Page 2 of Shameless Royalty

“Up we go, Babyface,” he says, his tone annoyingly chipper.

“Stop calling me that,” I snap, digging my heels in for a second before he pulls me along like I weigh nothing.

But the bastard just chuckles, his grip on my arm unrelenting as he leads me through the front doors and into a grand foyer. The interior of the house is even more intimidating than the outside, all high ceilings, dark wood, and expensive-looking art. It’s the kind of place that makes you feel small—like you don’t belong.

Which, of course, I don’t.

“My da’s waiting,” Connor mutters, steering me down a long hallway. His easy-going demeanor falters slightly, his shoulders straightening as we approach a set of double doors. He knocks once before pushing them open and shoving me inside.

The man sitting behind the massive oak desk looks up, his sharp green eyes immediately locking onto me. He looks like an older, grimmer version of Connor; the tattoos covering his neck and arms cause my eyes to bug out.

This is a proper Irish gangster, where my father was just pretending to be one.

“This him?” he asks, not even standing.

“Aye, this is him,” Connor announces, dragging me forward. “The youngest Dawson. Bit mouthier than I expected.”

Connor’s father hums, his gaze raking over me. “Scrawny thing, ain’t he?”

“Hey!” I snap before I can stop myself. “I’m right here, y’know.”

Connor snorts, and even his father’s lips twitch, though he hides it quickly. “Bold for someone in your position,” he says, his tone cool. “You’ve got your father’s fire, I’ll give you that.”

I start to clench my fist, but the immediate sting of the zipties stop me. “I’m nothin’ like my father.”

“Sure you’re not,” Connor’s father says, clearly not believing me. He looks back at Connor. “Take the lad to his new accommodations. We’ll discuss what comes next after dinner.”

Connor nods, and before I can say anything, he’s hauling me back out of the room. My pulse spikes, panic bubbling up in my chest.

“Wait—what do you mean ‘accommodations’? Where the hell are you taking me?”

“You’ll see,” Connor says as he leads me down another long hallway.

“You can’t just lock me in a cell!” I shout, my voice cracking slightly. “I haven’t done anythin’!”

Connor doesn’t answer as he leads me down another corridor and through a heavy wooden door. My heart sinks when I see the room—a small, sparse bedroom with iron bars on the windows and a heavy lock on the door. It’s clean, sure, but it might as well be a prison cell.

I stumble back, my chest tightening. “You’re lockin’ me in a bloody cell?”

He turns to me, his expression torn between amusement and exasperation. “It’s not a cell, Malachi. It’s a bedroom. Bit of a fixer-upper, I’ll admit, but it’s got a bed, doesn’t it?”

“There are bloody bars on the windows!” I snap, my voice rising.

“Aye, you’re a flight risk,” he says with a shrug. “Can’t have you wanderin’ off, can we?”

“This is insane,” I mutter, pacing the small space as my hands pull at the zip ties. “You can’t just keep me here.”

Connor leans against the doorframe, watching me with that same maddening smirk. “I can, and I am. Look, it’s not so bad. You’ll have three square meals a day, a comfy bed, and all the time in the world to think about how much trouble your da’s gotten you into.”

I glare at him, my teeth clenched. “You’re a bastard, you know that?”

He laughs, the sound low and unbothered. “Heard that one before. Now, be a good lad and settle in. I’ve got better things to do than babysit you all day,” he says, pulling out a pocket knife.

For a moment, my heart leaps into my throat, but then he steps closer and cuts through the zip ties with a quick flick. “There. Happy?”

Before I can respond, he’s gone, the door clicking shut behind him. I stare at it for a long moment, my chest heaving with frustration and fear.

This isn’t just some family feud. This is something bigger. And now, I’m caught in the middle of it, locked in a gilded cage with no way out.

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