“Grandpa Darling’s estate.”
He laughs. “Tell him to meet us at the river.”
Ten minutes later, we pull up alongside the road like we have so many times before. Preston’s truck is already there, parked on the far side, the lights illuminating the bridge and the steady rain falling between us.
“I let you come with me,” I say to Royal. “I let you drive. Now it’s your turn to do what I ask. Either stay in the car or play nice.”
His jaw clenches, and he stares back at me. “You want me to be nice to your little fuckboy cousin?”
“If you insist on following me around, you’d better get used to seeing him,” I say. “If you don’t like it, leave.”
“You really are choosing the Darlings.”
“I’m refusing to choose one side or the other. If you call that making a choice, that’s your issue to deal with.”
Royal just glares.
I sigh. “Look, you knew where I was going. You knew who I’d be seeing. I didn’t ask you to be here right now. This was your choice. If you don’t want to see him, stay in the car.”
He keeps staring for a long minute. “Okay,” he says at last. “Let’s go.”
We climb out of the car and start across the bridge. Preston is standing there with an umbrella. When I get closer, I see that he’s holding a bottle of whiskey.
“Are you drunk?” I ask as we approach.
“What the fuck is he doing here?” Preston grits out. His question is directed at me, but his eye is focused above my head, where Royal’s walking behind me.
“I’m watching her back,” Royal says. “Apparently that means you’d better get used to seeing a lot more of me or a lot less of Harper.”
“Where’s your rope?” Preston asks. “Or did you bring a gun this time? Since you didn’t bring the torture twins, I’m assuming you won’t be lighting me on fire again.”
“I don’t need a weapon,” Royal says. “I’ll rip your dick off with my bare hands and shove it down your throat until you choke to death.”
“Stop,” I order. “Both of you. Royal, I told you to stay in the car if you can’t play nice.”
“Play nice?” Preston asks, a laugh escaping him that sends a chill down my spine. It’s not the Preston I know, the quiet, mild man in the mask. It’s a cold, heartless laugh with no humor. I’m reminded again that I only know one side of him, the side he chose to show me. With his mask glinting in the dark, he looks creepy and evil.
“Both of you,” I say, glaring at him. “You told me to find my sun. I guess I did.”
“I meant a goal,” Preston says. “A way out of this town.”
“I found my sun,” I say. “You don’t get to decide what or who that is.”
“Did he tell you about the last time he was here?” Preston asks. “You should have guessed it yourself, Miss A. I’m sure you heard about it at school, even if he already graduated.”
“What are you talking about?” My stomach turns, and I glance back at Royal.
He looks like he needs a hospital. He stares at Preston with his beat-in face—his eyes bruised, his nose swollen and crooked from the earlier blows, his lips split and bleeding. Fuck. The thought that I’m capable of that makes my stomach turn for a different reason.
“Any time someone around the Dolce family dies, it’s worth questioning,” Preston says. “A suicide note’s just a decoy.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Royal says flatly.
“Or maybe he really did it,” Preston says. “Wouldn’t be the first time someone jumped off this bridge to get away from you. At least he didn’t waste a good car like your sister.”
Royal charges forward, his feet thundering on the wood.
Preston drops his umbrella and backpedals, moving to the side and smashing the whiskey bottle against the railing. He swings it at Royal, but Royal ducks and slams him back against the rail. “Mention my sister again, and you’ll be the next one over the edge,” Royal growls, his hand around Preston’s throat.