“Easton Royal.” Should I salute? Nah. Let’s get this dog and pony show over with. I reach into my back pocket and pull out my dad’s checkbook. “What’s it gonna cost, John?” I smile at my baller move in adding his first name.
“Who the hell are you?” he repeats.
“Man, I already told you.” This guy is slow. Is he really a lawyer? “I’m Easton Royal. I’m here to make a deal with you.”
“Get off my porch and leave.”
The door starts closing, but I’m quick and I dart inside the front hall before he can block me.
“Now, that’s no way to make a deal, John.” I wave the checkbook. “I’ve got a lot here. Name your price.”
“Easton Royal, you say?” Wright crosses his arms and narrows his eyes at me. “Let’s see. Your oldest brother got in trouble for the distribution of child pornography. Your second oldest brother was the chief suspect in the murder of his father’s mistress, because he, too, had been conducting a sexual relationship with said mistress. Your father nearly bankrupted a century-old family business, and your mother was a drug addict who took her own life. And you’re here to make a deal with me?”
My mouth falls open. “What’d you just say?” I can’t believe this asshole. I came here with the best intentions and he has the nerve to insult my entire family?
“You heard me.” He throws open the door. “Take your fake Royal ass and get gone.”
“Fake Royal? I’m fake? You’re the fraud. You’ve got no honor. You’re fixing cases. Taking money, losing evidence. You’re dirtier than any criminal you ever put behind bars.” I get up in his face. Spittle’s flying out of my mouth.
Wright laughs at me. “You don’t even know, do you?”
“Know that you’re an asshole?” I push his shoulders. He stumbles back and the smile is gone. “Actually, you’re worse than an asshole. Assholes would be insulted to be associated with you. You’re a child abuser. The worst of the worst. Even prisoners would spit on you.”
Red-faced, he charges toward me. “You wouldn’t be so brave if you didn’t have the Royal name, would you?”
“I do, so we’ll never know, will we?”
“Just like we’ll never know if you’re Steve O’Halloran’s bastard or Callum Royal’s seed, right?”
What?
I stumble, barely catching myself before doing a header onto the wood floor.
He chuckles. “But we do know, don’t we?”
“K-know what?” I croak.
“That your whore of a mother spread her legs for your fake daddy’s business partner.”
There’s a shove in my side and I lose my balance, falling to my knees.
I shake my head and look up. What the fuck is he even saying? I’m not Steve’s bastard. I’m Callum Royal’s son. I’m a Royal.
“You have five seconds to get your sorry ass off my property before I call the police,” Wright seethes.
Somehow I find myself on the other side of a slammed door. I stare at it. What just happened there? Did he really just…
Breathing hard, I raise my fist to the door and pound. For some reason, the knock sounds like a car door slamming.
“What the hell, Easton!”
I spin around in surprise. Hartley is charging up the manicured front lawn toward me. A beat-up brown Volvo sits in the driveway—I guess that’s the car door I just heard.
“Whose car is that?” I ask in confusion. Nothing makes sense to me right now. My head is a jumbled mess. There’s too much booze in my system. And Wright’s accusation has left me shaken and chilled to the bone.
I’m not Steve’s bastard.
I’m not.
“The car is Jose’s,” she snaps as she reaches me. She grabs my forearm and holy shit is her grip lethal. “Let’s go.”
I rub the back of my neck and try to focus. “Who’s Jose?”
“My landlord. Now get the fuck away from the door and let’s go.”
My jaw falls open. “You said fuck. You never swear. Why did you swear?”
“Because I am so fucking pissed right now!”
I almost fall over from the force of her response. That’s when I notice that her face is beet red. Her hands are clenched into small fists and she’s using one to hit me on the shoulder. Hartley is furious.
“You’re mad,” I mumble.
“I’m mad? Of course I’m mad! I want to kill you right now! How dare you show up at my parents’ house and—and what?” Her wild eyes dart toward the closed door. “Please tell me you didn’t talk to them yet!”
I can lie. I can totally lie. I don’t have to tell her that I threatened her father and he threatened me back and that I tried to hit him and he told me I wasn’t a Royal and slammed the door in my face. It’s not like he’s out here to contradict me. I can lie.
But I don’t lie, because I’m too confused, too disturbed to craft a story for her.
I’m not Steve’s bastard.
I’m not.
“I tried to bribe him.”
Her mouth opens. Then closes. Opens. Closes. And she’s breathing hard, like she just finished a marathon.
“You tried to bribe him.” She pauses in disbelief. “You. Tried to bribe. A district attorney.”
“Hey, we both know he’s cool with bribes," I protest.
Hartley stares at me. For a long, long time. Oh shit. She’s going to explode. I can see the storm clouds in her eyes. The thunder is going to come any second.
Before she can get out any words, the front door opens and Mr. Wright appears with Dylan at his side. The girl looks frightened, but shock replaces her fear when she spots her older sister.
Her gray eyes widen. “Hartley?”
“Take a good look at your sister,” Wright barks, pointing a finger at Hartley. “She’s the reason you have to leave the family.”
Hartley gasps.
I charge at the asshole, only to be brought up short by Dylan’s confused voice.
“Hartley?” she repeats. “What’s happening?”
“Dylan, come here.” Hartley gestures for her sister to leave her father. “You aren’t going to get sent away. Come with me and I’ll—”
“You’re not going to do anything but leave, Hartley. You are no longer part of this family. Dylan, go inside and pack.” Wright’s voice is cold and hard.
“No. Please, Daddy,” Hartley pleads. “Please don’t do this. I’ll do anything you want. Anything.” She scrambles forward, but her father holds up his hand and she stops in her tracks.
“Go inside, Dylan,” he orders.
Dylan’s frantic gaze swings from her sister to her father.
I make a last-ditch effort to stop this craziness. “Hey, I’m telling you, I’ll pay whatever price you want,” I urge Mr. Wright.
“Shut up!” Hartley screams. “Please shut up.” She turns back to her dad. “Please.”
“If anything happens to Dylan, it’ll be on your head. You should think about that before you open your stupid, stupid mouth.” With that parting threat, Wright slams the door shut.
When the wood hits the frame, it’s like a bullet to Hartley’s chest. She collapses on the front lawn and starts to cry.
I rush over to her. “Baby, I’m sorry.” The buzz in my head is wearing off and the gravity of what’s just happened is settling in. The gravity of everything. Hartley. Her dad. Her sister. Me.
Steve.
“Why? Why did you come here?” Tears fill her eyes, but they don’t spill over. Her breaths are quick and shallow.
“I was trying to help.” I bend close to her. “Tell me what to do?”
She takes a deep, quavering breath. “You’re drunk,” she accuses. “I can smell it on you. You came over here drunk and told my dad everything I confided in you?”
My throat closes up, clogged with guilt and anxiety. “No. I mean, I had a little, but I wasn’t drunk.”
She searches my eyes, sees my lies, and rises slowly to her feet. Her lower lip is trembling and her voice is shaky, but there’s a seriousness in her expression that sends a spiral of fear down my back.