My smile was uncertain. “Why are you laughing?”

  “Because you don’t need to be my guardian angel anymore.”

  Blinking, I leaned back so we could see each other’s red and raw faces. “I’m not going to stop watching over you while you dance.”

  “I told you, I’m done there.” Flapping her hands, she took a deep breath, gathering herself. “Your memory sucks. I’m going to sue the pants off Thorne and that whole club. I’ll make a million, and you—” She tapped my nose. “You can finally go to the police academy.”

  A rumble moved through my heart. “Oh, Gina, I don’t . . .”

  “Don’t what? Have any idea how you’ll live without seeing me day in and day out?” Rolling her eyes, she gave me a shove. “You’ve been fine with your boyfriend, Mr. Blue Eyes down there. You don’t need me in your face, though I do expect you to let me into the academy so I can ogle some hot men in uniform.”

  Bending double, I started cracking up. “Gina, stop. He isn’t my boyfriend.”

  “Then what is he?”

  I locked up, my brain not quite firing. What is Costello? Tons of words popped up:

  Dangerous. Rich. Honorable. Prince . . . Sexy.

  Amazing.

  “You’re blushing,” she noted. “Also, what the hell happened to your nose piercing? How long has that been gone?”

  Cupping my cheeks, I said, “Long story. Listen, back to Costello, I’m not good with this whole dating thing. You know that.”

  “Dating!” she gasped, teasing me. “But for real. He’s clearly into you.”

  Ugh, my poor heart. “What if he’s only doing this because he thinks he has to? What if he’s not as great as he seems? What if he’s . . . broken.” Just saying that word was painful.

  I didn’t see the sleeping bag until Gina slammed it in my face with a big airy whoomph! My arms came up, untangling it so I could gawk at her. I’d never seen such an intense glint in her eyes. “Broken?” she scoffed. “Who isn’t a bit broken?”

  Wringing my hands, I shrugged. “My parents seem pretty stable.”

  “Your parents?” Her eyebrows furrowed together. “Oh, honey. So that’s it. You’ve been comparing you two to what they have.” Gina blinked, her voice lowering. “That’s always been the reason your relationships went nowhere, hasn’t it?”

  Jumping up, I said, “Don’t act like my therapist. It’s not weird to compare what my parents have to what I’m looking for.”

  “That’s just it. You can’
t go looking for that sort of love!”

  “I’m not going to settle for something less, Gina. I’d rather be alone forever.”

  Standing, she marched forward and grabbed me by the shoulders. “You don’t look for love. That’s what I’m trying to tell you.” Her eyes softened. “Love just finds you. Your job is to recognize it.”

  Recognize it? The bones in my legs were melting away. I let her hold me up, all while I just shook my head in wonder. “Are you seriously trying to tell me that I’m in love with Costello Badd?”

  Tilting her head, Gina chuckled. “I have no clue how you feel. But I do know this. When I was spying on you two in your yard, I caught a glimpse of how he looks at you. It’s like he’s bracing himself, worried he’ll blink and miss a single second of your existence. I’ve seen a lot of things, but that?” Her eyes softened. “I’ve never seen someone so in love.”

  - CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE -

  COSTELLO

  I stared at the ceiling. I’d been staring long enough to know how many cracks were in it. Three hundred and six, for the record.

  It helped to count them. Otherwise my mind would keep wandering back to the phone calls I kept ignoring. My father had reached out to me, as had Thorne. Their text messages told the story of what their voice mails would be.

  Thorne: Dad is going to kill you.

  Thorne: No joke.

  Thorne: Don’t tell me where you are. I’m pretending to look, but if I know for real, he can get it out of me.

  Maverick: Call me. Now.

  Maverick: How could you betray us? What kind of son are you?

  Maverick: The Valentines want to do a handoff. If we arrange it, they won’t turn their rage on us. On you. On your brothers and sisters.

  Maverick: If you don’t stop being selfish, people you love will die.

  I’d clutched my phone when I’d read that last one and nearly broken it. People I loved would die if I didn’t turn Scotch over? And what about if I did? This whole situation had gone off the rails. I couldn’t figure out how to fix it without someone getting hurt.

  If it had been just me Darien wanted, I think I’d have done it—let myself be a casualty of revenge.