The Prince and the Player Read online

  He’s back to counting our pot and then dividing it into thirds. “That guy was crowding you tonight,” he says, and my heart stops.

  It’s quiet a moment, and Helen takes a pull on her cigarette. The orange cherry glows in the darkness.

  “Yeah,” I say, keeping my voice calm. “I was worried for a second he might see me.”

  “That’s why this is a three-person job.” He leans back and looks at me. Three even stacks are before him on the table.

  “Ava played an important role, in case you didn’t notice.” My chest is tight, and if we hadn’t run our own, separate con, I’d be pissed. Seth never acknowledges Ava’s role in keeping security distracted. “You guys made as much noise as possible. I’m surprised we didn’t have the entire police force standing around watching us play.”

  That makes him laugh, and he leans forward. “Take it easy, Fireball. I know little sister is an asset.”

  “You never include her in the winnings.”

  Lifting his eyebrows, he does a little shrug. “If she brings in cash, she can have a share of the winnings.”

  I’m still not sure if he’s waiting for me to confess what happened with the thousand-dollar chip. The old saying “no honor among thieves” drifts through my mind, and he can wait all night if he thinks I’ll cave. Whatever he knows, if anything, he’ll have to say it.

  “It was so much easier when they let us smoke in the casinos,” Helen sighs a long cloud of blue smoke. “Hiding that transmitter in your cuff is not ideal.”

  “Either way, we’ve burned up our chances of winning any more here.” My eyes ache. My spine is tired from absorbing all the stress of the evening, and exhaustion is rolling over me like the warm surf.

  “We’ll lay low for a month or so. I’ll call with our next rendezvous point.” Seth shoves a pile of money toward me, and I stand. “You should have enough there to keep you both comfortable until I call.”

  Picking up my clutch, I tuck the stack inside without bothering to count it. “I’ll be waiting to hear from you.”

  He’s on his feet equally fast. “Hey, Zee…” Hazel eyes twinkle in the tall lights, and he reaches up to slide the black glasses off his head. “That’s it? No hug before you go?”

  I pause, evaluating his request. I’ve known Seth Hines since I was twenty-one, hustling pool players in panhandle bars while Ava lifted food and petty cash off vendors in the farmer’s markets.

  Seth is two years older than me, and when we met, he was selling human growth hormone in South Beach. He cleaned us up, taught us how to talk right, made me stop saying fuck all the time. That swear jar almost broke me on the F-bomb alone. I’d never realized how useful (and versatile) that term was.

  Basically he turned us into knock-off Bar Harbor society girls as opposed to the panhandle hicks we truly are. He also taught me how to gamble in nice casinos, which is different from gambling in shit-hole dive bars.

  He taught me how to stay cool when it looks like I’m about to get busted. He taught me to be a pro. But not Ava. Back then she was too young. Then when she was old enough, he said she was too pretty.

  “Targets will want to sleep with her or at the very least hit on her,” he’d said. “Having a memorable face is a liability in this game.”

  By saying that, he had essentially called me plain and forgettable, but I shook that shit off. He was right. Ava’s beauty was the reason we were forced into a life of petty crime in the first place. It wasn’t what I promised her when I said I’d take care of us, but we were making it. I didn’t want her taking chances like me.

  Two years later, and we’ve graduated from small-time card tricks to more complex schemes with bigger payoffs. We’re only loosely associated with Seth, and I like to keep it that way. He has a mean side. He’s never hurt me, but I don’t get too close. I don’t trust him.

  Seth’s a grifter like me, and a grifter like me will do anything to get what he wants. In my case it’s security, a safe place for Ava and me. In Seth’s case, it’s the big score, the ultimate win.

  I step forward into his outstretched arms, but I only hug him briefly before pulling back.

  “What? That’s it?” he laughs.

  “Ava’s back at the hotel alone, and I’m ready to crash.”

  He waves and drops in his chair. “Suit yourself.”

  “Night, Helen.” I wave at the part-Seminole granny, who always adds color to our jobs. “Can’t wait to see what you show up wearing next.”

  She takes another pull off her cigarette and exhales a chuckle. “Night, Zee. Take care of you two.”

  “It’s what I do,” I say as I go.

  It’s what I’ve been doing for the past six years, and I don’t intend to stop. Survival skills have gotten us this far.

  I think about earlier this evening and how Ava knew instinctively to sneak into the coatroom and wait. My sister and I have become a well-oiled machine. I can’t take credit for being the brains anymore because my little sister is right there spotting every angle and preparing to maximize any situation.

  One day we won’t need Seth to come up with cons. One day we’ll have enough money to take care of ourselves for a long, long time.

  One day we’ll be free.

  Playboy Prince

  Rowan

  Shoving the clutch into fifth, I steer into the straight and punch the accelerator all the way to the floor. The noise of the engine rips through the air, and the speed of the Mercedes CLR vibrates up my legs as the needle moves past a hundred.

  The track is slick and the tires of my Formula One car are slicker. A single wrong move could send me into a potentially deadly spin. Every muscle in my body strains as I ride the lightning, as a bead of sweat glides down my neck. A curve is ahead. I’ll cut the first one to nail the second exiting into another straight to pick up more speed.

  Pushing the breaks hard, the wheel fights me as I turn it. I cross my arms like a pretzel, never letting go as I guide the car through the first turn, only to whip it around again coming out and hitting the gas hard, flying into the straight.

  The black and white checkerboard of the finish line is in view, and I let her rip, giving everything to beat my previous time. Scenery blurs into a wash of color. My eyes are fixed on the top third of the windshield. I blaze past the flagman faster than a blink, his frantic waving barely registering in my vision.

  Foot off the gas, I exhale, my muscles vibrating with adrenaline. Coasting through the downshifts, I bring it into the pit.

  “Fuck me, you did it! Seven seconds!” Cal is laughing and shouting at the side of the car, grasping my underarm and pulling me up. “You’re one away from the record.”

  Pulling off my helmet, I scrub a hand back and forth through my dark hair. “It’s not enough,” I say, pulling the zipper down on my red and white fireproof suit.

  It’s a gorgeous day on the track. The sky is brilliant blue, and the air is dry. Zero humidity, and not a cloud obstructs the sun from beating down on us. Standing on the black asphalt, my entire body is covered in sweat from both the exertion of the trial run and the heat. If we were closer to the coast, at least we’d have the constant breeze.

  “You’re the best racer in the country,” my brother continues. “It’s a shame you’ll never compete again.”

  Regret twists my stomach. “You always know just what to say, don’t you, Cal?”

  “Come now, we can’t have our future king going out in a blaze of glory.” He slaps my back as he braces me. “You’ve got enough shit to deal with at the palace.”

  Even after all this time, it’s tough for me to let it go so easily. “Did you see Gutierrez’s crash last week? He climbed out and walked over to do an interview right after.”

  “What are you saying?” My brother’s eyes flash.

  “Nothing.” One of the pit crew shoves a Gatorade in my hand, and I rip the top off and take a drink before dismissing my fantasies of freedom. “Only that it’s impressive how far safety has come. Racin
g sets the standard for the entire automobile industry.”

  “You want to say fuck it? Grand Prix qualifications are only a few weeks away!”

  “No.” I push off the side of the car and slowly make my way to the track exit. Cal would never talk me out of doing something completely insane and irresponsible. He’s perfected such behavior. “Fuck it is not in the royal vernacular.”

  “Ah, shit.” He walks beside me, pulling out his phone. “I thought for once we might have a little fun around here.”

  As I’m passing into the covered area under the stands, I nod to the guards standing watch.

  “I need a shower,” I mutter.

  “Hello hello! What’s this? It appears someone is having fun around here.” My brother grabs my shoulder, stopping me. “Is hummer in the royal vernacular? Ha! And it’s all over the blogs…”

  The last thing I care about is tabloid news. “I really couldn’t give a rat’s ass—” The words die in my throat as my brother shoves his smartphone in my face, and I immediately recognize the billiard room at our estate in Occitan. “What the hell?”

  On the screen is a blurry image of me leaning against the wall. My head is back and my eyes are closed. On her knees in front of me is a blonde I know too well, her head level at my crotch.

  “Shit!” I snatch the phone, adrenaline spiking in my veins.

  “Now who was this young lady?” Cal teases, elbowing my side. “Is she practicing her genuflection?”

  “Who took this?”

  “More importantly, was it any good?”

  My jaw grinds in anger as I remember that night a few weeks ago, the daughter of a duke was visiting with her father. She and I have known each other since we were kids. I was tired, she was charming, a few drinks later...

  We haven’t spoken since, and there’s no way in hell I’ll reveal her identity.

  “How dare they… Find whoever did this and have these images destroyed!”

  Taking his phone back, Cal laughs louder, increasing my fury. “What century do you live in? These photos are out there for the duration. I’m just glad to see you’re finally getting some action.” He slaps my shoulder. “I was worried about you, old chap.”

  Stopping at the exit wall, I lean against it thinking of all the eyes that will see that photo—the queen mother, the lady’s father, the god damned assholes in the cabinet who treat me like I’m not old enough to rule. It’s yet another reason for them to delay the referendum naming me King of Monagasco. As if we can afford another delay…

  “I hate the Internet,” I growl.

  “Welcome to the club.” Cal turns his phone. “It’s an incredibly clear shot. You must’ve been drunk to be so careless.”

  “I was very tired. I didn’t ask for that.” I honestly never expected it either.

  “What I wouldn’t give for that whole future king moniker you continually waste. Do you know how much tail you could be getting on a regular basis?”

  “You’re the heir presumptive. If future king is all it takes, you can cash in on the lineup at any time.”

  He shakes his head. “Nobody wants the bitter younger brother of the future king. The one silently calculating the day his elder sibling dies and he seizes all the power.”

  “Is that what you’re up to?”

  “I’m just saying. Don’t you watch any movies?”

  Narrowing my eyes on my younger brother, I joke, “I seem to recall that Loki fellow has quite a following. Isn’t he always trying to find creative ways to kill Thor?”

  “Part of the problem is I actually like you, old bean.” Cal throws an arm over my shoulder. We’re the same six-foot-two height, so it works. “I wouldn’t trade the shit you deal with every day for all the pussy in the world.”

  “Look out—” Shrugging his arm off, we both launch into a full-out sprint toward our waiting town car.

  We’re only steps ahead of a mob of paparazzi flying in our direction, camera flashes popping. I fling open the door and dive in. Cal’s right behind me, pulling in his feet just before the door slams with a solid thunk.

  Our most trusted driver Hajib hits the gas, and we’re pushing away from the crowd as the strobe of flashbulbs blinds us.

  “Next time you’re feeling hard up, let me know.” Cal pants. “I’ll find you someone more discreet.”

  “I can’t fucking believe this.” Leaning forward, I pinch my fingers over my closed eyes, calming my breath. “It had to have been someone on staff.”

  “You’re not going to tell me her name?”

  Hesitating, I consider his request, but waiting for my answer is forgotten as he checks his phone again.

  “No!” he cries. “They can’t do this!”

  My blood freezes. “What?” I lean toward him, stomach tight. Could it possibly get any worse?

  “I’m the Playboy Prince. Me!” He jams a thumb in his chest. “Leave me something, man!”

  “Jesus,” I hiss leaning back in the seat and looking out the window at the passing scenery. Every few seconds I catch a glimpse of the turquoise water of the Mediterranean. “We’re supposed to be in Occitan to relax.”

  “You’re one step ahead of us on that front.”

  I’m about to lose it when my phone buzzes. “Shit,” I mutter when I see the screen. “Mother.”

  “Here we go.” Cal turns my phone to read her text aloud. “We need to talk.”

  I lean forward again, putting my hand over my mouth as I try to sort this out. Of all things, my mother had to see me getting a blowjob from an unnamed female. She won’t be angry at the act necessarily—just that I got caught.

  “Chin up. It could be worse.” My brother stretches his legs. “It’s not like your royal ass was in the air or you were caught in a ménage.”

  “Both of which you’ve already done.”

  He exhales dramatically, “It’s been a while, my brother.”

  “Two days?”

  That only makes him smile, and he slaps my shoulder. “Think of it this way, getting a hummer from an attractive young courtier is the royal way. You’re just keeping with tradition. Shows you’re a man.”

  “More like a careless frat boy. Not the future leader of our country.”

  “It didn’t hurt the President of the United States, and they’re supposedly the world leaders.”

  “I’d hardly model my personal life after a U.S. President. They’re all commoners.”

  The car stops in front of our seaside estate, and I glance down at my racing suit and dirty hands. At least the sweat is dry from our air-conditioned ride. “I suppose I should get this over with now.”

  Hajib opens the door, and I step out, not missing his attempt to hold back a smirk. I can’t believe I’m plastered all over the fucking tabloids…

  “You could’ve been experimenting with coke,” Cal continues as we jog up the white front steps to the grand entrance.

  “Again, something you’ve already done,” I retort.

  “It was only once. The sex was insane, let me tell you.”

  My mother is standing in the foyer waiting for us. She’s dressed in an olive green suit, and her silver hair is smoothed back in a controlled helmet. A three-stranded pearl necklace is precisely positioned at her throat. Everything about her is planned, controlled, and exactly as it should be.

  “Your royal highness,” she says to me, a definite tone in her voice. “Would you step with me into the parlor?”

  “Of course,” I say.

  She leads the way, and my brother is right on my heels, never one to miss a royal scolding.

  “Close the door please, Cal,” she says, turning to sit on the edge of a chaise upholstered in yellow satin.

  “If you don’t mind, I’ll stand.” I say, doing a slight nod. “I’ve been at the track.”

  “Certainly,” Mother’s voice is sharp. “This won’t take long. I suppose you’ve seen the news.”

  “Just now. Cal noticed—”

  “Your great aunt Daphne
brought it to my attention. You know how I despise that woman.” Straightening, she runs her palms down the front of her light blazer. “You know, Rowan, when you first took over after your father’s death, you made several bold moves. Exiling Hubert and Reggie, although I don’t know I agree with the latter, you demonstrated strength, that you were not afraid to crush insubordination. I was proud of you.”

  “Thank you,” I say, knowing exactly where this is headed.

  “You also have powerful critics, who think you’re young, inexperienced, and reckless. Your racing hobby, for instance, and now this.”

  “I can assure you, Mother—”

  “I’m not angry, Rowan. You’re a man, after all.” Her lips are tight, and her ice blue eyes fix on mine. “You’re very handsome, you’re twenty seven, you have needs.”

  Actually, I’ve changed my mind. I have no idea where this is headed. “What are you saying?”

  She inhales and looks around the well-appointed room. “We can’t afford to have you engaging in frivolity while the people suffer and unemployment is high.”

  “I couldn’t agree more. I spend most of my time looking for ways to improve the economy—”

  “Looking for ways is not enough, Rowan.” Her eyes return to mine. “I’m ready to retire. I need you to do something bold. Take action. Force their hand on the succession referendum.”

  Frustration twists in my chest. My succession to the throne has to be put forth to the people by the very cabinet members intent on criticizing me.

  “I have several projects in the works. I’m moving us away from oil dependence. I’ve drafted an agreement with an American tech billionaire—”

  “Which I’m sure will pay off eventually,” she sighs.

  For a moment, she’s quiet, thinking. I don’t know what to say to ease her concerns, partly because I know she’s right. I’ve got to do something to control the narrative.

  “Many things about our way of life never change, no matter how many centuries pass,” she says. “If your only press is of you acting the playboy while the people suffer, you might as well tell them to eat cake as they starve.”