Broken Prince: A Novel (The Royals Book 2) (12 page)

“I can’t believe we’re related.”

“I know. I wonder about it too sometimes. How someone so nice, like me, could end up with a bitch like you for a cousin.”

Jordan lunges at Val, and I stupidly step between them. Jordan’s fist hits the back of my head at the same time that Val charges forward. I bounce off them and land against the railing.

“Holy shit,” some random guy yells. “Girl fight!”

The stands empty and suddenly it’s pure chaos. Popcorn is flying everywhere. There are arms and hands and nails in my face. A strong arm lifts me down over the fence where someone else catches me and swings me out of the way. I look up to see Reed.

Easton comes up on my other side and slings his arm around my shoulder, separating me from Reed. They proceed to trade scowls.

“So are we going to the Montgomerys’ party?” Easton asks me.

“I told you, I don’t like dressing up.”

He snickers and points to my get-up. “Looks like you’re already in costume, little sis.”

Oh man. He totally has a point.

“Come on,” he coaxes. “It’ll be fun.”

I cave. “Fine. Whatever. Where’s Val?” I turn back to the stands to see that the administrators have broken up the fight.

An arm jerks me around. Reed again. “What the hell are you wearing? Whose jersey is that?” he demands.

“It’s just a secondhand—”

“Take it off.”

“What? No way.”

I look to Easton for help, but he’s frowning. “Now that I think about it, you can’t wear another school’s jersey to our games. That’s bad voodoo.”

“You won,” I remind him.

“Take it off right now,” Reed orders. His voice is muffled because he’s trying to tug his own jersey up over his head.

“Forget it. I’m not putting your jersey on.”

“Oh yes, you are.” His shoulder pads are up around his ears. “Dammit, East, help me out.”

Easton ignores him. “You need a ride, sis?”

“She’ll ride with me,” Reed says firmly. He shoves his jersey back down and his expression dares me to challenge him.

So I challenge him. “Sorry, pal, but that’s not happening.”

“Don’t call me ‘pal.’”

“Don’t give me orders.”

He gives me another order. “Val can drive your car to the party. You’re coming with me.”

“Oh my God!” I burst out. “What’s it going to take for you to get the message, Reed? We’re
over
.” My frustration and annoyance are reaching all-time highs. “I already have my eye on someone else.”

His nostrils flare. “Like hell you do.”

I look at the line of players standing along the track watching us, and an evil thought pops into my mind. My eyes narrow in on Wade, the quarterback. Wade’s a whore. Straight up, he had to use Reed’s Range Rover for sex one night outside the club because, according to Reed, Wade couldn’t wait to get home before banging some girl.

Smirking at Reed, I move away from the Royals, waltz right up to Wade, and launch myself at him.

His muscular arms close reflexively around me. And when I bend down to kiss him, his lips part automatically. He tastes like sweat, smells like grass, and is a pretty fantastic kisser. His tongue stays firmly in his mouth, but he can use his lips like a master.

No wonder girls leave perfectly nice clubs to have sex with him in a stranger’s car. I grip his hair and tighten my legs around his waist. He groans in response and his fingers bite into my ass.

Cheering breaks out, only to be cut off abruptly. The next thing I know, Reed is ripping me out of Wade’s arms.

“What the hell, Carlisle?” he growls.

Wade shrugs ruefully. “She jumped me. I couldn’t let her fall.”

“You don’t touch her. No one touches her.” Reed throws his helmet in some poor player’s stomach and advances on Wade, his hands fisted.

The big, blond quarterback laughs and puts up his hands. “I didn’t encourage her, man.”

Reed glares and then points a finger at the rest of the team. “Ella is a Royal. She belongs to me. If any of you assholes want her, you have to go through me.”

My jaw drops. “Screw you, Reed. I don’t belong to anyone, least of all you.” I kick him in the back of the knee, then turn to look at the line of football players. “I’m available. Who wants a go with the trashy stripper? I know tricks that even porn stars don’t.”

Eyes light up but then immediately transfer to Reed. Whatever his expression is, it causes every gaze to drop the ground. Not a single guy steps out of line.

“Cowards,” I mutter.

Then I whirl away and stomp toward Val, who’s grinning at me from the sidelines. Screw these Astor Park kids. Screw them all to hell.

S
avannah and Shea Montgomery
live in an inland mansion on the grounds of the country club. At the main gate, Val reaches across me to hand the guard a white envelope. He shines some special light on it and apparently the secret message he reads with his special country club decoder ring lets us through.

“Seriously, Val? What the hell is that?”

She flicks the invitation in my lap. The heavy cream is completely blank. “UV ink. So it can’t be copied.”

“Really?” I run my fingers over the stock and feel nothing but the paper itself. “What’s so special about a high school party that there needs to be guards and gates and top-secret invitations?”

I toss the invite onto the dash and pull through the now open gate.

“They like to limit the crowd,” she replies.

“Wish they’d use their powers to keep assholes out,” I mutter. I haven’t seen Daniel Delacorte yet, but I know he’s still at school, walking the halls of Astor as if nothing happened between us.

“If the asshole has money, he’s getting in.”

She’s right, but it doesn’t make me happier. The pounding bass pouring out of the Montgomery house greets us even before we turn onto their cul-de-sac. We have to park at the end of a long line of cars leading up a hill.

Val guides me through the main room and onto the porch. The Montgomery house is ultra-modern, all weird angles and planes and windows and steel. The backyard pool is lit up from underneath and there are spouts of water springing out of the concrete to arc into the water, but no one is swimming because it’s too cold.

“I’m getting something to drink. What do you want?” Val asks, pointing to a cooler.

“Beer is fine.”

I spot Reed in the far corner of the porch. A fairy with big-ass wings and a floral crown is talking to him. Ugh. It’s Abby. Their heads are bent close enough that his dark brown hair is brushing the edges of her petals. That sounds vaguely pornographic. The scene is sickeningly similar to one of the first memories I have of Reed.

Abby was his last girlfriend. Maybe she was his only girlfriend. Reed, unlike Easton, is picky. He slept with Abby, and then Brooke.

I don’t know the rest of his sexual history. Maybe that was it. Maybe he lost his virginity to Abby. Maybe there’s a bond that will always draw them back together.

Daniel, the rapist, once said those two belong together.

Is that true?

Do I care?

Of course I do. And I hate myself for it.

I turn away before I do something outrageous, like march over to them and tear Abby’s hair out and order Reed to stop talking to her because he’s mine.

I’m not sure that was ever true, even during those private times when his fingers were in my hair and his tongue was in my mouth and his hand was between my legs.

Inside, the house is filled with tight corsets, fake-blood spattered clothes, and probably even some fake boobs. Almost everyone has a costume on, except for a few. The nonconformists include the Royals. Those boys wear T-shirts and shredded jeans. When I first saw them, I labeled them thugs. They don’t look like prep-school kids. They look like dock workers with their heavy muscles, broad shoulders, and messy hair.

People turn as we walk in, and I instantly regret my outfit. I’m the only slutty football player here, so once again I’ve made a spectacle of myself. It’s strange because in the past I’ve been so good at blending in, but ever since I came here I’ve been doing things that unwittingly put me in the spotlight.

Fighting with Jordan.

Making out with Easton.

Hooking up with Reed.

Running away.

Wearing this ridiculous outfit.

I grab Val. “I need to change. Or at least wash my face.” The heavy black stripes under my eyes look dumb compared to the perfectly made-up faces of all these princesses and ballerinas. It’s like Disney threw up in here—the adult, after-hours Disney.

“You look gorgeous,” Val protests.

“No. If I’m going to make it through these next two years, I need to tone it down.”

Val shakes her head in disagreement but points a hand down the hall. “I’ll wait here for you.”

It’s easy to find the bathroom because there’s already a line. I slump against the wall. Why am I trying to make everyone notice me? Is it because I want Reed to pay attention?

The line shortens and finally the two girls in front of me push inside. I hear a snippet of conversation as the door opens.

“Abby with Easton? I don’t believe you. Abby would never ruin her chances of getting back with Reed by sleeping with his brother.”

“Why? It worked for that Ella girl. She made out with East at Moonglow and then, bam, she was with Reed.”

“So, what, like Easton preps the girls for his brother?”

“Who knows. Maybe they’re like the twins, which is gross.” There’s a long pause. “Oh my God, Cynthie! You think that’s hot?”

“I don’t know. Like, come on, you wouldn’t want to be the meat in that sandwich? If it’s wrong, maybe I don’t want to be right.”

There’s complete silence and then a huge fit of laughter followed by one of the girls saying, “Fuck, marry, kill the Royals.”

The door swings shut, but I can still hear them. I make a mental note to turn on the faucet when I pee since the walls here are tissue thin.

“There are five of them, Anna,” Cynthie complains.

“So pick three.”

“Fine. Fuck Reed, kill Gideon, and marry Easton.”

Something seizes up inside me at the thought of another girl with Reed. Hard enough to see him with Abby. I don’t need to envision him with a whole line of girls waiting to screw him.

“Easton’s a dog,” Anna protests.

“He’s a doll,” Cynthie says. “And reformed bad boys make the best husbands according to my maw-maw. Now you.”

Okay, maybe Cynthie isn’t all that bad. Easton really is the sweetest guy under all that bravado.

“Marry Gideon, because he’s the oldest and will end up running the Royal business. Screw Easton, because he has to have learned something for all the time he’s spent up girls’ skirts. Kill the twins.”

“Both of them?”

“Pretty much.”

I wince. Harsh. Anna is harsh.

“Abby and Reed looked cozy outside, didn’t they?” a honeyed voice whispers in my ear, interrupting my eavesdropping.

Ugh. Jordan Carrington. She’s not in costume, which is a shame. She would’ve made a fantastic witch.

“Don’t you have a boiling pot to stir?” I ask sweetly.

“Don’t you have a Royal to screw?”

“Maybe one or two,” I say in a breezy voice. “I bet that drives you crazy, doesn’t it, Jordan? That the Royals will screw everyone but you?”

Her face flushes for a second, but she recovers quickly. “Are you seriously bragging about your sluttiness?” She rolls her eyes. “You should write a book about all your experience. It’ll be a real feminist empowerment story.
Fifty Shades of Banging: The High School Years.
”

“Only fifty? That seems like a low number for a slut like me.”

Jordan flicks a curtain of dark hair over her shoulder. “I was giving you the benefit of the doubt. Figured that even you couldn’t be so insecure that you needed three hundred guys to prove your worth.”

I wonder if she’d believe me if I told her I’m still a virgin. Probably not.

But it’s true. Before Reed, I hadn’t even given so much as a blowjob.

We did a lot together, but not the final deed. I told him I was ready, but he wanted to wait. At the time, I thought it was because he was thoughtful. Now…well, I don’t have the first clue why he didn’t want my virginity.

Maybe the girls in the bathroom are right. Maybe Reed likes for Easton to break them in for him. That thought churns painfully in my stomach.

“Your snarky little insults don’t work on me, Jordan.” I straighten from the wall. I’m taller than her, and I use it to my advantage. “I fight back, remember? And I fight dirty. So go ahead, come at me. Let’s see what happens.”

“I’m shaking in my boots,” she parries, but there’s a note of concern. We both hear it.

I allow a vicious smile to spread. “You should be.”

The door to the bathroom opens, and I brush by the two gossipers into the powder room. My hands are shaking and sweaty. I wipe them against my shirt and then stare at my reflection in the mirror.

Astor Park is not my crowd. It will never be my crowd. So why am I trying to change myself to fit in? Even if I dressed exactly like Jordan and wore soft makeup and pretty clothes, I still wouldn’t get the kids here to accept me.

I’m always going to be the trashy interloper.

I use the toilet, wash my hands, and then leave—without changing one thing.

Back in the main room, I survey the crowd. Tonight the football players are the gods. I don’t know if that’s true in other months, if in December, after football is over, the school revolves around the basketball team or the lacrosse team or whatever other sport. But tonight, the rulers are the broad-shouldered football guys. My gaze takes in several. Their eyes meet mine and skip away.

When I look behind me, I’m not surprised to see Reed. He’s leaning against a wall and glaring at every male in the room.

I march over to him. “You said you’d do anything for me.”

“I would,” he says gruffly.

“Yeah? Then prove it.”

“Leave you alone?” he guesses, a resigned look in his eyes.

“Yep. Don’t talk to me. Don’t touch me. Don’t even look at me, or I swear to God I’ll find the first guy I can and screw him right in front of you.”

Something in my face or my voice must convey my seriousness because Reed gives me an abrupt nod. “For tonight then.”

“Whatever,” I mutter, and then I stalk away.