Page 1 of Broken Prince

Prologue

Tires screeching, fear, screams, and pain…so much pain. A pain I thought was the worst I experienced until I opened my eyes and looked in her unblinking dark ones.

I realized as I slipped slowly into unconsciousness as I stared into their lifeless eyes and mangled bodies that they were dead, taken away from me. I could not move, could not speak, could not breathe. All my mind could scream was, “Please let me die with them.”

I should have known better than to expect any reprieve from life—now was time to live in my hell, my purgatory…my penance.

Chapter One

CASSIE

They say everybody wants to be famous, be on the covers of the newspapers. That any press is good press, but that is a load of crap!

The press had been nothing but a curse for me and my little brother, Jude. We were Cassandra and Jude West, the children of the Rivertown Murderers.

These people… My parents used their small investment firm to embezzle the retirement funds of more than fifteen thousand people in ten years and they had also murdered thirty-two elderly people in an attempt to cover their tracks.

My face, half hidden behind my messy red hair as I walked out of the court during the trial, even made the first page of our regional paper and I had wanted to disappear on that day. I was not going to court to support them. I was going there—I was not sure why I was going there.

Maybe part of me hoped they would have the decency to apologize to me and Jude for destroying our lives and making us pariahs because the stigma we were carrying was a heavy cross to bear.

I let out a sigh of relief when my father was sentenced to life without parole and my mother to forty years I was there to make sure this whole nightmare would finally end and they would end their lives behind bars.

I didn’t miss the glares directed my way by the families of the victims every time I took my seat in the back of the room. People didn’t believe that the twenty-year-old daughter of these two sociopaths didn’t know something was wrong, and even if I genuinely had no idea, I couldn’t help but feel guilty. Had I missed anything? Were there signs?

When I exited the court after the verdict, I looked at my watch and groaned. I only had one afternoon with Jude per week and this final day of trial stole two precious hours from it.

It has been four months since my life—our lives—spiraled into hell. We had no other family and social services declared I was not fit to take care of my brother and I couldn’t deny it. I was broke; I had to drop out of nursing school, and I was now sleeping on the uncomfortable futon of our old maid who was one of the only people showing me a little compassion.

I rushed to catch the bus. I had to get to the Home soon as visitation ended at five p.m.

Seeing my baby brother only an afternoon a week was breaking me. I missed him so much and I was worried sick; he was only ten, way too young to have to deal with all of this.

No one should be dealing with all of this.

When I arrived, Amy, the social worker dealing with Jude’s case, was pacing in front of the door.

“I thought you would not make it,” she said, pulling me into the visitation room.

“I know!” I gasped breathlessly. “Thank you for waiting.”

She gave me a small smile. “You deserve someone cutting you some slack,” she said gently, bringing tears to my eyes.

I was so unused to kindness recently. I had been lucky when she had been assigned my brother’s case. We’d been in the same high school even if she had been a senior when I joined and it created a sort of kinship that I was beyond grateful for.

She opened the side door and spoke to someone; the door opened wider and my brother rushed in.

“Cassie!” he shouted, running into my arms.

I hugged him tightly. He was so short and frail. He might have been ten, but he didn’t look older than seven. He was my little man though; our parents had always been emotionally distant. It has always been Jude and me.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t want to be late,” I told him, caressing his dark-blond hair softly.

He kept his arms around me and lifted his eyes, looking at me with his big, sad green eyes—much too weary for a little boy his age.

“Are we okay now?” he asked with a small voice.

I nodded. “Yes, we are. They’re not coming back.” I frowned, noticing the small bruise on his jawline. “What’s that?” I asked, brushing my fingers on it.

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