Page 4 of Royal
The hateful girl who’d ruined my life with only a few words.
I roughly rub my hand over the stubble coming in on my jaw, thinking about how she’d remained in front of the wicked lick of the fire, completely still, while pretending she wasn’t quietly observing everything happening around her. She hadn’t had a fuckin’ clue I was studying her from head to toe. Every inch of creamy skin exposed, every lush curve, every breath she took. The fullness of her cheeks isn’t prominent anymore, but those petal-soft lips are still one of her best features. She’s petite, but that body… Jesus.Fuck.She’s filled out since the last time I had my hands on her.
There’d been no mistaking her for anyone else, even with the dyed-red hair. Hidden behind the raging inferno, I fought with my desire to lash out right there in front of everyone. But no. That’d be too easy. When our eyes locked, an uncontrollable fury had whipped through my body. It’d forced me out of the fuckin’ stupor I’d been in and pushed me into action.
The muscle in my jaw twitches angrily. I’m gonna make her pay for everything. Every goddamn ounce of pain and anguish I’ve endured and every indignity I suffered. My list of grievances is long. I want vengeance for every stab she made to my heart as she carved it, still beating, from my chest. I was ready to turn my world upside down for her, but that bitch decided I wasn’t worthy. She lit the fuse, then walked away when my life imploded.
The breath I draw in is ragged. Disgruntled. And the plan—for now—is to make Echo sorry she ever showed her face here.
Wilder walks in, nose buried in his phone, his brow furrowing hard as he stares at whatever is on the screen. I can tell from the stony expression on his face that it’s not good. He’s off in his own angry world. Sometimes he gets like this. I highly doubt it has anything to do with Echo. His hair-trigger temper is legendary, though, so who knows what has set him off this time.
I glance past him, looking for Beckham, but there’s no one there. Frustrated—and not scared of his fury at all—I growl, “Where the fuck is Beck?”
Blowing out a sharp breath, Wilder stops mid stride, his dark gaze darting to mine as he wets his lips. “What?” And then without waiting for me to repeat myself, he looks back down at his phone to hammer his thumbs on the screen. Once done, he shuts off the phone and tosses it onto the counter next to me before shooting me a perturbed grimace like I just pissed in his Cheerios for target practice.
I raise a brow and let my eye slide from him to the phone.
“It’s nothing.” He shrugs with a sigh, narrowing his eyes as he finally takes a good look at me. “Why do you look like you ate a box of nails and are ready to fuckin’ spit ’em at me?”
Exasperated, I shake my head and press my palms to the countertop, leaning forward. I wait a beat. When he stares at me as if I’ve gone insane, I can’t control my outburst. “What the fuck? Beckham. I asked where he is. And what happened with Echo? Was she freaking the fuck out? Did she say anything? Why are you acting like I didn’t just have a fucked-up encounter with the girl who cost me the last several years of my life?”
He gives me a flinty-eyed stare. “Slow the fuck down. First, I’m not Beckham’s fucking keeper. He said he needed a second. He’s out on the porch, I think.” His jaw works to the side as he peers at me from under hooded eyes. “And second, what went on in the woods?”
“I hope I scared the fuck out of her,” I growl.
At my hard words, Wilder’s brows shoot up and he throws back his head, silent maniacal laughter bouncing his shoulders. When he finally gains control of himself, I could swear he’s about to jump out of his own skin with how curious he is to know what went down out there tonight between me and Echo. But still, he waits, because he knows better than to act like it’s his business. Thank fuck he’s still willing to go along with whatever I need. It’s that brotherhood bond working in my favor. This oddly twisted bunch of brothers had tortured the fuck out of me when I pledged this frat last year. And now, despite my late start, I’m one of them. Wilder smirks before he asks, “Well, did you at least let her know it was you?”
I give a slow nod. “Oh, I did for sure. Reminded her who she turned her back on. Who she screwed over and let rot in a cell, as if—” My eyes slam shut and my jaw tenses.As if she had no feelings involved. People are always harping on about women and their consent; well, no one gave a shit about mine. I'm sick of her playing the victim.
When I open my eyes again, his arms are crossed over his broad chest. “I get it. She did you wrong. We fuckin’ heard you loud and clear at the bonfire.” He shakes his head, gripping the back of his neck with both hands while he assesses me. “Well, if it helps, she seemed pretty messed up. Physically and mentally. I don’t think seeing you again will be on her highlight reel from the first week of life here at Kingston U.”
“I should fucking hope not.” I throw my arms out from the sides, adrenaline rushing through me again. Every time I think for even a second about how she handled things, it makes my blood boil.
Wilder’s head bobs slowly, as if he’s considering my reaction, trying to figure me the fuck out, but yeah. I keep my shit pretty close to the vest. He gets a funny smirk on his face. “Um. Did you know—”
He doesn’t get to finish his question because a second later, the sound of the front door opening and closing reaches us, then the sure stride of footsteps approach. Beckham comes to an abrupt halt when he sees the two of us with our eyes pinned on him.
He looks from me to Wilder and back, then runs a hand through his tousled hair. Jerking a thumb over his shoulder in the direction he came from, he offers, “Should I leave? It feels… way too intense in here.”
My body vibrates with irritation, and I huff out a breath. Wilder fucking snorts like he thinks this is funny, which, in turn, has me practically growling. “I’d like to know what you made of what happened in the woods.”
Beckham’s gaze darts to Wilder’s. In response, Wilder gives him the slowest of blinks and a slight shake of his head. There’s a devious crinkle at the corners of Beckham’s eyes that makes me think he’s messing with Wilder somehow, but I have no clue what the fuck that’s about.
“I know what you two need,” Beckham mutters before he proceeds to the fridge, grabbing a bottle of vodka from the freezer. He also snatches up three shot glasses we’ve taken to leaving in there so they’re always chilled. He comes back to the counter, lines up the tiny glasses, and pours the shots. Pushing one across the granite to each of us, he picks up the third. I work my jaw to the side. I shouldn’t. Butfuck it.Eyeing each other, we down them together. He pours again. We drink again. This goes on for three rounds before he looks shrewdly at us. “Everyone chilled the fuck out now?”
I nod. “I told you all to help me corral her, which you did, so thanks for that. But did you get her to trust you?” I kinda thought that might help somehow. To have her fucking trust at least one of us to see how we could use that to my advantage. To ultimately make her know the hurt and betrayal I have.
Beckham’s tongue slowly swipes over his lower lip. “I think you could say we accomplished that. Wouldn’t you, Wilder? She trusts the two of us. Had no problem getting into his truck with us.”
“Seriously?” My interest is piqued.
Rolling his eyes at Beckham, Wilder affirms with clear annoyance, “Yeah. We fucking asked her if she was okay and offered her a ride home.”
“Which she wasn’t going to take at first. But I made it happen.” Beckham winks. “I have some pretty slick moves when I feel like busting them out.”
I huff out a laugh. “Yep. You’re a regular Casanova, Beck.” I pour myself one last shot, then let my eyes flick up to meet theirs, questioning whether anyone else is in for another while I ponder what my next steps are.
Beckham gestures that I should fill his, then Wilder flicks his glass with his finger, sending it careening across the granite until it collides with mine. That must have fucking hurt his finger, but he doesn’t seem to give two shits. I throw the liquor back, my brain moving a mile a minute.
