Royally Bad (Bad Boy Royals #1)

Sitting up on her elbows, she asked, “What do you remember about that night?”


Hunching on the bed, I folded my arms over my chest. That time was so long ago . . . it came to me in fragments. “I remember being in my room, hearing Costello shouting for help. I came downstairs to find out what the hell was going on.” The first thing I’d noticed was our normally shiny and clean floors had a trail of blood from the front door to the foyer. “He was half dragging you. Screaming. Your clothes were all red, the both of you.”

It had stuck out to me so starkly at the time because Lula was always so serene—so put-together. But there she’d been, sprawled on the floorboards with her shirt half torn apart, and Costello was no better.

I whispered, “At the time, I’d thought the blood was his. He was saturated in it.” Unable to blink, I stared right at her. “I didn’t know most of it was yours.”

She shivered, reliving the memory with me. I didn’t need to see her scars, the memories of the fresh wounds were enough. “I don’t remember much after I was attacked. I was so dizzy. I’d lost so much blood, it’s a blessing Costello got us out of there.”

“You almost died,” I said seriously.

Lula chuckled dryly. “It turned out fine.”

“No, it didn’t.” Frowning, I shook my chin side to side. “You still haven’t said why you two were attacked in the first place.”

Like she had too much energy, she hopped off the bed and started pacing. “Right, Father’s dirty little part in this. A group of nobodies had learned who we were—who our family was—and decided to use it against us.”

That confused me enough that I stood up as well. “Use it against us how? That’s not even a secret.”

“Our royal heritage is more of a weakness than you think, Brother.” She was so pale I could see the veins beneath her skin, like she was made of plastic wrap. “Being royalty is about more than using it as a pickup line to get girls.”

There—the biting side of Lula I knew so well.

She went quiet. I almost said something, but Lula began again. “And here we come to the real issue. My actions that split this family apart. After I healed from the attack, I told Father I was leaving. I didn’t want to be so close to him and the danger that being related to him brought. That was why he panicked and tried to lock me away.”

That was a night I did remember. I’d stood in that hallway, looking on as Maverick shoved Lula into the room, explaining it was for her own good. Costello had assured me it would be fine when I’d tried—in my teenage rage—to intervene.

I’d been pissed at him for stopping me.

We sat in uneasy silence. I wanted to comfort Lula. I thought there had to be some way to make everything better.

She turned to face the wall, touching a shelf of books absently. “I used to imagine being a real princess, or even a queen. Did you know that?”

I smiled sadly. “I remember when you made me pretend to be your steed as you ran around, giving orders to all of us.”

She laughed suddenly. “Then Thorne threw water on me and told me to melt because I was secretly a witch. That’s right. I was so furious.”

Her joy was contagious. But my mind was elsewhere. Not in the fond memories of childhood, but in the heavy future waiting for my family. I’d never taken my heritage seriously. Lula was right, it had been all fun and games for me.

Had our father hidden the truth of this attack so we’d never think poorly of who we were?

Studying my sister, I pressed my fingertips to my right ribs. “That’s why you never got the tattoo.”

“The tattoos,” she snorted, brushing her own ribs thoughtfully. “I love this family, Kain. And I hate it at the same time.”

My hand fell to my side. “I guess that’s fair.”

Her lips twisted when she stared at me, one eyebrow riding high. “You want to talk about fairness, do you? Then let’s talk about how fair it is to keep that poor girl here. Why haven’t you run away together yet?”

Inch by inch, blood filled my veins. “What?”

Lulabelle whispered, “No one deserves to be locked up. No one.”

“She isn’t locked up anymore, Lula.”

“Please.” Her hands reached for mine, folding tight and calling back to all the times she’d chided me when I’d done something she didn’t find “princely” as a kid. “A cage without bars is still a cage. What’s keeping you here? Don’t you like her?”

A spasm went through my fingertips. “Of course I do,” I said quickly.

“Kain,” Lulabelle said. “What do you want to do?”

What DO I want to do?

I’d never considered running away. Perhaps part of me associated it with pain; I’d seen how Fran had handled Lula’s escape. Could I really do the same thing? Was it so bad to sit here . . . sit in this safe place . . . and wait until—Until what? I asked myself. Until Dad decides we can do as we please?

Lula was right.

A cage without bars was still a damn cage.

Pulling my sister in, I hugged her as tightly as I could. This was a real hug—nothing like the one this morning in the kitchen.

“Treat her right, Brother.” She held me at a distance. “Everyone deserves that much.”

After all this time, she still gave the best advice.





- CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO -

SAMMY

I wasn’t quite asleep when the knock came.

Sitting up, I hurried to the bedroom door. My intuition said this was Kain, it had to be, but I still peeked through the slim opening to make sure. His eyes were warm when they saw me—I couldn’t have kept him out if I’d wanted to.

“It’s late,” I whispered, letting him in. “I was wondering if you would come and see me. Check out my fancy bed. It’s not as good as the garden-prison one, but still.”

Kain was blurry in the shadows, it took me a minute to realize he wasn’t dressed in pajamas, like me, but rather the same clothes as earlier . . . shoes and all.

Nervously, I asked, “What’s going on?”

Scooping me into his embrace, he played his lips across mine. It was sweet and soft; my center started to melt. “I just had a very long talk that opened my mind.”

Who did he talk with? I wondered. Tracing his cheek, I tried to read his smile; why did he seem like he was ready to start sprinting around the room? “All right, Mr. Open Mind. What are you here to share with me?”

“How about a wish?”

Blinking, I stared up into his perfectly blue eyes. “Are you offering to grant one?”

“If you tell me what it is, I might.”

Flushing, I started to back away; he crushed me against him, preventing my retreat. This no longer felt like a lighthearted game. Wishes were silly things, but under Kain’s intensity, they became so real they could cut me open. If I dared to speak my mind, this little world I was pretending was good and fine would crumble. I’d see the edges and know it was fake.