Page 4 of Royally Ruined

A group of men were lounging with the giggling dancers on the roped-off leather couches reserved for high-end clientele. One of them had slid out his gun and was showing it off to the woman clinging to him.

What made my heart stop wasn’t the weapon, but the ring on the man’s finger: a gold band capped by a single bullet casing. All at once I knew who these men were. Why Costello had been running around making sure none of us were snitches.

The Badds might run this state ...

But the Deep Shots were a dangerous gang with their own place on the food chain.

Last I knew,I thought uneasily,these guys weren’t welcome in this club.Or any club owned by the Badds—which was all of them. The frustration the smaller gangs felt with their inability to push drugs or prostitution through Badd territory wasn’t a secret if you were part of that industry.

People feared Costello’s family, but I kind of respected them. I mean, I worked in one of their businesses and, thanks to their rules, none of the dancers—including my best friend—had to resort to sex for cash. Every club in the city was clean.

Why are they here?I had a million questions. The rock in my stomach grew as I watched the gang members. This was too weird; why would the Badds let them inside?

“There you are!” Gina piped up, making me jump. I’d wandered toward the bar on autopilot and nearly bumped into the dancer, who was sitting cross-legged on a stool. As I clutched my chest, my best friend gave me a knowing look. “Oh, gosh. He did it to you, too.”

I followed her eyes and spotted theheshe meant. Costello was a sentinel, straight and solid where he hovered in the shadows beside the Deep Shots. I’d missed him initially because he’d been so still.

When his eyes flicked up, finding mine, I spun around and knocked a serving tray off the counter. “Ah—dammit,” I mumbled. Gina handed it to me before I could kneel and grab it. I had no clue how she moved so fast in heels taller than most beer kegs.

Her long, painted nails came my way, patting my forearm. “Poor thing! Did he scare you that badly?” Her gesture was sweet. It flustered me even more.

“Something like that.” Trying to explain would have been a wasted effort; I wasn’t sure what had happened in that dressing room myself.

Standing straight, Gina adjusted her silver bikini. It did little to hide her overflowing breasts, which we both knew the customers adored. “Anyway, I’m heading over there.”

“What, there?” I blurted, trying to look at the group of dangerous men without being obvious. “Why there?”

Her forehead creased. “It’s where the men are? Men who have this thing called money? You should consider getting some, it’s good for buying things.”

Clutching my tray, I whispered, “I get the impression those guys have more on their minds than boobs.”

Gina laughed loudly, doubling over. “Are they alive? Then they’ve got boobs on their minds.” Her blue eyes became gentle ponds. “Scotch, honey, baby doll, listen to me. Tonight is going to be great.” She gave me a dorky thumbs-up. “Forget about being groped earlier. Besides, he was pretty professional. It was over in a blink.”

Professional?Again I looked across the room at Costello.That’s the last word I’d use to describe how he was with me.

Thorne had joined his brother, and from a distance I found myself comparing the two.

No one would doubt the men were family, but they had plenty of contrasting features: frosty blue eyes versus dark inky pools, sun-kissed hair beside deep mountain coal, and that jagged scar next to the other’s laughing, unblemished face.

I wondered how he’d gotten it.

And how it might feel as I traced my fingers over it.

Hawthorne said something, clapping one of the Deep Shots on the shoulder while chuckling. The man was like a cattail waving without care in the wind, but Costello ...

Costellowasthe wind.

It would sound insane if I said it out loud, but it was true. The man shifted and the world moved because of him. He was mostly subtle, a winter breeze, but I had no doubt he could become a storm if needed.

Or a tropical monsoon,I mused, helplessly recalling how he’d made me sweat. All he’d been doing was searching me, and even so he’d created a pull between us in just a few short seconds.

Gina approached the group with her hips swinging. The men cheered at the sight of her; she did a little twirl, draping herself across someone wearing a well-fitted navy-blue suit. She could smell money.

My fingers curled at my sides. I was doing my best not to reach out and stop her. But like my inaction was a high beam, Thorne spotted me by the bar. Not one of the Deep Shots had a free hand—every hand was either on a girl’s ass or gripping a beer—but he still waved me over.

I hesitated. This wasn’t about Costello; the tickle going up my spine to my neck hairs was warning me about these men. Mr.Blue Suit was whispering in Gina’s ear, but he was also sending looks my way.

Thorne’s knitted brow said,Get your ass over here and do your damn job.

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