Royally Bad (Bad Boy Royals #1)

by Nora Flite

  “Lula!” Maverick shouted.

  She wiped her hands on a napkin, throwing it down. “Thanks for the food. I’m going to bed.” Sidestepping the table, she walked toward the mansion with her head held high.

  It amazed me to see Maverick put his face in his hands, hang his chin, and go still.

  Thorne was shielding his mother from Fran’s furiously flailing elbows. Kain was struggling to hold her back; she was intent on getting at Costello, who finally walked off in silence.

  Across the table, Kain met my eyes. His lips parted, silently mouthing “Sorry” at me. I smiled partially, hoping he understood I didn’t blame him. He wasn’t responsible for this drama—I didn’t think so, anyway.

  I did wonder, though, as I sat there among a broken family that was busy knocking over wineglasses and screaming instead of talking, if I would ever learn about their old secrets.

  And if I even wanted to.

  - CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE -

  KAIN

  My shoes brushed over the hallway rugs. Even with the mansion’s lights turned down low, it was easy to see all around. Besides, I’d walked this way a thousand and more times. I knew where Lula’s room was.

  She just hadn’t been inside of it for ten years.

  Tapping the door, I whispered, “You in there?”

  “Yeah.” Her answer came fast; she must have been awake in spite of claiming she was going to bed a few hours ago. “Come in.”

  Cracking the door, I leaned inside. Lula was sitting on the edge of her bed, half facing me. Her hand twirled; she wanted me to shut the door. I did it softly. “Hey,” I said, approaching slowly. “Are you okay?”

  “Why are you here?” The haughtiness in her voice sent me reeling. Lula made me feel like I was a kid all over again, hanging around her room for advice on how to solve one of the many stupid problems I’d come up with.

  Shrugging, I said, “I wanted to make sure everything was good. You left pretty quick earlier.”

  “Can you blame me?” Leaning back on the bed, she looked as stiff as a board. None of her muscles seemed capable of relaxing. “Some family dinner. I thought it might get messy, but still . . . maybe I shouldn’t have come back.”

  Taking a step forward, I almost sat on the bed—her energy warned me away, but it didn’t stop the question that had been burning in me. “Why did you?”

  Her dark eyes floated to me like moths ready to dive into a fire. “Oh, little brother. Because I’m a sappy idiot who missed her family.”

  She motioned for me to sit. My chuckle mixed with the squeak of the springs. “Even fuckups like me?”

  “Please. You’re not the fuckup.” Lula managed a tiny smile. That gave me even worse nostalgia. “I’m the one who caused this family to fall apart.”

  “We haven’t fallen apart.”

  “I’m pretty sure your little friend out there would disagree.”

  “Sammy?” I asked, thinking about her sitting in her room—her new room, one that wasn’t a prison. Had anyone told Lula about what was going on?

  My sister eyed me closely, like she’d read my mind. “Fran told me what Father did to her. How could you let it happen?”

  I went red at her implication. I’d never let anything happen. “I tried to stop it. Sammy insisted she stay in there. I don’t have a damn clue why.”

  Covering her mouth couldn’t hide her smile. “You’re seriously that oblivious. Kain, she was doing it because she was worried about you.”

  Knitting my eyebrows, I said, “You just got back home. How would you know anything that’s going on?” My words weren’t meant to hurt; I saw her flinch slightly and realized they had. “Lula—”

  “It’s fine. You’re right.” Stretching back on her pillows, she stared around at the blue walls. I followed her eyes curiously, wondering what she was seeing. “But that girl . . . she’s still a person. I like to think I understand people, Kain. You broke her out to host Fran’s wedding recently, right?”

  Unsure where she was going, I nodded. “Yeah. That was her idea.”

  Lula brushed some of her hair from her cheek. Her eyes cut through me, like I could hide nothing from her. And maybe I couldn’t. “Escaping after that would have been easy, especially if she asked you for help. She didn’t, right?” She didn’t let me get a word in. “I don’t know Sammy, but she obviously cares about you. So she sat in that damn room like a good little pet, and she sits in another room now, doing as she’s told.”

  She spit that last word out; a cold knife stabbed into my guts. “You came back because you missed us. Why did you run in the first place? Was it really because Dad tried to lock you in that room?”

  She threw an arm over her face. “Of course not. You know it was more than that.”

  Keeping my tone even, I said, “No. I don’t.”

  Her arm fell away, showing me how wide her eyes were. “What? Of course you do. How would you . . .” She trailed off, and then she grinned, but it was a broken excuse for one. “No one ever told you why it happened. Amazing.”

  I didn’t know how she could look so smug. Was it because she’d just realized that, once again, our family had done something fucked up? “I know some of it,” I said. “Clearly not enough to understand why you left for ten years.”

  Sitting up on her elbows, she asked, “What do you remember about that night?”

  Hunching on the bed, I folded my arms over my chest. That time was so long ago . . . it came to me in fragments. “I remember being in my room, hearing Costello shouting for help. I came downstairs to find out what the hell was going on.” The first thing I’d noticed was our normally shiny and clean floors had a trail of blood from the front door to the foyer. “He was half dragging you. Screaming. Your clothes were all red, the both of you.”

  It had stuck out to me so starkly at the time because Lula was always so serene—so put-together. But there she’d been, sprawled on the floorboards with her shirt half torn apart, and Costello was no better.

  I whispered, “At the time, I’d thought the blood was his. He was saturated in it.” Unable to blink, I stared right at her. “I didn’t know most of it was yours.”

  She shivered, reliving the memory with me. I didn’t need to see her scars, the memories of the fresh wounds were enough. “I don’t remember much after I was attacked. I was so dizzy. I’d lost so much blood, it’s a blessing Costello got us out of there.”

  “You almost died,” I said seriously.

  Lula chuckled dryly. “It turned out fine.”

  “No, it didn’t.” Frowning, I shook my chin side to side. “You still haven’t said why you two were attacked in the first place.”

  Like she had too much energy, she hopped off the bed and started pacing. “Right, Father’s dirty little part in this. A group of nobodies had learned who we were—who our family was—and decided to use it against us.”

  That confused me enough that I stood up as well. “Use it against us how? That’s not even a secret.”

  “Our royal heritage is more of a weakness than you think, Brother.” She was so pale I could see the veins beneath her skin, like she was made of plastic wrap. “Being royalty is about more than using it as a pickup line to get girls.”

  There—the biting side of Lula I knew so well.

  She went quiet. I almost said something, but Lula began again. “And here we come to the real issue. My actions that split this family apart. After I healed from the attack, I told Father I was leaving. I didn’t want to be so close to him and the danger that being related to him brought. That was why he panicked and tried to lock me away.”

  That was a night I did remember. I’d stood in that hallway, looking on as Maverick shoved Lula into the room, explaining it was for her own good. Costello had assured me it would be fine when I’d tried—in my teenage rage—to intervene.

  I’d been pissed at him for stopping me.

  We sat in uneasy silence. I wanted to comfort Lula. I thought there had to be some way to make
everything better.

  She turned to face the wall, touching a shelf of books absently. “I used to imagine being a real princess, or even a queen. Did you know that?”

  I smiled sadly. “I remember when you made me pretend to be your steed as you ran around, giving orders to all of us.”

  She laughed suddenly. “Then Thorne threw water on me and told me to melt because I was secretly a witch. That’s right. I was so furious.”

  Her joy was contagious. But my mind was elsewhere. Not in the fond memories of childhood, but in the heavy future waiting for my family. I’d never taken my heritage seriously. Lula was right, it had been all fun and games for me.

  Had our father hidden the truth of this attack so we’d never think poorly of who we were?

  Studying my sister, I pressed my fingertips to my right ribs. “That’s why you never got the tattoo.”

  “The tattoos,” she snorted, brushing her own ribs thoughtfully. “I love this family, Kain. And I hate it at the same time.”

  My hand fell to my side. “I guess that’s fair.”

  Her lips twisted when she stared at me, one eyebrow riding high. “You want to talk about fairness, do you? Then let’s talk about how fair it is to keep that poor girl here. Why haven’t you run away together yet?”

  Inch by inch, blood filled my veins. “What?”

  Lulabelle whispered, “No one deserves to be locked up. No one.”

  “She isn’t locked up anymore, Lula.”

  “Please.” Her hands reached for mine, folding tight and calling back to all the times she’d chided me when I’d done something she didn’t find “princely” as a kid. “A cage without bars is still a cage. What’s keeping you here? Don’t you like her?”

  A spasm went through my fingertips. “Of course I do,” I said quickly.

  “Kain,” Lulabelle said. “What do you want to do?”

  What DO I want to do?

  I’d never considered running away. Perhaps part of me associated it with pain; I’d seen how Fran had handled Lula’s escape. Could I really do the same thing? Was it so bad to sit here . . . sit in this safe place . . . and wait until—Until what? I asked myself. Until Dad decides we can do as we please?

  Lula was right.

  A cage without bars was still a damn cage.

  Pulling my sister in, I hugged her as tightly as I could. This was a real hug—nothing like the one this morning in the kitchen.

  “Treat her right, Brother.” She held me at a distance. “Everyone deserves that much.”

  After all this time, she still gave the best advice.

  - CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO -

  SAMMY

  I wasn’t quite asleep when the knock came.

  Sitting up, I hurried to the bedroom door. My intuition said this was Kain, it had to be, but I still peeked through the slim opening to make sure. His eyes were warm when they saw me—I couldn’t have kept him out if I’d wanted to.

  “It’s late,” I whispered, letting him in. “I was wondering if you would come and see me. Check out my fancy bed. It’s not as good as the garden-prison one, but still.”

  Kain was blurry in the shadows, it took me a minute to realize he wasn’t dressed in pajamas, like me, but rather the same clothes as earlier . . . shoes and all.

  Nervously, I asked, “What’s going on?”

  Scooping me into his embrace, he played his lips across mine. It was sweet and soft; my center started to melt. “I just had a very long talk that opened my mind.”

  Who did he talk with? I wondered. Tracing his cheek, I tried to read his smile; why did he seem like he was ready to start sprinting around the room? “All right, Mr. Open Mind. What are you here to share with me?”

  “How about a wish?”

  Blinking, I stared up into his perfectly blue eyes. “Are you offering to grant one?”

  “If you tell me what it is, I might.”

  Flushing, I started to back away; he crushed me against him, preventing my retreat. This no longer felt like a lighthearted game. Wishes were silly things, but under Kain’s intensity, they became so real they could cut me open. If I dared to speak my mind, this little world I was pretending was good and fine would crumble. I’d see the edges and know it was fake.

  “I can’t,” I said. “It’s too much to ask.”

  His face went hard, all the humor between us fading into the night. “Ask me,” he whispered. “I’ll do it if you just ask. I came here because I share your wish, too. I’m ready for it.”

  “I couldn’t. Last time we left, your father—”

  “I’ll go with you.”

  “Of course you will, how else would I—”

  “No. I’ll go with you.” Fire swirled in his pupils. “I’ll take you to your mother, we’ll leave, and none of us will come back. You, me, and her. I’ve got the money. If my father tries to cut me off, I’ll make sure I take out enough to get us settled first. We can go anywhere. We’d be safe.”

  Safe with Kain. I adored that concept. But this was happening too fast, I’d missed something major. “The person that opened your mind,” I said quietly. “Who was it?”

  “Lulabelle.” His fingernails slid down my bare arms; I was wearing too little to be having such serious talks with Kain at this hour. His full attire gave him armor that I didn’t have. “She helped me realize how crazy I was to keep you here. You deserve more than a cage, Sammy.”

  He wasn’t lying before; he knew what I wanted, he’d thought it over . . . and he’d come here to offer it. But I needed to make sure he wouldn’t regret this.

  I couldn’t be the one who ruined his connection to his family.

  “Fran will want to kill us if we vanish. Your father might try to hunt us down. If we do this—Kain, you have to tell me you’re okay with the aftermath. I need to know. Be certain, be really, really certain.”

  Like the slow crawl of winter turning into spring, Kain looped his fingers around my forearms and erased every chill. His lips could have met mine, we could have kissed again and again, but he chose to spill his heart instead. “If you asked me to, I’d slash and burn every connection to this place . . . just to plant myself somewhere else with you. Forever.”

  He was offering me everything on a silver platter.

  All I had to do was ask.

  Standing on tiptoe, I teased my mouth over his. My teeth caught his tongue, my nose grinding along his cheek. I kissed him until I saw spots of light behind my eyelids, and then, I kissed him some more.

  My voice was broken and hushed when I pulled back. “Take us away from here, Your Majesty.”

  Kain cupped my cheeks, his breath tickling my eyelashes.

  “Your wish is my command.”

  - CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE -

  KAIN

  A month had passed since I’d first kissed Sammy.

  Yes, that was how I was measuring my time.

  My father had talked again and again about the danger she was in—that we could all be in, though he clearly suspected this was all about her somehow.

  And still . . . no one could come up with a reason why.

  Each time I looked at Sammy, I tried to make sense of her. I’d see her clever green eyes, and I’d ask myself, “Who is she?” I’d watch her smoothing her wild hair, how she’d laugh so easily, and I’d tell myself it was all a mistake.

  Brick Monroe was just a dangerous idiot.

  That was all it was.

  So why did I suddenly feel so uneasy?

  I didn’t know. But I found comfort in slipping my gun under my jacket. I had no clue what we would face after tonight, I wanted to be prepared.

  Sammy met me in the driveway, a backpack strapped over her white lace dress. I figured it was whatever small items she’d gathered since her time here. Her steps were light as she bounced toward me. Her ever-present smile told me she didn’t sense what I did.

  Because nothing is wrong.

  “I’ll have to mail this dress back to Fran,” she said, climbing up be
hind me. “I hope she isn’t too mad. It’s nice, though—nice and light with this warm weather. I was starting to think summer would come and go without any of those sweaty, nostalgic evenings.”

  Under her casual chatter, I let my guard down. “Sweetheart, I’m pretty sure I’ve given you a few sweaty summer nights to get nostalgic over.”

  Hiding behind the helmet, she just flashed me a thumbs-up.

  Riding down the highway and out of Newport, we entered a stretch of road that was free of light pollution. Along my right side floated a field of black grass, the sky above glowing as if it were nuclear.

  Sammy tapped me—then she did it again, insistent.

  Turning, I saw what she wanted me to see. Breathing in, I gazed at the twinkling lights that bobbed over the field. It had been a long time since I’d noticed fireflies. In the serenity of a summer night that was often reserved for carefree kids, we rode along with our bodies pressing close, the engine vibrating our bones while our joy shook our hearts.

  In my ear, she whispered a sentence. It shouldn’t have been loud enough to climb above the white noise of the bike, but sometimes words have a way of ignoring the rules.

  “I know you can’t hear me, but I’m not mad at you anymore.”

  I’d warned her before that the engine’s roar had a way of cutting up conversation and making it useless. But my ears were sharp, and she was so very close.

  I smiled to myself, enjoying what she thought was a private confession.

  “Actually, I think . . . that I might even love you.”

  The front tire of my bike kicked up grass; I nearly spun us off the road. Every firefly for miles fled in our wake, the world rocking with the weight of her admission.

  Yanking my helmet off, I twisted to face her. She’d pulled hers aside as well, fresh fear from our near spill creating apples in her cheeks. Or maybe it was fear from what she’d let slip from her lips.

  “Kain.” My name was the single breath she’d had in her lungs. “I—I didn’t think you could hear me!”