Page 45 of A Queen and HER Bad Boy
He was handling this all wrong! What kind of idiotic strategy was it to distance himself from Bris? All he’d accomplished was making her lose faith in him, building walls between them, encouraging her to lie about her injuries. Retreating because he wanted to protect her from himself wasn’t working—it was destroying their already fragile relationship.
What would work instead?
Charisse’s words echoed in his memory:“Your father was assassinated. No question about it. He stumbled onto something explosive, and they killed him before he could expose it. Are you going to let them steal your life too?”
He’d thought that his father’s mysterious death was the key to freeing them both from this gilded prison. His second attempt to corner Charisse alone had failed spectacularly—she’d refused to leave her father’s watchful side, spending the evening gazing at him with mournful regret written across her beautiful features. Every gesture, every glance showed him she already wished she hadn’t revealed anything, so convinced was she that digging deeper into this political hornet’s nest would get him killed.
Would it get him killed?
Maybe… but if he didn’t take this risk, they’d never escape this suffocating palace. He cared about Bris—not in the way a devoted husband should, but like a fierce tiger guarding the princess, ready to tear apart anyone who dared harm her. He’dfind a way to free her from this nightmare, even if it cost him everything.
He retrieved his damaged phone from where it lay among scattered glass fragments, grimacing at the cracked screen as he carefully dialed Charisse’s number, holding the device at a distance from his face. She answered on the second ring, her voice thick with sleep: “Achilles?”
“I want out…”
“No.” Horror colored her voice, making her sound suddenly wide awake. “Not this way; it’s too dangerous.”
“We’re a little past that after you dangled all that tantalizing bait in front of me. Tell me what I need to know.”
“I can’t… I’m still not certain about the details… I’ll look into it further for you, but Achilles? Please be careful.”
He didn’t care about his own safety—only Bris mattered now. This investigation was his only hope of dragging her away from the Earl’s predatory advances, her father’s manipulations, and the High Consortium pulling their strings, whether she appreciated his interference or not. He’d dismantle this shadowy organization’s foundation brick by brick to discover what truly controlled their country. “We have to be completely discreet. Bris can’t know what we’re planning.” He forced out a growled laugh, trying to sound casual despite the gravity of their conversation. “I stole the last piece of pizza tonight and she wouldn’t even fight me for it.”
Silence stretched across the connection, heavy with unspoken implications. “I had hoped that we could… make this work between us again,” Charisse said softly.
Did her cooperation depend on his answer? He swallowed hard and forced himself to speak the brutal truth: “I doubt she’ll have me after this.” He wasn’t prepared for the crushing wave of despair that followed his words—the thought of losing Bris’s fire, her spirit, her reluctant affection felt like losing the sun itself.The possibility left him feeling hollow and dead inside. “I’ll be free to do whatever I want after she throws me out to the curb.”
Her voice turned soft and purring like a contented kitten. “I’ll be waiting to catch you when you fall,” she promised. “I will always be there for you, no matter what happens.”
“Thanks, Charisse.” He ended the call and stared at the fractured screen. Was he making the right choice? Getting himself killed for this investigation would be a worthy sacrifice if it meant never seeing another video of Bris being brutalized by that aristocratic monster. If Achilles’s death could buy her freedom, he’d pay that price gladly.
Chapter Fourteen
Wednesday, December 10th, DAY 19
— Four days later—
Themorninglightbrokethrough the mesh of tan curtains, casting bars across Bris’s extended arms. She stretched against the silk sheets as the reality of the day glared over her, making her replay every stupid mistake she’d made over these past few days.
Why oh why had she admitted she had a heart and it was fragile? Achilles was as mad as a fiery griffin lately, circling her with the relentless vigilance of an ancient temple guardian. The Earl’s unwanted advances had flipped some primal protective switch in him that she wasn’t sure how to turn off.
Achilles wanted Phoenix gone—that wasn’t happening as long as her father called the shots. He refused to take the blue suite after she’d inspected it herself and found no signs of flooding. Instead, the couch in the living room became his domain. And now he hardly let her out of his sight, making her turn into a hellcat as she desperately tried to prove her independence.
Groaning, she picked at the hem of his navy Cambridge rugby shirt, the soft cotton worn thin from years of wear. The bruises on her wrist had transformed from angry welts to deep purple fingerprints that matched the Earl’s perfectly, which didn’t help her situation at all. She’d let Achilles see too much of her vulnerable soul. As far as she was concerned, she’d given him just enough rope to hang himself with.
Only last night, she’d found him on their private balcony at 2 AM with an empty bottle of the Viscount’s “ceremonial” wine, staring broodingly at the moonlit gardens below. What was he doing drinking alone?
He’d only given her that infuriating smile and said, “Just sampling the gifts, Princess. Don’t worry your pretty head about it.”
Where did he get off using that condescending tone with her? She’d started yelling about him turning into a drunkard, and he’d simply scooped her up and deposited her back in bed like a misbehaving child. “You need your beauty sleep, Prissy.”
Excuse me? She had plenty of beauty to go around, but even more infuriating was that he’d treated her like a toddler having a tantrum, all while she’d wanted him to give her a real taste of that smoldering passion she’d glimpsed in his dark eyes. Why couldn’t he kiss her until she forgot her own name already?
She’d been so angry at Achilles for touching her when it meant nothing to him, and so jealous of Charisse she could scream. He’d never see Bris as anything more than a moody, self-absorbed teenager!
Playing the protective big brother card at every turn was getting old fast. What she needed was a friend, which he stubbornly refused to be anymore. She’d never felt more alone in her life.
She picked up her phone and stared at its blank screen. The charity ball was over, for better or worse. The Earl hadn’t contacted her with any more threats, and she wondered if he was lying low after that PR nightmare while other, more powerful forces took him to task. Hopefully none of the other members of the High Consortium had access to Deedeelicious’s TalkieTalk channel, or they’d see how pathetically weak their applicant for the throne was… unless they preferred a trembling shadow for a queen.
