Page 51 of Shameless Royalty

The conversation shifts after that. We talk business—shipments, schedules, the usual shit. I force myself to stay focused, to push Malachi out of my head, at least for now.

But as I leave Da’s office, his words linger.Not gettin’ sweet on him, are you, lad?

And fuck, I wish I could say “no” with my whole chest.

I take my time heading toward Malachi’s room, the two pill bottles feeling like anchors in my pocket. Da didn’t ask any questions when I told him I’d handle Malachi myself. He didn’t have to. I made sure I wasn’t giving away anything. Just another errand, nothing more.

But I know better.

This isn’t just an errand. It’s another thing I’m doing that I shouldn’t be doing. Another line I’m crossing that I can’t seem to stop myself from stepping over.

This shouldn’t be a big deal, this shouldn’t even be something I’m doing. But here I am, walking toward his room like it’s just another day. Like I haven’t spent the last half hour in Da’s office pretending I don’t give a fuck about the boy with eyes so blue they make my heart fucking stutter.

I push open the door without knocking, because why the hell would I? It’s not like he gets a say in who comes and goes. Still, the way he snaps his head toward me from where he’s sitting on the bed, shoulders tense, tells me he wasn’t expecting me.

“Jaysus, ever heard of knockin’?” he mutters, dropping the book he was reading and pushing up his glasses.

“Nope,” I say easily, kicking the door shut behind me and locking it. “Not in the contract.”

He huffs but doesn’t argue, just watches as I cross the room. I can see it already—he’s gearing up for something. His posture,the slight squint of his eyes, the way he shifts like he’s preparing for battle.

I don’t give him the chance to start. Instead, I toss the pill bottles onto the bed one at a time. Malachi’s gaze flicks to the bottles, then back to me, wary. “You got my meds?”

“Figured you were goin’ to be a bigger pain in my arse if I didn’t,” I lie and hand him a bottle of water.

He snorts as he takes it from me, picking up the pill bottle and rolling it between his fingers. “You say that like I’m not already.”

I grin, leaning against the desk and watching him. “Oh, you definitely are.”

He twists off the cap, shaking a pill into his palm before hesitating. His eyes flick up to mine, suspicious. “Why are you doing this?” he asks as he opens the water bottle.

I shrug, leaning against the desk. “Because you need ‘em. And I don’t need you losin’ your mind and makin’ my life harder than it already is.”

“Okay,” he says slowly, studying me as he takes the pills. “But why you? You could’ve sent someone else.”

I hold his gaze for a second, then shrug again. “Maybe I don’t trust anyone else not to fuck it up.”

His eyes narrow slightly like he’s trying to pick apart the truth. I don’t let him. Instead, I push off the desk and step closer, lowering my voice. “But listen,” I say, watching the way his breath catches. “You’re gonna hide that bottle, yeah?”

He blinks at that and his eyebrows furrow. “Why?”

“Because if my Da finds it, I’ll have to lie. And I hate lyin’, Malachi.” I reach out, trailing my fingers over his jaw lightly before gripping his chin between my thumb and forefinger. “And if I have to lie for you, I’ll be real fuckin’ pissed. You don’t want that, do you?”

His pupils dilate, his throat bobbing as he swallows hard. “You’re such a prick,” he mutters and pulls his chin out of my grasp.

I chuckle. “And you’re such a pain in my arse. Looks like we’re even.”

Malachi rolls his eyes but tucks the bottles under his pillow, out of sight. “There. Happy?”

I tilt my head, pretending to think. “Mm. I dunno. Maybe if you said, ‘Thank you, Connor, for bein’ so thoughtful and handsome and—’”

“Fuck off,” he grumbles, removing his glasses, placing them on the nightstand and flopping back onto the bed.

I grin, watching him for a second, waiting for the usual back-and-forth, the banter that’s become almost second nature between us. But he doesn’t fire back right away, or even sit up and glare at me, and doesn’t start tearing me a new one.

Something’s off. I see it in the way he’s holding himself. I should leave it alone, let him deal with whatever the fuck is going on in his head, but something in me won’t let it go.

“Malachi,” I say, more serious now. “What’s wrong?”

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