Page 91 of Shameless Royalty

Da looks up from where he’s sitting behind his desk, a glass of whiskey in one hand, and a stack of paperwork in the other.His brow furrows slightly, his green eyes flicking over me like he’s assessing the situation—like he already knows something’s coming.

But he doesn’t say a word. Not yet.

“Don’t you fuckin’ look at me like that,” I snap, the words flying out before I can stop them. My voice is rough, edged with something dangerous, something close to breaking.

Da leans back in his chair, his expression giving nothing away. “Like what, lad?”

“Like I’m about to waste your fuckin’ time.” I take a step forward, my hands clenched into fists at my sides. “You knew, didn’t you?”

His gaze sharpens. “Knew what?”

I let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “You’re a fuckin’ bastard, you know that?”

“Aye, I’ve heard that once or twice,” he says with a shrug. “What’s this about?”

I bark out a humorless laugh, shaking my head, my stomach twisting with rage. “Don’t play dumb with me, Da. You knew what they did to him.” My voice cracks slightly, but I don’t stop, don’t fucking care. “You let it happen.”

He sighs through his nose, setting his glass down on the desk with a quiet clink. “I don’t know what the fuck you’re on about, Connor, but I suggest you slow down and—”

“Slow down?” I cut him off, stepping forward again, my entire body coiled tight, like if I don’t let this out now, I’ll fucking implode. “You ordered them to hurt him, didn’t you?”

He frowns at my words and narrows his eyes. Why the fuck does he look confused? “Who?”

I let out a shaky breath, dragging my hand through my hair, gripping the back of my neck as I try to keep myself from fucking losing it.

“Don’t,” I grit out. “Don’t fuckin’ sit there and act like you don’t know exactly who the fuck I’m talkin’ about.” I slam my hands down on the desk, my chest rising and falling too fast, too hard. “You ordered Malachi to be beaten. You had your men hurt him just to send a fuckin’ message to me. And I swear to Christ if you try to deny it—”

Da’s chair scrapes against the floor as he stands, his expression still flat, but now there’s something harder in his gaze. “Breathe.”

I blink, thrown off by the sudden shift.

“What?”

He steps around the desk, coming to stand directly in front of me. “You’re not makin’ a lick of sense, boy. So before you go accusin’ me of things I didn’t do, you’d best take a fuckin’ breath and think.” His hands settle heavily on my shoulders, his grip firm but not rough, like he’s trying to ground me. “Now. Slowly. Tell me what you’re talkin’ about.”

I swallow hard, my throat tight, my pulse hammering in my ears. But he’s right. I’m spiraling, letting my rage take the wheel. And my father? He’s not a man you face half-cocked.

I force a breath out through my nose, steadying myself before I meet his gaze again. “Malachi was beaten while I was gone. Someone roughed him up badly, Da.”

I keep going, barely breathing between words, too far gone now to stop. “What was the goal? Huh? To prove that I’m betrayin’ you? To make me pick between him and you?” My voice cracks slightly, and I fucking hate it. “Because if that’s what you wanted, congratulations.” I let out a ragged breath, my hands curling into fists. “You win.”

Still, my father doesn’t move.

“I don’t know what to do, because I know—I know—feelin’ this way means I’m betrayin’ you, but I don’t care.” I press my hands into my face, trying to breathe, trying to think. “I can’t care,because if I do, if I listen to all the reasons I shouldn’t love him, then what’s left of me?”

Silence.

I inhale sharply, exhaling through my nose, my vision clearing just slightly. Da studies me for a long moment, his hands still on my shoulders. Then, finally, he steps back, folding his arms across his chest.

“And you think I ordered Malachi to be roughed up?”

I glare at him. “Didn’t you do it to get to me?”

His jaw tightens and he shakes his head. “I didn’t order a fuckin’ thing.”

The answer is quick. Immediate. And I know my father well enough to know he isn’t fucking lying. I stare at him, my pulse still pounding, but now with something else. Something more uncertain.

“Then what the fuck happened?” I demand.

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