Page 5 of Born Free

And this is exactly why Chicago is the way it is. There are far too many politics in the Royal system. War. Bloodshed. Backstabbing. Who wants to be under that thumb? We have a few rules in Chicago, but at least our leaders aren’t born into it. We earn it.

“If we hated each other so much, why come find me?” Roman asks. “I don’t think I have to even ask if Raul is still alive.”

“He ticked off the King nineteen years ago,” Orlando says, far too casually. “Cyrus decapitated him and left his head in the streets for the children to play with.”

Damn.

The more I hear about this insane King, the more I vow to stay out of trouble.

Well. I’ll try.

“So, with my disappearance, you’re the leader of the House of Badillo,” Roman continues. “You have power. Money. Influence. You’re years established as the ruler. Why the hell would you actively come looking for me? How can I be anything but a threat to you?”

“You always were direct, Andres,” Orlando says, a small smile pulling his lips thin. “No one ever had to question where you stood on anything. At least some things weren’t lost.”

“That isn’t an answer,” Roman says darkly.

“Always so suspicious,” he says. He pulls a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, removes one from the carton, and twirls it between his fingers.

“Don’t you dare light that in my home,” I say, my voice coming out colder than I expect. My nerves are on edge, ready to break apart at just the wrong move.

Orlando smirks. He continues twirling the cigarette, but doesn’t light it. “It’s been decades, Andres. You’re all I have left. Don’t you think reconciliation is called for after all this time?”

“Bullshit,” Roman calls him out. “Again, I’m nothing but a threat to you.”

Orlando grins. And it’s not what I expect when he stands, still twirling that cigarette. “All in due time, brother. And with any luck, you will remember. And then you can tell me what the hell happened to you. For now,” he takes three steps toward the door, Javier right behind him, “it’s been a damn long flight. We’re all staying at The Carmon. I’d like to spend some time tomorrow getting to know the current you and your snarky girlfriend.”

I should take snarky over bitchy, which is what I’ve often got in the past. But I feel a sharp comment on the tip of my tongue, and I was never very good about holding myself back. “It’s usually polite to ask with a please when addressing your elders.”

Orlando looks back over his shoulder, a cold, dark look in his blue eyes. No longer does he wear a smirk. His lips thin, and he hesitates.

But it only lasts a moment. He pulls the front door open, steps out, his bodyguard at his side, and the door closes behind them.

“Dammit, Juliet,” Roman says, letting out a breath as if he’s been holding it in. “No wonder Sebastian lost his shit. I wouldn’t have let him lay a finger on you, but are you just looking to piss off every important person you come in contact with?”

“That guy is an asshole,” I say as I stand. Automatically, I start pacing. “And dangerous. And a shit stirrer. Did you see that smirk on his face?”

“You don’t have to rise to every taunt,” Roman says, his tone dark. But there’s no real reprimand in his voice. Roman knows exactly how I am. He knows it’s a battle he’d never win, and for the most part, he’s never seemed to have an interest in fighting it. His head falls back, those blue eyes staring up at the cracked ceiling. “This is bad, Juliet.”

My fingers rise to lace into my hair. It’s a mess now, thanks to the insanity of the night. No longer is it in the low bun the stylist took an entire hour to perfect. It falls around my face in crazed waves. “Roman.” I pace faster. “You’re a Royal. You’re…” I shake my head in total disbelief. “You’re the freaking rightful heir to a House. And your…” I suddenly stop, my eyes snapping to him, though he’s still staring at the ceiling. “Your real name is Andres.”

That snaps his head back up, his eyes instantly meeting mine. “Don’t call me that. That is not my name.”

He and I stare at one another, each of us completely overwhelmed by the events the night has unfolded. And the sun hasn’t even come up.

“I need out of this dress,” I blurt. Because, suddenly, I feel like I can’t breathe. The tightness of the bodice is restricting my breathing, the speed of which is accelerating by the moment. “Get me out of this dress.”

I don’t really realize what I’ve asked until I feel the heat of Roman’s breath against the back of my neck.

And then I remember. All the things he said after he took a stake for me, even though he knew I’d just come back.

If I have to watch you die in front of me one more time, I’m pretty sure it will break something in me. You are everything, Juliet. And I’ll throw myself in front of a thousand stakes, so long as it means I never have to watch the light die in your eyes again.

I am hyperaware of his hand as it grips the zipper. As he slides it down. The speed of his breath increases slightly. I hear his heart beating, and its pace is rising. Lower and lower the zipper descends.

He hesitates when it’s down all the way. His breath is shaky.

My hands go to my chest, holding the thin fabric in place so it doesn’t fall and expose me entirely. I can still hardly breathe. But it’s no longer due to the dress. “I… I’ll be right back.”

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