“You’re right,” I say. “And that’s part of it. He might have participated, but he did it out of some sick sense of bonding with your brothers, and I’m sure they promised him immunity for it. But it wasn’t personal. What your brothers did…”
I swallow hard. I can’t even begin to say those words to Royal. I want to die when I think that he already knows. I take a deep breath and stop at his car, squeezing my hands into fists and pressing my nails into my palms so I won’t tear open the scabs on my arms again. Royal opens the door, and I climb in and wait for him to get in the driver’s seat before speaking again.
“I don’t expect you to understand,” I say. “I have my reasons for doing what I did. Sure, Dawson’s shit, but he doesn’t even live here. I’m guessing he’s only back in town because you brought him back for me. But I don’t need revenge.”
Royal starts the car but just sits there, staring straight ahead. “If I were you, I’d have killed them all.”
Again, the thought of how much power he’s given me threatens to intoxicate me. He would have let me kill his own brothers, and that means… Everything. Family comes first with Royal. If he’d choose me over his own blood…
I don’t even want to think what that means.
“And you?” I ask, turning to him. “Are you blameless in all this?”
“You know I don’t think that.”
“Good,” I say. “Because it’s the environment you created that lets a guy like Dawson think he has immunity from consequences. That he can get away with anything.”
“You just let him,” Royal points out. He shifts into gear, and we turn onto the road, heading through the deserted streets of Faulkner.
“What’s your punishment?” I ask.
“What do you want it to be?” he asks.
I shrug. “I got what I got. The twins and Dawson got what they got. What do you get?”
“I get you.”
A snort escapes me. “I’m your punishment?”
“Aren’t you?”
I turn to the window. Maybe I am. Seeing me is his penance. It’s torture for me, but I didn’t think that it might be torture for him, too. Letting me take what I wanted from those three boys is penance for him, too. I know how much he’d like to hurt them. But I have my own ways of doing things, ways that are even more cruel. Taking away what they value most will hurt them more than a beating. I don’t know what Dawson values except his reputation, and he’s already out of Willow Heights, so I can’t take that. It’s enough to never see him again, even if Royal’s right, it’s an insufficient punishment.
But maybe that’s okay. Maybe I don’t need more than for him to know I could still end him if I wanted. What I did to the twins, though, that was satisfying. It helped me more than Royal beating anyone for me would have. More than it would have helpedmeto beat them up. I realize as we turn onto Mill Street that I feel… Empty. But it’s in a good way, like I’d feel after a long, hard fight where I came out on top. Something inside me has clicked back into place, like a dislocated shoulder that’s been set. It’s still tender, still sore, but it feels right again.
I fucking hate it. I hate that Royal knew what I needed when I didn’t. That he gave it to me, and now he’s part of it. The glory isn’t all mine. He’s a piece of that, coloring it the way he colors everything in my life, as if he’s part of me now and there’s no way to get free. His touch has tainted everything, my body and soul, my destruction, and now, my redemption. He was part of my fall, and now he’ll always be a part of my rise from it. It makes me want to scream. Why can’t I be free of him?
I hate him. I hate that he forced me to do what I needed instead of what I wanted, the way Preston has. That he forced me to face things instead of avoiding them, and that it worked. I hate that he makes me care again—not for him, but for anyone, for anything, forlife. I hate that he knows me so well, even now, when I pretend I’m so changed that he doesn’t know me at all. I hate that he’s the one who made this happen, this good feeling inside me, the peace, the satisfaction and hope that I might live again.
He fanned the ember into a flame of life inside me, reminding me that there is a reason to keep breathing. I hate that he helped me after everything he’s done to ruin me. He doesn’t deserve credit for putting two pieces back together after he shattered me into a thousand. And most of all, I hate that when I gave in and stopped fighting and did whatever he wanted, he didn’t lose interest. He didn’t try to finish me off and walk away. He tried to heal me. And maybe, in some small way, he did.
twenty-five
Royal Dolce
“Where are we going?” Duke asks.
We’re back in the car. After I dropped Harper at her place, I returned for them, but I haven’t spoken to them.
“How long have you known?” Baron asks quietly from the back seat.
“Long enough,” I say.
“You told us we could have her,” Duke argues. “You said you were done, and we could do anything we wanted to her. You were going to kill her!”
“You didn’t kill her.”
“You said she was dead to you.”