Page 100 of Shameless Royalty

I tilt my head. “Oh,” I murmur, voice shifting, dipping into that tone—that controlled, amused, condescending lilt I used to use with him. “You.”

His jaw clenches, and I see it—the shame, the frustration, the goddamn jealousy bubbling under the surface.

“Did it kill you?” I continue, circling him now, dragging the tip of my knife against the wooden arm of the chair. “Knowing that no matter how obedient you were, no matter how well youlistened, no matter how desperate you were for me…” I lean in, voice dipping lower. “You were never the one I wanted?”

He jerks against the ropes, his breathing erratic, but I grab his chin, forcing him to look at me. “You put your hands on what’s mine, mutt.” I let the words settle between us before my voice drops. “Did you really think I’d let that slide?”

He swallows hard. “Sir—”

I press the tip of my knife under his chin, tilting his head up, and his breath hitches. “You wanted me to break you, didn’t you?” I whisper, dragging the tip of my knife down his throat, pressing just hard enough to make him swallow.

“But I don’t break my toys, Ronan,” I tilt my head, “I ruin them.”

A shiver runs through him, but I see the way his jaw clenches, the way his fingers twitch against the restraints. He’s still holding onto some pathetic thread of hope, still thinking he knows me.

He doesn’t know shit.

“I worshipped you,” he breathes, his tone shifting, trying to find footing in the wrong place. “And you threw me aside like I was nothing.”

I let out a low, amused hum. “Youarenothing. I never saw you as anything more than a convenient hole.”

His head snaps up, nostrils flaring. “And Malachi’s what, then? Special?”

The rage slams into me so fucking hard, so sudden, that I barely register myself moving. One second, I’m watching him, the next, my blade is pressed hard against his throat, my other hand fisting in his hair, forcing his head back.

His breathing turns shallow.

“You’re not worthy of even saying his fuckin’ name,” I whisper, my grip tightening, my voice nothing but razor-edged venom.

I see the exact moment fear seeps in. The second his confidence breaks, the second he realizes that this isn’t some game. He swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing under the press of my blade, and I press harder. Just enough to draw a thin, beading line of red.

He hisses and his body goes stiff.

“You’re going to tell me exactly what you did,” I murmur, my voice calm and steady. “Every fucking detail.”

His breathing is ragged now, shallow and uneven. I drag the knife lower, down his throat, tracing the edge of his collarbone, just barely nicking the skin, just enough to sting.

“Come on, Ronan,” I say, voice syrupy sweet. “Confess. Be a good boy for me one last time.”

A shaky breath escapes him, and I feel the moment his fight leaves him, the moment he realizes he’s already lost.

And then he tells me every fucking detail. Every moment he watched Malachi, every second he spent thinking he had the right to hurt him, and exactly what he did to him when I wasn’t here.

By the time he’s done, my vision is red. I step back, inhaling slowly through my nose, dragging a hand down my face, trying to tether myself before I lose it completely. Then I exhale, shake my head, and let out a soft, disappointed sigh.

“You were such a good boy once,” I sigh, tapping the knife against my palm. “But you ruined it.”

He looks up at me, blood trickling down his throat and his chest heaving—then he fucking begs like he told me Malachi did.

But I just smile, tilting my head as I crouch in front of him, resting my forearms on my knees. “Aw, look at you,” I coo, and I press the knife against his thigh, my eyes locking onto his. “You wanna know what real punishment looks like, Ronan?”

He shakes his head frantically, panic flaring in his gaze. I smirk, then I get to work, but I don’t rush it. I take my time. Pain is an art form, after all.

“Real punishment,” I continue, “isn’t about the pain. It’s about learning, and you have so much to learn tonight, mutt.”

He whimpers, his lips parting like he wants to plead again, to explain, but I grip his jaw tighter. “Shh,” I soothe, voice dipping into something low and condescending. “Good boys don’t interrupt.”

His whole body shudders and I tap the flat of my blade against his thigh. “Now say it,” I order, my grip on his jaw tightening. “Say what you did.”

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