Royally Bad (Bad Boy Royals #1)

by Nora Flite

  He couldn’t have been more than six in the photo, his grin just hinting at the cocky guy he’d grow up to be.

  Next to him, his eyes black as pitch, had to be Hawthorne. That left two others; Costello had to be the tallest of them, a young boy who lacked the ragged scar he now sported.

  And that leaves . . . Blinking, I leaned back an inch. Another girl? I didn’t know that the Badds had a second daughter. Why hadn’t I met her yet?

  With more questions in my head, I went back to exploring. I didn’t go far before I found another row of doors. The second one I tested opened, so I peeked through the crack. It was a bedroom for sure, and the blue night colors showed an empty mattress.

  Shutting myself in, I rubbed at my face. Should I turn the lights on? No, what was the point? No one was here, I had it to myself. No dog, no snoring Francesca, no handsy Kain.

  Crawling under the blankets, I snuggled into the warmth with an appreciative groan. Now this was a nice bed! I’d have to find out what it was made of. Not that I could afford it, I was sure, but still.

  Lying there in the dark with the blanket to my chin, I tried to turn my mind off. It was a struggle, especially because I kept thinking about my mother. I wanted her to be fine—and she probably was—but . . . After losing Dad, I can’t imagine her being gone, too.

  It had only been a year since my father had died. The pain was still fresh. Oh, no! A heavy rock rolled around in my stomach. I’d just remembered that it had been the horse-shaped mug he’d given me when I’d gone away to college that had ended up saving my life tonight.

  The cup had been precious to me.

  Now it was just pieces on my kitchen floor.

  Hot tears pushed against the insides of my eyes. No, don’t cry. This wasn’t the time or place for it. If anything, I should be grateful; the mug had let me escape whatever harm my attacker had planned for me.

  Right. Think of the positive side of this. My father had taught me to be strong, to smile at your fears. Wouldn’t grieving hurt his memory? I didn’t know, but avoidance was so easy.

  Ugh, just pick a new topic to dwell on if you’re going to lie here awake.

  Except the only other thing on my mind was the fit-as-hell and ever-smug Kain Badd. That guy, he’d put me through the ringer in such a short time. I’d wanted distance from him, but now I was trapped in his home.

  And then I let him kiss me again. At least I hadn’t initiated it. I also hadn’t stopped it. Was that really better?

  I didn’t know I’d fallen asleep until something heavy slammed into my face. Gasping, I shot up straight, the pillow falling into my lap. “Bwah—hwa—huh?!” I stuttered.

  Francesca stood beside the bed, her hands on her hips. She was wearing a bronze, silky nightgown—but her eyes were liquid fire. “What are you doing in here?” she asked, her tone biting.

  Scrubbing at my eyes, I stared at her. “I . . . was sleeping.” My mind was sluggish. I took a second to stare around the room. In the early sunlight through the window, I saw that the walls were a robin’s-egg blue. Everything else was white or red, a large bookcase on one wall stuffed so full that books were piled beside it. There were a few photos on the wall, but I couldn’t see them well enough to study the faces in them.

  Turning back to Francesca, I asked, “Should I not be in here?”

  “There are guest rooms in the other hall.” Mic rustled around the door, bouncing at her heels. Francesca lifted the dog up, snuggling him. “Sorry, I’m not trying to be a bitch. It’s just that . . . this is my sister’s room.”

  “Oh!” Sitting up so that the blanket fell free, I rolled over the side of the bed. I meant to land gracefully, but in my haste, I stumbled onto my hip. Fran reached for me; I bounced up quickly, laughing to calm her. “I’m fine! It’s all fine.”

  Her shiny lips—was she already wearing lipstick? What time was it?—made a smile. “Aw, Sammy. It’s okay. You don’t gotta rush.”

  Fixing the blankets, I said, “Where’s your sister at? I was wondering why I hadn’t met her, I’d actually started thinking you only had a bunch of older brothers! Was she not at the dinner or the wedding? No one introduced me to her.”

  I hadn’t known her for long, but even so, Fran’s sudden silence was strange. Looking down at Mic, she spoke with casual disinterest. “She’s just really busy. She would have come to the wedding if she coulda, but . . . it doesn’t matter. She could be back any minute, and she’d want her bed free, that’s all.”

  My hands drifted to my sides. “I . . . see.” I didn’t see at all. I had no idea what was going on here.

  Sensing the tension, Fran put on a giant grin. “You’re wrong, you know.”

  “I—wrong about what?”

  “My brothers.” Scratching Mic’s ears, she set him down. “I’m not the youngest, I’m technically a few minutes older than Kain.”

  Click-click-click went my brain. “Holy hell. You’re twins?”

  Giggling, she flipped her hair and winked. Every bit of similarity the two shared shone back at me like a full moon. I’d thought it was just their blood, but after meeting the others, it should have been obvious. “I’m much better looking than him,” she said coyly.

  In my opinion, Kain was grade-A dyno-mite delicious. Francesca was very beautiful as well, though. She had his long features, and he had her delicate eyelashes and fuller lips.

  Lips that were perfect for kissing and touching and . . .

  Coughing softly, I marched toward the door before she could see my red neck. “Is there any chance I could borrow some clothes? I kind of don’t have anything with me.”

  “Of course!” she gushed, chasing after me until she beat me up the stairs. Opening her bedroom, she grabbed my arm and yanked me in. “I love dressing people up! Gawd, you’ll look so hot when I’m done.”

  “Oh, no, hot isn’t . . . I just want to not be modeling a bathrobe or my pajamas.”

  Shutting us into the room, she waggled her eyebrow at me. “Girl. Just you wait.” Heading to her giant closet, Francesca began throwing clothes onto the bed. Occasionally she’d mumble about how “this isn’t your color” or “nope, this is too slutty.”

  My worries only grew when she threw a lacy pair of blue panties and a bra my way. They looked extremely expensive, and extremely sexy. But . . . it was better than nothing, so I struggled into them.

  As I tried on the tight black pants she’d handed me, I faced away from her. Clipping the button, I spun back and said, “These might be a bit tight—jeez!”

  Francesca was as naked as a babe on its birthday. Blinking at me like I was acting crazy, she held up a white crop top next to her full-on bare breasts. “Do you think I need a bra with this?”

  Covering my eyes, I peeked through my fingers. “Yes, yes, double yes.”

  Sighing in a way that showed me exactly how her boobs could shake and shudder, Francesca dropped the shirt. Even if I hadn’t wanted to, I again saw the small tattoo of a crown across her upper ribs.

  Now that I knew that she and Kain were twins, I was extra curious about the meaning behind their duplicate ink.

  Turning away to hide my hot blush, I wriggled the pants to loosen them. “Hey, uh, can I ask something?”

  “Sure thing.” I heard clothing rustle. “Hm. Maybe I can rock some cutoff jean shorts instead. It’s supposed to be warm out.”

  Sliding the too-low-cut green tank top on, I adjusted the front. “That tattoo of yours.” Just say it! “Kain has one just like it.”

  “Of course he does.” A zipper crunched. “We all do. Well . . . everyone but my sister, I mean.”

  I glanced at her—saw her bare ass—and looked away again. “Why do you all get them?”

  “Daddy says it’s tradition. We do it when we turn eighteen to remind us of who we are.”

  “What, rich as kings?” I asked, laughing.

  “Almost.” She clicked something shut loudly. “We’re royalty.”

  I spun around so fast that I knew I�
�d feel it in my neck for days. “Ex-fucking-scuse me?”

  Dressed in jean shorts that showed off her excellent legs and a tight black top that hid her chest—thank goodness—she stared at me. “Did Kain not tell you?”

  “Of course not! I—are you serious?”

  Tugging her shirt lower, she eyeballed her floor-length mirror. “He usually tells it to every girl he likes. I figured that was how he got you into his bed.”

  “That—I—bwah.” Stumbling over my words, I fought for what to say. “It’s not . . . what you think.”

  Her mouth shrank into a little pucker shape. “Gawd, I don’t care if you did anything with him. If anything, I have him to thank. If you weren’t still here the next morning, that dumb bitch Monica would have walked down the aisle with him instead.”

  This was all too much. Sitting on the bed, I stared blankly at my feet. Kain is royalty? How is that possible?

  “Here,” she said, offering me a pair of white flats. “No hurting your feet today.”

  I took the shoes, but I was still dazed. “Fran, it’s hard for me to believe all of this.”

  “Why?” She pulled her hair up, watching me in the mirror as she tied it back. “It doesn’t change anything. We’re not ruling the world, it’s all just a technicality. Dad’s brother is king in his homeland. I’m not sure why he left, but hey, he met Mom and they had babies and now I’m here to give you awesome clothes and make the world a better place.” Laughing, she winked at me. “Too bad, though, I would have kicked ass as a princess in a royal court.”

  Kain’s a prince.

  I’d slept with a prince.

  If I’d kept a sex bucket list, I might have made a check mark next to that.

  “Instead of running a country or getting married, I just get dragged off to jail thanks to my asshole family,” she mumbled.

  That’s right. The ceremony was interrupted. Studying her, I noticed how tight her jaw was. “I’m really sorry about that. When are you and Midas going to finish tying the knot?”

  “Never, at this rate.” Slamming her palms onto her vanity, she huffed. “Daddy isn’t going to let anyone onto the estate until things settle down. He trusts no one right now, not even a priest, of all people.”

  An idea crossed my mind, but I didn’t get to voice it. Knuckles banged on the door, startling us both.

  “Hey,” a rough, oddly quiet male voice said. “Is she in there with you?”

  “It’s Costello,” Fran said, scowling at the door. “Give us a fucking minute!”

  I flinched at her swinging mood. She really doesn’t like him. I wondered what the scarred brother had done to earn her ire.

  Opening the door, I stared up at the tallest brother. He didn’t wear a comfortable smile like Kain. He also lacked that casual, predatory curiosity that I’d seen on Hawthorne. With a face as still as a pond in spring, the pale-eyed brother looked down on me.

  I’d meant to tell him to relax, here I was. Somehow, faced with his steady, somber eyes that dug through mine and kept on searching, I lost some of my backbone. Maverick didn’t scare me, but Costello . . .

  Dressed in a loose, burlap-textured shirt with a laced-up neck, his lean body was like a master swimmer’s. Everyone in this family was graced with stupidly good genes.

  Has he even blinked yet? I wondered.

  Costello turned away, and I had the oddest sense that I’d failed some test. “This way,” he said boredly.

  Collecting myself, I followed him down the stairs. “Where are we going?”

  “Maverick wants you.”

  “Did you guys find photos from the wedding?”

  “We did.”

  Making conversation with him isn’t easy, ugh. I was saved from having to bother. Pushing the den open, he motioned for me to enter. I slid under his arm, not having to duck to do so.

  The men were all standing around a table inside. They looked up, the air full of expectancy. How long had they been waiting for me?

  Kain’s eyes were hollow, the lower edges purple and shiny. He looked flat-out tired. When he spotted me, his exhaustion lifted away so that he could grace me with that half smirk of his that I found so thrilling.

  “There she is,” Maverick grunted.

  I waved, but the soft rumble of my stomach said hello before I could. I didn’t blush, though; how could they not expect me to be starving?

  “Good,” Hawthorne said. “Let’s get this going.”

  A wave of lightheadedness shook me. “Before I do anything, I need something,” I said.

  The guys all shared a look. Maverick eyed me warily. “Whatever it is, just ask.”

  With all seriousness, I said, “Food. I need to eat something before I collapse.”

  Kain covered his mouth, but it didn’t muffle his snort. His father shook his head, lips pushing together into a tight line. He seemed irritated, except that I sensed that—like Kain—he was trying not to laugh. “Fine. Hawthorne, go get something from the kitchen.”

  “What? Why the hell do I have to do it? Send Kain, he’s the one banging her.”

  My cheeks were glowing bright enough to help a ship sail safely in heavy fog. I had a counter on my tongue for Hawthorne; no way was I going to let him say something like that without a response.

  Kain leaned close to his brother. “You’re right,” he said carefully. “I am fucking her. And it’s great. But the only one who gets to talk about that is me. Is that clear?”

  He didn’t ask it like it was a question.

  Hawthorne lifted his chin higher, posturing so that his chest nearly bumped Kain’s. “Little brother, you should know better than to try and tell me what to do.”

  Before the intensity could get worse, I stepped forward. “Hey, yoo-hoo.” My arm cut between them, waving rapidly to get their attention. “I can feed myself, no need to break bones over who has to get me a stupid muffin.” I paused, my eyebrows scrunching. “Tell me that there are muffins.”

  Maverick’s laugh shattered the tension. Slapping his thigh once, he swung his chin side to side. “I like her.” I didn’t have a chance to be confused or flattered; the large man narrowed his joy into flat expectation, all fixed on Hawthorne. “Go get her some damn food. You heard me.”

  Through all of this, Costello had managed to blend into the wall he was leaning on. “I’ll do it,” he said. Pushing forward, he moved past all of us in two steps of his long legs. “Not like I’m going to be much help here.”

  Kain shoved Hawthorne once, his attention following Costello out the door.

  Pinching the bridge of his nose, Maverick huffed. “Fine. Sammy, come over here while we wait.” The round table in the den had been covered with photos. He stood next to it eagerly.

  He didn’t need to explain anything to me. I knew what they wanted. But will he be here? Could I identify the man who’d spoken to me in this very house, then lurched at me from the shadows of my own home?

  The memory lifted prickles on the backs of my arms. Looking over the piles of photos, I ran my fingertips across them. One by one, I pushed together a pile of useless pictures. The ones of Kain and me made me shift side to side; Detective Stapler had shown me copies.

  I guess these came from the same photographer. Rapidly, though, it became clear to me that Jameson wasn’t in any of the photos. There were plenty of other servers, just not him.

  Hunching over the blurring images, I slid them back and forth frantically.

  Why isn’t he here? “I don’t get it,” I whispered to myself.

  A shadow darkened the table. Looking up, I saw it was Kain. His eyes were glistening with concern. “Are you okay?” he asked.

  “No.” My hair flipped side to side. “Something’s wrong. Why isn’t he in any of these?”

  “Maybe you missed him,” Kain said, looking over my head. “You should eat. I can barely think when I get hungry.”

  I saw he was looking at Costello, who’d returned with a tray of food. My stomach rumbled, but I wasn’t hungry an
ymore. Hovering back over the photos, I closed my eyes and racked my brain. Why why why why why? What was I missing?

  Cold touched my elbow; I jumped two feet.

  “Sorry,” Kain said, offering the glass of orange juice again. “Just drink something and relax a minute.”

  Drink something. In a daze, I took the glass, but I didn’t taste it. “Holy shit. That’s what’s wrong.” I whirled, facing all of them. Their eyes were various degrees of doubtful and curious. “Are there photos from the dinner party the night before the wedding?”

  Hawthorne glanced at Kain. “Frannie must have taken a bunch with her phone. Mom yelled at her over it a few times.”

  Their father jerked his head at the door. “Go get her.”

  Hawthorne didn’t argue with that order at all.

  “What is it?” Francesca asked, swaying into the room. “Why is Thorne saying you need my phone?”

  “Did you take pictures at the party the other night?” I asked, hurrying her way.

  Lifting her eyebrows, Fran’s face morphed into delight. “Of course I did. I got some great selfies. Did you want to see them?” Digging into her purse, she yanked out a thick phone that was stuffed inside a glittering white-and-black case. I was pretty sure it had real diamonds on it.

  One by one, I slid through the photos as she chatted next to me. Francesca was explaining what she did or didn’t like about her selfies—and there were hundreds—or why she’d taken a photo of every food course. I wasn’t listening; I was on the hunt.

  Where . . . where . . . come on—yes! Shaking with excitement, I literally ran toward Kain. Behind me, Frannie shouted, “Hey! Be careful with that!”

  “There!” Shoving the screen in his face, I tapped it repeatedly. “That’s him!”

  Kain squinted at the photo. It was a long shot of the table, just before everyone had gotten settled into their chairs. Men in black suits were poking into the image on the fringe, their faces blurry or turned away.

  Except for him.

  Jameson was bent over the table, his hand half-touching a champagne glass as he filled it. The sight of his hard features and reedy torso made my blood race. And not in a good way.