by Skye Warren
* * *
Brennan takes me home on his motorcycle, the roar of the engine bouncing off pavement and brick. I mold myself to his body, my eyes squeezed tight in his helmet. There’s a perverse thrill as we race through the darkened streets. Both of us know this is as fast and as far as we’ll ever go. One slip on slick gravel is all it would take. And the worst part is the faint sense that we’re waiting for it. Wanting it. Pushing the boundaries in the hopes that we leave on our own terms, young and free.
We arrive at my apartment building, sudden stillness almost violent after the rush.
The crumbling concrete of the curb shifts under my feet.
My ears ring as I take off the helmet, placing it on Brennan’s head and tapping it into place. “I dub thee Sir Brennan. Go forth into battle.”
He grins from beneath the visor. “If I’m a knight, what does that make you?”
“The princess, of course.”
Kissing never works well with a helmet on. Someone’s forehead ends up smacked. Instead I kiss my palm and press it to his mouth, the way lords and ladies did with handkerchiefs.
A chaste kiss.
Then he’s off in a cloud of exhaust, his noble steed lovingly restored and shining.
The diner is only a couple blocks away. I have plenty of time to change before my shift. Then it will be a monotony of grease and coffee, miles to go on the same black-and-white tiles with my tired feet.
I turn toward my building, mentally bracing myself for the night to come.
“Hello, princess.”
The words come out of the dark alley to the side, and I jump back. Brennan insists on taking me home every night, when I could take the bus, partly because of safety. The voice is low and grave and completely new to me. If it’s a stranger the best thing I can do is ignore him. Hope he goes away.
That’s what they tell you to do about bullies, isn’t it?
I put my head down, wrapping my arms around myself.
With my eyes downcast I can’t see him, but I feel him. He steps out of the shadows, his presence like a cold burst of air in the hot night. “That’s not what I call you, though. To me you’ll always be a baby genius.”
Shock holds me paralyzed on the sidewalk. A dangerous prospect considering it’s late in the evening in the west side. Made even more dangerous because I know exactly who this is.
I know exactly what he’s become.
There’s a storm inside me. A whirlwind of surprise and fear, threatening to drown me. Why are you back? That’s what I want to ask. From somewhere deep inside, another whisper. Why did you take so long?
“It’s so much more interesting than a princess, don’t you think? A pretty face has its appeal, but a sharp mind is a goddamn aphrodisiac.”
When I turn to face him, he moves behind me. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He makes a tsk sound, keeping pace as I try to confront him. “That’s not true, Penny. But I understand. You’re so used to playing dumb, aren’t you? It’s more than a habit now. It’s a veil, keeping you hidden.”
“I can’t believe you’re talking to me right now.”
“You don’t have to hide with me.”
“I’m not trying to hide,” I say, and with him at least it’s the truth. “I’m trying to look at you.”
He stops moving, and I finally face him.
I must have turned one too many times, because the air leaves my chest. Nothing could have prepared me for the sight of his dark eyes—black like night. Like inky depths I could never hope to enter. Never hope to escape. He looks so much like his father it steals my breath.
Some logical part of me knows they have differences. Jonathan Scott already had silver threading his dark hair when I met him years ago. He was taller, leaner, more severe in every way. It’s my heart that’s somehow breaking, seeing in him the whisper of evil.
With his perfectly disarranged hair and the evening shadow on his jaw, he bears little resemblance to the wild boy I knew once. His lips have filled out. His chest has filled out too, fitting into that dress shirt and tailored vest perfectly. Only the eyes prove it’s him, at once knowing and curious. Pitch black, like the night sky above the city, no stars at all to light the way.
I think I loved him once.
About as much as I despise this handsome man. He’s everything my mother would have chased after. Everything I’ve learned not to trust.
“You’re right,” he says softly. “We should go up.”
“You’re not going anywhere with me.” I glare at him, giving him my meanest look. It doesn’t seem to worry him any. A smile flickers on his lips, making him look dashing.
I don’t trust men who look dashing.
Amusement flashes across dark eyes, as if he knows. “Where are your manners?”
“They’re reserved for people I actually like.”
“Like Brennan Chase?”
I struggle to remember if I said Brennan’s full name. I dub thee Sir Brennan. Go forth into battle. My heart squeezes, imagining Damon keeping tabs on me. “How do you know his last name?”
“It’s my business to know people’s names. Their likes and dislikes. Their addictions. Do you have any addictions, baby genius?”
“Do you?”
“Many. Some worse than others.”
An answer that admits nothing. “What are you doing here?”
“I may not deserve a warm welcome, but I didn’t expect hostility. You invited me inside once.”
“That was before you were your father’s puppet.” I still feel guilty for that, but it doesn’t change the fact that he can’t be trusted. He didn’t only survive his father. He became him.
“Ah.”
“That’s all you have to say for yourself?”
“Would you like me to deny it? Fine. That’s not true, darling. I was most definitely my father’s puppet before we ever met.”
The seductive tone almost draws me in, even as his words confirm my worst fears. “You did what you had to do when you were a child. You’re a grown man now.”
“Thank you for noticing. Though I don’t work with my father.”
“Everyone says you do.”
“They say that?”
“They say you deal in money and drugs and women.”
He pauses meaningfully. “Not with my father, I don’t.”
It’s an admission.
He does every horrible thing he’s accused of doing. Every single thing I raged against in my mind. How could the sweet boy I once met be so horrible? How could someone who once risked his life for me be responsible for hurting other girls?
All the street lamps have blown out here, maybe on purpose. The only light is the moon, and when it shines over his dark eyes, the reflection makes them look silver.
He may not work with his father, but he’s become him.
“And that’s supposed to make it better?” I manage to ask. “That you do them for your own gain instead of working for your father?”
“Better? No, but it’s definitely more lucrative this way.”
It’s upsetting that he looks so clean and crisp and beautiful standing beside a run-down tenement. Upsetting that he looks so good when he’s clearly a bad man. That his movie star smile hides a terrible broken soul. “You’re not the boy I knew.”
“No,” he agrees. “Are you the girl I knew?”
“You’ll never find out.”
He tilts his head to the side, as if demurring. Too much of a gentleman to tell me I’m wrong. Except he’s no gentleman. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to speak to your father.”
My heart thuds. “Why?”
“He owes me money.”
Oh God. Daddy, what have you done? “He doesn’t.”
I’m only delaying the inevitable, but I can’t think right now. Can’t deal with the fact that we have rent due in two days and barely enough money to cover it. How will we pay back hundreds of dollars?
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Damon looks to the side a little. As if he’s embarrassed by my horror. Or maybe bored. He straightens the cuffs of his fine white shirt, perfectly tailored to his broad chest and narrow waist. He might be waiting in the eaves for an opera to begin, so casually refined.
“How dare you?” I whisper, waiting for him to meet my eyes, daring him.
He glances back at me, one dark eyebrow raised. “Pardon?”
“You know he doesn’t have a way to pay you back. How dare you loan him money? Charging insane interest rates he’ll never be able to afford. How dare you?”
A small laugh. “Would you have preferred I told him no? He would have gone straight to my father, who would have charged him higher interest than I did.”
“I hate you,” I say, tears stinging my eyes. “I hate you both.”
“And it’s not quite true that he doesn’t have a way to pay the money back.”
The silence spins out in brutal possibility. “How?”
“He has you.”
* * *
Thank you for reading THE PRINCE, the free prequel to the Masterpiece trilogy. I hope you loved meeting Damon Scott. Find out what he does next in THE KING!
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Other Books by Skye Warren
Endgame series
The Pawn
The Knight
The Castle
Stripped series
Tough Love
Love the Way You Lie
Better When It Hurts
Even Better
Pretty When You Cry
Caught for Christmas
Hold You Against Me
To the Ends of the Earth
Chicago Underground series
Rough
Hard
Fierce
Wild
Dirty
Secret
Sweet
Deep
Criminals and Captives series
Prisoner
Standalone Dark Romance
Wanderlust
On the Way Home
His for Christmas
Hear Me
Take the Heat
Dark Nights series
Keep Me Safe
Trust in Me
Don’t Let Go
The Beauty series
Beauty Touched the Beast
Beneath the Beauty
Broken Beauty
Beauty Becomes You
Loving the Beauty: A Beauty Epilogue
CLICK HERE for the complete Skye Warren book list, along with boxed sets, audiobooks, and paperback listings. Thank you for reading!
About the Author
Skye Warren is the New York Times bestselling author of dark contemporary romance such as the Endgame trilogy. Her books have been featured in Jezebel, Buzzfeed, USA Today Happily Ever After, Glamour, and Elle Magazine. She makes her home in Texas with her loving family, sweet dogs, and evil cat.
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Copyright
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. Except for use in a review, the reproduction or use of this work in any part is forbidden without the express written permission of the author.
The Prince © 2017 by Skye Warren
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