Throttle: A Bad Boy Sports Romance

by Teagan Kade

  He comes closer, standing over me, the fire at his back. “You will get rid of her, Spencer, not for yourself, but for your country. Your birthright demands more than a simple fuck. Do you understand me?”

  I control myself, but the cracks are showing. “Crystal, Father, crystal.”

  He shakes his pipe at me, anger growing. “Stop acting the bloody fool, Spencer! We are the Royal fucking Family. There is tradition, honor, a lineage to be carefully fostered. Some doe-eyed girl from Hicktown USA is not cut out for this life, never will be.” He pokes me in the head. “For once you need to start thinking with something other than your cock.”

  I stand up and shove him, taking delight in the shock that clouds his face. “I’m not a child any more, Father. You’d be wise to remember that.”

  I clip his shoulder on the way out, dropping my tumbler on the nearest table. It falls heavy but, sadly, fails to break.

  “We are not finished, Spencer!”

  I turn at the door. “Yes, I’m afraid we are. I have a ‘doe-eyed hick’ to attend to.”

  I walk down the Grand Hall, amazed yet again how Father has managed to press his way into my private life.

  “Goodnight, Your Highness.”

  I nod at a guard I do not recognize. Once I used to know every staffer in these walls.

  I open the door to my chambers and head immediately to the desk, pulling open the top drawer where I keep a small stash for emergencies. Sometimes I think I hide it here hoping someone will find it, bring shame down on this whole damn house.

  I’m about to take it out when I notice something in the corner of the mirror.

  I look to the bed. Grace is sitting on the edge, her hands clasped before her.

  I shut the drawer. “What a surprise. I thought we were meeting at the Savoy?”

  “I begged Marcus to stay—demanded it, actually.”

  “And he listened?”

  “Seems you’re not the only man around here who is fond of me.”

  I lift her from the bed, look down into her eyes. “We might be disturbed again.”

  “So be it. I can’t spend another second without you.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  GRACE

  I wake fitful, the clock showing one in the morning.

  I think I hear a knock on the door.

  I roll over and tap Spencer on the shoulder, pointing to the door. He startles awake.

  The knock comes again—soft, a pattern.

  Not again.

  “Quick,” says Spencer, “behind the door.”

  “Spencer, old chap, I do hope you’re not choking the chicken in there.” The voice is quiet, but unmistakable. Spencer’s so-called friend William.

  Spencer lifts me off and pushes me towards the door. “I’ll get rid of him, kill him—either should work,” he whispers.

  I shake my head and stand up against the wall beside the door.

  Spencer tries to pull his pants on, throwing my dress to me.

  “Spencer!” an impatient whisper.

  He opens the door just enough to speak. “If you don’t fuck off in the next five seconds, I’m going to make sure you’re sent out of here unconscious.”

  I watch through the slit between the door and frame. It’s William alright.

  “Calm down, old boy.”

  Spencer leans right into his face. “Give me one good reason why I should ‘calm down’ after that bullshit at the crypt. I made it clear. I want nothing to do with the Club. How the fuck did you even get in here?”

  “I still have a few friends in the Palace, Spenny. You should know that.”

  “All to see me?”

  “I want to apologize.”

  “Not accepted. Now fuck off.”

  “We need to talk business, with the Club.”

  “Do you take a hint? I told you. I’m done with the Club.”

  William shakes his head. “No one is done with the Club, mate. Don’t you understand? It’s one for all, all for one.”

  “It’s not the fucking musketeers.” He seems to be getting increasingly nervous. “Can’t we talk about this somewhere else?”

  William sniffs. “Yes, the pussy parlor could do with a clean, but that’s beside the point. Come on, dress. They’re waiting.”

  “William,” says Spencer firmly, “I’m done.”

  William sighs and leans against the door, flattening me against the wall, forcing me to turn my head sideways. When he speaks it’s like he’s right in my ear. “I’m sorry you had to take the fall for the pub incident, Spenny. Most unsavory. And I’m sorry about the business with your journalist friend the other day. You know Nigel. It was only a laugh.”

  “Do you think that groundskeeper was laughing when they found him naked, tied to a god-damn fountain?”

  I lose sight of Spencer until he slams William up against the door, crushing me further. “I’m going to tell her everything, you know, every grubby little secret. That fucking pub in Gloucester? I wasn’t even in the room when you idiots decided to turn it inside-out, pummel the owner within an inch of his life. And what? Because he told you to clean up, get out? He almost died, Willy. Don’t you understand that?”

  “And yet you did the honorable thing and took the blame, for all of us, as decided. You saved your brother. Imagine if people knew it was him, the one really giving it to that old bugger? What would happen? Anarchy, that’s what.”

  “I’m sick of taking the fall for Alex.”

  “But he’s second-in-line, Spenny-boy. He cannot cop that kind of scandal. He’d never recover. Britain, would never recover.”

  “It was Alex’s damn idea, like always.”

  “We all participated, Spenny. We all took shots at that wanker.”

  “I didn’t.”

  “True, but you were best placed to, how to put it, ‘cop the cane’.”

  “So it’s okay to send me, single and wayward, into the fire then, is it? Easier to place blame on the black sheep of the family?”

  “Frankly, yes. I know it. You know it. Hell, if the press even found out Alexander was in the Club… Right?”

  Spencer’s silent.

  “The Club’s been good to you, has it not? It’s kept that monster of yours well fed, hasn’t it?”

  Spencer tries to dig himself out of this hole, clearing his voice. “The girls don’t matter, Will.”

  “I believe your father said something in the Club records—women are cum dumpsters and little more. Always has a way with words, your old man. I hear he’s got three mistresses now, the dog, keeping the family reputation intact.”

  “Enough about my father.”

  “Spenny, Spenny, we all know the apple hasn’t fallen far from the tree. Don’t fight it. The man’s a legend. We all are, or will be. The masses? They’ll be climbing the ladder of mediocrity their entire lives. The apex of their existence is winning a fiver in the Lotto, but you and me? We are gods, immortal. That is our right. Society is a swarm of ants under our feet. We decide the world.”

  “You’re a fucking wanker, William.”

  “Does she know what you really get up to, Spencer? Does she know why you have me on speed-dial?”

  The door splinters next to my face. I hold in a scream.

  Spencer’s voice comes full of rage. “A single word more and the next one’s your head.”

  Weight eases off the door, William stepping away. “You’re going to regret this, Spenny. You forget who we are.”

  “Leave.”

  The door closes. I step into the middle of the room, my head spinning. I’m still clutching my dress quietly cursing myself for not recording what just went down. The revelations just keep on coming.

  “What was he talking about?”

  Spencer turns around, leaning against the wall. “It doesn’t matter.”

  “It sounds like you had nothing to do with what happened at that pub, that you’re innocent. Your brother? He was the one behind it?”

  “So?”

  �
��So?” I repeat. “The public has to know, the authorities. Why did you do it? Why did you take the fall?”

  “I didn’t have a choice.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “What do they have on you? Tell me. I don’t care what it is. We can work through it. I will help you fuck over these pricks, see they get their just dessert.”

  “It’s not your problem.”

  I’m getting annoyed. “Why won’t you tell me?”

  I haven’t forgotten the rest of the conversation—the Duke and his mistresses, for one.

  “Tell me!” I shout.

  Spencer looks away, clams up.

  “Fine.”

  I pull on my dress, gathering my shoes from the floor, my things from the bedside. I walk over to the door, open it.

  “Wait.”

  I turn, but I know nothing’s going to come of it. “Are you going to tell me?”

  Fucking silence, so I walk.

  I call Marcus and have him drive me back the Savoy, but when we arrive there’s a posse of paparazzi waiting outside.

  Marcus hangs back, switches the lights off. “Seems there’s a welcome party.”

  Fear clenches my core tight. “For me?”

  “For Spencer. Word got out he was seeing someone here.”

  “Do they know?”

  “It was you? No. Not yet.”

  Shit.

  “Shall I take you back to the Palace?”

  I can’t go back to Spencer, can’t take the chill. “No, I can’t go back.”

  Marcus doesn’t question further. “Look, I have a place you can stay. My brother’s a banker, out in Copenhagen for a few days. Hang out there tonight. Richard and I will deal with the paps at the Savoy, maybe send them on a little wild-goose chase. The buggers could do with a good runaround.”

  “You think it will blow over?”

  “I’m not sure. Everyone’s dying to know who the Woman in White is.”

  “Okay,” I relent. What the fuck else am I going to do?

  Marcus’s brother’s place is one of those beautiful white terrace houses near Notting Hill. He shows me around briefly.

  I kiss him on the cheek. “Thanks for everything, Marcus.”

  He holds me at a distance. “My pleasure. Is everything okay between you and Spencer?”

  I shrug. “I hope so.”

  “Good night, ma’am.”

  He leaves and I settle in, my head still full of the Chaos Club and Spencer, and things I never even knew existed a week ago, experiences I never knew existed, sensations.

  I don’t know why I was hasty to leave, but I can’t stand the cover-up, the way Spencer just stood there doing fuck-all about it.

  The apartment is sparse, barely lived in, but it will do.

  I’m dying to sleep, but I can’t do it, can’t seem to block Spencer from my thoughts.

  Not even fifteen minutes later I hear footsteps out the window. I look out. No fucking way.

  This has to stop. I pull on clothes and head downstairs, bursting onto the street with my coat wrapped around myself.

  Johnathan looks up in surprise. He’s looking down at the screen of his phone, at a god-damn tracking app.

  “You fucker,” I begin. “You tampered with my phone when we were at the pub, didn’t you?”

  He really believes it’s okay. “I’m sorry, Grace, I had to see you again. They wouldn’t tell me which room you were at that hotel.” As he comes under the streetlight I see his left eye’s black and puffy. Clearly he didn’t learn his lesson from the Manchester boys. I notice his eyes are bloodshot as well, his general demeanor sketchy.

  He’s using again.

  I look back to the apartment. “You have to go Jonathan. It’s over.”

  “Whose posh place is this?” He goes to take hold of my arm, putting his hands up in the air when I back away. “I can’t stop thinking about you. It’s driving me crazy. Just one more chance, please. We had such a good thing.”

  “And you went and fucked it up. Now go!”

  I snatch his phone and slam it into the ground, crushing the screen with the ball of my foot.

  “Grace!”

  A motorbike comes skidding to a halt.

  Shit.

  Spencer climbs off, tossing his helmet to the ground. Clearly Marcus couldn’t keep a secret.

  “This guy hassling you, Grace?”

  Fuck. Not now. I don’t have time for an alpha chest-beating contest.

  Jonathan looks up to Spencer curiously before turning his attention back to me, whispering. “Think about it, Grace.”

  “Grace,” shouts Spencer, almost on us, “You okay?”

  Jonathan steps out. “She’s fine, buddy. We’re having a private conversation. Move along.”

  I know at that instant things are heading south—fast.

  “Go!” I plead.

  Spencer’s only a couple of feet away. “I don’t know who you are, mate, but you better listen to the lady and move along.”

  Jonathan points at Spencer. “Who’s this asshat, Grace? Are you fucking this pretty boy? Is this his place?”

  Spencer moves in front of me, pushing me back towards the steps. “You’d better watch your mouth.”

  Jonathan shoves him in the chest with both hands. “Or what, asshole?”

  “I’ll make those eyes of yours match.”

  I try to separate the two, but it’s gone too far now. “Leave it, Spencer. I’ve got this.”

  “Really? Because it seems to me your friend here needs a lesson in manners.”

  Jonathan laughs, teeth yellow. “I’m not her friend. I’m her fiancé.”

  Spencer stands back at this.

  “You didn’t know, did you? Grace didn’t let that slip while she was busy spreading her legs, did she? Have you fucked her? She’d never let me, always too frigid.”

  “Fuck off, Johnathan!” I scream, certain the longer he stays the more he’s going to fuck things up.

  Incredibly, Spencer remains composed. “I’m warning you. Walk… now.”

  I know Jonathan too well. That was the worst possible thing to say to him. He swings, his closed fist connecting hard with Spencer’s jaw.

  Spencer’s knocked down, but he’s a big guy, buff. He returns with a solid jab right in Jonathan’s gut. Jonathan’s so out of shape he crumples in half, wheezing and coughing.

  Spencer winds up to deliver another blow to his face. I see the rage in his eyes, his protective instincts on full boil, but it’s enough. We’re in the middle of the street.

  “Spencer!” I scream, trying to grab his arm, but he’s too strong. His fist comes down hard into Jonathan’s cheek. A flash goes off from the park to our right at the same time, both of us turning to the source, the telltale chatter of a camera shutter following with a series of light bursts.

  “Shit,” Spencer mutters, sprinting towards the park at full speed. Jonathan slumps to the ground, mouth bloody, defeated.

  I can see someone moving in the park trying to collect themselves.

  “Hey, you!” Spencer yells, before leaping the park fence in a single bound, crashing into the growth on the other side. “Oi!”

  I see the other man bolt for the far side of the park, Spencer right on his tail.

  “Grace,” Johnathan drawls, but I’m fixed on the park.

  The other man makes it through the gate onto the street on the other side. I hear a sports bike kicked into life. With a brrrrm, brrrrm, it burns away into the night, Spencer left with his hands on his head in a mushroom cloud of tire smoke.

  And just when I think it couldn’t get any worse, it does.

  I think we have time when I hear the sirens, but not a moment later a police car slides to a stop in front of Spencer, officers rushing out.

  Spencer glances to me, flicks his head to the side. Hide.

  I look down at Jonathan, but he’s gone, my eyes following a thin trail of blood down the street where a hobbling figure is disappearing between two buildings.
/>   I crouch and run forward to the edge of the park using the shrubs for cover.

  I peer above the hedges through the bars of the fence at Spencer bent over the front of the police car in handcuffs. He’s watching me with detached eyes. One of the officers yanks him roughly from the hood. “Wait until I tell the missus about this!” he chides his partner.

  I watch Spencer dip his head and enter the rear of the car. The door slams closed and he’s gone, just like that.

  A second later I get a message from Zoe. It’s one word long: Help.

  *

  “Zoe. Jesus.”

  She tries to sit up in her hospital bed but slumps back down, monitors and IV lines everywhere. She’s wearing an eye patch, cuts and abrasions all over her face. I hate to admit it, but she looks fucking terrible.

  I sit beside her and take her hand. It’s clammy to the touch. “What happened?”

  “I lost control, Grace. One minute I’m driving and the next I’m here.”

  “The doctor said you hit telephone pole head-on. You’re lucky to be alive.”

  “So they keep saying.” Her good eye is puffy and swollen. It’s strange, seeing her like this.

  “You just swerved into the thing?”

  She looks out the window even though there’s nothing out there but night. “I was distracted. Next thing I know the pole’s right there in front of me.”

  “Distracted? Is it work?”

  “The magazine?” She laughs. “No, work’s fine.”

  I hate the smell of hospitals, like everything’s been bathed in bleach and antiseptic. I want to leave, but I can’t.

  I squeeze Zoe’s hand. “It doesn’t matter. I’m here now, and everything’s going to be okay. I’m not going anywhere.”

  Her face starts to twist, takes on an uncharacteristic sullenness.

  “Zoe?”

  She starts crying and takes hold of my arm, tears hot against my skin. “I’m sorry, Grace.”

  I’ve never seen her cry before. It guts me, tears my heart from my body. We were close at Harvard. The only reason I got the job at the Times was because of her.

  I place my hand on her forehead, wipe the tears from her cheek. “What’s there to be sorry about?”

  She starts losing it, barely able to get the words out coherently between sobs. “You’ve always been so good to me, Grace. You know you’re the only person I could call? How fucked up is that?”