Princess: Ridgeview Prep Book 2

by Quinn, Londyn

Chapter 3

  Xander

  I fist my hair as I stalk out of Charlotte’s room, my head spinning fast and furious as I try to process everything I just said.

  How am I going to prove to Charlotte that I love her and still protect her?

  Rushing out into the nurses’ area, I glance around to find the way to the Emergency Room exit.

  “Charlotte Hawthorne, my daughter. Where is she?” A familiar, pompous cocksucker voice cracks behind me.

  Chuckie finally came to play.

  I see red. Completely blinded by rage, heartache, and confusion.

  Stomping over to him, I grab a fistful of his Armani jacket and shove him backward with everything I have. A self-satisfied smirk lifts my lips when I see the shock settle into his features.

  Shock...followed by anger of the most intense kind.

  The killer kind.

  I know it well.

  “Finally, you decide to break away from work to see your daughter who’s laid up in a room unconscious from all of the morphine they doped her up with for the pain? How many times did the hospital have to call before you even bothered to call them back and order one of your drivers ship your ass over here?” I growl, low enough that Charles Hawthorne is the only one who can hear me.

  Ripping his arm free of my death grip, Charles narrows his eyes at me. “What in the hell are you doing here? I told you to stay away from my daughter!”

  “At least someone cares enough about your daughter to show up when she’s in trouble. She could have died and you stroll in now? Hours later? What the fuck is wrong with you? What could have been important enough to keep you away from her? Your kid...your only kid! You still have one, remember? You didn’t lose them both! Stop treating her like you did!” My words whisk out like venom as my spine stiffens.

  A flash of remorse clouds his expression for a brief moment, and although he opens his mouth, no words come out. No nasty retorts. No scathing comments. Nothing.

  But his eyes say plenty.

  His lips should really find the words, for his daughter’s sake.

  “She’s amazing,” I say in a trembling voice, my teeth clenched. “When was the last time you told her that, huh? And she’s been lying back there, scared and alone, thinking that her own parents don’t give a shit about her. So if you want to yell at me for showing up when you’re not enough of a man to do right by your kid, swallow the fucking urge.”

  “Get out of here,” he seethes, the vein in his forehead throbbing.

  If only it would burst and kill him on the spot.

  Wishful thinking.

  “Don’t worry. I’m out. If I look at you for another second, something might happen,” I rumble, wishing my eyes could burn holes in him. God, I’d love to torch the bastard with my mind. What a fucking superhero I’d be then.

  “Are you threatening me, Iazetti?” Charles steps toward me. “Because you never seem to remember who you’re dealing with and you continue to defy me. That proves to me you’re more of a fucking idiot than I thought. And if you have a shred of a brain cell operating in that otherwise empty head of yours, you’ll walk out that fucking door and not look back.” His face is now bright red and I wonder how much further I have to push to get the vein to pop.

  “Oh, are you going to take over now? Be the father she needs? That’s nice. About fucking time, Mr. Hawthorne.” His name is bitter on my tongue as I fight the urge to deck him right here. At least we’re already in a hospital. A broken eye socket could really do ol’ Chuckie some good. And me? It would do me all of the good in the world to finally punch his damn lights out.

  One can dream.

  One can fucking dream.

  “Charles? Xander?” Cammie Hawthorne rushes up to us, grabbing for her husband’s hand. “Have you seen her?”

  I take a few steps backward, pointing down the hall. “Her room is down the hall on the right.”

  “Thank you,” Cammie murmurs, pulling Charles along behind her.

  I stand, rooted to my spot on the tiled floor, watching them pretend to be doting parents as they hurry down the hallway to their daughter’s bedside.

  Better late than never. I just wish that it wasn’t all an act. I can smell the fake ass bullshit wafting off of them, and it’s a hell of a lot stronger than her mother’s Chanel No. 5.

  They disappear into her room and I swallow hard.

  Fuck them.

  Fuck all of this goddamned bullshit.

  Chapter 4

  Charlotte

  “Oh, honey,” my mother coos as she runs the back of her fingers over my swollen cheek.

  I was just about to fall back to sleep when my parents burst into my room like a herd of wildebeests. At least Xander had the courtesy to be quiet and wait until I woke up.

  “Mom?” I mumble. It feels like there is cotton stuck in my mouth. I try to swallow but I’m way too dehydrated. I point to the pink plastic cup on the table next to my bed. Please let there be water in there.

  My mother hands me the cup and helps me take a few sips. The icy liquid burns the back of my throat, but I don’t care.

  “I’m so glad you’re okay. We both are.” My eyes finally flutter completely open and start to focus as my father’s broad frame becomes clearer.

  “How are you feeling?” My father’s gruff voice breaks out. It’s forced. He’s annoyed to be here. He’s pissed that my accident ruined his workday. I can feel it radiating off of his tone.

  “Like I got hit by a truck.” I try to laugh a little. If I couldn’t joke about it, what could I do? Both of my parents’ faces twist into disgust. Apparently, they didn’t like the joke. Was that it? Was I really hit by a truck?

  “This is not a laughing matter, young lady.” The words rattle off in rapid fire like my father was just waiting for me to fuck up so he could scold me.

  There it is. The Charles Hawthorne we all know and love, ladies and gents.

  “Charles, please.” My mom looks at her husband with revulsion.

  “Don’t please me! You do not get to tell me how to reprimand my daughter,” my father growls through gritting teeth.

  “Now is not the time for this,” my mother barks before turning back to me. “Do you need anything, Charlotte?” My mother’s voice is soft with the slightest hint of panic building up in the background. Why is she acting like she cares? At least my father is acting like himself. I expect it. It’s real. But her? She’s faking it. She has to be.

  “To sleep. They have me on a lot of medications. At least, I think they do. I haven’t seen a doctor or a nurse yet. I think I have been sleeping for the most part. Everything is just really foggy right now.” All I want is to be left alone. I don’t need them here. I don’t need to hear them bicker. They don’t want to be here, so why force the family obligation bullshit?

  “All right. We'll try to track down your doctor and let you get some rest.” Her hand gently wraps around mine. “I love you, sweetheart.”

  That was a first. At least a first in a very long time. Does it take almost dying to win my parents’ affection? Or at least my mother’s?

  I replied back with the only socially acceptable response, “Love you, too.”

  It was so foreign to me. Even on their warmest days, neither of the Hawthornes ever told me that they loved me. I am sure they said it when I was little, but not in any recent memory. And of course my father just stands there like a statue, devoid of emotion or concern for his only child.

  “Let’s go, Charles.” My mother takes her husband’s hand, pulling him for the door.

  They finally leave my bedside and I am free to sleep. A drug-soaked, dreamless slumber that was much needed and overly welcomed.

  * * *

  “What do you mean, she doesn’t remember? How can that be normal? She seems so confused and out of it!” My mother’s shrill voice breaks into my groggy state as I try to pull myself out of this daze.

  “Memory loss and problems thinking after an auto accident can be a symptom o
f a more serious injury — traumatic brain injury. This is what happened to your daughter. Her memory of the accident and what followed will be gone or fuzzy for a while. In time, those memories should resurface. It’s a form of retrograde amnesia. It’s common and does not pose a serious threat to her.” My doctor is in the doorway talking to my mother.

  “What?” I ask, trying to sit up.

  “Charlotte, how’re you feeling this evening?” the doctor asks, walking over to me.

  I shrug a little. “Not great.”

  “Is there anything you can do for her? Help her be more comfortable?” My mother is pleading with the doctor to help me. Maybe it wasn’t an act. Maybe she is genuinely concerned for my well-being right now.

  When my eyes focus on hers, I can see how bloodshot they are. Has she been crying?

  “We have her on a heavy dose of medication for the pain. Other than that, lots of rest is what your daughter really needs. I’ll be back in a little while to check on you, Charlotte. Try to relax and let your body heal.”

  “Will I be able to remember what happened?” I force the words out as a wave of pain washes over me. Sucking in a deep breath, my eyes slam shut. I feel a small hand land on my forearm.

  “In time,” the doctor answers. “Most people who suffer from this type of brain injury have piece by piece come back slowly. There is a good chance that this will happen with you. Just give it time.”

  Once the doctor exits the room, my mother laces her fingers with mine. “You’re going to be okay,” she breathes. “Thank God, you’re okay.”

  Tears are streaming down her face. She’s sniffling. She’s blubbering. She’s completely breaking down.

  “I am,” I mutter as my head falls back onto the thin pillow.

  “I would not be able to survive losing you, too.” She shakes her head hard, chewing on her trembling lips.

  Andrew. Flashes of my brother in the hospital flood my mind. How devastated my parents were. How it ripped them apart from the inside out. My heart tightens. She is being sincere. She does care. She is worried. It’s all coming back to her, too.

  “You’re not getting rid of me that easily,” I tease, willing my face to twist into a smile. Even though my heart is breaking all over again.

  “I should go call your father and let him know what the doctor said. He’ll be wanting to hear,” she sniffles, running her free hand down her face.

  I can’t help the eyeroll. She might be worried about me, but Charles Hawthorne surely is not. If he was, he would still be here. Not back at the office, the only place I can assume he is right now.

  Chapter 5

  Xander

  I pull into the gates of Ridgeview Prep, rage bubbling in my veins as I get closer and closer to the entrance. My head is in a million places right now, and my body wants to be in the one place where I’m not welcome.

  St. Mary’s Hospital.

  Not that I can admit that to anyone. Phoenix, for one, would write me off immediately, and the possibility of heading up my own business in Chicago would become even more of a fucking pipe dream than it has over the past few weeks.

  I need to get my head on straight. I need to figure out why our known family enemy has his sights set on Charlotte.

  We know what Moretti wants…to take down my family publicly by attacking our territories and showing the world that he has the power, strength, and balls to be boss. He’s always been pissed off that he was passed over when the old boss got blown away and my dad stepped into his place. He never thought my father was tough enough to grow the organization, but at least Dad managed to keep things running without a war, while Moretti ran through all of his cash like it was open season at a fucking brothel and he hadn’t gotten laid in a year.

  He’s trying to lay claim to the foundation we built, a foundation I helped construct. And it pisses me off to no end that he thinks he’s gonna get away with it.

  Moretti is a loose cannon. He’s a shoot first, think never kind of guy, and that’s why he got passed over. He’d cut his own mother’s throat for a nickel to get his hands on some smack because he’s always in the hole, cash-wise.

  Drugs, not the Iazettis, are his enemy.

  They’ve cost him a lot of bodies, too. His crew has gotten smaller and smaller over time because he’s a tyrant who’ll pull a gun on his own guys if they so much as make a recommendation that goes against his. He’s lost men and money, but he sure as hell hasn’t lost the urge to get revenge on the man he believes stole away Moretti’s ability to thrive.

  Marco Iazetti.

  My father.

  Moretti also knows there’s a lot of money to be made in our territories because there’s a shit ton of cash up for grabs and a lot of bored housewives, entitled kids, and white-collar scum who snort in between signing multi-million-dollar deals.

  That’s just the life.

  And Moretti wants in. Phoenix said it himself. He’s moving into our territories around the Chicago area, too. He wants to stick his dick into every Iazetti pool he can find, contaminating them all so they’re primed for a hostile takeover.

  He won’t rest until he brings our organization to its knees, and he knows he can do it with my brother Jase running the show. If Jase keeps me in the background like he has been, Moretti will steamroll us because Jase doesn’t ever think ahead. Hell, he doesn’t really think at all beyond how many pussies he’s gonna fuck in any one given night. He doesn’t know the meaning of the word strategize. Hell, he probably can’t even spell it.

  But I know Moretti. Over the years, I’ve watched, studied, and learned about how assholes like him operate. If he’s got a partner, I need to find out who it is to see what we’re up against.

  I rub the back of my neck. I had the chance the other night and fucking blew it because I was worried about Charlotte, so is it really any wonder why my family has lost any remaining shreds of faith in me? I’ve made it pretty damn clear she’s my priority.

  I’m just hoping if I find Moretti I can redeem myself by figuring out the link to the Hawthornes and fucking decimate two birds with one bullet. My family will take me seriously again, and I’ll have the girl of my dreams by my side.

  Ha! Wouldn’t it be ironic if all this time, Chuckie and I were trying to fend off the same motherfuckers?

  Talk about an unlikely team fueled by hate.

  Hawthorne has enemies, yeah, but they’re more like the pompous rich bastard sleep-with-your-bleached-blonde-fake-tit-secretary-corporate-scum types than the gun-toting, knife-wielding drug dealer degenerates we’re used to dealing with.

  They don’t really travel in the same circles.

  I can deal with my enemies just fine. I understand the underworld. I was born and bred there. I know how those guys think. I’ve watched and learned their habits over the years. I’ve become one of them. For us, it’s not about the size of a guy’s gun but the number of bullets he can fire directly between the eyes of his enemy.

  Hawthorne’s enemies operate differently. They do their own version of dick measuring. Those guys don’t use guns. They extort…in a polished and sophisticated way to make it seem like they’re not criminals even though in a lot of cases, they’re even worse than the thugs.

  I pull into a parking spot and slam my fists on the steering wheel. Goddammit, why can’t I be a normal high school senior who doesn’t have to think about anything other than video games, partying, and getting laid?

  I step out of the car after turning off the ignition and stagger into the school…late, as usual. I don’t think I’ve made it to first period this year so far. The click of high heels behind me makes my spine stiffen. A pair of thin arms snakes around my waist, long-red fingernails digging down the front of my rumpled white button-down.

  I stop in my tracks, letting out a frustrated sigh. I’m not in the mood for this today.

  Especially today.

  “You haven’t called me, Xander,” Melina says in a whiny voice. “Where have you been?”

  I
peel her hands off of my chest and turn to glare at her. “I’ve been busy.”

  She narrows her caramel-colored eyes. “Busy doing what?”

  “It’s none of your business,” I grunt, sweeping a hand through my tousled hair. “Look, I’ve got to get to class. I don’t have time to talk.”

  Melina’s lips curl upward into a sinister smile and she closes the space between us, pressing her tits against me. “Xander, I don’t like being ignored. You should know that. You should also know that I will fuck up anything that gets in the way of what I want,” she hisses. She pulls away, the disturbing expression morphing into something much sweeter. I swallow a groan. More fake bullshit. Jesus Christ, I don’t need this shit. “And you’re what I want. What I always want,” she whispers, gripping my hand and pulling it to her chest, raking it over her shirt.

  I yank my hand away. “I’m not interested,” I say in a cold voice.

  She smirks and folds her arms over her ample chest. “You say that and then you always come crawling back because you know how good this pussy is. You won’t find another one like mine and you know it.”

  “That pussy is tired and I’m done with it.” My jaw twitches.

  Her eyes narrow. “Oh, so now that the bitch is back, you think you can just throw me away like trash?”

  “You said it, not me.”

  “She left you, remember? For months and months, you hated her. You tortured her when she showed up here and I backed you up!”

  “Nobody asked you to do anything. I can handle myself just fine. I did it before you, and I’ll do it again once you’re gone,” I growl.

  “You need me! I thought you were smarter than that, Xander. I thought we understood each other. We both have a lot to gain from this arrangement. Do you really want to throw it all away on a girl who doesn’t give a shit about you? She doesn’t love you. Her father would never allow it!” Anger flickers in her eyes and her cheeks stain pink. She’s pissed off because she has zero control over what comes next and she damn well knows it.