Pretend Princess With Benefits: A Royal Fake Marriage Romance

by Lara Swann

  My body feels swollen and abused, but after a few minutes I realize the beating isn’t as bad as I’d expected. Cuts and bruises everywhere - but they didn’t start with cutting off fingers or breaking bones. Yet.

  I breathe deeply and wince at the sharp pain in my chest.

  Okay, probably no broken bones. I can’t quite vouch for my ribs.

  I stretch my fingers and tug again at the ties keeping me pinned to the chair, but they’re solid. Sullivan’s guys don’t do shoddy work.

  Not that I’m convinced I’d even try anything. This is exactly what I expected - and hell, probably deserve.

  The rage on Sullivan’s face flashes into my mind again and I sigh. I betrayed him and probably destroyed his relationship with his daughter. The only question is how long he’s going to take punishing me for it before he lets me die.

  I let my mind float as I sit there, retreating to the brief memories I made with Alana - and I still don’t regret a damn thing. Maybe not telling her sooner - not going to Sullivan myself, as soon as I knew what I wanted. But having that brief time with her?

  It was worth this shit.

  I have no idea how long it’s been when the door flies open. I glance up, expecting Sullivan’s thugs to be back for the next round, and blink through blurred, swollen eyes as I try to make out the figure standing there.

  “Caleb.” It’s Sullivan’s voice, and I turn towards him instinctively.

  Has he come to watch?

  I try to respond, but my lips are split and my mouth feels stuffed with cotton, so the only thing that comes out is a vague groan as I twist my head to try and look in his direction.

  He grunts - seemingly in annoyance - and stalks closer. “We can argue about this shit - Alana’s disappeared.”

  That’s enough to snap me out of the painful haze I’m in - every muscle tensing at the same time as cold fear washes through me.

  “Whaa…” I manage to get out, spitting blood. I don’t even need to ask the question - Sullivan is already talking, as someone else comes to cut through the bonds.

  “When the guy I sent to assist Kevin arrived, they were both gone. No sign of Kevin’s body or any sort of resistance so - we’re looking into him being our guy.” Sullivan’s voice is hard and tight, but even that doesn’t match the sudden red-hot murder that overtakes me as I hear that and those dark, unreadable eyes flash through my mind again. “It would explain a lot - he was supporting the case and I suspect was part of the reason it didn’t go anywhere. He had access to me, knew what we were doing…positioned himself to guard her at the safe house. I just still don’t know why—”

  “Affhhlaana…” I force out.

  I don’t fucking care about Kevin. Apart from wanting to kill him with my bare hands, I don’t give a fuck why he’s doing this - Alana is who we should be talking about right now.

  Sullivan eyes me, but finally grunts and nods. “We don’t know where she is - not yet - but if we finally know the fucker responsible for all this…we have something to trace. I’ve got everyone on it and we should hear something soon.”

  I grunt with my own annoyance.

  Nothing? Really? Fucking hell.

  “I want you going after her with me, Caleb. The…other stuff aside - you’ve kept her safe so far. I need you back on it. Everything else - that can come after she’s home.” His tone is demanding and rough, but I can hear the need underneath it.

  I’m just surprised he’s even talking about what comes after. More beatings and then left face-down in a ditch is what I’m assuming.

  It doesn’t matter. The only thing I care about is getting Alana back safe - if we do that, Sullivan can take whatever pound of flesh he likes out of me.

  I just nod at him, my awareness of how much that simple action hurts starting to dim as the adrenaline starts taking over - and the idea of Alana in danger. Taken. And who knows what else.

  The door to the warehouse crashes open again, and we both look up as Sam strides in - followed by my father.

  “You’ve traced him?” Sullivan asks immediately.

  I feel my father’s eyes roam over me, but neither of us acknowledges the other - and my attention is too fixated on Sam beside him.

  “Not exactly.” Sam says, handing over a piece of paper - another letter. “We found this.”

  I crane to look over Sullivan’s shoulder, and my heart stills at the sight of Alana tied to a chair in an almost mirror position to the one I was just in - only in front of a table, in a smaller place than this. Explosives strapped to her chest - a terrified look on her face. The only words there are all I need to commit myself - fully and completely.

  ‘Come watch your daughter die, bastard.’

  Someone is going to die today, that’s for sure - and not Alana.

  “Address is on the other side - back in Baltimore.” Sam adds matter-of-factly.

  “That fucking bastard.” Sullivan snarls, crushing the paper in his hand. “Fine, if he’s going to make it this easy - I’ll bring the whole weight of the Irish mob crashing down on him.”

  He turns abruptly, striding suddenly towards the door, and my heart stops as my still-lethargic mind tries to process it all.

  “No.” I say automatically.

  He twists back to me with a renewed fury, eyes flashing at the challenge, but I force myself to continue anyway, thinking out loud.

  “You can’t go after him. This is about you, Sullivan. He stuck close to you, watching you receive each of those letters and not doing a damned thing for weeks except enjoying your reaction. If you go, he’ll kill her - he’s just fucking told you that. He wants you to see. If you don’t go…who knows. Maybe he’ll talk, slip up…something that gives us a chance. With a bomb? There’s no other way.” I try to walk towards him, but stagger a little and stop, watching for his reaction.

  Letting him go after Kevin is the wrong thing. I just know it.

  “So if I don’t go…what the fuck do you suggest? Leaving her at that fucker’s mercy?” Sullivan demands, and I can feel him balancing on the edge of the decision, ready to go either way.

  I take a deep breath, then wince again at my ribs. “I’ll go. Act like I got free and that I’m not with you - maybe play up being pissed at you myself. This is some twisted revenge thing - I don’t think he’ll want to hurt her until you’re around to see it.”

  I expect him to argue and dismiss it, but to my surprise Sullivan pauses. And the objection comes from a completely unexpected place.

  “Caleb, look at you.” My father’s derisive tone matches the way his eyes flick over my body. “You’re in no fit state to do anything right now.”

  My fists clench at that, even if I know exactly where he’s coming from - he taught me, he spends every single fucking day perfecting his ability as a trained killer. He can read what someone is capable of at a glance.

  And he’s right, I’m not up to much like this.

  “That will help - make it…more convincing. Less of a threat, too.” I insist.

  I know I’m right. I know I can do this. And I’m not risking Alana’s life because I’m hurting a bit.

  “I agree.” Sullivan’s voice adds to mine, and I blink in surprise at the support. “Okay, Caleb, let’s work this out. And get my daughter back home.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Alana

  “Why are you doing this?” I try again, “What do you have against my father?”

  Kevin glances over at me from the other side of the table, where he’s leaning back in his chair and propping up his feet on the tabletop, then turns his attention back to the gun he’s oiling, and I think he’s going to ignore me again.

  We’ve been sat here for hours now - on top of the endless hours I spent tied in the back of a van. And he hasn’t said anything since he came back from wherever he’d disappeared to and merrily announced “any moment now, princess.”

  The pure terror I’d felt initially has slowly given way to boredom and weariness, even as I strugg
le to force myself to think of a way out of this nightmare. The idea of the wires wrapped around my chest still threatens to send me into a nervous breakdown, so I ignore that as best I can. My hands have gone numb and tingly from where I’ve pressed and pulled them against the rope, too, but he doesn’t care.

  The only plan I’ve thought of so far is to get him to talk - to convince him, somehow, not to do this. Though when he looks at me, I swear I can see the glimmer of madness sparkling behind those terrifying eyes, and I wonder whether I have any chance in hell of getting through this.

  My cheek still stings from his response to my earlier questions, and I eye the gag on the table with suspicion - but after I threw up all over his van on the way here, I don’t think he wants to risk me choking on my own vomit. I don’t think he believed my complaints of sickness until then - and he was pissed about the mess.

  For someone who’s decided to kill me, he seems very determined to keep me alive - at least for this little bit longer. I’m trying to think of a way to use that, but beyond feeling a little more safe to test and talk, nothing occurs to me.

  “Do you have any idea what your father does, princess? The kind of man he is?” Kevin responds after so much time, it startles me.

  I blink, suddenly wondering what the right answer should be - but I don’t know, so I just go on instinct, and hope I’m not about to get myself killed.

  “No.” I shake my head, “I don’t.”

  “Didn’t think so.” He agrees, giving me a sardonic smile I try not to look at. Even glancing at the man sends shivers running through me.

  I’m not sure I want to know, but if talking about it will somehow get through to him…

  “He wouldn’t hesitate at this, you know - a little kidnap, extortion, murder…he’s done it all before.” Kevin says casually.

  I swallow, wishing I could deny what he’s saying.

  Do I know my father at all?

  “Is that…what this is about?” I ask, quietly, not wanting to spur sudden anger at the questions.

  He laughs, harsh and bitter. “No…no, not that. But you’re the one thing he cares about, right? Only way to make the bastard actually feel something.”

  My eyes fall on the detonator he’s left on the table, easily within his reach but impossible for me like this, and I struggle not to despair.

  “You should have seen him, the last few weeks. All that pride and confidence…eaten up by worry and despair. I finally found something that could bring that utterly implacable man down. Beauutiful.” The lightness in his voice contrasts with the dark words, and my fists clench again.

  The more I hear, the less likely it seems that I’ll be able to talk him out of anything at all.

  “You were…you were part of the mob?” I still don’t understand - if he did work for the mob, then…what could my father have done to him to cause this?

  “For years. Took a long fucking time to get to where I needed to be.” He pushes away from the table, starts walking up and down the gutted house.

  “You were planning this for years?!” I stare at him, the slim hope I’d had souring within me.

  “All my life.” He shoots a grin at me, but it’s a horrific thing - empty and barren.

  “What…why?!” I’ve stopped holding back anymore, disbelief overriding caution.

  He turns and looks at me dead-on for a long moment, and I wonder whether he’s finally realized he’s actually talking to me now.

  But instead his gaze turns distant and he looks around the burned out room of the old house we’re waiting in.

  “Because he’s never understood that the games he plays…the blood money he makes…there’s real lives at the end of all that. Real people. Just trying to get on in the world - that’s hard enough as it is, we don’t need him fucking it up too. Now that you’re here…maybe he’ll see what it means to be one of those simple people, trapped in the middle of a game.” He reaches over and grabs the detonator off the table, grinning manically at me. “Not long now, princess, until I’m playing my game.”

  “You’re mad.” The thought slips out without thinking, too long at the front of my mind not to voice.

  He stops stock still, stares at me - and his thumb plays with the button on the detonator. My heart does little spirals in my chest, but I refuse to look away.

  Then he laughs again. “Mad. Yes, probably. Your fault, girlie. Yours - and your bastard father’s.”

  “Not mine.” I seize on that, insistent. “Whatever he did, I’m sorry - but I had nothing to do with it. I didn’t even know about any of this until you sent those letters! And I can’t stand it either - I hate what he is, what he’s done. I’m not my father. Just one of those people you mentioned - caught up in fucked up games.”

  I figure it’s my only chance to get him to listen to me - to talk him down. By showing him I’m just the same as him.

  It doesn’t work.

  He looks over at me, considers for a moment, and then nods. “Yes, probably true, girlie. But he needs to know how it feels.”

  I’m about to argue further when something beeps within the room.

  “Show time, baby.” He announces.

  Kevin grins and swivels to face the door, gun in one hand trained on it, and the other holding the detonator.

  And I try my best to hide the terror coursing through me.

  Is it my father? The moment Kevin has been waiting for?

  The doorway is open, but from where I’m sat I can’t make out the figure approaching until he makes it just inside - moving slowly, almost…limping?

  “Hey, stop there. What the fuck.” Kevin’s angry voice penetrates before I finally recognize the man in front of us - and my heart leaps.

  Caleb.

  Then I work out why I didn’t recognize him before - his face is swollen to all hell, and there are cuts and bruises all along his arms. His usual self-assured posture has disappeared, the poise I’m used to disrupted by the way his body bends and shifts awkwardly as it moves with obvious injuries.

  What the hell happened to him?!

  I bite my lip to keep from gasping, or crying out, or saying anything at all. I have no idea what the hell he’s doing here, but the terror of moments before is already easing - just from seeing him here. Even bruised and battered.

  He tilts his head up, eyes sweeping over me briefly - then he steps back in shock.

  “What the…what the hell is all that?” His voice is hoarse, but unwavering - his eyes fixing firmly on Kevin.

  “Exactly what it looks like. Make another move and I’m blowing her straight into hell.” He raises the detonator in one hand, gripping it with a tightness that has my gut twisting. “Drop the gun.”

  Caleb stops abruptly, dropping the weapon that was still at his side anyway and just watching as Kevin takes a deep breath.

  “Where the fuck is Sullivan?” The man next to me demands.

  “How the hell should I know?” Caleb shrugs, “I wasn’t about to stick around and find out. Expecting him, are you?”

  Kevin grinds his teeth together, but despite the tension I see there, his gun doesn’t waver from Caleb in the slightest. “What are you doing here, Caleb?”

  “I came to find her.” He nods towards me, but still avoids actually meeting my eyes.

  “Well I’m sorry to have interrupted your little amusement, but I didn’t set this damn thing up to get you laid.” His hard voice has a slightly amused lilt to it. “Didn’t think I’d see you again, either - can’t believe Sullivan didn’t kill you.”

  “I didn’t stick around for that part.” Caleb’s tone is grim, eyes slowly moving around the room.

  “Just long enough to get the shit kicked out of you, eh?” Kevin smiles, unsettling as ever. “So how the hell did you find me then, if you’re not with Sullivan?”

  I feel sick at what they’re casually talking about - the thought that my father could do something like that to Caleb. That he’s bruised and battered…because of me. Somehow, that eve
n overwhelms the sharp fear that I’m going to die - here in this burned out, run down place.

  “This is your house, Kevin. You didn’t exactly cover your tracks, did you?” Caleb’s voice is mocking, a hint of his usual amused arrogance coming back.

  Not the sort of attitude I’ve seen since he told me he loved me. The thought of that tugs at me, but I can’t focus on it now. Not with Kevin pointing a gun at Caleb and holding that detonator.

  “I wasn’t trying to, dumbass.” Kevin snorts a harsh laugh, then gestures wildly around with the gun. “Yeah, it’s mine. Fucking nice legacy, don’t you think?”

  “Looks like a shithole to me.” Caleb says bluntly, and I feel Kevin tense.

  “Well, it would’ve been different if Sullivan hadn’t come around. Was going to be the finest fucking bakery in Baltimore - before he burnt it to the ground. Did you hear about that, huh? Imagine you were in diapers at the time - I wasn’t much older. Did you ever hear whether he knew my parents were still inside at the time? I could never find out, all those years…never knew whether it was murder or just good ol’ extortion.” Kevin’s eyes are flaming now, his gestures getting bigger and more dramatic as he talks - waving the gun and detonator in every direction. Every time he does it gives my heart palpitations, wondering if he’s going to lose control, if that thumb will slip…

  I’m still struggling to deal with his story - to imagine what it must have been like, seeing the place I’m being kept in in a whole new light. As a bakery.

  All that time, trying carefully to coax some reason out of him…and Caleb gets it with one barbed, derisive comment.

  “No, I never heard that little story.” Caleb looks around, his face impassive and clearly unimpressed. “Probably dozens like them - can’t imagine it even registered. Doubt the murder was deliberate - but wouldn’t have been a loss for the mob, either.”

  Kevin’s face turns red, and for a moment I actually think he’s going to shoot Caleb, who is walking casually closer, still looking around the property with a detached curiosity.

  Then he suddenly relaxes, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Exactly. It’s nothing to you fuckers. The ruin of three innocent lives…happens every day, right? Not even worth remembering. Well, I’m going to make sure he remembers this.”