Page 1 of Royally Ruined

- CHAPTER ONE -

COSTELLO

Once upon a time, I would have been a king.

Firstborn.

Royal blood.

A family full of money and power and everything I could possibly dream of. I would have ruled justly, taken care of my loved ones, and done my best for my country. The key words in all of this arewould have.

Modern-day princes like me? Guys with Mafia roots who stay in control thanks to threats instead of our lineage? We’re often the bad guys.

I sure am.

It’s why I was checking my handgun under my coat; I didn’t need to look to know that it was loaded. And it’s why I was staring down the young woman who wantednothingto do with me.

“Hold up,” she said, her voice tangling high in her throat. “You don’t need to do this. Thorne knows me, ask him!”

Thorne was one of my brothers. He’d made a point of stepping out of the dressing room when I’d demanded we check every girl here—dancer or otherwise—to make sure she wasn’t wearing a wire. He’d looked me in the eye and said, “It’s a dumb meeting with the Deep Shots to introduce new members. We don’t need to be so careful, no one is going to talk to the cops.”

I’d calmly asked him one thing. “Do you want to search them, or do you want me to?”

My brother had left before I began on the first girl.

Even if Thorne trusted the people working here, I didn’t. I couldn’t. The vicious scar on my face was a constant reminder of that. Anyone can screw you over ... especially the many dirty cops in this city.

Ihatecops.

I’m pretty confident everyone working tonight hated me, too. Each of them had given me wide eyes—a look I was used to—as I made her put her palms on the wall so I could pat her down. If I were anyone else, they’d have probably cussed me out.

But none of them struggled ... none of them tried to reason her way out of it ...

Until her.

“Hey, hey, whoa!” the blonde shouted at me. “Slow down. You don’t need to check me for anything, I workhere, not for the police!”

I stayed where I was, acting relaxed but knowing I could catch her if she tried to run. “This isn’t up for discussion. I’m checking every dancer here.”

“I’m not a dancer, I’m a waitress!” She’d been the last to arrive in the dressing room. I had a hunch no one had told herwhyshe was needed down here. “Also, why are you looking for wires and weapons on strippers? You do know their whole thing is getting naked, where would they even hide anything?”

When I said nothing else, the woman lifted her arms. My muscles knotted up; was she going to fight me, or was she surrendering?

Her tongue darted over her lower lip in a smooth pink swipe. “Seriously,” she said, “ask Hawthorne, he knows me!”

“Doesn’t matter who knows you. I’m not asking much. I only want you to take off your clothes so I can search you.”

Her face flushed pink, the color bringing out her freckles. The tiny piercing on the side of her nose glinted when she scowled. “Oh? That’s all? Well then, gee, I guess I’ll just strip down and—No! Fuck no! Get Thorne. I’ve been here for eight years, seen plenty of bad shit, and never once said a word. Why is this happening now, why search me tonight?”

This was taking too long. The Deep Shots would be upstairs any minute.

With clean precision I slid the tip of my pistol between us. There wasn’t much space; I’d set up my little “check station” in the corner of the dressing room farthest from the door. The beaten-up and vandalized lockers the girls stored their everyday clothes in were keeping the waitress from bolting in one direction.

My body blocked the other.

“Hey,” she said, flicking her brown eyes to the weapon, then back to me. I was surprised she held my stare so evenly. Few people could. “Can’t we be nice about this?”

“Do I seem nice?” I asked.

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