Royally Bad (Bad Boy Royals #1)

by Nora Flite

  Kain stood with his brothers. I also noted that while his sisters weren’t present, his mother was. She stood right behind Maverick in his recliner. My father was seated beside him, and right smack on the other side of the blue-eyed patriarch was someone I’d never met.

  “Sammy,” my father said. “This is Frock Monroe, leader of the Deep Shots.”

  Snap snap went my thoughts. Brick’s dad.

  His attention hadn’t left me since I’d entered the room. This setting was supposed to be neutral ground. The Deep Shots wanted a white flag, to make it clear they’d had no part in the violent scene out on the road.

  My dad motioned for me to come closer. Hesitantly I did, staring at Frock with mixed emotions. The red-bearded man leaned forward. His elbows rested on his knees, hands folded between them like he was praying. “You’re so much bigger than when I last saw you.”

  Hairs lifted on my neck. “I’ve never met you before.”

  Frock side eyed my dad. “You really did keep your family out of it.”

  “Not entirely. My wife knew what I was involved in.”

  Maverick shook his head in wonder. “I’m almost ashamed I didn’t realize it before. I know a thing or two about hiding an identity, and still, I never suspected that Sammy Sage was the daughter of The Bear—or that you were still alive, Bastian.”

  The Bear? So that had been his alias. This was still too weird for me. Turning, I faced the leader of the gang my dad had apparently once run. “Your son tried to murder me. That’s all I know.”

  Frock stretched toward me from his chair. “I want you to understand that I explicitly told Brick not to get involved with you.”

  “You knew he wanted me dead?” I gasped.

  “No. No.” His hands came up defensively. “I didn’t know his plans. I didn’t even know you were the girl he’d attacked. But I believed Kain when he came to our bar. His rage was real. So I told Brick, right after everyone was gone, to stop whatever the hell he was doing.” Shade crept into his pause. His tone was weaker now. “He didn’t listen.”

  Confronted by a man that had lost his son, I struggled with a wave of sadness. “As awful as what he did was, I’m still sorry for your loss.”

  Frock’s smile never touched his eyes. “Thank you.”

  It was fleeting, but my father reached over to pat Frock on the knee. The other man gripped that hand, held it, and then they parted like seeds from a shedding dandelion.

  Kain crossed the room, capturing my hand firmly in his. “Let’s get out of here.”

  “That was all you needed me for?” I asked the room, resisting Kain.

  Maverick breathed in deep, the buttons on his shirt straining. “No. Bastian,” he said to my father. “I wanted you here with Frock to discuss the future of the Deep Shots. The dissent in the ranks needs to be crushed right away.”

  My dad said, “If you’re asking me to take over, I won’t. I’m done with that life.”

  I was relieved to hear that. I wanted to hear more, but Kain was pushing me carefully toward the exit. He wasn’t interested in what this group would decide. Kain had been almost a hundred percent interested in one thing only these days.

  Me.

  “You know,” Kain said as we walked the bustling halls of his home. The place was full of all kinds of people now that Maverick wasn’t worried about some plot to harm anyone here. “Technically, you can step in if you want.”

  My knees turned into cement, then quickly, so did the rest of me. Kain crushed my fingers. “Me? Why?”

  “Your father was the leader,” he explained patiently. “He put Frock in charge when he left, but he was always viewed as the real leader—until his death. That was probably what began Brick’s madness, the fear he’d never get to control the Deep Shots if Bastian ever returned . . . or you did. But your father is here, he’s alive. And as his daughter, it’s your right.”

  This revelation was almost laugh-worthy. Me? Lead a gang? I couldn’t stop it; I started giggling. “You’re joking. Do I look like I want to take over a group of crazy killers?”

  “I’ll say this,” he replied, “I don’t want you to do it . . . but I don’t doubt at all that you could.”

  I couldn’t blink. “What?”

  “You’re a leader at heart. You’re tough, you don’t back down, and more than that, you take on the burden of everyone you want to help. You’re concerned about the people close to you. Combining that and your new ties to my family, and I think . . . in a way, you’d be perfect.”

  Is he right? Compliments aside, there was more to controlling a group like this. People would be jealous of my power, I’d deal with threats and danger and a million other problems.

  Kain brushed my fingertips.

  But would it be much different than the danger of staying near Kain?

  Gingerly, I clutched the bandages on my stomach. It had only been five days since my injury. The pain was a harsh reminder of this world I was dabbling in. Dabbling, I mused. I’ve been in with both feet first for a while.

  I considered what I would say. “Gang Leader Sammy has a nice ring to it, in a twisted way.” With clear intention, I grasped Kain’s hand and held it. “I’m still adjusting to being near one group of crazy assholes. I think I’ll hold off from taking control of a second one.”

  Kain didn’t laugh like I expected. Instead, he pushed me against a section of wallpaper. A maid who’d been rounding the corner saw us entwined; her face went red as she shuffled off.

  She reminded me about what Fran had told me forever ago, the thing about their Badd Maids company. Maybe it was real after all. I wondered if that meant the girl was a real maid, a spy, or something else. Then Kain started nibbling my throat, and I stopped wondering anything at all.

  There was still so much I wanted to learn about the Badds. The number of old secrets and bad blood ran deep. At least with an uneasy truce settling in, the Deep Shots would take a break from exacerbating those issues.

  That meant I’d get some peaceful times with all of them.

  With Kain.

  Or at least . . .

  That was what I hoped for.

  “You know,” Francesca said, pointing a forkful of bank-breaking levels of salmon, “I was thinking.”

  Thorne’s eyebrows rolled upward. “That’s surprising.”

  She tossed the fork at him, and I lamented the waste of food. There’d been caviar wrapped up in the fish as well. “Shut up and listen,” she insisted, eyeing me closely. “It’s supposed to be very in for winter weddings, isn’t it?”

  A flutter of paranoia moved through me. “Uh. Well, sure. I was actually thinking about my lineup for the season.” That thirty grand had gone a long way toward paying off my debt and giving me the breathing room for new dress designs.

  The photos from Fran’s wedding had finally started leaking into the public. I was pretty sure she was the one to thank for that. My business had been booming wildly since then.

  “If you ever need help fitting your customers into their dresses, by the way,” Hawthorne said, “I might be able to swing some time.”

  I pursed my lips. “You realize they’re engaged?”

  Popping a cracker into his mouth, he shrugged. “Just helping them get into their dresses. You’re the one with the dirty mind.”

  “Gawd, let me finish!” Fran snapped. Her scowl became a toothy smile fixed right on me. “So I’m saying, I figure red is a great color for a maid of honor dress. And I look fuckin’ great in red.”

  “Fran,” Mama Badd scolded.

  I looked less good in red, especially when it was my skin turning into the color. Shooting a glance at Kain beside me, I said, “Frannie, give me a break. You’re acting like I’m getting married or something.”

  “Well, duh,” she scoffed.

  Laughing nervously, I gave Kain a light shove. “Tell her she’s being crazy.”

  Under the table, he grabbed my thigh. “You’re being crazy, Fran.” His words were rolling off of a
smile, but something in his eyes made me knot up.

  Our “little” table was set up on a high deck overlooking Martha’s Vineyard. It was a gorgeous area. Maverick had taken us all for a weekend trip—including my parents. I suspected it was his own disconnected way of apologizing for everything he’d put me through.

  I hadn’t entirely forgiven him for the missteps, but I was working on it. I understood his heart was in the right place. He’d also been right—a fact that shamed me—about Brick tracking Kain to my mother’s place, using that route to catch him and me off guard.

  It was a private relief that the huge man hadn’t driven that point home.

  Now, he watched me from his chair, sipping idly at a mimosa. It should have made him cartoony and less scary.

  It didn’t.

  My mother was grinning at me, hell—everyone was. When Kain knelt at my side, I startled so much that I tipped my coffee over. No one paid any attention to it as it dribbled onto the patio.

  “Kain,” I said through my teeth. My head swam with my old visions of the pretend fantasy wedding I’d had with him back when the possibility wasn’t . . . well, possible. Now that it was, the reality was smothering me.

  His hand went into his pocket; Francesca started to squeal. Lula’s midnight eyes were shiny, was she about to cry? Wasn’t that my job? “Sammy,” he started.

  My hand clamped over his mouth. “Don’t.”

  Kain’s eyebrows knotted. “Ffwhy?” he muffled.

  Parting my lips, I found . . . no answer. I had nothing inside of me but the ever-increasing speed of my own heart. Colors whirled through my brain, a poor excuse for words. I didn’t know why I was stopping him.

  Deep down, when he pulled my hand away, I was grateful.

  “Sammy.” The fierce glint in his stare said he wasn’t backing down. Why had I even tried? “I thought, at one point, that I’d never ask this of someone. And then I thought, even if I wanted to ask you, how could I? I love you, but you deserve to have the world looking on when I finally declare that I’ll protect you . . . adore you . . . obsess and love and every other damn thing humans can do for the rest of my too-short life.”

  Shit, I was trembling. I mouthed his name; no sound came out.

  He looked across the table at my parents, then at his own. “It’s not the whole world, but this is everyone we have sitting in front of us. There’ll never be a better time than now.” His fingers linked with mine, a gesture he’d made a number of times.

  He’d held me like that when we’d first twirled in stunned attraction in his driveway.

  He’d clutched me when I ran to him in terror as my home was broken into.

  And he did it now as he slid a small ring onto my finger. The silver was twisted in a loop: two horses running together. It was topped by a diamond bigger than the marble-size caviar everyone had been eating moments ago.

  I’d never seen anything so beautiful.

  “Sammy Sage,” he said, making me thrill with how his tongue rolled my full name. “Will you marry me?”

  Francesca slammed her hands onto the table. “Yes! She says yes! Sammy, say yes!”

  At some point I’d started smiling. It became a grin, touching my eyes and making my muscles ache as happy tears rolled free. “See this?” I asked him, flapping my fingers by my cheeks. “Ugly cry. This is an actual ugly cry and a yes, okay?”

  Sweeping me into his arms, he kissed me in front of all of them. I think they were clapping, cheering, but my ears were ringing with the sweet insanity of a moment I’d dared to hope for and had actually been granted.

  I made wedding dresses for a living. I talked to brides that were in love and many that were painfully not. I helped along the ones that had found their counterparts, and for the others, I struggled to bite my tongue to keep from talking sense into them. I wasn’t always successful.

  I didn’t know why some people chose an ending that didn’t make them dizzy with joy.

  But I did know this:

  Everyone should get their happily ever after.

  Just like me.

  AN EXCERPT FROM ROYALLY RUINED

  (BAD BOY ROYALS BOOK 2)

  Editor’s Note: This is an early excerpt and may not reflect the finished book.

  Once upon a time, I would have been a king.

  Firstborn.

  Royal blood.

  A family full of money and power and everything you could possibly dream of. I would have ruled fairly, justly, taken care of my loved ones and done my best for my country. The key words in all of this are “would have.”

  Modern-day princes like me? Guys with mafia roots that stay in control thanks to threats instead of our lineage? We’re often the bad guys.

  I sure am.

  It’s why I was checking my handgun under my coat—I didn’t need to look to know that it was loaded. And it’s why I was staring down the young woman who wanted nothing to do with me.

  “Hold up,” she said, her voice tangling high in her throat, the sign of someone struggling to remain calm. “You don’t need to do this. Thorne knows me, ask him!”

  Thorne was my brother. He’d made a point of stepping out of the dressing room when I’d demanded we check every girl here—dancer or otherwise—to make sure they weren’t wearing a wire. Weapons were a problem, too, sure. But for me . . . it was all about the cops.

  I hated cops.

  I’d already searched the five strippers on shift. It was this waitress’s poor luck that she was working tonight, too. No one had warned her why her boss had told her to go to the dressing room. She certainly hadn’t expected to see me down here.

  When I said nothing else, the woman lifted her arms. Was she going to fight me or was she surrendering? Her tongue darted over her lower lip. “I work here, not for the damn cops! Seriously, ask Hawthorne, he knows me!”

  “But I don’t know you,” I said softly, feeling for my gun like it was a nervous tic—it wasn’t, I don’t get nervous that easily. “I’m not asking much. I only want you to take off your clothes so I can search you.”

  Her face flushed pink, the color bringing out her freckles. The tiny piercing in the corner of her nose glinted when she scowled. “Oh? That’s all? Well then, gee, I—no! Get Thorne. I’ve been here for three years, I’ve seen plenty of bad shit and never said a word before. I deserve better than this!”

  With clean precision I slid the tip of my pistol between us. There wasn’t much space as it was; I’d set up my little “check station” in the corner of the dressing room farthest from the door. The beaten-up and vandalized lockers the girls stored their everyday clothes in were keeping the waitress from bolting one direction.

  My body prevented the other.

  “Hey,” she said, flicking her brown eyes to the weapon, then back to me. I was surprised she held my stare so evenly. Few people could. “Can’t we be nice about this?”

  “Do I seem nice?” I asked.

  “No.” The edge of her mouth went up in an out-of-place smile. “And I thought your brother was the asshole of your family.”

  When I was younger, that would have hurt. But I’d been called far worse things for over ten years. “I’m not playing around. Clothes off. Now.”

  She stood taller. It brought her chin close to mine, I could smell the sweetness of her skin. I’d expected typical stripper smell, but this wasn’t cotton candy and baby powder. This was something . . . richer. Like the inside of a treasure chest: metal and leather. I didn’t know any women who smelled like that. It was familiar in a way that nagged me.

  Her voice was low and anything but soft. “If you’re going to see me naked, you should know my name.”

  “You don’t need to be naked, your bra and panties are—”

  She spoke over me. “Scotch. My name is Scotch.” Again, her piercing shone from how hard she scrunched her nose. “And you? You’re Costello, right?”

  I expected her to know my name. After all, my family owned every single strip club in this city, in
cluding the one we were standing in. “If you don’t take your clothes off, I’m going to take them off for you.”

  Scotch peered at me. I wondered if she doubted my promise. If she was smart, she wouldn’t. To keep me, my brother, and our new relationship with the Deep Shots safe, I’d do whatever it took. If that included stripping a waitress who refused to prove her allegiance, so be it.

  She turned away and faced the lockers and curled her nails under her shirt, peeling it up so it exposed her back to me. “Get this over with. I have drinks to serve upstairs.”

  Tucking the gun into my jacket, I said, “Smart girl.” I bent close, and that damn scent hit me again, confusing me and making me dizzy. Fighting through it, I brushed my hands over her skin, reaching around to feel for anything hidden on her stomach.

  Scotch trembled, her heart kicking at my chest through her spine. She was warm as a perfect cup of tea, smooth as ivory. I was supposed to be feeling for a wire but I couldn’t stop thinking about how good she felt. How solid and strong and fucking soft, all at once.

  When I trailed my fingertips over her hips toward her skirt, she inhaled through her nose. It wasn’t a scared sound—it was too thick. Static passed between us and together we stiffened.

  She asked me, “Why are you going so slow?”

  Sweat crept over my brow. “I’m not. I’m being precise.”

  “Oh?” and it came out like a purr. “How’s this for precise?” I pride myself on my speed, but this woman rammed her ass right against the front of my slacks before I could dodge. I’m not sure I would have dodged.

  My blood raced, battling with the excitement that was curling in my lower belly. How had this simple task become such a game of wills? How was this damn stranger getting under my skin so quick? Get your shit together! I reprimanded myself. Scotch was grinning, I could see it even with her face turned away.

  She wanted to play.

  I didn’t. Or I did, but . . . no. I didn’t. I had a job to do.

  Snatching her wrists, I pressed her hands above her head on the lockers so hard that the green metal rattled. Over it all, I heard her surprised gasp and endured a thrill from it. “Not the wisest move you could have made,” I whispered in her ear.