Page 52 of Royally Ruined

His shadow was long across the white ground. It mixed with the one cast by the giant oak tree that I’d spent so many summers climbing. “You said you were going to become a cop.”

“That’s right.”

Costello lifted his eyes, freezing me in place. “Why didn’t you?”

I faltered, turning around so quickly that snow tumbled into my shoes. It chilled me through my socks.

He took another step. “I saw how good you were with a gun. Your senses are in tune to danger, too. You’ve got so much potential. What stopped you? No ... who?”

Old memories twisted up inside me. I was worried he’d read them through my skull and misinterpret all of it. “It’s not like that.” My lips were chapped, no matter how much I tried to wet them. “She didn’t mean to stop me, she didn’t even know she was.”

He’d gotten too close; I hadn’t realized until he was just a foot away. “Gina,” he whispered, and he did it with so much certainty. Was I that transparent? “There were photos of you two all over that house,” he said, nodding at it. “You’ve been friends a long time.”

Burying my hands in my jeans pockets, I wished I had my coat. My jaw ached from my teeth chattering. Kicking the loose snow away from me, I made a deep, curling shape with the toe of my shoe. “She’s my best friend. I had to make sure nothing happened to her.”

His breath was steam in the air. “She doesn’t know you stayed with her in the club just to watch over her, does she?”

“Stop that,” I snapped. “Stop guessing at everything. You don’t know my past, Costello. You barely know me.”

He cringed; it was brief, but I saw it. “That’s not true. I know plenty about you.”

“Like what?” I laughed, waving my arms in the air. “That I’m an idiot for ever thinking you’d be okay with my family?”

Firm hands grabbed my shoulders. I tried to back away; his touch was unbreakable. “I know your favorite color is pink. Not just pink, butrosepink. I know flying makes you nervous; I could see your hands trembling on the flight, and it wasn’t because you were angry with me. I know you asked me to dance at the wedding not because of my mother watching us, but because you secretly wanted to.” He was already holding me; somehow he pressed even closer. “I know you’ll doanythingto help the people close to you. That you believe in what’s right.” He filled his lungs. “And I know you love roller coasters.”

Our breaths mixed in the winter chill. His escaped him in short bursts, like his heart was rapidly firing. Mine sure was. I searched his eyes, trying to find any hint that he was playing me. But if he was ... why? He had nothing to gain by doing so. Flaring my nostrils, I dug deep until I had enough courage to ask what I really wanted to. “Tell me why you hate cops. Exactly why.”

His silence hung like raindrops from a rusty pipe. I kept waiting for him to speak, and the longer he didn’t, the more my heart deflated. This was it. My final push to understand Costello had failed.

Ice crunched under his heel. “Are you sure?” he asked, glancing at the house behind me. Whatever he was about to say, he seemed worried that my family would overhear. Or was it possible he was concerned that he’d create a divide between myself and them?

The idea had me quaking, but still I said, “I’m sure. I need to understand you, Costello.”

Pain. That was the only word for the emotion on his placid face.

Then he opened his mouth ...

And he told me his story.

- CHAPTER NINETEEN -

COSTELLO

Ten years.

That was how long it had been since my life corroded over like an old battery. After all that time, I could still picture every little detail. Even the off color of the man’s teeth as he sneered at me, pushing me hard against the brick wall. He was sweating—not from fear, but from the humidity. Rhode Island’s August heat could bring the Devil to his knees.

“I don’t think you understand,” Romeo said. He’d told me that was his name right before the first punch to my ribs weeks ago. “We know how loaded you are, kid.”

Kid.I hated being called that. I was only nineteen, but I’d been a man since I’d first put a bullet in someone’s head. It hadn’t been so long since then.

Romeo leveled a wilting look at me. He ground me against the wall, his cronies holding my arms to the sides so I couldn’t strike him. He said, “What do I have to do to get you to listen? Hm?”

“I’ve been listening. I’m just not going to do what you want. It’s that simple.”

Snorting loudly, he grabbed the bottom of my thin T-shirt. I’d been trying to survive the heat. Now that shirt tore easily into shreds under Romeo’s sharp yank. “Yeah,” he said, almost to himself. His eyes rolled up to consider me. I was taller than he, even if he was older. “There it is. Your fucking fancy crown.” Painfully he jabbed his finger into my tattoo. I didn’t wince, no matter how it hurt.

Abruptly he slammed his fist into my guts. I couldn’t pretend that didn’t hurt; my face contorted, I bent over as much as I could with the others holding me against the wall. Nausea swam through my body and my vision.

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