Page 50 of Shameless Royalty

I hesitate for half a second and I know he fucking caught it. “It’s about Malachi.”

Da raises an eyebrow, tilting his head slightly. “What about him?”

I exhale, dragging a hand through my hair before deciding to just get to the fucking point. “He’s got whip scars on his back. Old ones. And I think it was Anthony who did it.”

His expression barely changes, but I know him too well. There’s a flicker of something in his eyes—a shift so subtle most wouldn’t catch it. “You’re sure of that?”

“He wouldn’t say it outright,” I admit. “But you know I can read people well.”

Da exhales through his nose, setting his glass down with a quiet clink. “And why’re you tellin’ me this?”

The question makes me pause, but only for a second. “Because if he can do that to his own son, why the fuck would he care about gettin’ him back?”

Da watches me carefully, his fingers tapping against the desk. “Because he does,” he says after a moment. “Anthony Dawson’s offered at least five million for the lad. And that was just the first time. Five offers so far, each higher than the last.”

Five fucking offers.Each one higher than the last.

I force my face to stay neutral, but inside, something tightens in my chest. Five million. That’s what Malachi’s worth to hisfather. Not enough to keep him from being whipped bloody, but enough to throw money around like he’s a lost fucking pet.

I scoff, shaking my head. “That’s a lot of cash for a son he left with scars.”

He shrugs and swirls the whiskey in his glass. “Aye, well, some men are like that. Beat their own blood without a second thought, then turn ‘round and act like it was done out of love.”

The words are casual, but I don’t miss the sharp edge beneath them. I know what he’s thinking. He grew up experiencing it, the way some of the old families treated their own like property, like they existed to be molded and punished into whatever shape suited them best.

But it doesn’t explain why Dawson’s still throwing money at this. “You think it’s guilt?” I ask, sitting down in the chair across from him.

Da snorts. “Doubt it. Guilt’s for men with a conscience, and Anthony Dawson’s never had one of those.” He leans forward slightly, resting his forearms on the desk. “No, lad. This isn’t about fatherly love. It’s about power. That boy’s the only one of his who isn’t neck-deep in his business. The only one who could’ve walked away clean. That makes him a weakness.”

I frown. “So why does he want him back?”

“Because a loose end’s a dangerous thing,” Da says simply, taking another sip of whiskey. “And if the lad’s still got even half a brain, he knows enough to hurt his father’s operation.”

I exhale through my nose, leaning back in my chair. It makes sense. Dawson doesn’t want Malachi back because he gives a fuck—he wants him back because he can’t risk leaving something untied. That’s all this is.

“So what’s the plan, then?” I ask, keeping my tone as even as possible. “We keepin’ him or sellin’ him back?”

Da watches me closely, and for a second, I think he’s caught something in my voice. But then he leans back again, stretchingout like we’re doing nothing more than discussing the weather. “We’re keepin’ him.”

I nod, schooling my expression. “Right.”

An uncomfortable stretches between us for some fucking reason. He’s still watching me. Waiting. Testing.

I don’t even fucking blink.

Then he exhales, reaching for his cigarette case. “Not gettin’ sweet on him, are you, lad?”

I let out a sharp laugh, shaking my head. “Da, please,” I scoff. “He’s a pain in my arse.”

“Aye,” Da agrees, lighting the cigarette. “And yet, you’re here, talkin’ about him like he’s your concern.”

I smirk, playing it off. “You made him my fuckin’ responsibility. If anyone’s gonna break him, it’s me.”

Da chuckles and shakes his head. “You always were territorial,” he says as he takes a drag of his cigarette, exhaling slowly. “But don’t let it distract you. You know what happens when a man gets too attached to somethin’ that doesn’t belong to him.”

I keep my smirk in place. “Good thing he does belong to us, then.”

He hums, giving me a long, weird as fuck look before nodding. “Aye, good thing.”

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