Royally Ruined (Bad Boy Royals Book 2)

by Nora Flite

  I’ll drive around the city. Every city. The whole state . . . the world. I wouldn’t rest until I found Scotch. But my brother’s words had been ominous: until the morning. The handoff was happening tonight. I didn’t have time to search the world for the woman I loved. I was still going to try, but the reality had my chin hanging on my chest. I fought back angry tears with a brutal grimace that made my jaw ache.

  My phone buzzed in my hand. I scanned it with wild, misplaced hope; there was a message from an unknown number.

  Unknown: Havenport Warehouse, Boston, ten o’clock.

  Unknown: You have to save her. Please.

  Disbelief marched up my body and down my throat until I couldn’t make a sound. Save her? This was about Scotch. Some angel had gifted me with the location of the meeting.

  Without wasting another second, I stood on unfeeling limbs and raced to the car.

  The warehouse sat along one side of the Charles River. There were no lights outside of the few dotting the nearby turnpike. Parking my sister’s car out of the sight of anyone inside was easy; several abandoned buildings served as decent cover.

  Softly I shut the door, taking inventory of myself as I crouched. One gun, only eight bullets. I’d fired the rest back at my condo. If I’d asked Stapler for another clip, I wonder if he’d have given it to me.

  Probably not.

  Under my pants was strapped a simple knife. I fingered the hilt, then covered it again. I’d never been afraid of spilling blood. It didn’t occur to me to be scared of hurting my enemies; I’d done it enough times at my father’s order.

  But this wasn’t about duty. The men inside were keeping me away from someone more important to me than life itself. For her, I’d kill everyone on this earth.

  I flicked my gun’s safety off and prowled toward the building. There were five cars parked outside—basic models except for a black Mustang with yellow slashes of color along the doors. Darien’s car, no doubt, I thought as I studied it. It reeked of pompous ego.

  Satisfied that the cars were empty, I turned my eyes to the wide metal doors. One was propped partially open, and just inside was a bright white light. Apparently this guard was more interested in Facebook on his phone than in watching for danger.

  Quick as a falling stone I crept up beside him. One arm choked his throat, silencing him while I scanned inside for more lookouts. In my grip the man went limp; I didn’t need to kill him, leaving him unconscious was enough.

  Without knowing what I was up against, I had to be extra careful. I couldn’t just fire my gun; I’d bring every unseen attacker down on me. Darien could have two men or twenty. Five cars made me think it was more like ten, at most. But I was taking no chances.

  Deeper I moved into the warehouse. My eyes adjusted to the dimness, allowing me to slink around corners and avoid old bits of metal pipe strewn around. There were multiple hallways around me. Any one of them could lead me toward peril . . . or to the woman I loved.

  A voice spoke up ahead; I froze, my ears whistling as I strained to hear what was being said. It was too far away, the walls too thick. And still . . . I was sure one of those voices was female. Scotch. Darien was nearby, he had her, and I had to fucking hurry. Swept up in focusing on what was ahead, I didn’t hear what was behind me until it was too late.

  “Hey!” a man grunted, his arms winding around my shoulders from behind. “We got someone over here!”

  Shit!

  Muscles squeezed around my chest; my elbow drove backward, making a satisfying thunk when it connected with my attacker’s ribs. His groan was wet as he released me, collapsing on the ground. Whirling, I looked on two other men. One was half in the shadows, another had his gun aimed straight at me.

  “Don’t—” he said, before my fist skidded on his jaw, sending his eyes rolling in his skull.

  Don’t? Don’t what, fight for my life? Fight for her life? There was no chance I was listening to anyone who threatened the future I desired with Scotch. They’d have to break every bone in my body, they’d have to fucking drag me to hell. I was never stopping.

  Never.

  With two guys down, I was left with just a reedy man in pale jeans and a long leather coat. There was recognition in his black eyes. Even in Boston, my name . . . my face . . . they were known.

  As I rushed forward, ignoring the tip of the pistol and how it could spill my guts, I spotted something unsettling. This man who knew me . . . he didn’t look scared.

  He looked excited.

  My fingers closed on his jacket collar; he threw his hip into mine, snatching my gun away and forcing me to stumble. The pistol skidded across the floor and out of sight. Amazed, I backed up to consider the stranger warily.

  Furrowed lines carved his jaw and forehead. This was a man who was no stranger to life-or-death battles. This wasn’t a novice guarding the perimeter for petty cash. When he grinned, his chipped tooth glinted.

  Get his gun away, I thought, wishing I had mine.

  “You,” he breathed out, scuttling to the side like a crab.

  He’s fast!

  “I’ve wanted to see you in person for a very long time,” he purred. The black of his pupils became impossibly darker—manic. “Your sweet sister would have been so much better, though.”

  That threw me off. So much that he was able to hook his arm around and catch me on the ear with the butt of the gun. He wasn’t trying to shoot me, he hadn’t been; whoever he was, he wanted me alive. That was more terrifying than anything else.

  “Who are you?” I asked, backing away. Part of my skull was rattling where he’d hit me, my ear burning. It felt wet, but I didn’t touch it.

  He faced me fully, his body long and lean under the coat, an arrow in flight. The gun lifted, then dropped to sway by his hip lazily. “You don’t know? I figured she’d tell you about me.” His smile dipped. “That’s why I had to transfer in the fucking first place. Couldn’t risk being spotted on the force after you and her managed to survive.”

  Old shards of glass in my heart—never forgotten, left to infect me for years—began to slice me apart. No. It can’t be.

  He smiled like a rotten jack-o’-lantern. “I’m Officer Horace Max. The man who’s going to kill you.”

  The back of my skull exploded, color invading my eyes so I couldn’t see. But I did hear the voice in my ear, so sickeningly familiar. “Hey, kid.”

  Romeo.

  My old foe curled his arms around my own and yanked them behind my head, his palms pressing on my skull and locking me in place. I struggled anyway, spinning my body from side to side, all while Romeo laughed. “You son of a bitch!” I snarled.

  “Ha, feisty as ever!” Romeo kicked the back of my knee, making me lose my balance so he could drag me across the floor. “Come on, Horace. Let’s show Darien what we found lurking in here.”

  Horace nodded, glancing at the men I’d knocked unconscious. “Useless. The Valentines need to spend better money on their guards.”

  “Nah,” Romeo said, moving me in spite of my violent struggles. “Costello is a purebred fighter. He was bound to take down some of us. A man of surprises, this one.” His words slipped into something low—gritty with hate.

  It wasn’t until we broke into the center of a big room, surrounded by dusty windows, that I understood why he hated me so much.

  Romeo threw me forward, right into Horace’s grip. The man spun me in a choke hold, forcing my eyes out on the room. I froze when I saw Romeo’s face.

  “Ha,” he chuckled. “Guess you didn’t know, huh?”

  Old burns traversed his face like red and shiny patchwork. He wore a dark knit cap, which made me think he’d lost most of his hair in the fire, too. I’d never known what had happened to Romeo or the others that night, but I’d kept an ear to the ground for a long while. The desire for revenge doesn’t die so easily inside us.

  Romeo eyed me like he, too, knew revenge was an immortal beast. “Like them?” he asked coolly. He ran the barrel of his gun down his
cheek. “Doctor said it’s a miracle I lived. That unlike Merrick or Santana . . . I was lucky.”

  His cohorts had died in the fire. No bodies had been reported in the news, which meant someone—I was starting to guess Horace or the Valentines—had hidden the evidence. Were Merrick and Santana rotting away in shallow graves? Part of me was glad.

  The rest of me was unnerved thinking that I, too, could end up in an unmarked grave. Possibly before this night was over with.

  “Costello!” Scotch shouted.

  I forgot all about the men holding me down. I forgot about death, revenge, and how much peril I was in. Darien had pulled her into view from behind a pile of rotten crates. Her face was drained of all color, unsaturated from the moment she spotted me.

  Darien squeezed her cheeks, saying, “Shut the hell up.” Gripping her by the back of her neck, he walked toward us, nodding my way. “What do we have here?”

  “Found him trying to break in,” Horace said. “Didn’t see anyone else.”

  “The lone wolf.” Snorting, Darien dug his fingers into Scotch’s jaw, turning her toward him. He was close enough to kiss her or to bite off her lips. “I told you not to bring anyone else.”

  Her eyes flashed with flecks of gold. I’d seen her panic before, and I was sure her heart was going wild. “I didn’t. He wasn’t supposed to follow me.” She couldn’t move her head, so she just flicked her stare my way. “Costello, why did you have to come here?”

  There was so much despair it weighed her voice down. In turn, it crushed my heart.

  It was hard to speak; it came out in a half whistle. “Did you really think I’d let you get yourself killed?”

  Darien rolled his eyes dramatically. “Well, this is fine. I’ve wanted to get my hands on you since you got between me and this”—he licked Scotch’s cheek, and my blood became acid—“sweet, sweet girl at the club.”

  Curling my lips back like a rabid animal, I swung forward. Romeo actually looked nervous for a second, but not Darien. “Let her go!” I demanded.

  “Trying to command us,” Horace said over me. “How typical. Neither of you are walking out of here, but if you ask nicely, you can share a hole in the ground.”

  “It’s kind of romantic,” Romeo teased.

  “Yeah. It’s fate.” Horace dug his fingers into my scalp. “How else do you explain me finally getting the chance to do what I couldn’t years ago?” His voice dropped like a rock in a well. “You and your sister were supposed to die in that mill. The Valentines were furious at me when you both got away. My life has been hell since. But no more.”

  He’s the one. He’s really the cop who tricked Lulabelle. This was a room full of monsters, me included. We were going to claw one another to pieces.

  But I wouldn’t let Scotch go down with us.

  Darien turned his back on me, bending over Scotch and half hiding her. “Check him for weapons,” he said absently.

  The burned man approached me. Too roughly he patted me down, tossing my ankle knife aside. “What the hell is this?” Romeo asked after he checked my jacket. Moving away, he dropped the item into Darien’s open palm, and Darien proceeded to lift it toward the light and turn it over.

  Darien’s eyes dive-bombed Scotch. In wonderment he looked at me again. I hated the sluggish smile that split his lips. “Are you kidding me? You kept her fucking nose stud?” He hung his head, laughing viciously.

  Scotch hadn’t stopped staring at me. She’d been the one to put it in my jacket forever ago, not me, but it did look like I’d been hanging on to it.

  Shaking his head, Darien watched me closely. “Sentimental man. I’d have never guessed. Well, in any case, I’m glad you kept it.” He held the post of the stud straight up. “Your little piercing was partly why I was into you. I was sad to see it gone, but now . . . maybe I’ll put it back in.”

  She and I tensed up together. “You can’t!” she gasped. “The hole is closed up!”

  Darien curled his forearm around her throat, winking. “I know. I’ll make a new one.”

  Red. All I could see was red. Horace was trying to keep me still, but with the new waves of furious rage moving through me, he was grunting with effort. “Hey!” Horace shouted. “Calm the fuck down!”

  “Hold him still, idiots,” Darien murmured, not a flicker of worry in his voice. His confidence knew no limits.

  “I’m trying to, but he’s fucking strong!” Horace growled.

  Romeo came over to help, his hands closing on the front of my shirt. He gawked at me, so much tooth and gum his lips were invisible. “When did you get so strong, kid, huh?”

  Whipping my head to the side, I cracked him in the temple with the top of my head. Just like so many years ago, he released me.

  Horace couldn’t handle me alone; I wrapped my legs around his knees, throwing us to the floor. Between Scotch’s peril and the fact that this man was the one who’d betrayed Lula, who’d ruined my whole life, I was a mess. I’d stop for no one, except . . .

  “Wait!” Scotch screamed. “Please, don’t shoot him! It’s me you want. Right?”

  I hesitated long enough to look up and see that Darien had trained his gun on me. Horace threw me back into a headlock, yanking me onto my feet. Breathing became a chore, my brain and lungs both fighting for air at the same time.

  Scotch had her hands on Darien’s, trying to force him to point the pistol away from me. But more than that . . . No, I thought in horror.

  She was making him point it at her.

  Scowling viciously, he elbowed her, but she hung on. “What are you doing?” he hissed. “Let go! Are you trying to make me shoot you?”

  Something in her eyes shifted. The fear was gone. “That’s right,” she said, guiding the tip of the barrel toward her chest. “Remember this? It’s just like that first night all over again. You tried to kill me and you couldn’t. You didn’t know how to use a gun at all!”

  Deep rows split over his forehead, then around his mouth. “What?”

  “I said you couldn’t use your gun! Is that why you shot yourself?”

  She’s goading him, but why? We were already in massive danger; what was the point of making Darien so furious?

  “You stupid bitch!” He snarled the words out. Crimson heat had rolled up his neck; he was beyond humiliated. “You wanna relive that night, is that it?” He stopped fighting her hands; Darien wrapped her throat in one palm, grinding the tip of his gun into her ribs with the other. “Is this familiar? This is how your pretty friend looked when I choked her. Before you busted in to act like a fucking hero.”

  Horace squeezed my windpipe, and still I cut my fingernails down his forearm. I swung my body, doing all I could to break free and save her.

  The gun shone brighter than Scotch’s wide eyes. “You really think it’ll be different this time?” she asked.

  “I do,” he chuckled. “You’re just so clever, hm? It doesn’t matter that you slipped away from me before.” He moved the gun, running it down his own torso. “I might have put this hole here on my own. But it’s nothing compared to the holes I’m about to put in you.” His tongue ran round and round over his lips. “I wanted this to be slow. I guess you get your wish, though.”

  My vision was fading. And still I couldn’t look away from Scotch. I caught how she smiled, bigger and brighter and more beautiful than ever. “Yeah,” she said. “I guess I do.”

  In my ear Horace said, “After you’re gone, and the Valentines trust me again, I’m going for your sister. She was so sweet when she cried to me in the station, so worried about you. I want to see her crying again.”

  Strength I shouldn’t have had broke free. In one motion I rocked forward into his grip. I didn’t feel the pain on my Adam’s apple; I felt nothing but the teeth and claws of the monster inside me. The one that had waited patiently to blame someone other than me for what had happened ten years ago.

  My ears were ringing with a thousand bells and I heard nothing but my fists connecting with Horace�
�s bleeding face. Then the windows smashed open, blue and red lights streaming inside. “Freeze!” Detective Stapler roared, his weapon aimed not at me, but at Darien. There were at least eight more men behind him doing the same thing.

  The cops. But how did they . . . What . . . I was lost. And I didn’t care, because all I needed to know was one thing:

  Scotch was safe.

  At my feet Horace started to scramble. Hoisting him by his hair, I pushed him at one of the police officers. “Take him,” I said, my voice scratchy. I rubbed my sore throat. “He’s a two-faced cop on the Valentine family’s dime.”

  The officer started to ask me something; I was already walking away. I didn’t have time for questions. My world centered on the only person who mattered to me. She wasn’t alone; her uncle was there, cuffing Darien a few feet away.

  Scotch saw me coming. Wrapping my arms around her body, I tried to hold all of her at once—her mind, her soul, I wanted every piece of her. She was mine. She always would be.

  “How?” I asked into her hair, not letting her break away so she could answer. “How could you do this to me? How are you alive right now?”

  Gently she pushed me until I gave her enough of a gap to breathe. One hand curled on her shirt. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I had it all under control.”

  My laugh was bitter as old coffee. “He had a gun on you. Scotch, he—”

  “He was an egotistical jackass.” Her eyes flashed, daring me to interrupt her. “Darien was the cockiest man I ever met. Unlike some people I know . . .” She peeled her shirt up, revealing a long black tube taped across her sternum. “He didn’t know how to frisk someone for a wire.”

  When I reimagined the scene, knowing she’d been trying to get him to admit what had happened at the club weeks ago, it blew my mind. “You were playing the long game,” I whispered. “You knew you had to get him to admit he’d done this all to himself.”

  “Yeah,” she said, looking over at her uncle. “I wasn’t going to let myself be like Stanford.”

  I followed her eyes. “Were you ever in any real danger?”

  “He was waiting with the other cops right outside, listening in. They even had some sniper rifles aimed at Darien. Did you know these Boston guys hate the Valentines? Like, really hate them?” She swung her head with a light laugh. “He assembled this whole squad, the recording devices, everything, in just a few hours. Amazing.”