Cracked Kingdom

by Erin Watt

  I roll over onto my back, grab Hart’s knee and tug it down next to my hip. She does the rest of the work, repositioning herself until she's fully straddling me—a leg on either side. Her lips taste salty and sweet and her mouth is so soft and wet. The blood pounds in my head and my dick screams for some closer, softer, better contact. My fingers dig into that juicy ass of hers and jerk her forward until we’re fused together.

  The heat of her body eats away at the fuzzy edges created by all the alcohol until everything in the room is sharp and clear. Her eyelashes are spiked with unshed tears that look like crystal-dotted lace against her soft cheek. The individual threads of her jeans rub against the pads of my fingers. When I take a breath, my lungs fill with her scent—a warm honey spiced with citrus. And when she moves, rocking her pelvis against mine, I can hear the swish of her clothes against mine.

  She moans against my mouth and I nearly nut in my jeans from the sound alone. Me, Easton Royal, who has screwed more girls—and women—than fifty-year-old porn stars, is rock hard and close to the big O just from a kiss and a little rub.

  I've got it bad. So fucking bad for her, and I haven’t even told her the worst of it yet.

  Chapter 21

  Hartley

  I don’t need any memories to know this is the best kiss I’ve ever had, and if this is to be remembered as my first kiss, I’m a lucky, lucky girl. Easton’s body is hard as a rock slab, but his mouth is beautifully tender. The way he clasps me to his chest, as if he never wants to let go, makes my heart sing.

  This is why I drove here. I wasn’t seeking a place, but a person. I’d come home.

  I don’t know how it happened, but he’d etched himself into my DNA. Can something like this ever be explained? Doesn’t it simply exist? Felicity had been right about one thing. I’d fallen for someone immediately. My heart knew. Just as my heart reached out to Dylan, it yearned for Easton, too.

  He gasps against my mouth. The way he moves against me makes me bold.

  My hands slide down to touch his furnace-hot skin under his T-shirt.

  “Hart,” he whispers against my lips. I’m not sure if he’s pleading for me to stop or go on, so I push my hands up higher, marking each ridge of his abdomen and the valley between. I feel the hot, smooth skin, the hard, wide planes of his chest, and the solid, sturdy shoulders. His hips move beneath me, urgent and seeking.

  I don’t know how long we would’ve gone. How many pieces of clothing would’ve come off, how many parts of his body I would’ve touched, how many of mine he would’ve kissed, because he pulls away from my mouth to bury his head in my neck.

  Reluctantly, I hold him there, knowing full well that having sex at this moment would be wrong. We’re both an emotional mess. The recitation of his past misdeeds brought tears to my eyes, not because I was horrified by what he’d done but because of how much self-loathing I’d heard in them. And I suspect that there are more tales that Easton is holding back that are going to wreck me. But the blood pounding in my ears urges me to wriggle down and find out how the hard length that’s pushing into my stomach would feel in my hands.

  As if he can sense my dilemma, he gently slides me off his body and scoots a couple hand spans away as if he wouldn’t be able to contain himself if he were closer.

  “Your first time shouldn’t be on a cheap floor,” he says.

  A gust of relief blows through me. “I haven’t had sex before?”

  He hesitates. “I don’t know. We never talked about it. It wasn’t important to me. I mean, I’m no virgin. Why would I expect you to be one? You didn’t sleep with anyone at Astor, if that makes you feel better.”

  “It does, actually.” The thought of walking the halls next to guys who have seen me naked was more awful than I could put into words. But the other horror I live with has to do with Easton’s brother. I swallow hard and force myself to ask, “Was the accident my fault?”

  “Fuck no,” he insists. Rolling onto his side, he tucks a hand under his head and scowls. “Have you been thinking that the whole time?”

  “I didn’t know what to think,” I admit. “No one told me anything. I asked the doctor and the nursing staff, but they wouldn’t give me a straight answer.”

  Easton sighs and drops his chin to his chest. “I don’t want to tell you, because it’s bound to make you hate me and that’s the last thing I want.”

  Fear tightens my throat, but I push out the words of encouragement anyway. “I don’t think I could ever hate you.”

  It’s true. All of the things he said before were painful to hear, but only because they came from such a deep well of hurt.

  He lifts his head as if an anvil’s hanging from it. I catch his eyes and hold them, silently encouraging him to continue.

  “It was my fault. I was drunk and mad. Your parents were threatening to send your sister to boarding school like you had been and I thought, because I’m a shithead, that I could solve it by going to see your father. We fought.”

  An unholy pressure is developing on the nerve right behind my left eye. I blink. “We fought?” I say hoarsely.

  “We all fought. You, me, your dad.” His eyes fall to my wrist.

  I hide the scar against my thigh, instinctively knowing that the truth behind the scar is the secret to all of this.

  “You were upset,” he continues. His words are slowing down. The crease in his forehead becomes deeper. The muscles in his neck work as he swallows his guilt and remorse. “You drove off. The curve near your house is a blind spot and the twins drive it way too damn fast. They almost hit us once before. We had gone to your house before because you were worried about your sister. Your parents wouldn’t let you see her. They were against you coming back to Bayview.”

  My head feels like it’s ready to split open. Acid is climbing up my throat. I can taste it on the back of my tongue. I want him to stop. I roll on my back and throw my palm up. I’ve had enough. “I don’t need to know any more,” I announce.

  But the silence is worse than his words, because I have to know. I have to know what I did or I won’t be able to live with myself.

  “Tell me,” I choke out.

  “Your father broke your wrist.”

  I break down then. A mix of anger and sadness fills me up and pushes the tears out. I wanted to ignore the evidence in front of me and pretend what my dad had done to Dylan was an aberration, but I knew, deep down, just like I knew how to get here, that there was something wrong at home.

  “How did it happen?” I wipe at the tears but they keep flowing.

  “I wasn’t there. I didn’t know you then, but you told me you were having trouble sleeping. That you went downstairs and saw your father with a woman, and that woman paid your dad to screw up a drug case against her son.”

  “He took bribes?”

  East nods grimly.

  “Did I confront him?”

  “No. You went to your sister, Parker, who told you to go home and pretend like nothing happened.”

  “But I didn’t.” My heart is racing. There’s a certainty pulsing inside me. I can’t remember the things that East is telling but they all feel true. There’s no reason for him to lie to me about these awful things.

  “No. You caught him getting another buyout. You tried to run back to your house and he caught you. You said he was angry but that the broken wrist was an accident. He packed you up and shipped you off to boarding school. You didn’t get your wrist looked at for three weeks. That’s why you have such a gnarly scar. They had to break it and then go in and reset it.”

  I cover my eyes with my scarred wrist and let the waterworks come. I couldn’t stop them if I wanted to. This is what my brain thought I shouldn’t remember. That my father hurt me and that my family abandoned me. My chest aches worse now than it did after I woke up in the hospital room. It’s like someone has reached inside me and snapped each one of my ribs individually and then stabbed me in the heart with one of the jagged ends.

  “I wish I could stop cry
ing,” I sob.

  “Oh fuck, baby. Cry all you want.” There’s a swishing sound and then a long, heated frame presses against me. He presses my wet face into his shirt and rubs a hand over my back. “Cry all the fuck you want.”

  I blubber into his chest for what seems like an eternity. When my seemingly endless well finally runs dry and my wails turn to hiccups, East asks, “Are you afraid at home?”

  “No. Not for me. For Dylan. Tonight was scary. Dylan needs medication and I guess she didn’t take it. We were arguing at the table about how mad Dylan is that I’m home. She cursed and Dad blew up. He grabbed her meds and then forced her to swallow them. It was…ugly,” I stop, choking up at this recollection. “He held her face so hard.”

  “You need to get out of that house. Both of you.”

  I nod, but I’m not sure what I can do. It sounds like Parker is of no help. She didn’t believe me before, so she won’t now. Mom? She might be the wildcard, although why did I go to Parker instead of my mom in the first place?

  “We can live here. Or I can find a bigger place.”

  I blink. “We?”

  “I’m not letting you go through this by yourself.”

  His outrage brings out a reluctant smile. “Sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”

  “Clearly not.”

  My moment of levity doesn’t last long. Dylan’s in a house with a monster and I’ve been bumbling around worrying about school and my reputation and all that stupid stuff when I should’ve been concentrating on her. “My sister hates me. She’s been so mean to me since I got back from the hospital and tonight I tried to comfort her but she refused to let me into her bedroom. She must be so mad that I left her alone to be tormented by Dad.”

  “You didn’t leave her. You were fourteen when you were sent away, which is almost the same age as Dylan is now. Do you expect her to fight your dad? No. You came back to save her.”

  “I’m doing a shitty job of it.”

  “Your dad’s a lawyer. I don’t think you can just run off with your sister. And from the sounds of it, you’d have to kidnap her since she is being kind of a turd at home.”

  A turd. I stifle a giggle. I’m tired, drained, and hysterical, so anything sounds funny.

  “I love that sound,” Easton says, a broad smile on his face.

  “What sound?”

  “Your laugh. It’s the best sound in the world.”

  I roll my eyes. “I’m pretty sure there are way better sounds. Like…um…” I struggle to find an example.

  Easton pounces. “Ha! See! Even you agree—Hartley Wright’s laughter. Best sound ever.”

  This just makes me laugh again, which makes his smile widen even more, and then we’re both sitting there smiling like idiots, with an occasional giggle flying out of my mouth. I can’t believe the power he has. Like, five minutes ago, I was bawling my eyes out, devastated. I’m still devastated. And somehow Easton has this magical ability to make me smile even when I’m at my darkest point.

  That both thrills and scares me.

  “I need to go,” I say awkwardly, because our smiling fest suddenly feels too…I don’t know. Too something.

  His arm shoots out and he grabs my hand.

  “Stay,” he says

  I swallow, hesitant.

  “For a little bit longer,” he adds.

  His husky voice and another sweet smile are all the encouragement I need. I let my eyes drift close, using East as my pillow, personal heater, and exclusive source of comfort. I’ll rest my eyes…just for a minute. Then I’ll go home.

  * * *

  I wake up to someone rapping that he’s here for his music, real for his music. I sit up and look around to see who’s talking, but there’s no one here but me sprawled out on East’s chest. His head is lying on the balled-up Astor Park jacket.

  Beside him, the screen of his phone is lit up. I shake his shoulder.

  “I’m up,” he mumbles.

  I smile a little at his obvious lie and shake him harder. This time he rolls over and shoots me a sleepy smile.

  “Hey, babe. You have a sexy dream and want to work out some of the details in real life?”

  He’s so gorgeous just waking up that I wish I could take him up on the offer. “Your phone is ringing.”

  He groans and throws an arm across his face. “What time is it?”

  “Three.” I get up and look around for my shoes. I need to get home. I want to check on Dylan. My movements are sluggish, probably because of dehydration. I cried out my entire water supply.

  “In the afternoon?”

  His phone stops ringing. I locate my sneakers by the door. “In the morning.” I look at his jacket with longing. I don’t want to leave it, but it’s his. I can’t keep stealing his clothes.

  “In the morning?” He groans in disbelief. The phone starts ringing again.

  Trepidation creeps over me. “I think you should answer it. No one calls this late unless it’s an emergency.”

  He doesn’t answer right away and it occurs to me that maybe Easton does entertain random calls in the middle of the night from Astor Park girls. Jealousy prompts me to bend over and swipe the jacket off the floor. He gave it to me, I tell myself.

  “Hello?” East finally answers. He listens for about two seconds before shooting straight into the air. “You better not be fucking with me,” he half shouts, but he’s not angry. A smile is spreading across his gorgeous face. “I’ll be there.” His hand drops to his side and he turns to me with a blindingly wide grin. “He woke up.”

  “Who? Sebastian?”

  “Yes.” East nods eagerly. “He woke up!”

  “Ahhhhh!” I scream, jumping up and down. Finally, some good news.

  Easton does his own little dance, and then we grab each other and hop around the room like fools until there’s a banging on the floor. “Shut the fuck up or I’ll kick you out,” screams our landlord.

  We immediately stop and stare at each other in excitement and wonder.

  “He’s awake,” I whisper, as if by speaking louder I’ll send Easton’s brother back into an enchanted sleep.

  “Damn straight he’s awake.” He looks around. “I need to get dressed.”

  “Do you need a ride?” I ask. I don’t remember seeing a car outside.

  “No. Durand is coming to pick me up.”

  I have no clue who that is. I grab East’s shoes and set them by his feet “Do you have socks?”

  “In the bag.” He blows into his hand and then sniffs. “Shit, my breath smells like an ashtray. Do you have any mints?”

  I check my pockets and come up empty-handed.

  “Shit. Okay. I’m going to brush my teeth so I don’t knock him unconscious when I talk to him. Holler if you see a big black Bentley out front.”

  I don’t know what a Bentley is, but I keep an eye out for something big, black, and expensive. In his bag, I find extra socks, boxer briefs in black with white stitching that says Supreme, and another pair of jeans.

  I want to come with and apologize to his brother, but I don’t know if I’d be welcome. Easton said his family doesn’t hate me, but how could they not? Even if he says it’s his fault and the boys were speeding, it was my car that hit theirs. I put their son and brother in a coma.

  “Do you think I can see him?” I ask when Easton comes out of the bathroom. I hand him the shoes, socks, and briefs.

  He sucks air through his clenched teeth. “Fuck, I don’t know. Let me see how rational Sawyer is. He’s gonna be protective of Seb and could go off. We all know it’s not your fault, but Sawyer feels guilty and wants to blame someone else.”

  “All right,” I agree unhappily. “But I can at least send a gift. What does your brother like?”

  A smirk steals over Easton’s face. “Girls.”

  I grab one of his shoes and swing it at his shoulder.

  He catches it with a laugh. “Chocolate-covered caramels.”

  I raise my arm for another strike. “Are you making that
up or does he really like them?”

  “He really likes them, you she-demon.” He leans down for a quick kiss. “Go home to Dylan but call me if you need anything. I don’t care what time it is—morning, noon, night. Call me.”

  “Okay.”

  “And answer your damn texts.”

  “Yessir!” I salute.

  We’re both smiling as we go our separate ways, and once again I’m struck by the magic that is Easton Royal. The one person in my life who—at my lowest or my highest—never fails to put a smile on my face.

  Chapter 22

  Easton

  “How are you doing tonight?” Durand asks as we speed away from the shabby apartment that I’m starting to identify as home.

  “Worn out,” I confess.

  “It’s been an emotional evening,” he agrees.

  Boy, he has no idea. All the feely shit really drains a person, but despite my tiredness, my shoulders feel lighter than any other time I can remember. I confessed all my sins to Hartley and she didn’t push me away. The stuff about her family tore her apart, though, and that kills me. I need to figure out a plan to get Dylan away from Hartley’s asshole father.

  I scroll through my messages.

  Sawyer: Seb woke up

  There’s a twenty-minute delay. From the other messages, it appears he called Dad in Dubai and Dad rounded up the troops.

  Ella: I just heard from Callum. OMG I’m on my way!

  Reed: Fuck yeah!

  Gideon: Reed & I will drive down tomorrow. Reed’s got a test at 1. Hold down the fort.

  Reed: I’m skipping that.

  Gideon: We’ll be down after Reed’s test.

  “Is Ella at the hospital?” I ask Durand.

  “Yes. She arrived there about ten minutes ago.”

  “Okay, cool.”

  Durand makes the trip across town in no time. It helps that there’s almost no traffic this time of the morning. I bolt out of the car before he stops, bypass the elevators, and race up the one flight of stairs.