The Princess

by Jones, Lisa Renee

  “That’s our ride,” Eric says, as an SUV halts a few feet in front of us.

  By the time we’re at the vehicle, a big brute of a man meets us at the rear door and holds it open. “Savage,” Eric greets as I climb into the back of the vehicle. “Good to see you, man.” An easy greeting that speaks of trust, and right about now, trust is good.

  The two men talk for a full minute, their voices muffled, before Eric joins me inside, and Savage shuts the door behind him. “We’re going straight to my apartment after all,” Eric announces.

  “I thought we were going to the Walker offices?”

  “They’re coming to us. It’s more secure that way.” Alarm bells go off in my head but before I can ask what exactly that means—aren’t we safe here?—he’s already moving on. “Grayson’s wife, Mia, took the liberty of grabbing you a few necessities. They’re stopping by as well.”

  I forget about the security issues as they relate to me and focus on his friends. “Should they do that? I mean someone, three someones, attacked me tonight. Professionals even, you said. What if coming near me, and us, puts them in danger?”

  “Before I heard my father was headed this direction I thought we were safe here. That’s why I was considering sending you to Grayson, to keep you safe.”

  “And now?”

  “Now, the jury’s out, but Grayson already knows what’s going on. He won’t stay away. If I’m in trouble, he’s in trouble. That’s how we operate.”

  Friends. That word is hollow to me. I have no friends. My life has been this family and therefore it’s empty.

  “The harder I push Grayson away,” Eric continues, “the closer he’ll step, which is why I need to see him now, today, and convince him all is well.”

  “So he’ll step back.”

  “Yes. So he’ll step back and we need him to step back.”

  That reply snaps me to attention. “What does that mean?”

  “Your mother went to see Gigi tonight,” he says. “She was bitching about me, scared of me and she wanted to know why Gigi would bring me here. Once she left, Adam overheard Gigi call my father, and while she didn’t talk to him, the message she left sounded pretty damning to Adam. Like they’ve been planning something together.”

  “Maybe Gigi and your father are trying to save the company together,” I suggest, looking for a positive twist to this news, hoping this might be a bright spot. “She wants to save the company. She is his mother after all.”

  Eric’s lips thin. “More like planning the end of us.”

  That statement punches me in the chest. Would Eric’s own father plot to end him? No. Surely not. My hand comes down on his arm, my heart squeezing with what has to hurt him, but I never have a chance to speak. Savage jerks us into motion at the same moment that Eric’s phone rings. He snakes it from his pocket, glancing at the number and then me. “Adam.”

  He answers the call and listens a few minutes, talking back and forth with the other man, but with so few words, I can’t read into what he’s saying. “Your mother is at home in bed asleep,” he says, when he disconnects, only to have his phone ring again. “Blake Walker,” he says this time and as they settle into what feels like a non-eventful conversation, I sink back into my seat, confused by this new development with Gigi. Something isn’t adding up. She told me his father had no idea she was asking Eric to come to Denver, or rather that I was asking Eric to come to Denver. Did she lie to me?

  Eric disconnects his call and I jump on the chance to talk to him before he gets another. “Your father can’t know about the attack.”

  “And you base this on what?”

  “You’re his son. You were being set-up.”

  “I’m his bastard son.”

  “Your head always goes there, doesn’t it?”

  “His sure does. That’s the point.”

  “Okay. I don’t like to think that’s true, but assuming he does know, and I’m not convinced he does, make me understand why your father would come here and risk aligning himself with a murder plot.”

  “He wouldn’t,” Eric says. “But he’s not here to help us, either. He’s here to serve himself. He’s here to protect himself.”

  Or Isaac, I think. “And hurt us?” I ask.

  Eric takes my hand. “Yes. And to hurt us.”

  I’d argue with him but he knows his father better than I do. In six years, I’ve never even shared a cup of coffee with that man alone. “Coming here makes him look guilty. Maybe that’s the idea. Maybe someone else baited him into coming here.”

  “You’re reaching. Why are you protecting him?”

  “He’s your father.”

  Eric’s lips thin and he cuts his stare before he looks back at me, those blue eyes hard, cold. “How have you been with this family this long and you don’t see how evil they are?”

  A chill rolls down my spine. “What does that mean? Whatever it is that you think is going on, just say it.”

  “My father’s the kind of man who could easily sit next to us, sip a drink, and watch while we took bullets that he paid to put in us, but it doesn’t stop there. He’d take one himself just to be sure he looks innocent. He’s that devious. It’s a mistake to assume he’s here to do anything but end us, which is exactly why I’ll end him first.”

  “End him? What does that mean?”

  He cuts his stare, and I grab his arm, pulling him around to me. “What does that mean, Eric?”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Harper

  Eric’s eyes glint when they meet mine. “What does that mean?” I repeat. “End him? End your father?”

  Those blue, blue eyes of his, such intelligent eyes, meet mine. “As we said in the Navy: All in, all the time. It’s war. It’s us or them. Me or him. I have to be willing to do whatever it takes to make sure it’s me and us. I’m all in.”

  “You’re avoiding a direct answer,” I accuse. “You want to end him how?”

  He shackles my arm and pulls me to him. “I want this fucking family out of my life and yours,” he says, his voice low, rough. “And I want it to happen now.”

  “I do, too, but the right way.”

  “And what exactly is the right way, Harper? Do we let them kill you next time so they achieve whatever goal they set out to achieve when they were creating a bank account with your name on it?”

  I shove against him and pull free, pointing at him. “Don’t be an asshole.”

  “Just a bastard?”

  “What is wrong with you?” I demand.

  “It’s called being born a Kingston.”

  The SUV jerks to a sharp halt that sends me backward. Eric catches me and pulls me to him and our faces end up close, his breath warm on my lips. “I got you, remember?”

  I soften instantly, my hands settling on his chest. “And I have you. That’s why I can’t let you do something you’ll regret.”

  “I’ll do whatever it takes to end this,” he says softly. “To protect you and if you hate me for it, hate me.”

  “I don’t hate you.” I lean back to look at him. “I’ll never hate you, but please don’t do something you’ll regret.”

  The SUV starts moving again and then immediately halts. “Fucktard,” Savage growls. “Red light means stop.”

  And just like that, Eric and I are laughing, and with that laughter, Eric’s mood shifts, and I can sense that he finds a quiet spot in his head. He strokes my hair and casts me in a tender stare that spreads through me like warm sun on a winter’s day, and with it is the promise that more warmth will follow.

  There’s a loud honk and Savage growls again. “Shoot that finger, you bastard. We both know that if I got out of this Escalade and Green Beret’d your ass, you’d be sucking your thumb.”

  Bastard.

  I hate that word.

  Eric laces his fingers with mine and winks. “Sometimes it takes a bastard to get the job done.”

  “Or get everyone’s ass beat,�
�� Savage grumbles.

  “Good point,” I call out, giving Eric a “see” look.

  Eric leans close. “But every bastard isn’t me, sweetheart.”

  We share a look and in unison, we settle into our seats, our legs aligned and touching, our fingers laced together. There’s laughter between us but that rough exchange of minutes before hasn’t been forgotten. He was angry with his father but he was angry with me, too. He’d asked me how I’d been in this family for this long and failed to see what his family is capable of. Does he think I did and looked the other way?

  “I did know,” I say, admitting the truth that I hadn’t even realized was the truth until now. I shift to look at Eric, to own my mistakes. “I pretended I didn’t know what this family was capable of because—I did. If I hadn’t, maybe we wouldn’t be here now. You wouldn’t have gotten pulled into this.”

  His lips press together. “You didn’t pull me into this. They did. They just used you as the tool to make it happen. Had you been out of the picture, they’d have found another way. I should have never left myself exposed. I won’t again.” He cuts his stare and I can feel him shutting me out and I don’t know why.

  “Together, remember?” I whisper.

  That gets his attention. His eyes meet mine. “We are together.” Three words that seem simple, spoken with this absolute quality that should please me but there’s something unspoken there, too. Something not so simple, that I want to question, but Savage steals my chance.

  “And we’re here,” he announces, pulling us to a stop in front of a building. “Alive and well despite the swampland of bad drivers.”

  Just that quickly, my conversation with Eric about his father and the Kingstons is over, at least for now. The doors to the SUV open on all sides, as valets attend to our service and the cold air has me hugging myself. The minute I’m out of the vehicle, and under a canopy, Eric’s by my side, his arm wrapping around my shoulders, his big body warming mine as he introduces me to one of the doormen and then palms him a large tip. The man’s eyes go wide and Eric and I laugh, exchanging a look that staves off all remnants of the chill I’d felt only seconds before. It warms me all over. Together. That’s how we feel in this moment.

  The doorman walks away, talking to Savage as Eric gives them his back, facing me, his fingers caressing my cheek, his touch both sandpaper and silk on my nerve endings. “Whatever you think is wrong right now, isn’t.” He kisses me soundly on the lips. “We’re good and we’re going to stay that way. That’s a promise.”

  Before Eric can say another word, before I can reply to his promise, Savage is stepping between us. “Come to daddy, you two,” he says, holding out his arms. “Tips delivered. Keys handed off. Where do I get a good whiskey?” He eyes Eric. “Your home bar, right?”

  Eric and I both laugh at this man’s outrageousness. “Yes,” Eric assures him. “At my home bar.” Eric drapes his arm around me as we enter the lobby of elegant white tiles and red cushioned chairs, to make our way to the elevators.

  Once we’re inside the car, Eric leans on the wall and pulls me to him, my back to his front, his hands on my hips.

  The floors tick by and Savage hums, “We Wish You a Merry Christmas,” when Halloween hasn’t even arrived, and despite him looking like the hot, but mean guy, who’d never even consider singing a Christmas carol. But I tune out Savage and his song. I’m thinking about how done I believe Eric is with this family. So am I. I am, but I haven’t suffered what he has. I don’t believe they killed someone close to me as he does of them with his mother. I haven’t lived his hell. I remember him denying this family was a part of him and then turning around and saying that he was done denying that he’s a Kingston. I hope like hell he doesn’t think that gives him a free pass to act like a Kingston considering the Kingstons just tried to kill me. Is that what he means by “end” his father? Does he intend to kill him? Does he believe he’s the one who ordered the hit on me and now he wants revenge?

  I turn in Eric’s arms, my hands settling on his chest, and I search his handsome, unreadable face, trying to understand where his head is right now. He arches a brow but offers me nothing. I don’t find my answer, and I can’t demand one with Savage in the car, so I repeat his words, from just a few minutes ago. Whatever you think is wrong right now, isn’t. We’re good and we’re going to stay that way. That’s a promise.

  He promised.

  And promises don’t lie.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Harper

  The elevator dings, the doors opening, and Savage exits first. When I would follow, Eric catches my arm and turns me to him, his hands coming down on my face. “Stop thinking yourself into a zoo with bars. I told you. We’re okay.”

  “I know,” I say. “You promised.”

  A flicker of understanding settles in his stare. “And you need to know that my promises mean something.” He doesn’t wait for me to reply. “They do.” He catches my hand with his. “I promise they will end, but we will not.” And with that statement, that only makes me more certain he’s going to do something we’ll both regret, he leads me into the hallway.

  Savage is standing at the apartment door at the end of a long hallway. “I guess you can tell which one’s mine,” Eric says, casting me an amused look.

  “He does have a way of getting his point across,” I contend.

  “Yes, he does,” Eric agrees, and we quickly join the big goof of a man, that still makes it clear that he could kill you in two seconds flat.

  “Heads up,” Savage says, as we join him and Eric reaches for his key. “Several members of my team are inside waiting.”

  Eric eyes Savage over his shoulder. “You hacking my locks now, Savage? Because you know, if you hacked my locks I’ll have to kill you.”

  “You’ll have to kill me another day,” Savage replies. “Grayson used his key.”

  That announcement is a nugget of welcome information. Grayson is not only here, he’s close enough to Eric to have a key, and as a bonus, he’s a voice of reason and morality. I know this from Eric’s own admission. Grayson, who Eric also said grounded him and made him a better person, the person he likes to be. Grayson’s presence, I welcome. Eric opens the door and pulls me in front of him, his hands scorching my waist, as he leans in close to whisper. “Welcome to my home.”

  In this moment, there is only me and him, and him and me. There is us and I can almost hear his wicked thoughts, and feel his hands on my body in places he’s not touching. Savage clears his throat, and Eric shoves the door open. I enter a narrow hallway with black hardwood beneath my feet, looking up to find a giant black-rimmed oval clock on my left, and a magnificent painting of a jaguar on the right.

  Eric steps to my side and catches my fingers with his, his eyes alight with mischief. “I saw that painting and just had to have it.”

  Because it reminds him of his enemy, his family, I think, even as he ironically says, “Now you meet my real family.”

  Grayson.

  He means Grayson.

  He kisses my knuckles, something warm and yet turbulent in his stare as Savage steps around us and heads down the hallway. “Has he been here before?” I ask.

  “Never,” Eric replies. “But he’s Savage. He’s—”

  “Comfortable everywhere,” I say and we both laugh, it’s a light, welcome moment that carries us down the hallway with lighter steps.

  “Come on,” he says, guiding me forward and it’s a short few feet before we pass an archway. I glance under it to find a long, black dining room table with a stunning painting of the jaguar on his arm behind it compelling me to stop and admire it, but I don’t. That’s for later, when we can talk about just how obsessed he is with the Kingston family. Because no matter what he claims, he is. There’s no way he’d have a jaguar, the competition’s icon, everywhere, if he wasn’t.

  For now, I allow Eric to urge me past that room, following the voices that sound ahead of us until we clear
the walkway. I step into Eric’s open-concept living room that connects to a kitchen by way of a granite island; it’s a room of warm colors and masculine décor, with black leather furnishings, high-beamed ceilings and one wall that is nothing but windows. It fits him. I think maybe I do, too.

  Savage and another man, one of the Walker team, I assume, are huddled up near a bar to the right of the kitchen. Two other men, both also casual in jeans and T-shirts, sit on the couch in deep conversation. Grayson is one of those men and he and the other man immediately stand and start walking toward us, joining us in a few short steps.

  “What the hell are you doing here, Davis?” Eric demands, focusing on the “other” man.

  “I’m your damn friend,” Davis replies, his cursed rebuttal a contrast to his refined good looks and chiseled features. “I know you forget that, asshole,” he snaps. “But I am.”

  “I don’t have friends,” Eric quips back and the energy between them tells me that this is just who they are together. They push and pull. They fight. “Right, Davis? Isn’t that what you’re always telling me?”

  “Well then,” Davis comments dryly, “I’m an enemy watching your fucking back.” He glances at me. “Sorry. He just pissed me off and the word ‘fuck’ summed up how I felt too well to miss the opportunity to use it. I’m Davis. A close friend, attorney, and confidant to Grayson.” He glances at Eric. “And you, asshole.”

  Grayson smirks, amusement in his eyes. “They really are friends,” he assures me. “I promise you. And welcome back to New York, Harper.” He takes my hand and covers it with his other hand, warmth in his touch that is all about that welcome he just expressed. “I’m glad you came back with Eric.”

  “Me, too,” I say, and when he releases me, I look at Eric and repeat the words, “Me, too,” and with good reason. These men are his friends. I want them to know that I’m one hundred percent on Eric’s side. I’m not a Kingston. I’m not a damn princess.

  Eric touches my cheek, approval in his eyes before he glances at Grayson. “My father is on his way here.”

  “I heard,” he confirms, “and I think we should talk about where that leads you.”