Twisted Royals Origin Story

by Bristol, Sidney

  The puppies were kept downstairs. In the garage. That meant she’d not only let them out, but carried them upstairs to her play room. Taylor’s heart ached for Stacey. She had no friends, no one to play with, and the puppies were an awfully tempting option.

  If they were lucky, the security guys hadn’t been looking when Stacey made her break for the play room with puppies in hand.

  It was beyond Taylor why George thought it was a great idea to get not one, not two, not even three puppies—but seven. He prided himself on having a clean, almost museum like home. Animals and children caused chaos of the best kind. Still, it wasn’t her house, those weren’t her puppies, and this wasn’t her circus. She just worked here.

  “Come on, let’s go put Bashful, Dopey, and Happy back with their brothers and sisters.”

  Maybe she could hide in the garage with the dogs? Or maybe she should just paint a bull’s-eye on her back, pack her suitcase and go find a cardboard box to be her casket.

  Something had to go right for her soon, or Taylor would be out of options.

  Stacey led the way to the garage. Thankfully, the other four monsters-of-cute were safely where they belonged.

  Taylor put the three puppies back into the puppy pen and made sure all of the panels were fastened together. She checked her watch.

  “Stacey, you’re supposed to be ready for your piano lesson right about now.”

  The little girl stared at Taylor for a moment, her eyes large, before scampering off for the front room. The piano teacher didn’t have a lot of patience, which was a mark against him in Taylor’s opinion, but she hadn’t hired him. She got Stacey situated at the piano as her instructor arrived to take over. Since Taylor had offered her opinions about how the instructor spoke to Stacey one too many times, Taylor had been banished from lessons.

  Stacey was a sweet child. She deserved better. Taylor had hoped to provide that, but then her plans had all gone to hell, and now she couldn’t tell if she was helping or hindering. One thing was for sure, she wanted what was best for Stacey. Even if that meant leaving her here when Taylor left.

  It might kill Taylor, but in the bigger picture, no one could ever know that she was George’s daughter and Stacey her half-sister. That information would make them targets. If Taylor had known she’d bring danger to Seattle with her, if she’d had any idea what she was doing in the first place, she’d have never come here. But she couldn’t change the past.

  Taylor peered at George’s closed door.

  What she wouldn’t give to know what was going on in there.

  She crept into the kitchen, restless, and in need of something to do.

  The PI had arrived during the hectic post-naptime, and as far as she knew, no one had gotten a glimpse of him.

  “Anything?” Cat whispered, one hand suspended over a rack of lamb she was busy seasoning for dinner. Well, George and Stacey’s dinner.

  “No.” Taylor sighed and slid onto one of the bar stools.

  “I’d have thought George would want you in there.”

  “He said he didn’t.” Taylor shrugged.

  Her role in the house was undefined. Cat took care of cooking and cleaning, while Taylor looked after Stacey and served as a part-time assistant to their boss. It was a crap job that left Taylor doing all the odds and ends no one else wanted to, but it kept a roof over her head, food in her stomach and a guard at the front door. More than anything, it allowed her to get to know her sister. It was the safest hiding spot she’d been able to find since leaving New York. She’d thought no one would find her here, but she’d been wrong.

  “Hey, can you grab the new bottle of olive oil out of those bags?” Cat nodded at the canvas bag sitting on the far side of the kitchen.

  “Sure. That smells delicious.”

  Taylor slid off the stool just as the sounds of the piano started up. It wasn’t the work of a great concerto, but Stacey had moved beyond Mary Had a Little Lamb. If it weren’t for the impending interview with the PI they were all expecting, Taylor might run upstairs to take a nap. Piano lessons were about the only down time she had to herself all week.

  She dug around in the huge bag before finally finding the oil in the third one.

  “Got it.”

  Taylor turned as a man rounded the corner into the kitchen. She stepped on his foot and he caught her by the shoulders.

  “Oh—sorry!” She cringed and glanced up into a face she’d thought she’d never see again.

  Oh...no.

  It was him.

  The man from the pub.

  He stared back at her, his bright blue eyes stabbing through the sudden chill gripping her body.

  Holy shit, her one night stand, the man she’d run her mouth to, was the private investigator.

  “Taylor!” Stacey bellowed.

  “I-I-I have to go,” Taylor stammered.

  She dropped the oil onto the counter and scampered out through the archway into the dining room. She’d never been happier to be at the beck and call of an eight year old before.

  Taylor ducked into the front room, smile pasted on tight, just in time to hear Stacey poke out a new song. The teacher glared daggers at Taylor, but he could go fuck himself.

  All Taylor’s mistakes were coming home to roost, because she’d drank too much.

  He was here.

  His name was Ian.

  She remembered that, the same way she recalled the rolling lilt in his voice, how he’d kissed her...

  This was a disaster.

  Taylor perched on the seat near the window, just out of sight so she wouldn’t distract Stacey.

  What if Ian found out the truth? Would he tell George? How did things like this work? She’d had no idea Ian was a private investigator when they’d met. Granted, they hadn’t really been interested in discussing their occupations between shots and tonsil hockey. After that, the only things that had mattered were the hot, sweaty, naked kind.

  Shit, shit, shit.

  Taylor didn’t have anywhere else to go. George hadn’t paid her yet for the month, and she’d spent a large portion of last month’s check making the threats go away. She needed more time, but experience had proven that fate was not on her side.

  Her very presence was putting people at risk. Her sister. The others.

  The right thing to do...

  Taylor didn’t know what the right thing to do was anymore. She’d tried doing what she thought was the right thing and nearly died. Right and wrong had become subjective things, or at least that was what Taylor tried to tell herself.

  She didn’t think Ian was going to see it the same way.

  Get your copy today!

  Her Prince

  Twisted Royals 2

  Once upon a time there was a brave princess and a smart gypsy boy who saved the day...

  Kade Tsaplin left behind his nomadic family to live a different kind of life—one where he doesn't have to read cards and lie for his next meal. When a beautiful woman with adventure in her eyes crash lands into his life, the last thing Kade expects is to get drawn into one of his brother's cons. But Shelby is more than she appears, and makes him an offer he can't refuse.

  Shelby Amos is an art thief trying to right the wrongs of her past. Kade’s supposed to be a means to an end—an accomplice she can trust on this most dangerous undercover job. With Kade's help bringing down a criminal mastermind she might finally get the answers she's been searching for. Only, she never counted on falling for Kade.

  Working both sides of the job takes its toll, until Kade and Shelby find themselves in a den of thieves, with only each other to rely on. As danger draws them closer, the lovers unwittingly play right into the spider’s web, handing over the true prize—Shelby herself.

  1.

  No dead people.

  That was always a good way to start a shift.

  Kade Tsaplin breathed a sigh of relief. Just a fender-bender. His instinctual cringe whenever his unit received a call, dated back to his pre-civilian days in the
army.

  Once a combat medic, always a combat medic.

  The fire truck accompanying the ambulance swung into position, blocking off traffic while those officers first on scene did their jobs. The uniforms already present were standing around, kicking tires, figuratively speaking.

  At a glance, Kade figured if anyone were truly hurt, it would be anyone in the second car. It’d fared much worse than the one it hit.

  “I’ll take the second car.” Kade’s boots hit the damp asphalt at a jog.

  From the looks of it, the two cars couldn’t have been going very fast when the accident happened, but that didn’t mean anything when it came to injuries.

  Kade’s mental checklist scrolled through his brain. A nearly-automatic, unconscious evaluation he did whenever they were called out. No weapons. No bodily fluids. None of the officers had their guns drawn. In fact, they all looked rather bored.

  Good for Kade.

  Bad for the cars.

  The officer at the driver’s side door nodded to Kade and backed up, allowing him to move in and assess both the situation and the patient. One of the things Kade brought to the table, with his wealth of performance under pressure, was an eye for doing not just the right thing in a situation, but the right thing first. In combat, he couldn’t afford to make mistakes.

  A young woman in her late twenties or early thirties peered up at him. Tears streaked her cheeks. Long black lines marked where her make-up had run.

  There was no blood.

  The tears weren’t the I’m-badly-hurt-and-in-need-of-help kind. He’d learned the difference his first year out of uniform.

  His patient was in no immediate physical danger that he could assess from observation alone.

  Kade went to a knee. Considering how badly crunched the front of the car was, he could assume some whiplash and bruising. Neither would be improved by her craning her neck to look up at him.

  “Hi, my name is Kade.” He smiled, and she responded with a weak one of her own.

  She responded to visual, social cues. So, she wasn’t stunned or in shock.

  Good.

  “What’s your name?” He reached into his med bag, never taking his eyes off her. Her blouse gaped open. Seatbelts, buttons and vehicular accidents did not mix. Overall, she appeared more shaken up than injured.

  He ticked off a mental list: the patient was aware, she didn’t have any apparent difficulty breathing, there was no blood or bodily fluids, and no bones were sticking out.

  “Can you tell me your name, miss?”

  “S-Shelby,” she stammered. “Sorry.”

  “It’s okay. Hi, Shelby.” He took a moment to smile and breathe. With her focus on him, she was likely unconscious that she inhaled in time with him.

  That wasn’t a medical trick. It was one his Romani mother had taught him for reading people their fortunes. You knew you had them when they synced up with you. It was strange, how many things his con-artist parents had taught him that translated into medicine.

  “Do you know where you are, Shelby?” Her whiplash would suck, but most of all, she was simply scared.

  She glanced up and around, taking in her surroundings. Her pupils focused naturally, she didn’t show any difficulty in moving. The stiffness would come later.

  “On...I was on my way to work. I’m going to be late. My phone made this weird noise. I glanced at it. I’ve been so busy, I didn’t think about what day it was.” Shelby covered her mouth with her hand and closed her eyes.

  “Take a deep breath with me, Shelby, okay?” He grasped her fist and held it in his, rubbing the back of her hand. He wanted to reestablish their connection, keep her rooted in the here and now.

  Her eyes popped open, focused on him. Green fields. Freshly-cut grass. A guy could get lost in eyes like that. She blinked, breaking the moment. More tears trickled down her cheek.

  “How do you forget the day your parents died?” she whispered.

  Oh, damn. Damn. Damn. Damn.

  She opened her hand, grasping him in return.

  “I just...everything’s been so chaotic at work, and I guess I just lost it. What kind of a person does that? Now, look what I did.” She gestured to the still-smoking hood of her car and the crunched bumper of the other vehicle.

  “I’m sorry to hear that, Shelby.” Kade glanced over his shoulder. He needed to assess her for injuries and help get the scene cleared. His compassion warred with the necessity of doing his job. “I need to ask you a few questions, is that all right? Does anything hurt?”

  “My neck and chest.” She pressed her hand to her sternum and winced.

  “Yeah, you’re likely going to have a bad bruise, there. Do you have a sweater in the car?”

  “In the back seat.” She twisted and winced.

  “Hey, stop. I want to listen to you breathe first. Then, how about I get your sweater?” He pulled his stethoscope out of his bag.

  “O-okay.”

  Kade ran down a quick assessment of her, anything that would necessitate a ride in an ambulance, but as he suspected, she wasn’t badly injured. Tomorrow, she’d feel pretty rotten, but he’d be willing to bet the worst was the guilt. He got her sweater and spent a moment helping her grab things from the car. Her purse had overturned and dumped the contents into the seat and floorboard. There wasn’t much else for him to do, and the rest of his unit was already standing around, checking their phones.

  He assisted Shelby over to the bumper of the ambulance and sat down next to her. He knew what it was like to lose people. His family might still be kicking, but loss was something he was familiar with. How many times had he left a battle scene, only to sit in some out-of-the-way corner, looking like Shelby was now? He’d lost more people than he could count.

  Damn.

  He reached into the back of the ambulance, feeling around for his bagged dinner. He snagged the soda, glad he hadn’t quite kicked the habit yet, and held it out to Shelby.

  “Doctor’s orders.” He perched on the bumper next to her. He’d often found caffeine or something stronger helped kick him out of that stunned loop of loss.

  “Thanks. Can you open it?”

  “Sure.”

  He popped the top and she took it, sipping from the can.

  The car she’d hit hadn’t sustained much damage and was able to drive away. Hers was likely totaled. But that was for the insurance company to decide, not him. His concern was her.

  “May I offer some unsolicited advice?” He turned and studied her profile.

  She had one of those little, upturned noses, high cheekbones, and lips that he’d prefer to see smile. She was too young to be this sad. He wished, as unreasonable as it was, that he could somehow lift the cloud. She turned her head toward him, and if possible, her eyes seemed greener. Deeper.

  He could almost inhale the sweet smell of the earth just after the rain. Feel the gypsy itch in his feet. He hadn’t felt that in some time.

  “Go ahead,” she said.

  Go ahead—what?

  Oh.

  Right.

  Advise.

  “Don’t beat yourself up too hard. I’ve had to say goodbye to a lot of people I cared for. Don’t ever apologize to the dead for living. They wouldn’t want you to.” It was neat advice that didn’t often help a messy life, but words were all he had to offer her right now.

  “You’re probably right.” Shelby took another sip of the coke. Her color was better, she wasn’t as pale. “There goes my car.”

  The tow truck slowly dragged her four-door sedan up onto the bed.

  “You’re walking away from this. That’s something.” He pushed to his feet. “Do you have anyone who can pick you up? Take you home?”

  “I’ll...catch the bus or something. I don’t live that far from here.” She gestured toward the intersection ahead and the covered benches.

  “You’ll want to check your purse. I picked up everything I saw.” Kade was willing to bet if he’d missed a single dollar it wouldn’t be in the ca
r when she finally got to it.

  “Thank you. I guess...I should get going.” Shelby got to her feet, smoothing her hand over her buttoned-up sweater.

  “How about I walk you to the bus?” He might not be able to make sure she got home safe, but he could at least ease the transition from crime scene back to the mundane world.

  “Thanks. You’re very kind.”

  “Just doing my job.”

  He gestured toward the stop. The police had everything they needed as far as her statement, so the only thing left to do was clear out and let traffic flow normally. She started forward, slowly at first.

  “I’d suggest seeing a doctor soon, just in case.” He doubted she’d have any injuries, but sometimes it took a few days for them to become apparent.

  “I would, if I could.” Shelby’s pace slowed to a crawl and she stared at her reflection in the window of the adjacent building. Her brow creased and that lower lip quivered.

  Oh, no...

  He wasn’t ready for more tears.

  “I can suggest someone,” he offered.

  “I don’t have any insurance. Yet.” She lifted her shoulders, only to drop them even lower. “Today just gets better and better. Sorry.”

  No, no, no tears.

  Shelby swiped under her eyes.

  “Hey. Hey, look at me?” He reached over, running his hands up and down her arms.

  She tipped her chin up, and there was so much loss and despair etched into her features. He hated that look. Wished there was something he could do to help her through this.

  “You’re likely just going to have a bit of whiplash. It sucks, but it’s nothing a salt bath and taking it easy won’t fix. How about this? In a completely I-promise-I’m-not-hitting-on-you way, how about I give you my number?”

  “I’ll try to not be disappointed.” Her smile was brief, but there was humor behind her eyes.

  Kade felt a little heat crawling up his neck, but pushed it aside to focus on his job. What he did best.

  “If you don’t feel good, if something feels off, how about you give me a call, okay? I’m not a doctor, but I can at least give you an opinion on if you need to see someone or if you’ll heal, given time and rest.”