Page 103 of Frozen Hearts
At the sound of a throat clearing, I go still, ears straining. That’s when I hear the soft sound of someone breathing, and I jackknife upward as my eyes fly open.
I have to blink several times, my sleep-addled brain conjuring tattooed muscles and piercing blue eyes that are startlingly similar to Ruthless’. I lift my hands to rub at my eyes, but the image doesn’t change, and that’s when it registers that it’s not a dream.
Mr. Moody, Hot, and Arrogantisstanding before me.
“Ruthless? What—what are you doing here?” I ask, eyes darting around the otherwise empty room before resting on him. He’s dressed in his typical outfit of all black, tattoos peeking from the collar of his top and cascading down both his arms before disappearing where his hands are stuffed into the front pockets of his jeans as he stares down at me with cold indifference.
His veiled gaze rolls over my body, lingering on my exposed legs, and glancing down, I realize the hem of my t-shirt rode up while I was asleep, giving him a clear view of, well, everything.
Yanking it down, I tuck my legs beneath me.
“Royce?” Logan calls before he appears in the open doorway. His gaze bounces between us before he directs it at Royce, “Everything alright in here?”
“Yeah,” Royce responds, not once taking his eyes off me.
“R-Royce? Your name is Royce?”
A sick sort of niggle, like a spider weaving a web in the back of my brain, pricks at my consciousness.
Royce King. He raped my cousin.
What are the chances that more than one Royce currently attends Halston University?
His lips twitch in what could possibly become a smile. “Guess that answers one of your questions, James.”
“Royce, come on. Leave her be. I need your help.”
Not seeming in any rush to leave, Royce’s eyes continue to bore into mine, his expression as unreadable as ever. It’s unnerving, especially given the niggling panic gathering momentum and slowly sliding into my veins, freezing like ice in my blood.
Eventually, he turns and strides toward the door.
“Your last name. W-what’s your last name?”
He halts mid-stride, turning his head to look at me over his shoulder. His eyes dart between mine before he answers, “King.”
Something vital inside me shatters. It takes everything I have to keep my expression neutral beneath his piercing stare, and I count every one of the seconds until he turns his head and strides out of the room.
As soon as I’m alone, and their footsteps and lowered murmurs have faded into the distance, the veil covering my actual expression drops.
He’s Royce King.
The same Royce King who that girl said raped her cousin.
The same Royce King who has been coming to the club and demanding I dance for him every weekend for over a month now.
The same Royce King who pushed me against the wall and made me come all over his fingers.
The same Royce King that I am now trapped in a house with.
Oh, God. I think I’m going to be sick.
All of my thoughts swirl around in my head.
He raped someone. He’s been watching me dance. He’s been pulling me out of my self-made shell. He made me come.
Except, only one sentence is the outlier.
I know next to nothing about Royce—clearly. However, I know he pushes my boundaries. I also know he has stopped any time I’ve said no or when he can physically see he has pushed me too far. Hell, he managed to bring me back from the brink of a meltdown.
