Royally Broken (Royal Bastards MC: Royal Sons CA)

by Elle Boon

  “Fuck,” he muttered, his hands balling into fist.

  With years of patience and control he’d trained himself to keep, he relaxed each muscle group one by one. Some may scoff at meditation, but for him it was a necessity.

  When the water became icy, he soaped up, washing his hair and rinsing. His body didn’t register the water temp much, having been exposed to extreme conditions since he’d been a child had been a form of torture, a lesson given for whatever infraction his caregivers had decided he’d done.

  He absolutely hated the memories that came back thanks to one damn email. Although with the bad came the few good, and they all included Palmer with her innocent blue eyes and blonde hair. He’d imagined wrapping his hand around all her thick tresses while he did things to her that no good girl like her would ever entertain, not with the likes of him. He’d been the good for nothing kid nobody wanted, while she’d been the little princess meant for greatness.

  Keys dressed, made sure he hadn’t left anything behind, not even his fingerprints, before walking out of the crappy hotel room. The sun hadn’t risen completely as he straddled his bike. He’d parked his Harley next to the door, so he’d hear if anyone had tried to mess with it while he’d slept. One never knew what might happen or what another was willing to risk, in order to make a buck. As he fired the engine, the loud familiar rumble settled into his bones while he eased onto the streets. No matter what he did or where he went, riding always settled him.

  He pulled up to the Royal Bastards place in Oklahoma, the feeling of brotherhood greeting him when he caught sight of the men. The home was huge, but he’d passed it, heading for the garage where the men hung out. He’d spoken with Koyn earlier and had known from his investigating...alright, his hacking skills, that the brother’s ole lady was expecting a baby. If anyone deserved a new beginning it was Koyn. His first wife and daughter had been brutally raped and murdered in front of him, then he’d been left to die. Only he’d been a tough son-of-a-bitch even before he’d become the man who stood in front of him today. The assholes who’d taken his first life didn’t know the shit they’d done would unleash a hell they’d live and die to regret.

  Several of the men looked at him and his ride with a little suspicion. He was able to pick out who was whom. Dragon, the psycho of the bunch who could be a supermodel if he’d wanted, stood with his back against the wall, looking bored. Next to him was Katana. The Asian male was hardly ever away from the other brother’s side and was deadly in a fight. Copper, Koyn’s brother used to be a fed and would be a great ally if Keys needed him. If Keys’ hunch was right, and he hardly ever wasn’t, he just might be making a phone a friend call when, not if, the shit went south.

  The big house he’d passed was a testament to the amount of money the Tulsa chapter of the Royal Bastards had, thanks to their endeavors. Like his own club, they followed their own set of rules. Their bikes weren’t cheap either, not some thrown together crap nobody would care to ride, let alone steal. Nope, they all rode bikes that even Keys could admire. And the house looked straight out of Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous, if the famous were a bunch of bikers gone wild and a little bent, that is. They all worked hard for what they had, taking down fuckers who deserved it. They just happen to do a little lightening of their accounts, taking their ill-gotten gains for their own. Kinda like modern day Robin Hoods. Only none of them wore tights and shit.

  The man with an X on his forehead came out last. The scar was a permanent reminder of the shit he’d been through, a loss he’d suffered, and wouldn’t be repeating ever again.

  “You gonna sit your ass on that bike or you coming in?” Koyn asked, his arms crossed over a wide chest daring anyone to fuck with him. Keys liked him immediately.

  He slid off his bike, hung his skull cap over one of the handlebars before making his way to where Koyn stood. “Nice to finally meet you.”

  Koyn held his hand out. Keys placed his inside the other man’s. The Tulsa Bastard President didn’t squeeze and try to show who was the tougher man. Keys didn’t either.

  “Glad to see you made it in one piece. Nice ride, brother.” Koyn tipped his chin toward Keys’ bike.

  He wasn’t worried about his property getting jacked with this chapter. Some clubs might run on a shoestring, but not Koyn’s. All the members had a portfolio that would rival his own. Bermuda was a smart fucker who, from Keys...checking, had recently scored them several million dollars from human traffickers. They were good; Keys would give them that, but he had backdoors to their backdoors. He’d been surprised at the artful way the other two men worked as a team, both Koyn and Bermuda. Smart and deadly, a combo he admired greatly. His system was triggered. It was always triggered whenever shit went down like what Bermuda had pulled. Watching the fucksticks White, Dartmouth, and Anderson scramble as their money disappeared had been fun.

  “I hear you’re good with computers?” Koyn asked, walking inside their clubhouse.

  Keys grunted not really surprised the other man knew that much. Hell, Koyn at one time used to wear suits and sit in boardrooms. The NSA didn’t work with just anyone. Keys had been recruited at one time, but he’d respectfully declined.

  “Nice place you got here,” he remarked, the words similar to what Koyn had said about his bike.

  Koyn tossed his head back, laughter rolling out of him. The others stopped talking, watching the interaction. “I like you, Keys. You and your Prez are straight shooters.”

  Keys didn’t stumble as the bigger man slapped him on the back. He definitely felt at home surrounded by the tattooed, hard looking men who had clearly seen more shit than what most men had, yet they’d found a brotherhood that accepted them. Their slaughterhouse was a place in the back forty of the property Keys was pretty sure not every club had, but hey, he wasn’t judging. Sometimes there was a need for just such a place. His brother Duke had used a similar one in New York, thanks to The Bishop and F.O.C.US. Keys had sent both men a thank you present, which he still hadn’t gotten a thank you card yet but figured they were a little busy still.

  “So, tell me about this shit you’re riding into tomorrow,” Koyn said, getting to the heart of the matter.

  “You’re like my Prez, King.” Keys accepted the drink that was slid across to him.

  Koyn lifted his drink, tipping the glass in a silent toast. “Ain’t no sense in pussyfooting around shit. If you’re gonna act like a vagina, then I figure you should be treated as such. From looking at you, I’d say you ain’t ever been that sort so didn’t think it was necessary to wear kid gloves when speaking to you. Besides all that, I don’t bother with any of that to begin with. You feel me?”

  Keys laughed, taking a healthy swallow of his own. “Damn fine whiskey,” he sighed. He was used to the good stuff since neither of the Royal Brothers, King or Duke, would buy any of the bottom shelf shit for their clubhouse.

  “You won’t find any of that rotgut shit around here.” Koyn took another drink, obviously content to wait.

  “I appreciate that. Definitely don’t need you to wear any kid gloves around me either. Hell, I don’t think I’ve ever been treated like a kid, wouldn’t know what to do with one myself. Other than pass them off to their mothers that is.”

  Several grunts of agreement sounded out around them.

  “I know how to make them, got Pageant Girl pregnant already.” Koyn looked toward the big house.

  Keys snorted. “I know how they’re made; I just prefer to practice making them but keep from the final product.”

  Dragon sat down next to Bermuda with Katana following suit. Out of the three of them, Dragon was the most charismatic of them all. However, Keys knew that was an illusion.

  “So, you got an email that has you running back to Lionsville in Lions County. Why is that, if you don’t mind me askin’?” Dragon raised one dark brow.

  “Palmer was the girl from the wealthiest family in town. Her granddaddy was the mayor. Hell, he’s still mayor, but I don’t know how that old bas
tard still holds the title. I thought he was old as dirt when I left all those years ago. Of course, to an eighteen-year-old, anyone with grey hair was old. He could’ve been in his forties with premature salt and pepper.” Which was true, Keys hadn’t ever looked closely at the older man back then or taken the time to look into him once he’d left.

  “Well, since your phone call, Bermuda put a file together. Figure it was better to go in knowing who you were dealing with.” Dragon nudged a folder across to him.

  Keys wasn’t really surprised. Hell, truth be known, King would’ve had him do the same. Taking a deep breath, he opened the folder, sucking in air as he got his first view of a grown-up Palmer.

  “The woman, Palmer, she’s recently widowed. Has a little boy. Husband was a Kincaid, very well connected to the town. I gather granddaddy approved,” Bermuda sneered.

  Keys looked up from the papers to see the other man tapping away at his laptop. “What’s that mean?”

  Bermuda shrugged. “He wasn’t a man I’d want my only granddaughter marrying if you know what I mean.”

  “Explain,” Keys grit from between clenched teeth.

  “Everything I was able to gather in the short time, mind you this isn’t from The Facebook, or Insta, but backrooms and shit, shows he was a sadistic fuck.” Bermuda turned the laptop around so Keys could see what the other man was looking at.

  Rage built in his gut, the kind that had him wishing he could resurrect the dead just so he could kill him again. “Who’s the girl?” He knew it wasn’t Palmer that was tied up to the St. Andrew’s Cross. She was too young, too innocent looking. Not that his Palmer wasn’t young and innocent, but that girl didn’t look old enough to be legal let alone consenting to what was being done to her.

  “Her name is Dallas James. She’s seventeen and a runaway from Iowa. Not sure how she ended up there, but her family has been looking for her for over six months. Her eighteenth birthday is in a couple months.” Bermuda rattled the information off like he’d memorized it.

  “Do you know where she is or where this place is located?” Keys asked. He could have his brothers in place with a phone call. His laptop was always with him, affording him all the things he’d need if he had access to Wi-Fi.

  “Yep,” Bermuda agreed.

  “We’d handle it, but right now we’ve got a couple other things on the front burner. However, I have it on good authority that you and your brothers can handle it.” Koyn tapped his knuckles on the table that was more like a boardroom style, than a scarred-up thing you’d see in most clubhouses.

  The one they had in their clubhouse was a work of art. It’s carved out of a huge Red Wood Tree that had fallen during one of the wildfires that probably would cost a mint today. King’s old man paid a pretty penny for the fucker at the time, then had an artist come in and carve the design every Royal wore on their cut in the middle.

  “Katana and I can help you if you need it. We’re only a couple hours ride from Lion County. We always enjoy a good reason to get out and feel the road under our wheels. Ain’t that right, Katana?” Dragon asked his best friend.

  Keys looked at the man, his silence could be taken as off putting. Keys was aware he was watching, assessing, and more than likely deciding the best way to kill. He liked both Dragon and Katana. Hell, he liked all of the men in this Chapter.

  “I appreciate that, Dragon. I’ll probably be taking you up on that too.” He’d been having that little feeling in the back of his neck, like when he’d been with the SEALs and again anytime they went on a mission with the Royal Bastards. A forewarning if you will.

  A couple hours later, he slid onto his bike. He limited himself to the one drink, knowing he’d be riding out for the last place he wanted; Fucking Lion County. Bermuda and Koyn had been a font of information, both having looked into his situation before he’d arrived. Same as what Keys had done on them. He liked knowing the men were thorough. It also helped knowing they wouldn’t have found anything on him he didn’t want them to. They didn’t have an address where the girl Dallas James was being held but coordinates. Satellites were an amazing thing if you were good with computer imaging, and again, Koyn being a man who’d worked for the NSA was right there with the brains and the technology, making it to where Keys didn’t have to work to find it. He put the information into the folder, sliding it into the backpack with his laptop.

  Driving away from the huge home, he couldn’t help but admire the grey and black two-story place. It was almost a modern looking mini mansion, the details making it homey with the tree-lined driveway. If one didn’t know that through the woods, there was a place that they used for torture they called the slaughterhouse. Not that they used it indiscriminately or anything. You only ended up back there and at the end of a hacksaw, or whatever they chose, if you were on the wrong side of the brotherhood. Otherwise, you’d think the home was just a rich man and his family’s place.

  He checked his phone, seeing he’d missed a text from King. “Fucking hell. When did he become a goddamn mother hen?”

  Since he was riding, Keys decided he would wait to call him when he stopped outside of the town. He’d already booked a room at a B&B that hadn’t been there when he’d grown up. The owners hadn’t recognized his name. Well, not that he’d used his given name, but the one he legally changed his to. Keys Royal was his name now. Silas DeMarcus was dead like he’d told his brothers back in California. The Navy might send him a check, which he donated every month to a different charity since he didn’t need the money. He and the MC were really good at liberating funds from those who didn’t need it, once they took them out. Men like Traeger’s ole lady’s family who had been rich thanks to their ill-gotten gains, then in a blink, they were gone, leaving a lot of cash behind. Keys made sure nobody could trace the transfer of funds back to any of them while building up a portfolio that would sustain each member and their descendants for years to come. He knew how to play the stock market, where to invest, and had turned their profit margin from six figures to seven in a year. Although some thought he was crazy to not take advantage of what being retired with full benefits gave him, and there were a lot of freedoms he was afforded, but Keys wanted to give back. Which is what he did, choosing to do what the hell he wanted.

  The last sign for Lionsville showed he had twenty more miles, so he decided to pull over and give King a call. Pulling off to the shoulder, he turned his bike off, thinking about the last time he’d been on that same stretch of highway only he’d been running away from the town and heading toward his future. A future that didn’t include seeing anyone from there if he had any say in the matter.

  “Life sure knows how to throw curves at a man. Hell, fuck curves. This time, it’s more like fucking bullets. I got damn good at dodging them when I was overseas. Hope I don’t need to do the same again.” The scattering of birds overhead reminded him of the old nursery rhyme ‘One for sorry, Two for mirth, Three for a funeral, Four for birth, Five for heaven, Six for hell, Seven for the devil, his own self.’ He never understood why children’s shit tended to be pretty damn morbid when you actually thought about them.

  Before he could punch the number for King, his phone rang. The image of his prez showed on the screen. “Son-of-a-bitch. You got ESP or what, King?” he asked after swiping his finger across the screen.

  “What the hell are you talking about? I’ve been calling you for the last six hours at the top of every hour. Do you not check your messages asshole?” King didn’t sound happy.

  He looked at his call log, sure as shit, he had several missed calls from King. “Damn, when I left Koyn’s place it didn’t show any missed calls. They probably got some kind of blocker up there.”

  It wouldn’t surprise him to find out the paranoid bastards had something like that on their property, especially the way they were connected and the money they had backing them. Nope, he could see it. Hell, they had one on their property.

  King grunted. “Fine, you get a pass. I got an email from Bermuda. He
reminds me of you.”

  “Nope, not my brother from another mother.” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he felt that same gut punch he’d had as a kid, wondering who his parents were and why they didn’t want him. Anger at himself for falling into the same childish ignorance made him roll his shoulders like he’d done hundreds of times during BUDS. He didn’t ring the bell then and he sure as fuck wasn’t going to do it now.

  “You cool, brother?” King’s question was low, sincere like the man was worried.

  “Yeah, just thinking about the shit I’m rolling into.” He’d taken Koyn up on the offer of firepower before he’d left. Since he hadn’t wanted to travel across several state lines packing too much heat, he’d only brought his Glock and a couple blades. His hands and feet were deadly but having an extra gun or two made him feel better. Also knowing Dragon and Katana were planning to ride up and find a place to chill close by, should he need them, was reassuring. Why he felt as though he’d need backup, he wasn’t sure, but Keys learned long ago, on a dirt road with nothing in his belly to trust his instincts.

  “You’ve gone quiet on me. I don’t like it when you get like that. We can load up and be there in twenty-four hours,” King offered.

  That was why he’d given his oath to the Royal Bastards after leaving the SEALs. He’d been looking for something even after he’d settled into the old trailer in the junkyard with the old man, yet still hadn’t felt like he’d found his place. After the gang had come in and killed Burt, King and the others had given him a place to start over.

  “I appreciate that, man. I’ll let you know once I get the lay of the land. Is Cosmo and his woman handling my shit alright?” He needed to turn the focus off of him for a moment.

  For all he knew, he could be walking into a shitshow. Or it could be one of those ‘What the fuck was he thinking?’

  “That’s a shitshow in and of itself, but we got you covered. Why do I get a feeling you ain’t planning on calling us in?” Silence filled the air for a few seconds. King’s muttered curse sounded muffled as he spoke to Duke in the background.