Page 1 of Depraved Royals

1

Dani

When the man with the ice-blue eyes looks my way, how could I help but notice him?

The airport is crammed with people, all shouting and stressing out about the snow piling up outside. Departures are dropping off the board with every passing minute. Everyone is furious except him.

He’s an oasis of serenity in the middle of it all, lying across a bench in the waiting area next to the gate, oblivious to the tuts and grumbles of those who resent his seat-hogging.

I haven’t got time to focus on him. I need to run. I have to get back to New York by tomorrow, or my parents will kill me. I’m stuck here in Geneva if I don’t make my flight. And I’m already late.

The sound of my stupidly loud heels thudding on the floor is what gets his attention. He sits up in time to meet my eyes, and all of a sudden, all I want to do is stop and stare at him.

He’s fuckingbeautiful. How he’s not surrounded by people just gawping slack-jawed at his hotness is beyond me. Despite my hurry, I slow down and hold his gaze for a beat as I pass…

The tannoy system crackles, a nasal-sounding voice booming out.

“Last call for Danica Pushkin. That’s Danica Pushkin, gate twelve. Boarding is about to close.”

Shit.

I find another gear and pick up speed, weaving through the throng as I near the gate. Something compels me to look over my shoulder, and my blood runs cold.

The sexy man is there. He isn’t even working hard to keep up. He strides purposefully, and the crowd parts, cutting a path directly to me.

It’s not as though he’s done anything. He only looked at me. There’s no law against it.

But I’m scared.

I need to get to the gate. I can’t miss this flight. Almost there…

I feel a wrenching pain in my shoulder, and I’m pulled backward. The sudden change of direction unbalances me, and I hit the ground hard.

I look to see a thin man with a scruff of patchy beard and a dirty army surplus jacket. He’s pulling at my purse, dragging the strap off my arm.

“Get the fuck off me!” I cry, wrapping my arm around the strap and yanking it hard. The man responds by kicking me firmly in the ribcage, and the pain is enough to bring tears to my eyes.

The back of my head smashes on the floor. I can see the bright lights overhead, but for a few seconds, nothing else is registering.

Then I hear him.

“You fucking sneakytruslivyycunt.”

I know that word, of course. It means ‘coward.’

I scramble to my feet to find the hot guy sitting on top of my attacker, his knee wedged into the man’s throat.

I look around, but no one is paying attention. The security officers are so nonchalant that they may as well be watching a ballet or something. I wave my hands, trying to get them to notice what’s happening.

“What the hell? Hey! Aren’t you gonna —”

A squeal from the man on the ground cuts my voice off. I look just in time to see the hot guy deliver a firm punch to his jaw, whipping the man’s head to one side. Blood spatters across the polished floor.

My purse is still in my attacker’s hand.

Crack.Another punch splinters his nose, and he howls pitifully.

He doesn’t let go of my purse, and there’s no way I’m going over there to get it.

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