Page 74 of Shameless Royalty

“Because he caught me playing with my cousin’s dolls when I was 6 years old,” I whisper, my voice shaking. “Because I wasn’t what he wanted. Because he probably knew I would turn out gay. Take your pick.”

Connor swears under his breath, his eyes blazing with a mix of anger and possession. “He’s dead,” he says flatly, his tone like steel. “You know that, right? He’s a fuckin’ dead man.”

I shake my head, a bitter smile tugging at my lips. “You can’t kill him, Connor.”

“The fuck I can’t,” he says finally, his voice full of promise.

“You don’t have to—”

“I do,” he grits out, his green eyes locking onto mine. “He kidnapped my sister and hurt you, Malachi. That’s all I need to know.”

I open my mouth to argue, but the words die in my throat. The weight of his gaze, the sheer force of his presence, makes it impossible to fight him.

“You’re mine,mo stóirín,” he murmurs, his voice softening as his hand brushes against my cheek again. “And no one gets to hurt what’s mine. Not ever again.”

The words make my chest ache with a tightness I don’t know how to explain. And I don’t try to fight it. I let myself lean into him, just for a moment, and for once, the weight in my chest doesn’t feel so heavy.

Connor’s arms tighten around me as I lean into him, my head resting against his chest.

Safe wasn’t something I ever thought I’d associate with Connor Cunningham. But here I am, feeling the safest I’ve ever felt in my twenty-one years.

For a while, neither of us speaks. The only sounds in the room are our breaths and the faint patter of rain against the window. It should be awkward, but it’s not. It’s… quiet. Like the storm raging in my chest has settled, just for now.

Connor’s hand moves, sliding up my back, his fingers brushing over the fabric of my shirt. His touch lingers near the scars, gentle and hesitant, like he’s afraid of hurting me. The thought makes my throat tighten.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes, the words barely audible.

I blink, startled. “For what?”

“For everythin’,” he says, his voice rough. “For taking you. For not seein’ it sooner. For not knowin’ what you’ve been through.”

“You couldn’t have known,” I say automatically, though the tightness in my chest grows.

“Maybe,” he mutters, his hand stilling against my back. “But that doesn’t make it right. That doesn’t make it easier to look at you and not want to kill the bastard who did this.”

I pull back slightly, just enough to meet his eyes. The anger burning there is almost enough to take my breath away. “You don’t have to fix me, Connor,” I say, my voice steadier than I feel.

“I’m not trying to fix you,” he says immediately, his tone sharp but earnest. “You’re not broken, Malachi. You’re not.”

The conviction in his voice makes my chest ache, and I look away, unable to hold his gaze any longer. “I don’t know how to believe that.”

Connor’s hand moves to my jaw, turning my face back to his. “Then let me show you,” he says, his voice soft. “Let me show you how perfect you are for me.”

I don’t know what to say to that. The weight of his words, the intensity in his eyes—it’s too much. Too overwhelming. I try to look away again, but his grip on my jaw keeps me in place.

“You’re mine,” he says again, his voice lower now. “Do you get that yet? You are mine, and I don’t give a fuck what you think you deserve. You’re not carryin’ this shit alone anymore. Not while I’m here.”

My breath catches and I don’t know how to respond, I don’t know how to deal with the emotions crashing over me like a wave I can’t outrun.

“Why do you care so much?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

Connor doesn’t hesitate. “Because it’s you.”

The simplicity of his answer hits harder than it should, and for a moment, I can’t speak. I just stare at him, my thoughts spinning too fast to keep up.

“Connor,” I start, but he cuts me off, his hand moving to cradle the back of my neck.

“Stop,” he says softly, his tone firm but gentle. “You don’t have to say anythin’. Just… let me be here, alright?”

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