“Royal,” I bark, shoving myself between him and Preston. I slam my palm against his chest, shoving him back. “Preston is part of my life. I’m not asking you to be friends with him. But you need to accept that I am if you want to be a part of it, too. That means you’re not going to hurt him or threaten him. That goes for him, Colt, Magnolia, Gideon, Dixie and Gloria. These are my friends. They helped put back together whatyoubroke. If I can forgive you, then you can do this for me. And if you can’t, then you made the choice for me. So, leave. Right now.”
He stares at me a long minute, his jaw clenched, his eyes filled with so much turmoil and hurt that it almost breaks me. But I can’t break anymore. So I stand strong, and after the charged silence stretches until it becomes painful, he nods and steps back. “Okay,” he says quietly.
I feel the weight of the moment settle heavy over me. It’s something to be treasured, to be handled with utmost care. Because his word may be simple, but it carries the meaning of all that he feels for me. He knows this is the only way to stay in my life, and he’s telling me I’m worth it, just like he did at the Slaughterpen when he gave me what I needed and showed that he thought I was worthy of him.
“You forgave him?” Preston asks, staring at me incredulously. “After what he did to you?”
“Yes,” I say. “And the same goes for you. Royal is part of my life. I don’t know what’s going to happen, but I know that I’m tied to him now, just as I’m tied to you. So, if you want to be part of my life, you’re going to have to put aside whatever came before me and accept that Royal’s going to be part of it, too. He’s not going anywhere.”
“Yeah?” Preston says. “Well, I guess I am, then.”
He pushes past me, but I grab his arm. “Preston…”
“Fuck you, Harper,” he says. “You have no idea what you’re asking. What this psychopath has done to my family. Rape, murder, mutilation, dismemberment… Fucking name it, and he’s done it. Don’t stand there and defend him to me. If you’re on his side, you’re not on mine, and you never will be.”
“I’m not on anyone’s side,” I say, throwing my hands up in frustration.
“Then you’re part of the problem,” he says. He turns and walks away.
“Guess you don’t have to choose after all,” Royal says quietly.
I’ve never seen anyone move so fast. Preston spins around, and he’s on Royal in the amount of time it should take someone to take one step, not five. He grabs Royal, and the two of them stumble and slide on the wet wood underfoot before crashing against the railing. Their bodies collide in a blur of taut muscle under wet fabric, both of them grunting and hitting each other with quick jabs, all they can manage while they’re locked together, straining and breathing hard as they crush against the railing.
“Stop,” I yell, leaping at them.
Royal’s bigger, but Preston’s got the end of the shattered whiskey bottle, and he shoves it against Royal’s throat. I can see his muscles straining through his soaked dress shirt, the rage vibrating through every cell in his body. Royal’s hand is locked around Preston’s forearm, keeping the jagged glass from puncturing his throat.
“Preston,” I say, my voice strong even though my heart is racing. I force the words out, firm and quick, afraid he’ll kill him before I can stop it. “You don’t want to do this. You’re going to kill him. Do you want to spend the rest of your life in prison? You can’t protect your sister from there. You can’t help your family.”
Royal drops his hand from Preston’s arm, letting the smaller man press him back against the railing. “Do it,” he says, his voice toneless. “Just fucking get it over with, Preston.”
Preston’s arm tenses, and he angles the bottle. Before he can slice through Royal’s throat, I swing. The brass knuckles slam into his temple, and he reels sideways, the bottle clattering along the wooden planks and spinning over the edge, into the river below. His mask flies off, sliding along the wooden planks. Royal just stands there staring at me, blood running down his neck from where the bottle sliced his skin.
“What the fuck, Royal?” I snap. “If someone’s trying to kill you, you don’t fucking encourage them!”
Preston has dropped to one knee, his hand going to his temple, the other braced on the ground. “I gave you that weapon,” he says, his words slow and measured. “I gave you everything.”
“I’ve fucking had it with both of you,” I say, turning away and grabbing my hair with both hands, so frustrated I could scream. “This has to stop. This whole thing. Your families are going to kill each other and this whole town, and for what? You can kill every Darling on earth, Royal, and it won’t bring your sister back. I’m sorry, but she’s gone.”
He doesn’t flinch. He just touches the blood running down his neck. It’s not a lot, just a few small cuts the bottle left.
I turn to Preston. “And you. I know you think they’re alive, but you know what? It doesn’t fucking matter. Colt was right. Devlin’s not coming back to save you, to put your family together, to stop the Dolces. If he’s alive, he’s off living his best life, doing whatever the fuck he wants, and not coming back here. So stop waiting for him, and get out of your house, and fucking do something. You say I’m part of the problem because I don’t want to kill Royal? You’re just as much a part of the problem. They’re your family, and you haven’t done shit except for writing creepy messages and gathering information. You had everything you needed to ruin them, and you didn’t do anything with it!”
“I saved your life,” he says, sounding dismayed and defeated, like he can’t believe I’m not throwing him a fucking parade.
“Don’t be so self-righteous,” I snap. “We all know you didn’t do that out of the kindness of your heart. You’re not some good Samaritan who happened by and saved me. If that’s what you were doing, you would have taken me to a hospital and left me there. But no. You saw an opportunity to hurt Royal, and you took it.”
“I wanted to help.”
“Yeah, and you wanted to send Royal videos of you fucking me to drive him insane,” I say. “Don’t pretend you did it all for my own good. You saw how fucking out of it I was, and you wanted a little doll to dress up and play with, fuck with the Dolces by making me look like their sister.”
“That’s not what I was doing.”
“Then what?” I ask. “You wanted to pretend she was your girlfriend? I’m not her, Preston. I’m me. And you weren’t my boyfriend. You were my puppet master. Hell, I didn’t even know your fucking name most of that time.”
“I never hurt you,” he says, finally pushing up to standing, his eyes meeting mine, no mask over his face. A knot is already forming on the side of his head.
“True,” I agree. “Not much, anyway. Not after the first few days. So congratulations. You aren’t a sadistic fuck like Baron. But don’t pretend you’re a hero, either. You know, for a while I thought you were. I even gave you credit for how little I’m scared of sex, since you never let me freeze up about it. But now that I’ve been reminded what sex is supposed to be like…”