Broken Prince: A Novel (The Royals Book 2) Read online

  Broken Prince

  Erin Watt

  Contents

  Copyright

  Summary

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Stay Connected

  About the Author

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental

  Copyright © 2016 by Erin Watt

  Cover Design by Meljean Brook

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Haven’t read Paper Princess yet? You’ll want to finish before reading this book. You can buy it here!

  These Royals will ruin you…

  From wharf fights and school brawls to crumbling lives inside glittery mansions, one guy tries to save himself.

  Reed Royal has it all—looks, status, money. The girls at his elite prep school line up to date him, the guys want to be him, but Reed never gave a damn about anyone but his family until Ella Harper walked into his life.

  What started off as burning resentment and the need to make his father’s new ward suffer turned into something else entirely—keep Ella close. Keep Ella safe. But when one foolish mistake drives her out of Reed’s arms and brings chaos to the Royal household, Reed’s entire world begins to fall apart around him.

  Ella doesn’t want him anymore. She says they’ll only destroy each other.

  She might be right.

  Secrets. Betrayal. Enemies. It’s like nothing Reed has ever dealt with before, and if he’s going to win back his princess, he’ll need to prove himself Royally worthy.

  1

  Reed

  The house is dark and silent when I let myself in through the mudroom off the kitchen. Nearly ten thousand square feet and no one is here. A grin splits my face. With my brothers scattered, the housekeeper gone, and my dad off who knows where, that means my girl and I have the Royal mansion all to ourselves.

  Hell yeah.

  I break into a light jog as I cross the kitchen and climb the back stairs. Hopefully Ella is waiting for me upstairs in her bed, looking all cute and sexy in one of my old T-shirts she’s taken to sleeping in. It would be even better if that was all she was wearing… I speed up, bypassing my room, Easton’s and Gid’s old room until I’m outside Ella’s door, which is disappointingly closed. A quick knock gets me no response. Frowning, I fish my phone out of my back pocket and shoot off a quick text.

  Where RU, babe?

  She doesn’t answer. I tap my phone against my leg. She’s probably out with her friend Valerie tonight, which is kind of good, actually, because I could use a shower before I see her. The boys were smoking a shit ton of weed over at Wade’s place tonight, and I don’t want to stink up Ella’s room.

  New plan. Shower, shave, and then hunt my girl down. I pull off my T-shirt, wad it up in my hand, and shove open my bedroom door without bothering to turn on the light. I kick off my shoes and cross the carpet to my attached bath.

  I smell her before I see her.

  What the...?

  With the sickening scent of roses clinging to my nostrils, I swing toward the bed. “No way,” I growl when I make out the shadowy figure on the mattress.

  As a jolt of annoyance rips up my spine, I march back to the doorway and flick the light switch. Then I instantly regret it, because the pale yellow glow that fills the room reveals the naked curves of a woman I want nothing to do with.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” I snap at my father’s ex-girlfriend.

  Brooke Davidson offers a coy smile. “I’ve missed you.”

  My jaw falls open. Is she fucking serious right now? I quickly swing my head out in the hall to make sure Ella’s still gone. Then I head straight for the bed.

  “Get out,” I growl, grabbing one of her wrists to pull her off my bed. Shit, now I’m going to have to change the sheets, because if there’s anything that stinks worse than old beer and weed, it’s Brooke Davidson.

  “Why? You never complained before.” She licks her red lips in a way that I’m sure is supposed to look sexy, but that I find stomach turning. There’re a lot of skeletons in my past that Ella doesn’t know about. A lot that would make her downright sick. And the woman in front of me is one of them.

  “I distinctly remember telling you that I never wanted to touch your skank ass again.”

  Brooke’s smug smile turns thin. “And I told you not to talk to me like that.”

  “I’ll talk to you however I want,” I spit out. I cast another glance at the door. Desperation is starting to make me sweat. Brooke can’t be here when Ella comes home.

  How the hell would I begin to explain this? My eyes fall on Brooke’s clothes strewn across my floor—the skimpy minidress, the lacy underwear, a pair of stilettos.

  My shoes happened to land by hers. This all looks like a hot mess.

  I grab Brooke’s heels off the floor and toss them at the bed. “Whatever you’re selling, I’m not buying. Get the fuck out.”

  She throws the shoes back. One of the heels scratches my bare chest before they fall to the floor. “Make me.”

  I squeeze the back of my neck. Short of forcibly picking her up and tossing her out, I’m not sure what my options are. What the hell would I say now if Ella caught me hauling Brooke out of my bedroom?

  Hey, baby, don’t mind me. I’m taking out the trash. See, I slept with my dad’s girlfriend a couple times, and now that they’ve broken up I think she wants back in my pants. That’s not sick or anything, right? Cue awkward chuckle.

  I clench my fists to my side. Gideon always told me I was self-destructive, but man, this is self-destruction on a whole new level. I did this. I let my anger toward my father drive me into bed with this bitch. I told myself that after what he did to Mom, he deserved to have me screw his girlfriend behind his back.

  Well, the joke’s on me.

  “Get your clothes on,” I hiss out. “This conversation is over—” I halt at the sound of footsteps in the hall.

  I hear my name called.

  Brooke’s head tilts. She hears it, too.

  Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Oh fuck.

  Ella’s voice is right outside my door.

  “Oh goodie, Ella’s home,” Brooke says as my blood pumps unsteadily in my ears. “I have some news I can share with both of you.”

  It’s probably the dumbest thing I could ever do, but the only thought running through my mind is fix this. I need this woman gone.

  So I drop everything and charge for
ward. I grab Brooke’s arm to haul her off the mattress, but the bitch yanks me down. I try to avoid making contact with her naked body but end up losing my balance. She takes advantage and pushes herself up against my back. A soft laugh puffs in my ear as her store-bought tits burn against my skin.

  I watch in panic as the doorknob turns.

  Brooke whispers, “I’m pregnant and the baby is yours.”

  What?

  My entire world lurches to a stop.

  The door swings open. Ella’s gorgeous face takes in mine. I watch her expression turn from joy to shock.

  “Reed?”

  I’m frozen in place, but my brain is working overtime, frantically trying to calculate the last time Brooke and I were together. It was St. Patty’s Day. Gid and I were hanging out by the pool. He got drunk. I got drunk. He was beyond upset about something. Dad, Sav, Dinah, Steve. I didn’t understand it all.

  I vaguely register the sound of Brooke giggling. I see Ella’s face, but I’m not really seeing it. I should say something, but I don’t. I’m busy. Busy panicking. Busy thinking.

  St Patty’s Day… I’d stumbled upstairs and crashed and woke up to wet, hot suction around my dick. I knew it wasn’t Abby, because I’d already broken it off with her and she wasn’t the type to creep into my bedroom anyway. And who am I to turn away a free BJ?

  Ella’s mouth falls opens and she says something. I can’t hear it. I’m caught in a tailspin of guilt and self-loathing, and I can’t pull myself out of it. All I can do is stare at her. My girl. The most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen. I can’t turn away from all that golden hair, those big blue eyes pleading at me to explain myself.

  Say something, I order my uncooperative vocal cords.

  My lips won’t move. I feel a cold touch against my neck and flinch.

  Say something, damn it. Don’t let her walk away—

  Too late. Ella flies out the door.

  The loud slamming snaps me out of it. Sort of. I still can’t move. I can barely breathe.

  St. Patty’s Day… That was more than six months ago. I don’t know much about pregnant women, but Brooke’s barely got anything going on. There’s no way.

  No. Way.

  No. Way. That. Baby. Is. Mine.

  I shoot off the bed, ignoring the wild trembling of my hands as I lunge for the door.

  “Really?” comes Brooke’s amused voice. “You’re going after her? How will you explain this to her, sweetie?”

  I spin around in fury. “Swear to God, woman, if you don’t get the hell out of my room, I’m throwing you out.” Dad has always said that a man who raises a hand against a female lowers himself beneath her feet. So I’ve never hit a woman. Never had the urge to until I met Brooke Davidson.

  She ignores the threat. Continues to taunt me, spelling out all my fears. “What lies will you tell her? That you never touched me? That you never wanted me? How do you think that girl will respond when she finds out you screwed your daddy’s girlfriend? Do you think she’ll still want you?”

  I glance toward the now empty doorway. I can hear muffled sounds coming from Ella’s bedroom. I want to sprint across the hall, but I can’t. Not when Brooke is still in this house. What if she runs out there, butt-ass naked, saying that she’s pregnant with my kid? How do I explain that to Ella? How do I get her to believe me? Brooke needs to be gone before I face Ella.

  “Get out.” I turn all my frustrations on Brooke.

  “Don’t you want to know the sex of the baby first?”

  “No. I don’t.” I take in her slender, naked body and see a slight mound on her belly. Bile fills my mouth. Brooke’s not the type to get fat. Her looks are her only weapon. So the bitch isn’t lying about being pregnant.

  But that kid isn’t mine.

  It might be my dad’s, but it sure as hell is not mine.

  I wrench the door open and run out. “Ella,” I call. I don’t know what I’ll say to her, but it’s better than saying nothing. I’m still cursing myself for freezing up like that. God, what a fuck-up I am.

  I skid to a stop outside her bedroom door. A quick survey nets me nothing. Then I hear it—the low, throaty sound of a sports-car engine being revved. With a burst of panic, I sprint down the front stairs, while Brooke cackles behind me like a witch on Halloween.

  I lunge at the front door, forgetting it’s locked, and by the time I get it open, there’s no sign of Ella outside. She must’ve sped down the driveway going at Mach speeds. Shit.

  The stones under my feet remind me I’m wearing jeans and nothing else. Spinning on my heel, I take the stairs three at a time, only to grind to halt when Brooke steps onto the landing.

  “There’s no way that’s my baby,” I snarl. If it was really mine, Brooke would’ve played this card a long time ago instead of holding it tight until now. “I doubt it’s my dad’s either, or you wouldn’t stripping down like a cheap whore in my room.”

  “It’s whoever’s I say it is,” she says coldly.

  “Where’s your proof?”

  “I don’t need proof. It’s my word against yours, and by the time any paternity tests arrive, I’ll already have a ring on my finger.”

  “Good luck with that.”

  She grabs my arm when I try to brush past her. “I don’t need luck. I have you.”

  “No. You never had me.” I shake her grip off. “I’m leaving to find Ella. You stay here as long as you want, Brooke. I’m done playing your games.”

  Her frosty voice stops me before I can reach my bedroom. “If you get Callum to propose to me, I’ll tell everyone the child is his. Don’t help me, and everyone will believe the child is yours.”

  I pause in the doorway. “The DNA test will show it’s not mine.”

  “Maybe,” she chirps, “but DNA will show it belongs to a Royal. Those tests don’t always differentiate between relatives, particularly fathers and sons. It’ll be enough to put doubt in Ella’s mind. So I’m asking you, Reed, do you want me to tell the world—tell Ella—that you’re going to be a daddy? Because I will. Or you can agree to my terms, and no one will ever know.”

  I hesitate.

  “Do we have a deal?”

  I grit my teeth. “If I do this, if I sell this-this—” I struggle to find the right word, “—idea to my dad on your behalf, you’ll leave Ella alone?”

  “Whatever do you mean?”

  I turn slowly. “I mean, you bitch, that none of your bullshit ever touches Ella. You don’t speak to her, not even to explain this—” I wave my hand at her now clothed body. “You smile, you say hi, but no heart-to-hearts.”

  I don’t trust this woman, but if I can bargain for Ella—and, yes, for me—then I’ll do it. Dad’s made his rotten bed. He can roll around in that filth again.

  “Deal. You work on your father, and you and Ella can have your happily ever after.” Brooke laughs as she bends to pick up her shoes. “If you can win her back.”

  2

  Two hours later, I’m freaking out. It’s past midnight, and Ella isn’t back.

  Would she just come home and yell at me already? I need her to tell me that I’m an asshole who isn’t worth her time. I need her in my face, spitting fire at me. I need her to scream at me, kick me, punch me.

  I fucking need her.

  I check my phone. It’s been hours since she left. I punch in her number, but it rings and rings.

  Another call and I’m shuttled to voicemail.

  I text, Where RU?

  No response.

  Dad’s worried.

  I type out the lie hoping that it gets a response, but my phone remains silent. Maybe she’s blocked my number? The thought stings, but it’s not totally crazy, so I run inside and go up to my brother’s room. Ella can’t have blocked us all.

  Easton’s still sleeping, but his phone is charging on his nightstand. I flick it on and type out another message. She likes Easton. She paid off his debt. She’d answer Easton, wouldn’t she?

  Hey. Reed told me something happen
ed. U OK?

  Nothing.

  Maybe she parked down the road and is walking on the shore? I pocket my brother’s phone in case she decides to contact him and hurry downstairs toward the back patio.

  The shoreline is completely empty, so I jog down to the Worthington estate, a property four houses down. She’s not there, either.

  I look around, down the rocky shoreline, out into the ocean, and see nothing. No person. No imprints in the sand. Nothing.

  Frustration gives way to panic as I race back to the house and climb into my Range Rover. Finger on the start button, I rapidly tap my fist against the dashboard. Think. Think. Think.

  Valerie’s. She must be at Valerie’s.

  In less than ten minutes, I’m idling outside of Val’s house, but there’s no sign of Ella’s sporty blue convertible on the street. Leaving the Rover’s engine running, I hop out and hurry up the driveway. Ella’s car isn’t back there, either.

  I glance at my phone again. No messages. None on Easton’s, either. The display tells me I have football practice in twenty minutes, which means Ella’s expected at the bakery where she works. We usually ride together. Even after she got her car—a gift from my dad—we rode together.

  Ella said it was because she didn’t like to drive. I told her it was dangerous to drive in the morning. We told each other lies. We lied to ourselves because neither of us was willing to admit the truth: we couldn’t resist each other. At least that’s the way it was for me. From the moment she walked in the door, all big eyes and guarded hope, I couldn’t keep away.

  My instincts had screamed at me that she was trouble. My instincts were wrong. She wasn’t trouble. I was. Still am.

  Reed, the destroyer.

  It’d be a cool nickname if it wasn’t my life and hers that I’m taking down.

  The bakery’s parking lot is empty when I arrive. After five minutes of nonstop pounding on the door, the owner—Lucy, I think—appears with a frown.

  “We don’t open for another hour,” she informs me.