Page 64 of Vicious Desire (Fallen Royals 4)

“Your parents?”

She shakes her head.

“Your dick brother?”

She hesitates, then frowns. “Partying with Kaiden, probably. I can’t…”

“Okay, fine. Come on.” I guide her to the car, and to my surprise, my anger is gone. Evaporated off my skin. I like that about her. I’m angry enough to kill her one moment and protecting her the next.

Life is strange.

I open the door for her and follow, choosing to sit beside her instead of in the front. I tell myself it’s because I’m worried she might try to jump out of the car, but in reality…

Maybe I just want to be near her.

The buzzing under my skin is my favorite part.

She tips her head back and closes her eyes. “Why did he do that?”

“Because he’s an asshole,” I reply. I can’t let myself think about it again. I slowly release my fists, smoothing my hands out on my jeans. “But he won’t pull that shit on you again. No one will.”

Her head falls toward me, and she meets my gaze. Her eyes are dark brown in this lighting. Sometimes they’re sea green, speckled with brass.

Since when do you pay attention to her eyes, Eli?

“It shouldn’t take your misguided concern for me to stop him,” she says quietly.

I raise my eyebrow.

“You knew what he did—you weren’t really surprised. If girls wanted to get high, they could put it in their own damn drink. But it’s because you’re fixated on me that you did something about it.”

“I didn’t—”

“She’s right,” Caleb says. “That shit should’ve been stopped long before now.”

I sigh. “I’m sorry, Riley.”

She resumes facing forward. “Apology accepted.” And then, quieter, “I wish I got a chance to punch him.”

I snort. “We can probably arrange that.”

She smiles.

And it scares me how much I want more.

16

Riley

I take a deep breath and open the front door. Dad must’ve slept at his office, because his car isn’t in the driveway. In one hand, I have the little pepper spray, and in my other I have a water bottle. Not my water bottle—for some reason, I haven’t been able to touch it.

Noah is convinced someone with good intentions brought it back to us, but I’m not so sure.

I push off the porch and break into a jog before I get permanently stuck there. Ten years from now, kids might walk by and say, “Oh, there’s Riley Appleton, the crazy girl. She lives on the porch. Hasn’t moved in ages.”

At the corner, I glance around. I’ve been doing all my running at practice, and not doing anything in the morning has been affecting my times. I’m slower, more cumbersome. If there’s something I can’t stand, it’s Eli-fucking-Black beating me.

Of course, that’s practically his job.

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