Bad Boy Prince: A Modern Fairy Tale (Twisted Royals Book 3)

by Sidney Bristol

  Bad Boy Prince

  Twisted Royals #3

  Sidney Bristol

  Website | Facebook | Mailing List

  Inked Press

  Bad Boy Prince

  Twisted Royals #3

  A princess locked in a tower, the bad boy prince out to save her, and the mad man who wants to marry her...

  Jaxon Wilson is driven by one need: Rescue the woman who made him want to live again. The woman kidnapped right under his nose. He's found her, but saving her from the man holding her prisoner won't be as easy as he'd hoped.

  Freya Thorburn knows what it's like to live in a cage, and she'll stay locked up in the Swan Palace if her twin sister gets to go free. Even if that means giving up the one man who can open her heart to love.

  Jaxon’s playing a dangerous game of deceiving the deceiver. He must walk the edge of honor, playing the criminal, until the right moment to save the woman who holds his heart. But in the end, they may be out-maneuvered by the one person Freya should be able to trust.

  For Shawn.

  Ever patient, ever understanding.

  You find out what you are made of when you have a broken heart.

  ―ISABEL GILLIES

  Table of Contents

  1.

  2.

  3.

  4.

  5.

  6.

  7.

  8.

  9.

  10.

  11.

  12.

  13.

  14.

  15.

  16.

  17.

  18.

  19.

  20.

  21.

  22.

  Epilogue.

  1.

  One year ago...

  The Liquid Lounge was going to kill Jaxon Wilson. At least, that’s what it felt like. And he, of all people, knew what death looked like. He’d stared it in the eyes and said, not today, asshole.

  Yeah, days like today, Jaxon regretted putting up that fight.

  His back throbbed and his shoulder ached, after spending the last six hours on his feet. His doctors were going to chew his ass. He wasn’t cleared to go back to any kind of physical work, but it wasn’t as though Jaxon had other options. His only asset was himself. His bank account, once flush with prize money, was just about done for.

  A lot like his mixed martial arts career.

  He peered at the clock.

  Five more minutes. Then he could go home, lay on a heating pad, pop some pills, and stare at the ceiling. He’d already sold his TV and game systems. Next up would be the furniture. The BMW was always an option, but without a ride, he couldn’t get to his job or physical therapy. As much as he didn’t want to pay for it, he needed it.

  Three more minutes.

  He sucked in a deep breath that sent invisible knives slashing between his ribs.

  Yeah, those tissues sure as hell weren’t healed well enough.

  “Hey, Wilson.”

  No, no, no.

  Two minutes.

  Two damn minutes.

  “Yeah, boss?” Jaxon crossed his hands in front of him and focused on maintaining a bored expression.

  “I need someone on the bar. Think you could fill in for a few hours?”

  Jaxon gritted his teeth.

  He hurt. He needed to go home, take a load off, pop a few pain killers and rest. It wasn’t something a guy who’d once been the lightweight mixed martial arts champion for two years running liked to admit. Once, he’d been unstoppable. That was before getting his spine cracked and arm nearly ripped out of his socket. These days, he just wanted to make it to the end of his shifts. He could stand, walk and even jog, on good days. Too bad today wasn’t one of the good ones, but he needed the money.

  After he got off work, he’d take two pills. Over the counter. Nothing fancy, just something to help the swelling. And maybe he’d have a beer while he served.

  “Sure, boss.” Jaxon gestured to the door. This late, there weren’t many people waiting to get in. “Should I—”

  “Now, before that line gets any longer.”

  Jaxon nodded, and set his eyes on the bar. He took a deep breath and braced himself.

  That first step after standing for so long was a doozey.

  He forced his right foot forward.

  What felt like a white-hot poker speared him in the back, which was actually better than it had been. Used to be, he’d take a step and it would hurt so bad his vision would blur and his lungs would stop working. He was improving, but it was hard to remember that, when something so easy as walking across a floor hurt like hell.

  Jaxon made it across the club to the small, side bar. The boss wouldn’t put him on the main one. Not after that first night. Most people ignored him as a bouncer. He was part of the scenery, nothing remarkable. But something about being at the bar, the lights in his face and talking to people, made the clubbers look at him.

  And remember.

  He’d seen his accident on loop a hundred times over. It was grotesque and fascinating, what the human body could endure.

  Jaxon stepped up to the bar, focusing on a cluster of pretty girls and taking their order first. A few smiles, some compliments, and the tips would roll in. He was aware of his looks, that women found him attractive, but he didn’t have to like cashing in on his genetics. Still, if it meant being able to eat something other than the dollar menu, he’d smile and flirt through the throbbing in his shoulders.

  “Hey, aren’t you that fighter guy?” A man leaned past the trio of women Jaxon was lining up shots for.

  “There you are, ladies. Congratulations on your freedom.” He smiled and nudged the shots across the chrome bar.

  “Hey—you are, aren’t you?” The man batted at Jaxon’s forearm.

  “Can I get you something, man?” He braced his hands on the bar, subtly stretching out the tight muscles along his spine.

  “It is you.” The guy’s eyes widened. His pupils were expanded and excessive sweat lined his brow. The guy was on something.

  Great.

  Jaxon turned to the next patron, but the guy reached across and grabbed Jaxon by the wrist.

  “I’ve got to know, dude—”

  “Buddy, I don’t know who you think I am, but you’ve got five seconds to take your hand off me.” Jaxon stared at the man and prayed for a reason to punch him.

  “You should be dead, man.” The too-high guy grinned.

  Jaxon pulled his arm back, jerking out of the guy’s grasp. Something twinged in his back, in a very not-good way. He winced and his vision went a tad bit blurry.

  He signaled to the other two bartenders.

  Fuck this. He hadn’t had a god damn break since three hours ago.

  Jaxon grasped the counter and slowly made his way toward the door leading to the back. Every step sent hot fire shooting up his spine. Each breath was shorter, shallower than the last.

  He might not make it.

  The door was all of two feet away, and he might collapse right here.

  Someone bumped into him. His hip hit the counter and he winced, his too-tight muscles protesting the unexpected movement.

  “I am so sorry,” a soft voice said.

  “It’s okay.”

  He would not be taken down with an audience.

  He grabbed the door and pulled it open, holding it for the woman with the pale, blonde hair holding a hand to her mouth.

  That was common body language for something’s very wrong.

  Jaxon ushered the woman into the storage area and break room. At this hour, everyone was out working th
e floor, so it was just them.

  “What happened?” he asked.

  “Nothing, I’m sorry.” She slid her hands down her hips, her gaze on the floor.

  Something was wrong, but she wasn’t going to confide in him. A stranger.

  “You’re the new girl?” He took a few steps to the card table and sat down, doing his best not to wince.

  “Yes, sorry. I’m Freya.”

  “There’s nothing to be sorry for, Freya.” He spread his hands and mustered a smile for her. “I’m Jax, by the way.”

  “I know.”

  “Ouch. They already tell you about me.” He shook his head. Crap. What were the others saying?

  “No, I was there earlier when you took that guy outside.”

  “Oh.”

  Shit.

  He’d already gotten his ass chewed out for that. No club owner wanted to have a reputation for the patrons being manhandled by staff. Jaxon had watched the guy though. For two hours he’d yelled at, grabbed and pulled this poor girl around the club, and when he’d hit her, disguising it as a fist pump, Jaxon had come unglued.

  It wasn’t his proudest moment, but he wasn’t going to apologize for it either. If that guy wanted to hit someone, it should be someone who could put up a fair fight.

  “What’s that look for?” Freya stood there, arms crossed over her chest, staring at him.

  “Here’s hoping that doesn’t cost me my job.” It’d felt good though.

  “Fired? What? No.” Freya slid into the seat adjacent to him and leaned forward. “The key to a hot bar is getting the women to come. Where the ladies are, the men follow. Women don’t feel comfortable someplace they might be in danger. That—tonight—that’s marketing gold if they spin it the right way.”

  “What?” Jaxon shook his head and laughed. “What are you smoking?”

  “Nothing, sadly.” She propped her chin on her hand.

  He hadn’t seen her earlier, probably because he’d been focused on the trouble maker. But now that he’d laid eyes on Freya, there was no forgetting her. At a glance, she could be another of the dozen or so curvy blonde women on the dance floor. This close though, there was intelligence behind those dark brown eyes of hers. She was older than he’d first pegged her for, which was unusual. Typical promoter girls were under twenty-four. If she was younger than twenty-six he’d eat his hat.

  They sat there, neither speaking, just looking at the other.

  Jaxon had a hard and fast rule, no dating the club girls.

  They were too young, and he’d never want to keep up with them.

  But Freya...was different.

  Too bad he didn’t have anything to offer a woman besides himself. He was one step above rock bottom. He had no money. No future. No plans. Pursuing anyone, especially the new looker at work, was a bad idea. Still, the way she was staring at him sparked ideas that were hard to ignore.

  “I haven’t seen you around here before. First night?” he asked.

  “Second, actually.” She glanced away, lines creasing her brow. Her smile was screwed on tight, but it was obviously forced.

  “Something wrong?” He shouldn’t ask. He had enough problems of his own without inviting more. But...there was this cloud of sadness forming around her.

  “Nothing time won’t heal.” Her smile took on a warmer tone, but only for a moment.

  Freya was not a typical club girl. She was...different. Her dress wasn’t cheap, either. Those were some designer threads. At some point, he was willing to bet she’d had money. And now here they both were, down on their luck, doing what had to be done.

  Jaxon leaned to his left, opening the small cooler of staff drinks, and pulled out a small bottle of tuaca.

  “In my experience, time and a few shots usually do the trick.” He grabbed two plastic cups and poured a bit of the liquor for them both.

  Freya lifted the cup, closed her eyes and inhaled the scent of the vanilla flavored drink. The corners of her mouth turned up, and for a moment the cloud of sadness cleared.

  “To a happier future,” she said.

  “I’ll drink to that.”

  He tapped his cup to hers and tossed the liquor back.

  Present Day

  Jaxon hadn’t slept in over a month. He could feel the tension wearing on him, knew he needed to trust the authorities to find her, but how could he? In the six or so weeks since Freya’s disappearance, the cops, FBI, and Secret Service hadn’t found jack shit about where she might be. What hope did Jaxon, a bouncer, sometimes bartender, and washed up fighter stand of locating her when the professionals couldn’t?

  Even now it was eating him up inside. He couldn’t think about anything else. Not work. Class. Missing his cousin’s cook-out.

  Jaxon couldn’t give up hope. Not when he could so clearly remember the way her dark brown eyes had sparkled the night he’d finally manned up and asked her out.

  Freya was gone. Kidnapped out from under his nose. And it was his fault.

  It’d been his responsibility to watch the house where Kade’s girl, Shelby, was being held prisoner. They’d known Freya was inside, that she’d been kidnapped along with dozens of others to act as a backdrop to the nightmare playing out center stage. But Jaxon had hung back to be the lookout and keep tabs on their informant. Someone had to. And the others had guns.

  All Jaxon had was his fists. He’d never needed a gun before.

  If he could just go back, maybe it would all be different.

  He kept replaying those moments in his head.

  He hadn’t taken his eyes off the place for a moment, because he knew what was at stake. That Freya was inside. And she’d still vanished without a trace. Had he glanced away? Blinked for too long?

  “What’s got you so worked up, love?” Aunt Liv placed a hand on his shoulder. She wasn’t Jaxon’s aunt, but she treated the pub regulars like family. Hell, she probably liked Jaxon better than most of his family did.

  “Nothing. Just, waiting.” Jaxon couldn’t give up hope. As far as he was concerned, Freya was still out there, and he was done playing by the rules to find her. It was time for Jaxon to do what he did best, and fight for her.

  Aunt Liv frowned. Her too-perceptive gaze recognized his lie, and they both knew it.

  He couldn’t blurt out what he’d discovered. He couldn’t tell Liv that he might know where Freya was when the feds didn’t, that he was going to break her out. Tonight. He didn’t care what skulls he had to break to do it, he was going to bring her home.

  “Whatever you’re doing, you don’t have to do it alone.” Aunt Liv squeezed his arm. Her rolling, melodic manner of speaking comforted him.

  “I’m not doing anything.” Jaxon mustered a smile. At least not yet. There were a few hours to kill still. And he wasn’t acting alone. This was the kind of thing he couldn’t do on his own, as much as it pained him to admit.

  It just so happened he knew a guy with a direct line to the man who’d kidnapped Freya.

  Yuri Gabor.

  The man Jaxon wouldn’t hesitate to pummel into the ground.

  The pub doors opened, and a dark-haired guy with too-tanned skin stepped in, pausing to shake the water off his coat.

  “Excuse me, Aunt Liv.” Jaxon side-stepped the blonde woman and made straight for the newcomer.

  Zach eyed Jaxon with the wary manner he’d reserved for strangers up until a few weeks ago.

  Jaxon didn’t know where his friendship with Zach stood. Once, Jaxon had thought he knew all about Zach’s past and who he was. Even the ugly bits many people would hate him for. Lately, Jaxon had begun to wonder if he ever truly knew Zach.

  “Hey.” Zach gestured at the end of the long, communal table in the middle of Trinity Hall. Most of the time their ragtag group of guys occupied some corner of it. “Let’s sit.”

  “You learn anything else? I’ve got to go in soon.” Jaxon pitched his voice low.

  “Everyone’s going to know something is up if you don’t calm down.” Zach set his lap
top bag down on the table.

  Zach waved at Erik behind the bar and paused to give Aunt Liv a hug. She cast Jaxon a knowing glare over Zach’s shoulder. Still, she had no idea what they were up to. Did she? He hoped not.

  Jaxon did his best to wait patiently. He couldn’t shake the feeling that every moment mattered.

  How could Zach pretend Freya’s life wasn’t on the line this very instant?

  “Dude. Chill. Sit.” Zach slid onto a stool and opened his laptop.

  “Sorry, it’s just...”

  “I get it.” Zach grimaced.

  That was what sucked about this. Out of all the guys, and their wide range of experiences, Zach was the one who’d experienced something similar. And because of that, Jaxon couldn’t quite bring himself to trust Zach. How could he?

  “I was able to access the Senator’s email and phone records.” Zach said it as flippantly as though he’d just remembered to reorder his cat litter.

  “What?” Jaxon gaped at the other man.

  “Chill. Out.” Zach said again. “The Senator hasn’t received anything I can identify as a ransom demand for Freya. If our FBI friend is to be believed, the Secret Service are being more helpful in forking over information about Freya than her own dad. Makes me wonder if he doesn’t care, or if someone’s already gotten to him.”

  “If they wanted money for Freya, why wait this long? It’s been six weeks.” That was what Jaxon couldn’t wrap his head around.

  “Yuri Gabor is a professional. First class. Now, normally, yeah, you’re looking at a planned kidnapping and ransom demand within twenty-four hours. The kind of people who make their livings extorting victim’s families, turn and burn them fast. But that’s not Yuri’s business. That’s not what he does.” Zach typed away at his laptop while he spoke.

  Jaxon stared at the side of his friend’s head.

  Who was he?

  Two months ago, he had been just another guy with skeletons in his closet. Jaxon had known about Zach’s secrets and accepted them. But Jaxon had only known the beginning of the story.

  “What, man?” Zach folded his hands together and leveled his dark gaze at Jaxon.

  “Just trying to figure you out.”