Page 1 of Wicked Royals
1
December 14th,1997
Washington,D.C.
White HouseTunnels
Stephen’s footstepsechoed in the damp air as the bright beam of his flashlight shined over the rough stony walls and concrete floor, marking out a steady path ahead. There were usually candles or burning torches lining the walls down here, but the afternoon’s heavy winds had blown through and extinguished most of them. Stephen had guessed it might be like this and brought the flashlight just in case. Without it, he’d be wandering blindly in the dark, and on a day like today, he simply couldn’t afford to get lost or show up late to hismeeting.
Another heavy gust blew through the tunnel from somewhere behind him, chilling his skin. In the carrier hanging off his left arm, a muffled cry started up, barely audible over the sounds of dripping water and debris crunching beneath hisfeet.
He paused and looked down at the baby girl nestled in the carrier. “Shh, Willow,” he muttered, delicately stroking her tiny forehead. “It’s okay. Nearlythere.”
The baby gurgled and went quiet again. Stephen stared down at her beautiful young face for another moment as nausea rose in his throat. Gulping it down, he started walking again, ignoring all the alcoves and passageways opening off the main path. When he reached a set of stone steps leading below the floor level, he stopped and closed his eyes for a moment, willing his hammering heart toslow.
He headed down the steps and turned right into another smaller tunnel. The candles in this one hadn’t been affected by the winds blowing through from above, so he slipped the flashlight into his coat pocket and used his now-freed hand to rub several beads of sweat off the back of his neck. Even though he’d been down here hundreds of times in the past without any issues, an alarming sense claustrophobia was swamping his mind, and it was becoming difficult for him tobreathe.
Taking a deep breath, he ventured farther and farther into the new tunnel, clutching the baby carrier in a white-knuckled grip. When he reached the end, he took another right turn and hesitated, staring with fearful eyes at what layahead.
Flickering candles sat in wrought iron sconces on the walls, flashing over intricate stone friezes and marble statues. Between the two biggest statues, a recessed door stood in shadow. Atop it was a carved stone scroll with three Latin words picked out ingold.
Novus ordoorbis.
Stephen didn’t want to go through the door and enter into the belly of the beast that was the Order’s headquarters, but if he wanted to save his family from his terrible mistakes, he had to push himself to doit.
Five more steps and he was at the threshold of the shadowy door. Despite the seemingly-ancient design, a keycard slot lay on the right side of it, and motion sensors and cameras tracked his arrival. No one could get in or out without the appropriateauthorizations.
With one swipe of Stephen’s card, the door swung open into a small candlelit foyer. On the left of the small room was a table laden with black and gold masks for anyone who felt the need to wear one, but he ignored it and kept walking. Ahead of him lay a series of arched entryways carved out of pale gray stone, each one leading to a different part of the secret society’sheadquarters.
The arched door on the far left led to the main party room. Stephen stepped through it, adopting a neutralexpression.
His new surroundings were a far cry from the cold, dirty tunnels outside. Chandeliers lit the expansive space with a soft glow, accenting the high-end décor and valuable artwork adorning the walls. The floors were made of imported hardwood, the high ceilings were lined with crown molding, and a polished walnut bar stood on one side. Behind it, smiling girls in short black dresses and matching masks served drinks to visitors in crystalglasses.
At the very back of the room in a darkened area, plush red carpets replaced the hardwood floors, and several semi-clothed and nude guests writhed on black velvet loveseats. Beyond that space, a series of numbered doors led to smaller playrooms. One door was currently wedged open. Stephen could see a woman on a black swing, legs spread wide and strapped to each end of the contraption. A man circled her, stroking his cock as she moaned and begged formore.
Chatter, laughter, clinking glasses, and strains of music drifted through the warm air, along with the groans and cries from the men and women on the dark side. Stephen tried to ignore the sounds. He wasn’t here to join in the fun. Once upon a time, he’d loved this place and would’ve jumped at the chance to go wild in this room, but that was before he royally fucked everythingup.
“Stephen Rhoades. You madeit.”
The deep voice nearly made Stephen jump out of his skin, but for the sake of the baby in his arms, he managed to keep himself still. Turning to his left, he nodded and held out his free hand. “Chuck. Thanks for meetingme.”
The taller man cast his dark eyes over Stephen. One brow arched in surprise as he noticed the baby carrier. “You didn’t need to bring hertoday.”
“I had to. Quinn’s been tired since the birth. She needed to resttoday.”
Chuck’s upper lip curled in a disdainful sneer. “What about thehelp?”
Stephen tried not to grimace at that. While he’d been born into wealth and privilege like so many other Order members, he’d never liked referring to hired workers as ‘the help’. It was patronizing and classist, and everyone knew it. However, a lot of people—people like Chuck—saw things differently. They actually enjoyed using such terms to assert their good fortune and dominance over their so-calledinferiors.
“Our nanny has the day off today, and the housekeeper and maids are too busy,” Stephenreplied.
“I see.” Chuck glanced down at the baby again. “She’s a beautiful girl. Three monthsold?”
“Ten weeks. Closeenough.”
“I hear she inherited yourhair.”
Stephen nodded and carefully pulled off his daughter’s lilac knit cap. “She’s had it since she was born,” he said, softly stroking the tufts of reddish-brown hair on her littlehead.
