Alpha Prince (Twisted Royals, #1) Read online

  Alpha Prince

  Twisted Royals #1

  Sidney Bristol

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  Inked Press

  Alpha Prince

  Twisted Royals #1

  Once upon a time there was a princess with an evil step mother, who wanted her dead, and a prince ready to stand by her side...

  Ian Kelly never thought he'd see her again. The woman who ran out on him after some of the hottest sex of his life. Taylor Carter. He knows a damsel in distress when he sees one, but Taylor doesn't want saving.

  Taylor only meant to do the right thing. Now she's on the run from her mafia step-mother and her best friend might be dead. Even the FBI has turned on her, and the only person in her corner is a hot Irishman with a nose for danger.

  Ian can't turn his back on Taylor, not when his gut tells him she's an innocent in a den of thieves. Soon enough her past comes calling, and it'll take more than true love's kiss to fix Taylor's problems.

  This series would not be what it is without the support and guidance of Carrie Ann Ryan, Charity Hendry, Dayna Hart, Kait Nolan and Nina Gooden. You ladies are the best and worst kind of support a girl could ever ask for.

  Remember, you're the one who can fill the world with sunshine.

  ―SNOW WHITE

  Table of Contents

  1.

  2.

  3.

  4.

  5.

  6.

  7.

  8.

  9.

  10.

  11.

  12.

  13.

  14.

  15.

  16.

  17.

  18.

  19.

  20.

  21.

  22.

  23.

  24.

  25.

  26.

  Epilogue.

  1.

  Ian Kelly stared at the empty stool at the end of the bar. He could still see her sitting there. Hair so black it gleamed blue, ruby red lips and eyes he could get lost in. What’d begun as a mutually-enjoyable evening had taken a sharp turn, one he was still reeling from.

  He just couldn’t get her out from under his skin.

  And he didn’t know her name.

  She’d said it was Anne, but given how fast she’d run out on him the moment he shut his eyes after a couple rounds of memorable sex, he doubted that was her real name. It’d be his rotten luck, she was someone’s wife stepping out for a night. That idea churned his stomach, but there was nothing he could do about it. He’d looked for the signs, saw none, and didn’t think twice, not once her lips met his and things started happening.

  “What are you do’en ‘ere?”

  “Mornin’, Aunt Liv. Ryan ‘round? He asked me to drop him off some clothes.” Ian smiled at the woman across the bar. It was early still, and the Trinity Hall pub wasn’t actually open, but that didn’t matter. Aunt Liv was always around.

  “He’s down helpin’ Erik with those shelves.” Aunt Liv grinned. Then again, she always smiled, but lately it was...brighter.

  “Somethin’ goin’ on with you?” Ian leaned against the bar while Aunt Liv put pint and wine glasses in the racks. She wasn’t Ian’s aunt, but that hardly mattered. Liv treated all the regulars like family.

  “Me?” Her brows rose. “Oh, nothin’ much.”

  “Out with it.” Ian picked up a folded rag and flicked the end at her.

  “Oi, you, stop that.” Aunt Liv laughed and held up her hand, fending him off. She snatched the rag from his hand and expertly turned the tables, popping him on the arm.

  “Hey, now.” Ian pulled back, palms lifted in surrender.

  “You’re a rascal, Ian Kelly.” Aunt Liv wagged her finger at him. Her eyes were sparkling and her smile bright.

  “Seriously, what’s goin’ on with you?” Ian braced his forearms on the bar.

  “Oh, nothing much.”

  “Come on, Aunt Liv...”

  “Fine.” She sighed and rubbed at an imaginary speck of something on the bar. “Owen did a little diggin’—”

  “Oh no...” Ian winced. Owen was a good detective, one of Ian’s best friends, but he could be...nosey.

  “—and he found my John.”

  “Your who?”

  “My John.” Aunt Liv sighed dramatically. “We met when we were younger and lost contact. I knew he’d lived in this area back then, so Owen found him.”

  “That’s great.” Anything that put a smile on Aunt Liv’s face was good in his book.

  “Yeah. I suppose it feels a bit like a fairy tale.”

  “You met him then? Or, saw him again?”

  “I did.”

  “He good to you?”

  “John is one of the best.”

  “Good man, then. Warn him that if he screws with you, I’ll punch his lights out, okay?” Ian rapped his knuckles on the bar. “I’m goin’ to go check on Ryan. I want to hear more about John later.”

  “Are you harassing Aunt Liv?” Ryan strolled around the end of the bar, a liberal coating of dust on his clothing.

  “No more than she asked for.” Ian shrugged.

  “Is this overgrown leprechaun bothering you?” Ryan thumbed at Ian.

  “Go fuck yourself.” Ian chunked the bag at the other man. “I brought you some clothes. Looks like you might need them.”

  Ryan scowled, but it was the truth. Those were the same clothes Ian had seen him leave the apartment wearing two days ago. Who the hell knew whose bed he’d been in? Not that Ian was one to point fingers at anyone for hopping beds, but Ryan practically made it a sport.

  “Where are you headed?” Ryan gave Ian a once-over.

  “Consultin’ gig.” Ian grimaced. He and Ryan both worked for Aegis Group, a private security firm that’d recently opened a Seattle office, allowing Ian to live close to the only family that would claim him. A handful of guys, like Ryan, had relocated to follow the new opportunity.

  “Yeah? What’s the job?”

  “Some rich guy’s gotten some threats. Wants help findin’ out who it is, without involvin’ the cops.” Everything about this job set off Ian’s warning bells. Their boss had considered turning it down, but it was a lot of money for only a little work. Ultimately, it’d been Ian’s choice to do it, since it was his hide on the line if things went bad. He didn’t think they would, but with some of these guys it was never certain.

  “No cops?” Ryan leaned against the bar, squinting at him.

  “Yeah, I don’t much like it. He wants to revamp his security, thinks it might be one of his people.”

  “You need any help with this one?” Ryan set the bag on one of the bar stools.

  “I don’t think so. Boss keepin’ you in reserve?”

  “Yeah, man.” Ryan grimaced.

  “Sorry, mate.” If Ian hadn’t had his PI license to fall back on, he’d be cooling his heels with Ryan.

  “Oh, well, right?” Ryan shrugged.

  “I’ll see you round. Likely to be out a few days.”

  “Don’t have too much fun, you bastard leprechaun.”

  Ian flipped Ryan the bird on his way out to his Jeep.

  Guilt continued to gnaw at Ian. A bunch of the guys from the pub had pitched in to help Ian with his niece’s birthday party. They’d unintentionally become viral Internet stars for their portrayal of fictional princes. Sure, they all enjoyed making the kids smile and salvaging her special day, but one enterprising photographer had propelled them all into the limelight. Maybe if they were normal guys with nine-to-five jobs it wouldn’t be such a big deal, but most of them weren’t.

  Ian and Ryan couldn’t do their jobs if they were busy
taking pictures. Owen was a detective. His chief hadn’t appreciated quite so much attention.

  And there were other guys who found themselves harassed by the self-dubbed “Prince Chasers,” at last one guy had lost his job over the coverage and another had some nasty family stuff cropping up. The last couple of weeks had become a nightmare of dodging the press and keeping their heads down, praying it would blow over.

  Ian had stayed as far away from people interested in the princely façade as he could, since their TV interview-gone-wrong had aired. If he could go back and do it all over again... Hell, he’d be hard pressed not to do it again. The way his niece had smiled, the joy that day had given her, was worth it.

  But what a fucking nightmare for the rest of them.

  At least Ryan seemed to be enjoying his fame. Ian wasn’t sure his roommate had spent more than five nights in his own bed since this whole thing started. And why not? Their boss had pretty much benched them from active duty until the fuss died down.

  Ian climbed into his Jeep and picked up the file, doing one last flip through.

  George Wachtel.

  On the surface, he was a smooth-talking, wheeling, dealing businessman. Below that veneer... Ian didn’t like what he saw. And that was before he got to the background checks on Mr. Wachtel’s employees, especially the ones with direct access to his house.

  The red flags were many.

  No one surrounded themselves with that many convicts by choice. The threat could be literally anyone on Mr. Wachtel’s staff, which meant this job could very well end up being full of more pitfalls than Ian expected. Still, it was work. He didn’t have to arrest anyone, just assess the staff, look at the threats and hand over his findings to Mr. Wachtel.

  At least, that was what Ian kept telling himself.

  “No! Don’t eat that. Spit it out.” Taylor Carter dug her fingers into the tiny puppy’s mouth, prying out yet another itty-bitty toy. Her luck, the silly little thing would swallow it, choke and die.

  “I’m sorry, Taylor!” Stacey Wachtel herded the other two miniature French Bulldog puppies into the corner.

  “It’s okay, Stacey.” Taylor tried her best to sound soothing, but the truth was, she was fraying from all sides and none of it was Stacey’s fault.

  Her boss had a private investigator coming today.

  That simple fact had Taylor’s nerves strung tight and her stomach all knotted up. She’d already packed and unpacked her suitcase twice. If she had somewhere to go, she might already be on the road, but the truth was, hiding out in Mr. Wachtel’s shadow was her best bet at staying safe for now. Besides, now that Taylor had met Stacey, she didn’t want to leave. The little girl had burrowed into Taylor’s heart so deep that she kept looking for ways to stay a part of her life. But the truth was slapping her in the face.

  Taylor’s time here was coming to an end, and she wasn’t ready for it.

  She’d paid off the guys hounding her for more money, buying her a little time, but it wouldn’t be enough. It was never enough. Her secrets were her own, for now, but how long would that last? If George hadn’t found the threat meant for her, maybe she’d be okay. But he had, and now the PI would begin digging and Taylor didn’t think her new identity would hold out under close inspection from a professional.

  It was just a matter of time. Who’d get to her first? George? Or her step-mother?

  Taylor finally got the doll shoe out of the puppy’s mouth.

  “You’re lucky you’re cute, Dopey,” she muttered.

  Taylor tucked one puppy under her arm and scooped up the other two escapees before they got the best of eight-year-old Stacey.

  “I just wanted to pet them.” Stacey’s face creased with worry.

  “You can pet the puppies.” Taylor held the least squirmy one out to her.

  “No, I mean... I accidentally let them out.”

  “I didn’t hear that.” Taylor stared up at the ceiling, trying her best not to laugh. Or smile. God, Stacey was so much like her. Taylor winked at Stacey. “Come on, let’s get them put up and we’ll pretend this never happened.”

  The puppies were kept downstairs. In the garage. That meant she’d not only let them out, but carried them upstairs to her play room. Taylor’s heart ached for Stacey. She had no friends, no one to play with, and the puppies were an awfully tempting option.

  If they were lucky, the security guys hadn’t been looking when Stacey made her break for the play room with puppies in hand.

  It was beyond Taylor why George thought it was a great idea to get not one, not two, not even three puppies—but seven. He prided himself on having a clean, almost museum like home. Animals and children caused chaos of the best kind. Still, it wasn’t her house, those weren’t her puppies, and this wasn’t her circus. She just worked here.

  “Come on, let’s go put Bashful, Dopey, and Happy back with their brothers and sisters.”

  Maybe she could hide in the garage with the dogs? Or maybe she should just paint a bull’s-eye on her back, pack her suitcase and go find a cardboard box to be her casket.

  Something had to go right for her soon, or Taylor would be out of options.

  Stacey led the way to the garage. Thankfully, the other four monsters-of-cute were safely where they belonged.

  Taylor put the three puppies back into the puppy pen and made sure all of the panels were fastened together. She checked her watch.

  “Stacey, you’re supposed to be ready for your piano lesson right about now.”

  The little girl stared at Taylor for a moment, her eyes large, before scampering off for the front room. The piano teacher didn’t have a lot of patience, which was a mark against him in Taylor’s opinion, but she hadn’t hired him. She got Stacey situated at the piano as her instructor arrived to take over. Since Taylor had offered her opinions about how the instructor spoke to Stacey one too many times, Taylor had been banished from lessons.

  Stacey was a sweet child. She deserved better. Taylor had hoped to provide that, but then her plans had all gone to hell, and now she couldn’t tell if she was helping or hindering. One thing was for sure, she wanted what was best for Stacey. Even if that meant leaving her here when Taylor left.

  It might kill Taylor, but in the bigger picture, no one could ever know that she was George’s daughter and Stacey her half-sister. That information would make them targets. If Taylor had known she’d bring danger to Seattle with her, if she’d had any idea what she was doing in the first place, she’d have never come here. But she couldn’t change the past.

  Taylor peered at George’s closed door.

  What she wouldn’t give to know what was going on in there.

  She crept into the kitchen, restless, and in need of something to do.

  The PI had arrived during the hectic post-naptime, and as far as she knew, no one had gotten a glimpse of him.

  “Anything?” Cat whispered, one hand suspended over a rack of lamb she was busy seasoning for dinner. Well, George and Stacey’s dinner.

  “No.” Taylor sighed and slid onto one of the bar stools.

  “I’d have thought George would want you in there.”

  “He said he didn’t.” Taylor shrugged.

  Her role in the house was undefined. Cat took care of cooking and cleaning, while Taylor looked after Stacey and served as a part-time assistant to their boss. It was a crap job that left Taylor doing all the odds and ends no one else wanted to, but it kept a roof over her head, food in her stomach and a guard at the front door. More than anything, it allowed her to get to know her sister. It was the safest hiding spot she’d been able to find since leaving New York. She’d thought no one would find her here, but she’d been wrong.

  “Hey, can you grab the new bottle of olive oil out of those bags?” Cat nodded at the canvas bag sitting on the far side of the kitchen.

  “Sure. That smells delicious.”

  Taylor slid off the stool just as the sounds of the piano started up. It wasn’t the work of a great concerto, but
Stacey had moved beyond Mary Had a Little Lamb. If it weren’t for the impending interview with the PI they were all expecting, Taylor might run upstairs to take a nap. Piano lessons were about the only down time she had to herself all week.

  She dug around in the huge bag before finally finding the oil in the third one.

  “Got it.”

  Taylor turned as a man rounded the corner into the kitchen. She stepped on his foot and he caught her by the shoulders.

  “Oh—sorry!” She cringed and glanced up into a face she’d thought she’d never see again.

  Oh...no.

  It was him.

  The man from the pub.

  He stared back at her, his bright blue eyes stabbing through the sudden chill gripping her body.

  Holy shit, her one night stand, the man she’d run her mouth to, was the private investigator.

  “Taylor!” Stacey bellowed.

  “I-I-I have to go,” Taylor stammered.

  She dropped the oil onto the counter and scampered out through the archway into the dining room. She’d never been happier to be at the beck and call of an eight year old before.

  Taylor ducked into the front room, smile pasted on tight, just in time to hear Stacey poke out a new song. The teacher glared daggers at Taylor, but he could go fuck himself.

  All Taylor’s mistakes were coming home to roost, because she’d drank too much.

  He was here.

  His name was Ian.

  She remembered that, the same way she recalled the rolling lilt in his voice, how he’d kissed her...

  This was a disaster.

  Taylor perched on the seat near the window, just out of sight so she wouldn’t distract Stacey.

  What if Ian found out the truth? Would he tell George? How did things like this work? She’d had no idea Ian was a private investigator when they’d met. Granted, they hadn’t really been interested in discussing their occupations between shots and tonsil hockey. After that, the only things that had mattered were the hot, sweaty, naked kind.

  Shit, shit, shit.

  Taylor didn’t have anywhere else to go. George hadn’t paid her yet for the month, and she’d spent a large portion of last month’s check making the threats go away. She needed more time, but experience had proven that fate was not on her side.