Forbidden Princess

by Ella Miles

  The asshole sliced into my neck.

  One of my arms is pinned behind my back. The other is pinned against my side as he holds the knife to my throat.

  I’m facing the other guys. Hayes is leaning against a tree, still heckling Lennox. Gage looks concerned, like he’s about to jump in and stop Lennox from killing me. Even Caius looks concerned and nervous, and he’s barely shown any emotion since he lost his sister.

  And then I see Beckett. He’s looking at me sternly. He raises an eyebrow. It’s the same move he did before when Jameson was attacking me. I could nod, give him an indication that I need his help, and he’d go into hero mode and save me. He does owe me one, after all.

  Is that what this was about? Him setting me up so I’d have to use my hero save I earned the night before?

  His jaw ticks, and I swear he winks at me, but it’s so fast that maybe I imagined it.

  He hasn’t said whose side he’s on, who he’s betting on, but I think it might be me. And I’m going to give him hell for it later.

  But for now, I’ve got an asshole to beat.

  I consider my options quickly, but I know what I have to do.

  I lean into the knife, until blood is oozing down my neck. I stare right at Beckett; his eyes deepen, and his teeth grind together.

  I smile on the inside, seeing him in distress at my pain. His hand grips the armrest to keep himself from flying over to save me. As much as I love seeing Beckett in misery, my throat does fucking hurt as the blade slices deeper into my neck. But the pain I’m putting us both through serves a purpose.

  I knock my head against his as hard as I can. Lennox is a pro, so even though he’s knocked off guard, he doesn’t completely release his hold like I hoped. But it’s enough for me to get my arm pinned by my side free. A swift elbow to the eye has him knocked off balance.

  And then it’s a fight for his knife.

  Lennox tries to pull it back against my throat, but I spin with his only grip on my other arm. I keep the momentum of his knife hand going, driving it right toward his heart. I only stop when the tip digs into the center of his chest.

  “Yield,” I demand.

  Lennox grunts.

  “Yield, or I’ll drive this knife into your heart.” I push the tip against his breastbone.

  “You wouldn’t.”

  “I would, just like you’d have sliced through the veins in my neck and not thought twice about it.”

  He nods, yielding to me, and I release my grip on his hand holding his knife. We look at each other a second, and I finally see the respect in his eyes. We won’t be enemies anymore. We won’t be besties either, but definitely not enemies.

  That’s when the slow clapping starts. Hayes starts, then Gage and Caius join in. Even Beckett stands with an amused grin.

  I blush at the compliment.

  “Can take down all of us, but she blushes when we give her a compliment. Can you be any more incredible?” Caius says.

  “I don’t like compliments.” I shrug, finally meeting Beckett’s eyes.

  His drop from amused to concerned. “We need to stitch up that wound on your neck.”

  I touch my neck and hold back my hiss. I forgot about the slice. I’m pretty sure it’s superficial.

  “I’ll get the first aid kit,” Lennox says, knowing that even though Beckett told him to fight me all out, he still has some making up to him to do for hurting me.

  “I still have one left to fight,” I say.

  Beckett frowns.

  Hayes laughs. “You beat all our asses. Lennox is the best fighter; if you can take him, you’ll destroy Beckett.”

  Beckett’s head snaps to Hayes, glaring at him. “And why exactly do you think that? Because I only have one arm?”

  “No…” Hayes rubs the back of his neck nervously. Hair falls from the low bun he’s wearing, and he’s put his glasses back on, but they’ve fallen down his nose. He pushes them back up. “I don’t mean any disrespect, but you could be the best fighter in the world, but you’re at a disadvantage with only one arm to punch and defend with. Ri’s a trained fighter. She knows how to take your advantage and make it your disadvantage. She’s smart.”

  “There you go with the compliments again,” I say with a huff.

  Lennox jogs back with the first aid kit. Beckett takes it from him and walks over to me. He dabs at the blood with gauze and then brushes his thumb over my neck.

  I purse my lips as all the air whooshes from my lungs as I stare at him staring at my wound like he cares. He cares when he shouldn’t. I’m forbidden to him for so many reasons, reasons he’ll never know.

  “I don’t think it needs stitches.”

  I nod.

  He places a small bandage on my neck to soak up the blood. Then his hand grips my chin as he looks at me.

  “You up for one more fight?” he asks, quietly.

  I nod. I want to fight him, if only to be close to him.

  Beckett steps back. He’s in lounge shorts, and he removes his plain white T-shirt revealing his abs.

  My mouth gapes.

  Damn him. He knows how to knock me off-kilter. My mind is going to be locked on sex, on his glorious chest and abs, instead of focusing on how to take him down.

  He smirks at my reaction.

  I blow out a deep breath. This is going to be torture.

  Beckett looks at Hayes, and I realize these guys have never really seen Beckett fight. They think he’s weak, that I can automatically win. But this will be the most even match of the day. Whoever wins, it will be close.

  “You think only having one arm is a disadvantage? Tell me after you see me fight if you still think the same,” Beckett says.

  The sun hits him then, and he fucking glows like a majestic god. I can’t help but think he’s the most beautiful man in the world. Strong muscles ripple underneath his skin. His residual limb doesn’t look like a disability to me; it shows me how fucking strong he is, how much pain he’s survived and has become a part of him. Just like his grief that will shape him until he comes out the other side forged anew.

  When Beckett looks at me, I imagine he sees the same. My beauty, not my scars. My strength, not my pain. That’s why our souls are so drawn to each other. Our pasts are similar. Our pain, our grief, our strength—it all comes from the same place.

  “What are the rules?” I ask, as we begin to circle each other, preparing to fight.

  “First to surrender loses.”

  “Style of fighting? Weapons?”

  “Anything goes.”

  “What does the winner get?” Winning before was about earning the respect of the other guys. It was about showing Beckett that I’m not to be messed with. It was about getting him to trust me. I’ve done that. Winning against Beckett now won’t gain me any of those things.

  “Winner gets anything they want from the other.”

  “Horny bastards,” Hayes chuckles.

  Caius gives him a death glare.

  Gage smiles deviously.

  And Lennox says, “Their lust is going to be the death of us all.”

  We ignore them. There is nothing to say to it anyway. Yes, we want each other. They witnessed it last night, but that doesn’t mean that we will act on those feelings. We both know what’s at stake.

  I try to focus on fighting Beckett. I’ve seen him fight before. He fought me in that box, and as far as I’m concerned, he was the clear winner, not Caius. He beat me then, and it fuels my need to beat him now. But he’s not a traditional fighter. Maybe at one point, he was, but not anymore. Now he’s ruthless and creative with his attacks.

  I throw a punch just to see how he’ll react.

  He brushes it aside easily with his hand like it was a bug flying by his head.

  “That all you got, Princess?” he teases.

  “Nah, I just didn’t want to give you a black eye. I didn’t think it would look good in front of your boys, who think you’re about to get beat by a girl.”

  His eyes roam up and do
wn my body. “I don’t see a girl here; all I see is a fighter.”

  I smile at that, and he takes advantage, throwing his own punch that I sidestep.

  “Weak,” he taunts.

  I throw a quick three-punch combination. He blocks two of them, but the third hits him hard in the stomach, knocking his breath away.

  “What? No comeback?” I grin.

  He kicks out before he catches his breath. I try to jump back, but he’s quicker, and I fall on my ass.

  He’s over me a second later. His glistening abs press against me while his legs straddle my waist. My hands are free, though, so I jab once while trying to catch his wrist and twisting it awkwardly until I control the movements of his arm. It takes both of my arms to hold onto his one.

  I hold his arm. He has my body pinned.

  “Draw?” I ask.

  He laughs—a real, beautiful full-body laugh. I could bask in that sound, but instead, I take the opportunity to throw my weight, knocking him off balance until I’m on top. He catches my wrists with his one hand, though, and now we’re in the same position from before but in reverse.

  I frown.

  He snickers. “If I was nice, I’d offer you a draw. You’re good, Princess. Whatever sucker taught you did a good job, but he forgot to teach you about the monsters like me who don’t fight fair.”

  I lean my head in confusion.

  And then I feel his cock straining between my legs as his mouth lands on mine, and his tongue slips inside.

  My eyes fall shut, and a deep groan rattles in my throat as he bucks his hips up, hitting that bundle of nerves between my legs.

  Yes, more of that.

  And then, in the next moment, I’m flipped over face first in the dirt with my arms pinned behind my back and a gun pressed to my temple.

  Fuck, how could I let him manipulate me like that? And how the hell did I not realize he had a gun while I had nothing?

  “What do you have to say now, Princess?” he whispers against my ear.

  “You may have won, but don’t think I can’t pull the exact same move against you someday. You’re just as susceptible to your lust as I am.”

  “Maybe, but there is one difference between us which will always give me the advantage—I’ve been burned before. Loved and betrayed. Loved and lost. It made me cynical and resistant to your charms. You are a stupid romantic, thinking I’m going to save you from this competition, marry you, and take you far away from this.”

  “I don’t, actually.”

  “Then what do you want?”

  “Nothing you can give me.”

  Beckett slowly gets off me. I roll over and stare up at him. The other guys have moved in closer and are eyeing me suspiciously. I notice that Beckett hasn’t put his gun away.

  I stand up cautiously, dusting the dirt off me.

  “Who taught you?” Beckett asks me.

  The gun isn’t pointed at me, but it might as well be. He doesn’t trust me. He never will. Odette really did a number on him.

  “You won’t believe me if I tell you.”

  “I didn’t ask for your opinion. I asked a question, and I expect an answer. Who taught you?”

  I don’t look at all their faces, only Beckett’s.

  “Vincent Corsi taught me.”

  Shock splinters through Beckett’s angry glare for a split second before he regains control. I take a moment to look at all the others. All are wide-eyed, eyebrow hooked, and mouths slack. None of them believe me.

  “Liar. Mafia men don’t teach their daughters how to fight, especially not mafia kings. Corsi would have done anything to keep you protected, pure, and safe. That’s why you have guards. Your job is to marry well. Ideally, into another mafia prince, which is why Alvise or Enrico will most likely win. This game is just for show so your father can control the rest of the gangs and elite in the area. So I’ll ask you again, who are you protecting? Who taught you when they shouldn’t have?”

  Warm feelings wash over me as I think about all the times Vincent and I spent in his home gym. It started when I was seven; he taught me the basics. How to throw a punch. How to get out of a hold. The sensitive areas to go for. And then it became more specialized—karate, kick-boxing, how to use a knife, trips to the shooting range.

  He taught me everything he could. Then he ensured I had guards at every moment, even though he knew I could defend myself, even though he knew I was better than them. They were always around, probably for show. That’s what would be expected of him—protect his only daughter.

  Vincent is a contradiction, and so are my feelings for him. On the one hand, he gave me the skills to ensure I don’t need a savior. I’ve been kidnapped too many times to count, but every time I’ve managed to survive, and most of the time, escape. It’s because of what he taught me.

  But then he tries to marry me off to a guy I don’t know. He does virginity tests. He treats me like his property, and I hate him.

  “You can believe me or not. But Vincent taught me how to fight, to use a knife, to fire a gun. He taught me everything himself. He didn’t hire a trainer. Maybe he did that because he wasn’t supposed to. Maybe he did it because he didn’t have a son, and he wanted to teach me. I don’t know why. I know he shouldn’t have. Even being the mafia king, he was risking everything by teaching me, but he did.”

  I don’t hate Vincent. Why don’t I hate him? I feel like there is something I’m forgetting. Some long-lost secret that I’m not supposed to know, but I need to remember in order for everything to make sense.

  Beckett is silent.

  “I don’t believe you, Ri. You’re hiding something. You know we will do nothing but help you. We are on your side. Beckett and I are risking our lives so we can marry you. You can trust us,” Caius says.

  “Now who’s lying? You entered the game for revenge. And yea, Caius, you’re a good guy, so I’m sure if you won, you would treat me fairly as your wife, but don’t act like that is why you are doing this. You think Vincent and I played a role in Odette’s death, but we didn’t. You can believe us or not, that’s up to you. But don’t feed me bullshit.”

  “You earned our respect, just like we’ve earned yours. Trust takes a long time. It would be easier if we all trusted each other. You could really help us, Ri, and we could help you, but I don’t know if we can ever trust each other,” Lennox says.

  I nod, agreeing.

  So do Gage and Hayes.

  “Vincent Corsi taught you?” Beckett asks.

  “Yes.”

  “I believe you.”

  Gasps fill my ears, but Beckett’s words push through the distrust.

  “What? Why?” Caius asks.

  “She wouldn’t tell us it was Corsi if it wasn’t. If she’s working with Corsi, which still might be the case, she would lie and say it was someone else. Telling us gives us leverage against Corsi. His men won’t like that he trained his daughter. It’s not the way they do things. They will see it as him trying to change how the mafia is run. Tradition is what’s kept them in power all these years. If that tradition fails, they all do.”

  Beckett trusts me—at least a little more than he did five minutes ago. I want to talk to him alone. I want to tell him everything. My conflicting feelings about Vincent. My suspicions that I don’t remember everything I should.

  Also, I want to see if I can seduce him into actually fucking me. My blood rushes warm with desire, and my mouth runs dry. I want to feel him inside me. I need it, then I can let him go.

  Talk, then fuck.

  But I don’t get the chance.

  An Escalade pulls up, and a man I’ve never seen before pops out.

  “It’s Monroe. He—he had a heart attack. He’s in the hospital. He’s not...he won’t last long,” he says after running into the backyard.

  The guys all look at Caius, their eyes empathizing, but none of them speak.

  “I’m sorry, Charming. I can’t imagine if you lose your father after just losing your sister.” I put my hand on hi
s shoulder.

  To my surprise, he turns toward me and pulls me into a hug. I wrap my arms around him tightly. He needs this—just comfort.

  The hug goes on for a long time. I turn my head and see Beckett. He tries to hide his annoyance at the hug, but he can’t. His jaw clenches, his hand fists.

  I shoot him a look that says if he tries to interrupt this, I’m going to pummel his ass.

  After several long minutes, Caius finally lets me go, but his hand finds mine, and our fingers interlock in a familiar way. It feels right just to hold his hand when he’s grieving.

  Hayes and Gage give him a pat on the shoulder. Even Lennox hugs him, but Caius doesn’t release my hand. And I don’t want him to. I hate seeing anyone in pain, in grief. I guess you would say it’s my weakness. I’ve seen too much grief far too young.

  “Should we head to the hospital then?” I ask.

  Caius runs his other hand through his hair; he squeezes his eyes shut as if to block out the pain. When he opens them, his soul is back to the non-emotion he’s been locked in since the loss of his sister.

  “No, we have to start the initiation. It’s what he would have wanted,” Caius says, looking at Beckett.

  “Call the others and let them know that I’m ready to initiate, but you should be with your father at the hospital. You don’t need to be at the initiation,” Beckett says.

  The rest of the guys fall into an awkward silence. They want to say something but won’t. They move away from Caius, but not toward Beckett, as if they don’t want to show support for either of them. I don’t understand their actions.

  “See, that’s the thing. I do have to be at the initiation,” Caius says.

  “Why? You should be with your father,” Beckett says, looking equally confused.

  “The initiation rite requires a challenger. You can only win if you defeat someone, and I’m that challenger,” Caius says.

  13

  Beckett

  Caius is a snake. He’s not Prince Charming or whatever ridiculous nickname Ri keeps calling him. He’s a foul, wicked, spineless snake.