“Thanks,” Devlin says quietly.
No one speaks as we pull around the end of the building. I can’t help but think Devlin’s got some balls to get in a car with the Dolce boys right now, not knowing what they’re planning beyond finding Royal. There’s no way Colt or Preston would do that. It’s a testament to his love for Crystal, that’s for sure. I grudgingly admire him for it, even though I’m as angry at him as I am her.
We pull around the corner of the building to see the last wedge-shaped parking lot. Two cars sit side by side at center of the lot, near the entrance to the food court—Mr. Dolce’s Porsche, and my Escalade.
I swallow hard, my heart thundering in my chest. If he hurts Royal…
I won’t even think about it. I won’t let myself.
Duke floors it, and we fly across the lot, jumping several curbs. The Hummer bumps over them, nearly jarring us off the seats, but he doesn’t slow until he skids to a stop beside my car.
“I’m armed,” King says. “Liza? Baron? Duke? Crys?”
“I grabbed a gun on the way out,” Eliza says. “I’ll stick with you.”
“I just brought my fists,” Duke says, shutting off the engine and punching his fist into the palm of his other hand. “Let’s do this.”
We all spill out of the car, joining those from the other cars.
“I think you’re going to have to pick a side now,” I say to Baron. “Otherwise, how do we know you’re not going to shoot Royal to protect your dad?”
“I’m his brother,” he growls. “In case you forgot, I’m the one who was protecting him when you stuck a fucking knife in his back. So if anyone’s loyalties are in question, they’re yours.”
“I love Royal,” I say flatly. “I would never hurt him.”
“Then we’re in agreement,” he says.
I narrow my eyes at him. “Except you also want to protect your dad,” I say. “Don’t you? You said you and he have your own thing going.”
He meets my eyes with a cool gaze from behind his glasses. “I had something he wanted,” he says quietly. “We had our thing going until he got what he was after.”
We stand there staring each other down, and I wish like hell I could read him better. If he’s hurt, he hides it as well as all the Dolce boys. I shouldn’t be surprised to hear him admit their dad was just using him. It’s not like any of his children are immune. Royal’s the oldest, so he tried to protect the twins, but he’s not special in Mr. Dolce’s eyes. He’d use them all if he could get something out of it.
“What was he after?” I ask.
“The recipe.”
I don’t have to ask what he means. It’s the recipe for Lady Alice, the Alice in Wonderland drug that my mom and everyone else in Faulkner is doing. And now Mr. Dolce has the recipe. It only confirms my earlier suspicions that he’s the head of it all, and he needs to be dealt with once and for all. As soon as we get Royal back, we need to get rid of their father, maybe get him thrown in prison for dealing drugs.
“Then let’s get it back,” I say to Baron.
He gives me the slightest nod, some unspoken agreement between us that for tonight, at least, we’re on the same team.
Crystal and Devlin have come around the car, but Colt was too busy arguing with Gloria to notice. Suddenly, he stops mid-sentence and just gapes.
Devlin grabs him like he did Preston, and they hold onto each other while the rest of us stand there awkwardly, looking at the dark clouds gathering overhead and trying not to intrude on a moment that is obviously not ours to witness. It makes my chest ache deep down, and not because I’m wishing I had a family, the way I used to when I saw Royal and the twins. Now, my heart hurts for him, because I don’t think the twins are capable of the kind of love the Darling men seem to have for each other.
The sound of an engine approaching interrupts the awkwardness, and we all let out a quiet sigh of relief. Colt and Devlin pull apart, but then they just stand there, their hands gripping the side of each other’s necks, staring at each other from arm’s length like they’re locked in some silent communication that the rest of us aren’t privy to.
We turn away from them to watch another car roll up. Gideon and his brother, the librarian, hop down from an SUV.
“You brought a teacher?” Duke asks, pulling off his beanie and ruffling his hair. “What the fuck, man. Could you be any more lame?”
“It’s our property,” Mr. Delacroix says. “We own this place. Which means technically you’re all trespassing.”
“Do we have a problem here?” King asks.
There’s something so commanding in his voice, so cold, that even though he’s no bigger than his brothers, even they fall silent and look to him.