Page 126 of Shameless Royalty

I storm through the halls, barely aware of the men stepping out of my way, of the whispers trailing behind me, of the pounding of my heart so loud it drowns out everything else. The ring is clenched so tightly in my fist that the metal bites into my palm, but I don’t give a fuck. I can’t give a fuck.

I should have known. I should have fucking known. The second I walked into my father’s office earlier and saw that glint in his eye, I should have fucking known.

I barely register shoving open the doors to my father’s office. The wood slams against the walls with a force that rattles the shelves, but I don’t give a fuck. He’s behind his desk, a glass of whiskey in one hand, a pen in the other, and calm as ever.

His eyes flick up to mine and he sees the storm raging inside me, the way my hands are shaking, the way I can barely fucking breathe.

And he doesn’t look surprised.

I take a step forward, my body vibrating with fury, with panic, with something so close to desperation it makes me sick.

“What did you do?” My voice cracks on the last word, and I swallow hard, trying to keep my emotions in check, but it’s fucking impossible. “Why isn’t he here? Where the fuck is he?”

The way he’s so fucking calm sends something violent through me, and I knock the glass off his desk. It shatters against the floor, whiskey spilling everywhere.

His lips press together, his brows lowering just slightly. “That was a good drink, lad.”

“I don’t give a fuck about your drink!” I snarl, my voice cracking. “Where is he, Da? Why the fuck isn’t he here?”

He leans back, exhaling through his nose. “Sit down, Connor.”

I shake my head so hard that my vision blurs. “No.” My breath is coming too fast, my hands curling into fists at my sides. “No, I am not fuckin’ sittin’ down. Tell me where he is. Tell me what the fuck you did.”

My father’s gaze sharpens. “I didn’t do anythin’.”

“Bullshite,” I snap. “He’s gone! His room is empty, his things are fucking gone.” My voice wavers, and I clench my jaw, trying to steady myself. “And I swear to God, if you touched him, if you—”

“Mind your tone, lad,” he growls.

“Mind my tone?” My laugh is sharp, breaking apart at the edges. “I come back after months—months of doing fuckin’ dirty work, of puttin’ bullets in skulls and wipin’ out entire families—”

Da doesn’t flinch. He barely moves at all; he just watches me like he’s waiting for me to burn myself out. And maybe I will. Maybe I’ll burn down this whole fucking house in the process.

He exhales slowly, calm in the face of my storm. “Connor, take a breath—”

“Answer me!” My voice cracks, the weight of my rage and fear pressing against it like a goddamn vice. “Why isn’t he here? Why the fuck is his room empty?”

I rake a hand through my hair, pacing the room like a caged animal, trying to breathe, trying to fucking think, but I can’t. I can’t stop picturing Malachi walking away.

Packing his things.

Leaving me.

“Fuck.” I slam a fist against the bookshelf beside me, barely feeling the impact. “This is my fault. I fuckin’ lost him, and it’s all my fuckin’ fault!”

I press my palms against my eyes, trying to block it out, trying to stop the fucking flood that’s breaking through my ribs, but I can’t.I can’t.My whole body is shaking, rage and grief twisting together into something I don’t know how to fucking contain.

I spent months training myself to be cold and ruthless. To kill without hesitation. To execute without guilt. I bled and fought and burned for the Five Crowns.

“I got stabbed on that mission,” I rasp. “Bled all over Nikolai’s hands, thought I was gonna fuckin’ die in some shithole basement in Prague.” I suck in a shaky breath, my vision blurring. “And this? This hurts worse.”

I press my fists against my forehead, swallowing down the bile rising in my throat, the fucking ache splitting me in two. All I know is that I can’t fucking breathe without him.

I squeeze my eyes shut, my hands gripping my hair so tightly it stings. “Fuck.” My breath shudders, and before I can stop it, before I can fight it, my knees buckle.

I don’t even catch myself when I hit the floor, gasping for breath.

Malachi is gone.

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