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

by Sidney Bristol

  “Whose blood is that out there?” Jaxon grabbed Michelle by the arm.

  “Ouch!”

  “Hey—come on you two,” Ryan barked from the doorway.

  “She’s not Freya.” Jaxon leaned down. “Whose—blood—is—that?”

  “Thomas, okay?” She shivered.

  “What are we doing, man? Taking her or leaving her?” Ryan asked.

  “We’re taking her. She might know something. Get some shoes on, we’re going.” Jaxon stepped back until he was out of arm’s reach. The urge to strangle the life out of her was alarmingly high.

  “Where is Freya?” Jaxon doubted Michelle knew anything if she’d been left behind, but he still needed to ask.

  “She’s not here,” Michelle wrapped her arms around herself and hunched her shoulders.

  “We’ve got to go. Sort this out later.” Ryan grabbed Michelle by the shoulder and turned her to face the stairs. “Move.”

  “Ready.” Michelle shoved her feet into waiting sandals.

  “Come on.” Jaxon glared at her.

  “About damn time,” Ryan muttered.

  Ryan took the lead down the stairs, illuminating their way with a flashlight. It was still slower going than Jaxon would like.

  They paused on the second floor to check the monitors. Ryan stuck to Michelle’s side, one hand on the back of her neck like a kitten he might have to scruff.

  Jaxon wanted answers, but right now they had to get out of this trap.

  “Coast is clear,” Jaxon said to Ryan. Jaxon couldn’t so much as glance Michelle’s direction. He didn’t trust himself close to this woman.

  “What’s going on up there?” Ian’s voice crackled through the radio.

  “Are you going to hurt me?” She glanced over her shoulder, her gaze skipping Jaxon to land on Vito who’d been waiting for them.

  “Move,” Ryan barked.

  They met up with Shelby at the foot of the stairs.

  “What took so long?” she asked.

  “It’s Michelle. Freya’s gone.” Jaxon glared at the back of Michelle’s head.

  Shelby reached out and yanked the long, blonde wig off Michelle.

  “Ouch! Hey.” She took a step back, one hand on her short, spiky hair.

  “Fuck,” Shelby spat.

  “We’ve got to go,” Ian said.

  “No,” Jaxon barked. He shoved past Ryan and got up in Michelle’s face. “Where’s Freya?”

  “I don’t know,” Michelle said again.

  “If you don’t know, then you aren’t any good to us. I’ll put you back where we found you.” Jaxon narrowed his gaze. He wouldn’t hurt her, but he wouldn’t help her either.

  “No, I am not going back up there.” Michelle shook her head.

  “Jax.” Shelby’s voice was strained.

  “You tell me where Freya is, or I’ll carry you back up there myself.” Jaxon pointed at the stairs.

  “I’m serious. All I know is that—Yuri found out about our trust fund. He’s going to use Freya to get the money. My money.” Michelle finally showed some sort of emotion.

  “You were in on this, weren’t you?”

  “This?” Michelle glanced around. “No way.”

  “You sold your sister out, didn’t you? It’s not just your money, it’s Freya’s life, but you’re only worried about yourself.”

  “That’s crazy. Of course, I’m worried about my sister. I love her.”

  “Then why help a man manipulate her? You knew you were being watched, didn’t you?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The defiant tilt of her jaw, staring down her nose at him. She knew. She knew and she wanted to brazen her way through this.

  “I vote we leave her upstairs,” Shelby said.

  “Me, too.” Jaxon clenched his fists.

  “You can’t.” Michelle took a step back and glanced around, her eyes landing on each person in their party.

  “We can,” Jaxon replied.

  “I don’t know where they would be,” Michelle said again.

  “But you know more than you’re admitting to. Unless you help us, you’re just dead weight.” Jaxon didn’t enjoy being cruel, but he wasn’t about to help this poor version of Freya.

  “Does he have friends? A plane? Another house? Condo? Anything?” Shelby asked.

  “There’s a plane. He flew me here on it.” Michelle lifted her shoulders.

  “One of the terms of the trust is going to Finland. Freya told me that, and that her father is contesting the trust, so it’s tied up in legal, but Yuri doesn’t know that.” Jaxon glanced at the others. “Yuri would want to get out of the country, and going to Finland would kill two birds with one stone.”

  “Where’s the plane?” Shelby asked.

  “An airport?” Michelle shrugged.

  “Let’s clear out of here and circle up at the stagin’ point,” Ian said.

  “Move.” Jaxon grabbed Michelle by the arm, hauling her with him.

  “Ouch!” Michelle glared up at him. “It’s pointless to love my sister, you know that, right? She’s a cold, heartless bitch.”

  Jaxon bit his tongue to keep from replying. The only heartless bitch was the one trying to fill Freya’s shoes and failing.

  15.

  Yuri stared out of the window at the darkening landscape.

  He’d made the wrong choice after Iestyn Ogden’s downfall. That was becoming crystal clear.

  In Yuri’s experience, following arrests like Ogden’s, most accessory players were caught trying to flee. It was why Ogden’s organization had been dismantled in the span of a week. Maybe two. Because the rats had jumped ship and fled. The problem with running was that it drew the attention of predators. The police. Rivals. Bottom feeders. Yuri had learned that lesson the hard way growing up. It was why he never ran. He laid low and bided his time.

  He should have slipped out of the country a week ago. But then Donny, damn him, would have been free to peck away at Yuri’s clients, stealing what Yuri had worked for, built off the sweat of his brow and the blood from his veins. Even now, Yuri was just discovering the scope of the man’s deception. He’d stolen money, people’s loyalty, even some resources. It’d all simply vanished.

  At least Donny couldn’t take the jet. But all the money in the world couldn’t push through a flight plan.

  Just a little more time.

  That was all he needed.

  A hop across the border into Canada would complicate matters nicely, and by the time the law enforcement agencies put their heads together—he would be gone. Extradition took valuable time, and different countries, even friendly ones, weren’t quick to work together.

  First, Yuri had to get off the damn ground, though.

  He turned from the window and shoved his phone in his pocket.

  Freya sat at an empty, metal desk, hands in her lap, wrists bound together. Her skin was pale, ashen. Her sister’s betrayal had broken some part of her spirit. He hoped, for her sake, she found it again. Charles seemed besotted with her, which bode well for acquiring that last payment.

  “Would you care for something to drink?” He crossed to the mini fridge and opened it.

  “No.”

  “You should drink something.”

  “What’s going to happen to Michelle? And me?”

  “Nothing you won’t survive.” He pulled out a bottle of water.

  “Are you going to sell me to Charles still?”

  “He does fancy you.”

  “He’ll kill me.”

  “I’m not so certain.”

  Charles was a funny creature. There was no telling which way the sociopath would go, when it came to Freya.

  “How do you plan on passing me off as both myself and Michelle?” she asked.

  “Details to be worked out once we’re airborne.” He figured a wig and a spray tan, along with some wine, would help loosen her up to play the part.

  “Did Thomas help you figure those things out before...?” Freya
stared at the ancient black and white tile floor.

  “No, Thomas was never anything more than a very capable head of security. It was Donny who used to handle these details, but...well...” Yuri paused. “I wonder if Donny is even dead?”

  It could go badly for Yuri if Donny were still alive.

  When this was over, Yuri was coming back for Jaxon. He’d painted the target on his back. Yuri would enjoy hunting him down. Him, and Shelby Amos.

  “What’s taking them so fucking long?” Yuri muttered to himself and strode across to the door leading to the hanger.

  The longer they sat here, the more time it gave the feds to circle up and close ranks. It was time to leave Seattle.

  Freya dug her nails into her thighs.

  Yuri took another step toward the door, past the rows of desks.

  She stopped breathing.

  He reached for the knob.

  She bit her lip, and the world seemed to slow.

  Yuri yanked the office door open and stepped through. The solid metal door clanged shut, leaving Freya alone.

  She snatched the desk phone off the receiver. She’d never heard something as beautiful as that dial tone. She jabbed the buttons, dialing Jaxon’s number from memory.

  Beep. Beep.

  “I’m sorry, I don’t recognize that extension,” an automated voice said.

  “Shit.”

  She tapped the button in the cradle, killing the call.

  Zero, one, or nine were the usual suspects for dialing out.

  She’d just have to try them all.

  The nine button had the most wear.

  Beep. Beep.

  “Fuck.”

  She hung up again.

  The zero, then.

  Her hands shook as she dialed.

  Voices were right outside. Muffled, but there. What would Yuri do if he caught her on the phone? She didn’t want to think about that.

  The line rang. And rang.

  “Please, pick up. Please?” she whispered.

  “Uh, hello?”

  “Jax! It’s—”

  “Freya? Where are you? Are you okay?”

  “I’m at an airport. Yuri is trying to get a flight to Canada or something. He wants to take me to Finland.”

  “I know.”

  “You...do? Michelle...?”

  “Do you know what airport you’re at?”

  “Um...” She pulled open the desk drawer, looking for something with a name on it.

  The office door creaked open.

  “I don’t care what it takes. We’re leaving in half an hour.” Yuri stepped through the door.

  Freya stared at the man, frozen with the phone in one hand and the other wrapped around a pencil.

  “Freya?” Jaxon said.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Yuri roared.

  He vaulted the desk and snatched the phone from her hands. Freya pushed back, her chair rolling with ease across the tiles. She scrambled around a desk. Yuri grabbed her by the hair, yanking her back to him.

  “You’re going to regret that.” Yuri’s voice was low, dangerous, deadly. “Move.” He kicked the back of her calf and shoved her forward.

  Freya would have fallen, were it not for Yuri’s hold on her. She cried out and staggered along, mostly dragged out of the office toward her fate.

  “You’re lucky you’re worth something alive,” Yuri said. He pitched his voice over the whine of an engine.

  Outside the hanger, a small, sleek plane had a team of people bustling around it. Yuri’s people, the ones with guns, stood by. Most of them appeared bored.

  “Stay there.” Yuri shoved her down onto some sort of plastic crate. He turned to the closest man. “If she moves, shoot her.”

  Freya gulped and glanced up at the man. He had cold eyes, and an even more chilling smile. She shivered and hugged her arms around her.

  The whine of engines drowned out most sounds, so she didn’t try to hide her sob. What was the point?

  She should have called 9-1-1. Or the police. But her instinct had been to call Jaxon. If only she could have had more time, a few moments to say something personal.

  What would she say?

  Thank you?

  I’m sorry?

  Freya leaned forward, planting her elbows on her knees and buried her face in her hands.

  She was alone, and the only person who cared about her, she didn’t deserve.

  A thud behind her startled her out of her spiraling thoughts.

  She twisted to look.

  Charles crouched in the darkness, his gloved finger laying across his lips.

  The gun-toting guard was on the ground at his feet, blood pooling under him from a gash across his throat. She stared first at Charles, then the man.

  To think, before today she’d seen plenty of dead bodies, but not fresh ones. She’d been unbothered by them. Probably because of the lack of blood. There was something about it that terrified her.

  “Freya,” Charles whispered and held out his hand.

  She stared at it.

  Which devil did she pick?

  Yuri wanted to use her, then likely kill her.

  Charles wanted her here. In his own, twisted way, he wanted to create his fantasy life with her.

  She had a chance with one of them.

  Freya glanced over her shoulder at the circle of people clustered around Yuri. One man loaded luggage into the small plane.

  Now or never...

  She turned, scooted to the edge of the crate, and took Charles’ hand.

  Charles grasped her elbow with his other hand and helped her step over the body. She swallowed down bile and put one foot in front of the other, grateful that she at least had flats for this kind of trek.

  “This way,” Charles whispered, leading her through the stacks of cargo ready to be shipped.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Saving you, my pet.”

  She almost hurled on him.

  She’d never hear the word pet without thinking of him again. Ever.

  “Where are we going?” She needed to try to get as much information out of him as possible. If he admitted to wanting to kill her, she could at least get a scream out.

  “Somewhere safe, and then we can start our new life together.” He smiled, his teeth a pale slash in the darkness.

  Freya swallowed.

  Charles was a crazy she didn’t recognize. He wanted to marry her. Mold her.

  “Freya!” Yuri’s voice reverberated through the hanger.

  She flinched.

  “Well, that didn’t take long.” Charles grasped both of her hands in his. “Listen to me. There’s a crate on the northeast corner. It’s empty. Hide inside of it. I’ll come find you.

  A chance to get away, gift-wrapped?

  Was this a trap?

  Freya nodded.

  “Go.” Charles gave her a little push.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  This man she didn’t know was risking his life to save her for reasons she didn’t fully comprehend.

  “Go,” he snapped.

  She turned and bolted for the partially-open side door.

  This was her chance. She’d get out. Away. And then she’d find Jaxon. Though, with the way her luck was going, the nightmare would just follow her.

  She saw the human-sized crate up against the building, one side pried up. She could fit in there, but she wouldn’t.

  The building Yuri had held her in was a large hangar slightly apart from what looked like some sort of small terminal, or airport. She sprinted across the space between the two buildings and into the thicker shadows around what she guessed was the main building.

  A parking lot sat mostly empty.

  There wasn’t anywhere to hide on this side, and soon Yuri’s people would come looking for her.

  She had to get away. To hide.

  A single blast of gunfire broke through the general hum of noise.

  She flinched and gasped, sparing a glance
over her shoulder.

  Charles?

  She hadn’t seen a gun on him.

  Freya turned around and froze.

  A man stood between her and her break for freedom, gun in hand.

  “Stop right there,” he said.

  She shuffled sideways, toward the road.

  “Don’t tempt me,” the man said. “Do you really want to take off with a bullet in your gut? Field surgery isn’t fun, you know?”

  Freya gulped and pressed a hand to her stomach.

  She should have hidden.

  Jaxon pressed the accelerator almost to the floor.

  “Is this it? Does this look familiar?” Ian was in the back seat, his phone shoved in Michelle’s face.

  “I don’t know. Maybe?” Michelle had the temperament of a teenager full of entitlement.

  Jaxon couldn’t see the resemblance to Freya at all anymore. The two women might as well be strangers.

  “The phone number is right, Jax.” Ian stared at his screen. “This is the place.”

  “What about Shelby? Did she call the feds?” Jaxon asked.

  “Last I heard, she was on with Rusty. Who knows?”

  Rusty, Shelby’s former FBI handler, was on rocky ground with the bureau he’d spent his life working for, because of Yuri Gabor. They all had a personal stake in making sure the bastard paid.

  Jaxon turned the car.

  Lights slashed across them in the rearview.

  The others had caught up.

  “When we get there, stay with Michelle,” Ian said.

  “I’m going to find Freya.” Jaxon didn’t give two fucks what Ian wanted.

  “I’m not playing around, Jax. These guys have guns. Gabor is a bad dude.”

  “Never needed a gun before.”

  “Listen to me, Jax.” Ian leaned forward between the seats.

  Jaxon ignored him.

  Ahead, the sign for the small, regional airport came into view.

  The lights were off in the parking lot, though there were cars there. Despite the darkened facilities, quite a few people were bustling around the far hanger.

  That was where Freya would be. Without a doubt.

  Jaxon turned the car into the airport. The wheels lost traction and they skidded sideways a good ten feet before the rubber gripped the road and they shot forward.

  “Jax! Jax, slow down,” Ian yelled.

  They had surprise on their side, and that was it. He had to make the most of it. If Freya got on that plane, if they took off, the chances of ever seeing her again were so few as to be nonexistent.