Royal Dolce is standing by the Escalade.
My brain balks for a second, as if it can’t comprehend this vision out of my worst nightmare and fit it into reality. Instinct tells me to turn and run back into my house, to slam and lock the door, to crawl back into the bed that I never should have left. He’s here. Everything I did was for nothing. Mr. D was never going to risk showing his face to the world to expose the Dolces. He just sat there in his apartment with me all summer, doing nothing.
I should have known Royal was untouchable.
I should have known the Darlings had already lost.
I should have known I was the only loser left in the game.
But here’s the thing about someone taking everything you own—your body, your soul—and destroying even the darkest, most hidden parts of it.
There’s nothing left for them to break.
So I don’t run back in the house. Because fuck Royal Dolce. Fuck them all. I’ll drive over him if he tries to stop me.
I march straight up to the truck, the muddy splatters on the sides somehow endearing instead of sloppy. Royal just stands there watching me approach, his expression almost wary, like I’m some demon risen from the dead after he watched the life drain out of me with his own eyes.
I suppose I am.
“What’s the matter, never seen a girl in a truck before?” I ask as I unlock the door with the fob. “Or do you think I’m a ghost?”
“Why the fuck are you in that truck?” he asks.
“Maybe it’s mine,” I say. “A whore needs her wheels.”
“That’s not your truck,” he says, glaring at me from hollowed out eyes with shadows under them, like he hasn’t slept in days.
“What, you know every vehicle in Faulkner?”
“I know every Darling’s vehicle,” he counters. “And why are you dressed like… That?” His gaze travels down my body, and I have to fight the urge to cover myself, though there’s nothing sexual in his look. It’s an examination, as detached as Baron’s assessing gaze.
I was just going to get something from the back seat, but I know I won’t be able to walk back inside and act normal. Not when he’s here, when he can find me so easily, come back for me. I might act tough, but inside… The screams I can’t force out in my nightmares are playing on repeat, the time loop I never visit spinning at breakneck speed.
I need to feel bigger, more in control, to have something solid to hold onto. I climb up into the high seat, so I’m taller and surrounded by steel, and I turn to face him. “What’s this about, Royal? You’re afraid that since I lived after you tried to kill me, again, that there’s a witness to what you did? Don’t worry, even if I went to the cops, I’m sure your whole football team would back you up and say they didn’t rape me that night.”
“What are you talking about?” Royal demands, stepping toward the open door of the truck.
My entire being recoils, and my heart beats once, so hard I have to press my fist to my chest to keep from crying out.
He stops, watching me with that dark, brooding gaze.
I force myself to speak like I’m not smothering on the air itself. “Even if I filed a report, and could afford a lawyer, who do you think a jury would believe?” I ask quietly. “One whore from the bad side of town, or the entire football team full of golden boys from Willow Heights?”
His jaw clenches, and he rests a hand on the open door. It’s not a threatening pose, but all I can think is that I can’t close the door now. I’m trapped. My body is screaming at me to scramble across the seat, jump out the far door, and run until my heart explodes. But I won’t give him the satisfaction of seeing my fear.
“It wasn’t the whole football team,” he says, his voice low, a stitch between his brows like he’s genuinely confused. “You know that. You rode in the car with us. It was just the twins.”
“Until you left,” I whisper, wishing I’d never engaged, that I’d turned and run the other way when I saw him waiting at the truck. We stare at each other for a long moment, and the rest of the world seems to fall away—the buzz of crickets, the stifling afternoon heat, the smell of exhaust and baked asphalt.
“Harper…” Royal says at last. His eyes, his voice, are so full of the pain that always got to me. I thought it made us kindred spirits, that we were both battling some inner darkness. Now I know the truth. Nothing can help him. His evil knows no bounds. I’m not the demon. He’s the demon, the one who possessed me and stole my soul, leaving nothing behind. I’m the empty shell of a girl, all that’s left after the demon gets what it wants and moves on to the next victim.
“No,” I hiss, turning to kick his arm off the door. I put all the force I can behind it, and he actually winces, rubbing his arm as I reach for the door handle. “Don’t you dare apologize. You’re a sick, broken man, and now I’m broken, too. I will never recover from what you did to me. You don’t get to make yourself feel better about it now.”
I slam the door in his face and fumble the keys into the ignition, my heart racing and my hands shaking so hard it takes three tries to get the truck started. I don’t look to see if he’s clear of the vehicle. I slam on the gas, and it lurches forward, powerful and dangerous. It’s not enough, though. I’m like Royal in his big, bulked up body with his little shattered soul hiding inside. I still feel small and helpless inside the huge monster. I’ll never feel safe again.
When I get to Mr. D’s, I sit in the garage and punch the steering wheel until my knuckles bleed, and for the first time since it happened, I let myself cry.
fifteen