Page 88 of Shameless Royalty

Instead, I reach out again, my fingers brushing against the bruised side of his jaw, barely touching, barely pressing, but he still winces. I inhale sharply, my voice barely above a whisper. “Did he know?”

Malachi meets my gaze, and I already fucking know the answer. I press my forehead against his, exhaling through my nose, my whole fucking body shaking with the effort it takes to stay still.

“I’m gonna kill them all,” I murmur.

Malachi tenses under me, his breath hitching just slightly, but I don’t miss it. He knows I mean it.

I don’t make empty threats. I don’t throw words around just to hear the sound of my own voice. Someone put their hands on him. Someone bruised his fucking face, split his lip, and made his entire body tremble like this. Someone did it knowing exactly who he belongs to.

And my da let it happen.

My jaw clenches so tightly that I swear I hear my teeth grind together. My hands shake with the force of the rage crawling under my skin.

I need to move.

I need to do something.

I push away from Malachi, rising to my feet in one swift motion. My head is pounding, my vision is edged with red. My father’s somewhere in this house, probably sitting in his office, a glass of whiskey in his hand like he didn’t just fucking let this happen.

I start for the door. I don’t know what I’m going to do when I find him, but I know it won’t be fucking quiet. But before I reach the handle, a hand grips my arm.

I freeze. The grip isn’t strong, isn’t forceful, but it’s enough to stop me in my tracks.

“Connor,” Malachi murmurs, his fingers curling around my wrist, his grip firm despite how much he’s trembling. “Stop.”

I turn, my chest heaving, my pulse hammering against my ribs. I expect him to look scared, to cower. But he doesn’t. His blue eyes are steady as they search mine, and there’s something raw in them, something I don’t fucking deserve.

He tugs my arm slightly, pulling me closer. “Come back.”

I clench my fists, exhaling sharply through my nose. “I can’t.”

“Yes, you can,” he says, his voice soft but certain.

I shake my head, my entire body thrumming with barely restrained fury. “You don’t understand—”

Malachi cups my face in both hands, forcing me to look at him, and my breath stutters. He’s shorter than I am, so I know he’s in pain as he’s standing on his tiptoes reaching for me. His thumbs brush over my cheekbones, his fingers soft against my skin.

“I do understand,” he murmurs, his hands warm as they pull me back from the edge. “That’s why you can’t do this.”

My breath is ragged, my pulse pounding in my ears. I want to argue, to throw his hands off me, to turn and do the thing I was fucking born to do—handle my problems with violence, with blood, with fucking rage.

But he’s looking at me like that would be the worst thing I could do.

His gaze flickers over my face, something breaking in his expression. “Your father wants you to react. He wants you to be so blinded by rage that you prove him right.”

I still as his words slam into me, knocking the breath from my fucking lungs.

Da wants me to lose it. He wants me to come storming into his office, screaming, demanding blood, proving that I’m thinking with my fucking heart instead of my head.

Proving that Malachi means something to me.

My stomach turns, my rage curling into something heavier—it sounds exactly like something he would do.

Fuck.

Malachi shakes his head slowly, his fingers tightening against my jaw. “Don’t let him win.”

I suck in a slow, uneven breath, my entire body shaking. Then my gaze drops, just for a second, but I see it.

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