Callous Prince

by Becker Gray

  Of course he no longer trusted me. Of course he no longer wanted to be with me. It was the predictable result and consequence of my own actions.

  You are an idiot. Did you really think this would last?

  Why hadn’t I asked my father for more information? Why hadn’t I simply said no to the old man?

  At the end of the day, I was responsible. Even though I should not have been participating in missions. And more importantly, it had felt wrong at the time, and I’d still done it because my father had asked me to. I’d still done it because I wanted to impress him so badly that I was willing to forget who I was.

  I wasn’t above stealing something from a room. I wasn’t above giving someone their comeuppance. I wasn’t above a little revenge. Hell, I thrived on it, had built my reputation here at Pembroke on it, but I was always, always honest. And I hadn’t been honest with Lennox. I had hurt him, however unintentionally.

  This was the outcome. An outcome I’d created for myself.

  Serafina stepped into the room, clearly surprised to find me not curled up in a ball as I had been most of the week. Sure, I’d gone to classes. But outside of those classes, and doing the bare minimum I had to for school, I hadn’t done much else other than lie in bed and cry.

  I just hadn’t thought it could hurt so much. That feeling of disappointing someone. That feeling of someone no longer wanting you. That loneliness I’d felt since my mother died, it was nothing compared to now. Nothing compared to the rejection I’d felt from someone I cared about.

  He didn’t reject you. He simply walked away from a damaging situation . . .

  Lennox had been the only person besides Sera, Aurora, and Tannith to really see me and care about me as a whole, and I’d ruined that. I had hurt him. No wonder he’d rejected me. But while I might not be able to fix us, while he might never forgive me, at the very least, I could make it right.

  I could get my father off his tail, to stop investigating him and his family. If my father wanted information on the Lincoln-Wards, he was, A, going to have to get it himself, or B, going to have to let me go. Lennox and Aurora, they hadn’t done anything wrong. They were just boarding-school kids—the ones parents pawned off to the Ivy League pipeline as soon as they could hold a pencil—like I was. And if the agency couldn’t see that, then did I really want to go to work for people like that?

  “Okay, so you look like maybe you’ll be eating today?”

  I gave Serafina a wan smile. “I have eaten, and I showered. And I’ve been to class. Happy now, Mom?”

  She lifted a brow. “As my grandmamma used to say, don’t sass me.” Her words dripped with an added southern drawl. Her grandmother on her father’s side of the family had come from New Orleans. The old battle-axe held up a damn long time. And Sera had spent quite a few summers with her before she passed. So every now and again, she had these random southern utterances intertwined with her van Doren cultured inflections.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to sass you, Mama Sera, I’m just saying, I’ve done all the things you always ask about. Showered. Ate. Class. Homework.”

  “Oh, well I see you’re feeling better.”

  “Not really. But it’s possibly time for me to stop wallowing. I messed up, but now I have to deal with it head on.”

  “I know, babes. But how are you going to fix it though?”

  “That letter I stole along with the files on Lennox’s computer, I’m going to use it to show my father that Lennox isn’t working for his dad. I want to show him that Lennox is a good person. If he can see that, maybe he’ll stop the witch hunt.”

  Sera folded her arms as she plopped onto her bed. “Do you think that will work?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know. I did a lot of damage. And maybe he shouldn’t ever trust me again. I might not be able to fix us, fix what I did, but I can get my dad off his tail. At the very least, I can do that.”

  She levelled her gaze on me. “Sloane, can I say something?”

  I sighed. “What?”

  “Know that this is coming from a place of love. And I love you a lot.”

  “Stop sugar coating and just tell me.”

  “Honey, are you in love?”

  I blinked at her. “I don’t understand the question.”

  With a soft laugh, she shook her head. “Right, I get you. Of course, you don’t. It’s just, yeah, you messed up. Everyone messes up. And I know you, your whole thing about honesty and forthrightness. You will do everything in your power to correct it. You just have that crusade look about your face. Like you cannot sleep until you fix it. And honey, that’s a love kind of thing. The way you’ve been carrying on with this not sleeping, not eating zombie version of Sloane. Hell, as far as I know, bad guys could have broken in here this week and you would have let them.”

  I rolled my eyes. “I would not. I would have snapped out of it to kick ass, then gone back to bed.”

  She laughed then. “Okay, probably. But my point is, it’s okay if you love him. And if you’re going to talk to him, maybe you start with that.”

  I frowned. “I honestly don’t even know if he’ll accept that. I tried to, but he wouldn’t give me a chance. And honestly I didn’t deserve one. I really messed up. Really, really, really messed up. So maybe I deserve this. And the least I can do is put it right. This isn’t about love.”

  “Uh huh. Well you said you were sorry. But sometimes, you have to go deep within the apology to show someone that you really, really care about them, more than just you’re sorry for hurting them. But that because you care so much, it never would be intentional. And he doesn’t know that. He thinks you’re the same Sloane who has always loathed and despised him.”

  I frowned. “I never loathed or despised him. He has always been the one who loathed and despised me. He was just a guy I stayed away from. The guy whose radar I tried to stay off of. But somehow he was always there, always messing with me.”

  Sera rolled her eyes. “And why do you think that was?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “Sloane! Lennox Lincoln-Ward has loved you since the moment he saw you. He, just like every other idiotic male mammal of our species, had no idea how to say that. And so, he pulled your pigtails and tortured you. Because he’s a man, he couldn’t just say, ‘Hey, you’ve given me pants feelings. I don’t want pants feelings when I think about you because maybe you’re not what I pictured for myself. But still, pants feelings.”

  I choked in a laugh. “Oh my god, did you just say pants feelings?”

  She nodded. “Yep, pants feelings. Because, accurate.”

  “Yeah okay. I’ll start with pants feelings.”

  She laughed. “Or you could say, ‘I love you and I’m sorry.’”

  I mulled over what she said. She had a point. If I told him how I felt instead of just saying ‘I’m sorry. It’s hard to explain,’ he might be willing to listen.

  I stared at my laptop then. At the very least, maybe if I apologized better and got my father off his back, at least he wouldn’t hate me so much.

  “You may have a point there, Sera.”

  “What? Me have a point? Honey, do I have to remind you, I’m never wrong?”

  I laughed. An actual genuine laugh for the first time in a week.

  “Hey, one chuckle, I’ll take it. Better than the grunts and head nods I’ve gotten all week.”

  As Sera got busy doing homework and tapping away on her computer, I was closing up my research. I finally found the address that Lennox had been writing that letter to. I thought it was in reference to the lawyer or something, but it wasn’t. The address I found was for a little boy about seven years old, living with an elderly couple in Cyprus. They were Graciella de Marco’s parents, but despite them having the same dark hair and olive skin as Graciella, the school picture of Nicholas I found showed a little boy with white blond hair and bright gold eyes.

  Lennox hadn’t been writing to a lawyer. He’d been writing to a little boy. A little boy, who lik
e him, had lost his father. Lennox was his only protection from the world.

  That little boy was Lennox’s half-brother.

  22

  Lennox

  “You would think after you’re finally getting laid by the girl you’ve been obsessed with since you got here, you’d be in much better spirits. But no, you’re still in a shit mood. Maybe I should have fucked her first. Tested the roads. I wouldn’t have fucked it up.”

  I pushed away from the ledge along the roof on top of the dorms—a spot we came up to when the weather was decent—and walked towards my friend. I was going to kill Rhys tonight. Throw him right off. I gave zero shits.

  But Owen and Keaton were there, and even Phineas made a move to stop us. And Phineas was a shit starter. He loved to watch and see if things would actually come to blows. But after the last time, I think he saw that we were really going to kill each other if allowed.

  Rhys fought against Phin’s hold. “No, let me go. He wants to pop me, and he thinks he can. He’s welcome to give it a go. It’s not my fault he’s a pussy. I’d primed the girl for him. I’m the world’s best wingman, brought him the girl he’s been mooning over for ages. Ages, mind you. And I let him have her. But he fucked it up. And she’s a fantastic kisser.”

  “You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” I ground out.

  Owen kept his arms wrapped around me. “Keaton, Phin, get him the fuck out of here. This isn’t helping right now.”

  I thought Rhys was going to fight the command, but Keaton was already approaching him with crossed arms and a grumpy expression. Rhys could fight all he wanted, but when Keaton said it’s time to go, it was time to go. And there was no fighting him. The fucker was too big.

  On our way back downstairs, Owen pinned me with a glare. “Seriously, what the hell is wrong with you?”

  I grumbled. “Nothing.”

  “Look, I get it. You and Sloane had some kind of dust up, but you’ve been in this mood for over a week. Time to snap out of it. If you don’t like her anymore, great, fine, you don’t like her. But this has to stop. You almost threw Phin into a fire last week. And with Rhys, you’d both end up bloody if this shit goes on for much longer.”

  Just Rhys’s reminder that I could no longer feel her lips on mine sent a pang of pain through my body. She’d betrayed me. The one person who I’d given my full trust to. How was I supposed to forget that? And why did it hurt so bad? I’d thought I’d insulated myself from it all, but Sloane had cut me deep.

  Owen sighed as he took the spot next to me. “Look, I get it. You got beef with her old man. And him trying to spy on you and getting her to do it, that was fucked. But your beef is not with her. It’s with the old guy. You’re mad at the wrong person. You should be mad at your old man because he was the one who actually fucked up. He made a mess of your family. Not her father, not her. Your father. Sure, her old man was tenacious. Went after yours with everything. But her father didn’t actually do anything wrong. He was doing his job. Her old man, I’m sorry to say, put a criminal behind bars. And that criminal happens to be related to you. It sucks. Utter bullshit. But he’s the one who hurt you. You’re punishing the wrong people.”

  My brain felt like it had been put through the blender. Like I was walking on a tightrope of emotions and if I took one misstep, my soul was going to go through a meat grinder.

  I hated him. I hated them all.

  Are you sure about that?

  The pain was too close to the surface. All my defenses, my ability to push the pain down. Sloane had chipped that all away, and now I was one raw nerve. The words tumbled out even before I was aware of talking. “He was a prick,” I mumbled. “Lied. Cheated. Charmed us and bribed us with gifts and games and hugs whenever he felt us slipping from his grip. And that was just at home. Outside the home . . . he ruined people’s lives and still . . .” I blinked away the stinging in my eyes. “I can’t let it go.”

  Owen sighed. “Look, parents are complicated and shit. And it’s okay if you’re mad at him. But be mad at him. Be mad at the person who actually brought you this situation. Her father had a job to do. He did it. Did your family get hurt in the process? Absolutely. And it sucks. But again, he was doing his job. And that’s not on her. And the Sloane I know wouldn’t have just left you hanging out to dry.”

  “The Sloane I know wouldn’t do that either. But she did, didn’t she?”

  “Because her father asked her to. He’s her dad, man.”

  “She still chose him over me.”

  Owen’s chuckle was harsh. “So, you’re telling me that even if your old man called from prison, asked a favor, there isn’t some small part of you that would be tempted to do it? It’s your father, you idiot.”

  I ground my teeth together. “Whose side are you on anyway?”

  “Yours, man. Always yours. But when you’re fucking up, it’s my job to tell you that. We’re more than Hellfire Club, more than just a couple of dudes that went to school together. You are my best mate.”

  “I didn’t mess up anything. She snuck into my room, stole information from me, and gave it to her father.”

  “Yes, but maybe ask her why. Any idiot who knows her knows how badly she wants to work with him. He’s all she’s got.”

  “She had me.” Those three words slashed a gaping wound over my heart.

  Owen shrugged. “Did you tell her that?”

  I opened my mouth to argue, but then that little nagging voice from the inside needled me.

  You didn’t tell her how you felt. You shagged her until you both couldn’t walk. But you never once told her how you actually felt.

  Not true. I’d given her the knife. She must know.

  I didn’t realize I’d said it out loud until Owen laughed. “Dude, she’s a girl. Girls need the words.”

  “And you’re such an expert?” I muttered.

  The smile slid off Owen’s face. “I know enough. At the very least, I know when something important is about to slip through your fingers.”

  “That’s not my fucking fault, Owen. She chose her father over me.”

  “Don’t you know her? That essay in English that first year, talking about a significant moment in your life, when she talked about when her mom died of cancer, leaving her just with the old man. I’m not really in for the feelings things, but that got me right in the heart area. When she talked about how her father was all she had left, and she would do anything to make him happy. Do you remember?”

  I swallowed hard. I did remember. Not that I wanted to.

  “Right. So if you remember, you can see how she would have done this. And she feels terrible. You’re punishing her for something your father ultimately did. That’s not cool. She can’t go back in time and tell your father not to steal billions from a bunch of unsuspecting people. She can’t go back in time to tell him not to have a mistress. She can’t go back in time and undo all the layers of pain your dad caused. She can’t go back in time and make her father not do his job. You’re mad at the wrong person, man. Or maybe you could be mad at Rhys because he’s a dick, but don’t be mad at Sloane. That’ll only hurt you.”

  “I don’t need a therapy session.”

  Owen scoffed. “As if you could afford my rates. Look, idiot, you can choose to actually have what you want and see that you’re fucking this up, or you can continue on this path and let it eat you. Your choice.”

  “Didn’t she have a choice when she decided to spy on me for her father?”

  “Yeah, she did. But that choice was between someone she cares about and someone she refers to as the only person that she has left. Was that even a choice?”

  I was pretty certain I hated Owen in that moment. I hated him for being right about this. Sloane’s father had asked her to do something, and even I knew she would do anything to make her father proud. Anything.

  Fucking hell.

  I hated it when Owen was right.

  23

  Lennox

  Everything insi
de my chest and my stomach still felt like it was in a blender, but there was something else now. I wouldn’t dare call it hope, but it was almost like hope. Maybe it was even better. Maybe it was understanding.

  Maybe it was forgiveness.

  I tried her room and found only a glaring Serafina, who’d briskly informed me, “I’m not a secretary for idiot boys who fuck everything up,” when I asked where Sloane was, and went back to painting her toenails before I could figure out a reply that wouldn’t further irritate her. I tried the library, the gym, the track, everywhere Sloane would normally be, until the memory came to me of her strong fingers curled expertly over of the handle of the knife I gave her, and then I knew.

  I ran straight for the tree, thankful that at least it was warm enough for the grass to be dry and unfrozen, and slowed down at the far end of the quad once I saw her. She was sitting like I’d never seen her sit, not once, with her legs tucked to her chest and her head resting on her knees. Her hand was outstretched, idly tracing our initials where they’d been carved into the wood, and she looked so small and forlorn and sad that I wanted to rip something apart, I wanted to make something bleed.

  Except that it was my fault she looked so forlorn and sad. It was my fault she was alone and curled up in a tiny ball. My fierce Sloane and what had I done? I’d dulled her sharp edges. I’d dimmed her burning glow.

  All because I’d been blinded by my need for revenge, by my fury at her father. When really my fury was all about my own father. God, I’d been so colossally stupid.

  I came up behind her, slow and quiet, trying to think of what I should say. Trying to think of the words I needed to make things right before she knew I was there.

  But before I could even speak, she said, “Nicholas is your brother.”

  I shouldn’t have been surprised that she knew I was there, she was the daughter of a former spy, but I still was. And I was impressed.