Royal Rock: A Bad Boy Royal Romance

by B. B. Hamel

  I was surprised at how fast his demeanor shifted. One second he was affable and kind, and the next his eyes were narrowed and I could sense the threat behind his words.

  I folded the paper back up. “Okay, okay. No harm meant. If you don’t know, you don’t know.”

  “I ain’t kidding. Get out of here.”

  “What do you know about this, Dan? It’s very important to me.”

  He leaned closer. “Don’t go around asking folks about that symbol unless you want to get yourself killed. That’s all I’ll say.”

  I stared hard at him for a second and then nodded once. “Thanks, Dan.”

  He nodded back and walked away. I finished my beer and left the place.

  What a damn strange interaction. I figured Dan might have some passing knowledge, maybe had seen it on someone’s riding leathers or something like that, but his reaction was of a very different order of magnitude. Whoever these people were, they were not to be fucked with. And Dan the barman definitely knew exactly who they were.

  As I sat down on a bench outside the bar, I knew I had a conundrum on my hands. Based on the way Dan had reacted, any local that knew about the group wasn’t going to say a word to an outsider. Whether it was out of fear or something else, I wasn’t sure. Dan seemed afraid, but also a little angry that I was even mentioning it.

  The solution to my problem came to me pretty quickly. It wasn’t ideal, or really even something that I particularly wanted to do, but I knew that it would be effective.

  I made up my mind. I couldn’t fuck around with this and half-ass the mission. The safety of Claire was potentially at risk. If there was something going on with this crew or gang or whatever they were, I needed to find out who they were and learn what I was dealing with as quickly as possible.

  I wasn’t about to let some asshole thugs threaten me and mine. They’d already ruined one day. That was enough to really piss me off.

  It was late, the sun having set hours ago. I was crouched in some bushes, my breathing steady, everything about me Zen as fuck. It was my combat training, of course, that let me be so calm.

  The bandana I had bought with cash at some tourist trap was pulled up over my face like an Old West robber. I didn’t think it was going to do much to hide my identity, but it could help. I fingered the knife in its holster, fresh from the kill just a day earlier.

  The drunks and the regulars were stumbling out of the bar. I checked my watch: nearly three in the morning. There weren’t many streetlights around, and those that were nearby shone a weak, yellow blur, which meant it was the perfect spot to play the waiting game.

  It didn’t take too long after that. Once the people had filtered out, maybe ten minutes later Dan the barman made his appearance.

  I watched as he locked the door to the bar. Okay, Nathan, don’t fuck this shit up, I thought to myself.

  I was out of the bushes and crossing the space between him and me within seconds. He had no clue I was there until he felt the steel of my blade pressed up against his throat.

  “Don’t move or I kill you,” I whispered.

  “Oh fuck,” he said. “Take what you want. Don’t hurt me.”

  “Open the door.”

  He unlocked it and pushed it inward. I kept my blade firmly against his neck, careful not to cut the skin. It took skill to keep such a sharp blade as mine from opening him up as he moved around, but I was good with it.

  We moved inside and I shut the door behind us.

  “Money is in the drawer,” he said. “Behind the bar. Take it all. Please, God, don’t hurt me. Please.”

  “Shut up,” I growled.

  “I have kids.” He was practically pissing himself.

  “Listen to me,” I said. “I need information.”

  “Information?” he sputtered.

  “Yes. You’re going to tell me what I want to know, or you will die right here in this bar. See the gloves I’m wearing? Nobody will know. Not a shred of DNA.”

  He glanced down at my hands, covered in some cheap leather things I’d found in another shop.

  “Okay,” he said. “What do you want to know?”

  “A man was in here earlier. Showed you a symbol. Remember?”

  He paused and then nodded.

  “Speak. Don’t nod. I might cut you open if you move too fast,” I whispered.

  He whimpered like a little bitch. I couldn’t believe he was being such a pussy. All men die sooner or later.

  “I remember,” he said.

  “Who are they?”

  “I can’t say.”

  He was on the verge of crying.

  “You don’t seem to understand what’s happening here, Dan.” I spoke slowly and menacingly, hoping he understood. “If you don’t tell me what I want to know, I’m going to murder you right now. Do you think the kind of person looking for men like them wouldn’t?”

  “If I tell you, they’ll kill me.”

  “That’s not my problem. But at least in that case, you can get a running head start.”

  He whimpered again as I pressed the knife harder against his skin, nicking him ever so slightly.

  “Okay, okay. Please don’t kill me,” he groaned. “I’ll tell you.”

  “Start talking.”

  “They’re like a gang, old blood, been around this area for a long, long time. They have a hand in everything that happens around here, from business to politics and everything in between.”

  “The mob?”

  “Worse. More like a cult. They practice some freaky Voodoo shit. They’re going to know I talked.” He began to cry.

  I couldn’t believe how afraid he was of them, almost more afraid of them than he was of my knife against his throat. That was some serious mojo, and it proved that these people were not to be fucked with.

  “What are they called?” I asked.

  “Don’t make me say it.”

  “Say it or die.”

  He sighed. “They’re called the Broken Hearts.”

  I let that sound linger. “Where do they meet?”

  “Nobody knows that. I swear I don’t know.”

  “Give me a name now.”

  “I can’t. I don’t know any.”

  “They’re a local institution, right? You know everything about this area, right? You know a name.”

  “Please. I’ve told you too much.”

  “One name and you don’t have to die tonight.”

  “This is all I know. I can’t run away.”

  “I’m losing patience, Dan.”

  I could feel him trembling as he began to internally war with himself. He was clearly thinking that if he gave up a name, he really would have to leave town, and for good. He couldn’t decide if that was worse than dying.

  I decided to help him along. I kicked the back of his knee, sending him to the ground. I grabbed his hair, pulling his chin back, exposing his throat. I kept the knife right against his jugular, ready to bleed him like an animal.

  “Eli Reddington,” he said quickly.

  “Thank you, Dan.”

  I released his hair and he tumbled forward. Before he could even turn around, I was back out the door, disappearing into the shadows.

  As I moved away, jogging at a good clip to give myself some space to maneuver in case Dan decided to call the cops, I had a bad taste in my mouth. It was unpleasant to bully a perfectly decent person, or at least a normal person. I didn’t actually want to hurt Dan, and likely wouldn’t have, but I needed him to think I was going to.

  But now I had my name. Eli Reddington, member of the Broken Hearts. Apparently they were some scary, small-town cult of powerful community leaders. Scary enough for Dan the barman to fear them more than his impending and immediate demise.

  As I climbed back into my car, parked well away from the bar, I realized I had more questions than answers. For example, what was a local outfit like them doing running a pirate operation? It seemed highly unlikely that they would rob a local tourist company. Unless they
were specifically targeting Jonathan’s boats, but even that seemed far-fetched. They couldn’t have known that the boat was empty of tourists, and there was no way they’d attack a local boat full of tourists and risk the bad press. They didn’t want to lose the tourist dollars.

  It just made no sense. Why would Dan be so afraid of them if they were so clearly amateurs? The Broken Hearts probably had years of mythology behind them, to the point where the local idiots mistook community power and influence for real power and ability.

  My mind was spinning as I drove home, wondering what the next move was. The name “Eli Reddington” was my lead, but I needed to do some more digging before I could move on him.

  Plus, there was the problem of Claire. All through that interrogation, I kept thinking about her sweet little pussy. She was my motivation to push this mystery further, to find out who the Broken Hearts were. I was beginning to worry she was in real danger from them, whoever they were.

  I couldn’t let that happen. As much as I hated to admit it, Claire had somehow wormed her way into my brain and had lodged herself there. I kept thinking about her laugh, her smile, her perfect fucking tits, those lips wrapped around my cock, and the sweet release of coming in her tight-as-fuck cunt. I wanted to fuck her deep and sweet again and again, even though that wasn’t normally my style.

  I had been looking forward to some relaxing R&R, not some bullshit local cult mystery, let alone getting addicted to my stepsister’s incredible pussy.

  Then again, I was a fucking SEAL. What other men saw as a problem, I saw as a fucking challenge. I lived to do shit like that, to take care of lesser assholes and to protect people that needed protecting.

  Maybe taking down some assholes was exactly what I needed. And maybe my stepsister’s incredible pussy was all a part of it.

  11

  CLAIRE

  I woke up slowly and felt cold, though it was still pretty warm in my room. It took me a second to realize that I was missing Nate’s body, even in my sleep.

  I sat up and yawned, looking around the room. There was no sign that Nate had come back with me to my bedroom and had fallen asleep in my bed. He had said he wanted to dirty up my sheets, too, though at that point I was beyond exhausted and practically falling asleep.

  I remembered drifting off, surprised that he was falling asleep with me. He didn’t seem like that kind of guy.

  But I wasn’t shocked that he was gone.

  I checked my phone and found a ton of messages from Lydie—everything I’d been ignoring for the last day. I climbed out of bed and went into the bathroom to brush my teeth. Nate’s door was open and he wasn’t in his room.

  There was a dull ache between my legs, and as I rinsed out my mouth and looked into the mirror, it hit me: I wasn’t a virgin anymore.

  More than that, I’d given my virginity to my stepbrother. It was so insane it was almost impossible to believe, and yet the ache between my thighs proved it was true.

  I didn’t feel different. I didn’t even look different. Somehow, I thought that losing my virginity would make me different, but I was the same old Claire I’d always been. Except now, as I began to think about the night before, I felt a deep, dark longing in my pussy for Nate’s perfect cock.

  It was a hunger I’d never experienced before, and it nearly scared me. I wanted him, wanted every inch of him, even though the part of me that thought he was an arrogant jerk was still very much there.

  Everything came flooding back to me then. I retreated back to my room, wrapping myself in my blankets as I remembered the look on his face as he pulled his knife from the pirate’s neck.

  That was the real impossible thing. I couldn’t believe I lived in a world where there were real pirates, even though our pirates used speedboats and carried huge guns. And none of them had eye patches or peg legs.

  Nate had scared me at first, but I quickly gave in to exactly what I had really wanted from the very start. It had always been him that I’d wanted, or at least his incredible body, ever since I’d seen him that night in the club. But I couldn’t have him, not really.

  Even though I’d already given part of myself to him.

  Eventually my strange desire to stay hidden in my room forever lost to my grumbling stomach. I put some fresh clothes on and walked downstairs and into the kitchen, making a pot of coffee and pouring myself a bowl of cereal.

  “Good morning.”

  I looked up as Lucille came into the kitchen. Her hair was a mess and she was clearly still wearing the same clothes from the night before. Her makeup was practically running down her face, and she looked like she smelled something sour.

  “Good morning,” I said back.

  “Where’s my idiot son?”

  That surprised me. “Uh, I don’t know.”

  “Typical. He comes and stays in our house and just disappears most of the time.”

  She poured herself some coffee and sat down at the kitchen table.

  “I’m sure he’s just busy.”

  “Ungrateful, actually. Ungrateful and uneducated.” She paused, putting one hand to her head. “My fucking skull is pounding.”

  I gaped at her. I’d never heard an adult talk like that, especially about her own kid. She looked more like a college party girl than a grown woman.

  “Did you and my dad go out last night?”

  “We sure did. Went to one of his clubs.”

  “You got my dad out to a club?”

  “It’s his own place. He can do whatever he wants.” She sipped her coffee and looked at me. “You father isn’t as boring as he seems.”

  I had no clue what to say to that. “I don’t think he’s boring.”

  “You’re the only one, then. But Jonathan can have a good time when he wants to.”

  “That’s good.”

  I felt like I was watching a train wreck in slow motion. What did my dad see in this woman? Actually, the more I looked at her, the more I understood. Dad was getting older. He probably liked Lucille because she had blonde hair, good boobs, and probably made him feel young, even though they were close to the same age.

  “Where is he now?”

  “Who knows?” she said. “He didn’t drink nearly enough last night. Probably out fishing like usual.”

  “What do you mean, enough?”

  She laughed. “I mean I drank enough for the both of us, I guess.”

  For a second, I had the horrible fear that Lucille was Lydie in the future. I decided right there to try to forgive Lydie. I couldn’t live with myself if Lydie ended up like Lucille, old and bitter and mean. Maybe I couldn’t do anything about it, but I could at least be her friend.

  “God, I feel like shit,” Lucille muttered. “I’m going to go sit out by the pool. Tell your father where I am.” She stood and looked at me. “You look like shit, too, girl. You should get more sleep.” She walked out the back door.

  I stared at the door for almost a full minute before bursting out laughing. She was right, I probably did look like shit considering what had happened the day before. I had watched her son kill two men and dispose of their bodies, and later I had let him fuck me until my body couldn’t take any more.

  It was almost a little weird looking her in the eye and having a conversation with her considering her son had just had his thick, perfect cock deep inside me. She would probably go absolutely insane if she knew what had happened between us. That made me almost happy, and there was a dim part of me that wanted to shove it in her face.

  Except then I imagined how my father would react, and a stone dropped into my stomach. Suddenly, I had no more appetite.

  He’d lose it. I just knew he’d lose it. And understandably, considering I was fucking my stepbrother. Dad clearly liked Nate, or at least he liked him enough, but he would never, ever let me date someone like Nate, let alone have sex with him. I was still Dad’s little girl, after all, and the only guys he wanted me to date were rich gentlemen.

  Except I was learning that I had no interest in
rich gentlemen. Apparently the thing I wanted was a dirty-talking, asshole Navy SEAL with a big dick and a bad attitude. I could feel myself blushing just at the way I was thinking, which was crazy.

  The whole situation was bizarre. I knew I’d never actually date Nathan or anything like that, and I didn’t think I even wanted to. But still, he somehow got under my skin in more than one way.

  Eventually I finished up breakfast and wandered back up to my room. I really didn’t want to run into Lucille again or be around when my dad eventually got home. It was getting close to eleven in the morning, and Nate still wasn’t back from wherever he went, which was bugging me. I knew he could do whatever he wanted, but yesterday was such an insane thing. It would have been nice to have someone to talk to about it.

  I found myself scrolling through Facebook on my phone when I got another text from Lydie. I sighed and decided that I had punished her long enough. I clicked her name, calling her.

  “Hey!” she said, answering the phone on the first ring.

  “Hi, Lydie. Sorry I haven’t gotten back to you.”

  “Listen, I am so, so sorry about everything. I have been such a mega bitch. I deserve to get fire ants shoved up my cooter.”

  I made a face. “Okay, gross. That was really graphic.”

  “Sorry. Would you rather scorpions up my butt?”

  “Maybe just skip the body horror stuff entirely.”

  “Okay, whatever.”

  “Look, I’m not really mad at you anymore.”

  “I’m really happy you just said that.”

  “But you were being a dick.”

  “You’re right, I was. I can make a bunch of shitty excuses, but truthfully, I’ve been a real cock and I’m sorry.”

  I smiled. “It’s good to be talking to you again.”

  “Ugh, I know. What’s it been, a whole day? I’m like shaking from Claire withdrawal.”

  “Want to get your fix?”

  “God, you know I do. I’m craving your sweet lips.”

  “Meet me at the coffee shop in a half hour?”

  “Oh, bitch, you’re singing my tune. See you there.”

  She hung up. I smiled to myself the whole time I got dressed.

  “I don’t care if I’m a cliché,” Lydie said. “I love pumpkin spice lattes.”