Pulling over, I slip my wallet from my back pocket and retrieve my license. My arms are covered in smeared blood and claw-like scratches.
Fuck.
With nothing but jeans and a t-shirt on, there’s no way to hide these.
The blinding yellow of a bright flashlight shines in my face, and I can’t make out the deputy’s face.
“Royal Lockhart?” a woman’s voice asks. The light lowers, and I see her. Bare face. Hardened stare. Zero sympathy. The nameplate above the badge on her chest reads DEPUTY MARTINEZ.
“Yes?”
“Sir, step out of the vehicle and place your hands where I can see them.”
I can practically feel the color draining from my face, and when I try to swallow, nothing happens. My throat is tight. My chest weighted.
This isn’t a normal traffic stop.
Climbing out with slow, deliberate moves, I raise my hands in the air. Another squad car is parked behind Deputy Martinez’s vehicle, and a third one flies up in a cloud of dust.
What. The. Fuck. Is. Happening?
“Royal Lockhart, you are under arrest for sexual assault of a minor.” There’s an underlayment of disgust in her voice, and the pounding of my heart in my ears makes her sound far away even though she’s standing behind me. The ratcheting and clinking of her handcuffs sends a knot to my stomach. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney . . .”
I swallow air like I’m drowning, and when the metal cuffs are tightened around my wrists, I close my eyes.
This is all a bad dream.
No, it’s a nightmare.
Deputy Martinez leads me to the back of her car and presses her hand on the top of my head when she pushes me in. I land on my knees, and with my hands behind my back, I right my position.
The cuffs dig into the bones of my wrist. I stare straight ahead at the tailgate of my truck. Both doors to the cab are open and two deputies are combing through it like they’re going to find something.
They walk back with a white evidence bag filled with who knows what. All I had in there were a couple of sweatshirts, some packs of gum, a half-empty Gatorade bottle, and an extra pair of sneakers.
Deputy Martinez climbs into the front seat a while later, bringing the radio to her lips. “We got him. On our way back.”
The backseat is nothing but metal on metal. Metal seat. Metal bars.
I’m a fucking caged animal.
With each bump in the road, I bounce in the back, my head smacking the grid on the window. Martinez says nothing, but I’m not sure what I was expecting. It’s not like cops have to express their appreciation for your cooperation.
I draw in four long, deep breaths and shut my eyes again, resisting the urge to scream at this woman that I’m innocent.
I did nothing wrong besides try to save my sister from that fucking predator she thinks she loves.
Robert would tell me to keep my mouth shut until he gets here, so that’s what I’ll do.
I’ll call him first chance I get, and he’ll fix all this.
And later tonight, we’ll be heading back to Rixton Falls. And I can see Demi. And I can forget this ever happened.
God. Demi. I miss her so much right now.
With eyes closed tight, I concentrate on how good it’s going to feel to see her again. To put this behind me and to lose myself in her beautiful blues and to taste her on my tongue and smell her on my skin.
I love her more than I’ve ever loved anything in my entire life.
Demi Rosewood is my life.
Just have to get through tonight.
And then I’ll see her tomorrow.
Chapter Forty-Two
Demi
“Demi. Demi, say something.” Royal’s hand on mine brings me out of my catatonic trance.
He’s the victim, but I’m sitting here, emotionally gutted, trying to wrap my head around everything he just told me.
He drove. He drove for miles, spilling his story. Sharing every painful detail. And now we’re parked outside his apartment. His car’s beside mine, as if he’s silently telling me he understands if I want to leave him.
I turn to Royal, eyes filled to the brim with nothing but heartache and salty tears, and lunge for him. Wrapping my arms around him, my entire body shakes, and I bury my head in his shoulder.
The image of Royal, at nineteen, scared, falsely accused, mistakenly hopeful . . . sends a deep, searing pain across my chest.
“You . . . you believe me?” His voice is a broken whisper against my ear.
I try to speak, but nothing comes out. My words are trapped, lodged in my restricted throat, so I nod vehemently.
Peeling myself away, I drag my fingers beneath my eyes and clean up the wet streaks and dab at my nose. Our eyes meet, and all those hardened, dark feelings I’d carried toward him soften, melting.
“Why did you ever think I wouldn’t believe you?” There’s a punishing tone in my voice, but I still love this man to the end of the earth and back.
“Nobody believed me back then,” he says. “Your dad . . .”
He stops, swallowing hard and glancing away.
“Your dad was my only phone call,” he says. “He came to the station late that night, calmed me down. Everything was fine until he was shown the police report. And the recording. The ripped clothes. The physical marks. He read my sister’s statement and Rick’s, which claimed I tried to fucking rape my sister and that Rick had to peel me off of her and kick me out of his house. They’d obviously taken the time to corroborate after I left . . .”
My trembling hand flies to my lips.
“My word wasn’t good enough for your dad,” Royal says. “He said the case against me was too strong, the evidence too damning. He didn’t believe me. Told me to work with a court-appointed defense attorney and to never set foot around you or the rest of the family ever again. I’d never felt like a bigger piece of shit in my life.”
“And you didn’t even do anything.”
“Exactly.”
I thread my fingers in his, squeezing tight.
“I don’t hold anything against your dad,” Royal says. “The evidence against me was there, and he was just looking out for his daughter. Can’t say I’d have done anything different if I were him, but goddamn, it was the worst day of my fucking life, Demi.”
I lean into him and press my face against his chest, inhaling the scent of his shirt and resting the palm of my hand against his warm cheek.
“Misty and Rick,” he says. “They fucked me over.”
“Did you try to tell the police what really happened?”
“Of course. They didn’t believe me. They treated me like I was guilty the second they cuffed me, and every time I gave my side of the story, they’d look at me with squinted eyes. Hardly wrote anything down.”
“What’d your attorney say?”
“He said what your father said. The evidence against me was too strong. He said if we took it to trial, there was no way I’d walk out a free man. They had signs of assault, my DNA under her fingernails, an accusation, and two witnesses. Didn’t stand a chance. I was looking at seven years behind bars and fifteen years as a registered sex offender. That’s why I took the plea deal. I served two and a half years of a five year sentence, and I have to register as an offender for ten.”
“Jesus, Royal.”
“Yeah. So. That’s what I’ve been reliving on a nightly basis for the last seven years.”
“So that’s why you were so uncomfortable around Misty earlier.”
“Uncomfortable? Yeah. To say the least.”
“She knows the truth right? Can’t you get her to go to the police and admit she lied? What about Rick?”
“Rick died a few weeks ago. And Misty won’t ever admit she did anything wrong. Told me the other day that she’s ‘over’ what happened, and that I should be too.”
“Wow . . .”
&nbs
p; I stare at this man, this beautiful man with this beautiful soul, and so much inherent, natural born goodness behind his stormy gaze that it’s unreal. The heart that beats in his chest is bigger and better than anyone else’s out there.
He doesn’t deserve that shameful title.
It’s not what he is.
Chapter Forty-Three
Royal
God, it’s hot in here. It’s a fucking sauna. And I’m suffocating.
Stepping out of my car, I welcome the frigid air and unzip my coat. Jamming my hands in my pockets, I lean against the side of the hood and stare at the empty Laundromat before me.
The click and closing of the passenger door brings Demi to me, and she slips her arms into the inside of my jacket, hooking herself around my lower back and placing her forehead beneath my chin, where she fits perfectly.
“I was so fucking scared, Demi,” I say with a bittersweet huff. “Out of all the shit that went down, being kept away from you was the worst thing about it.”
She hugs me tighter.
“And when I got out? Watching you happy with another man? Fucking killed me. It was like losing you all over again. You were moving on, and I was stuck reliving the best days of my life. You were better off without me, and I had nothing but a bunch of faded memories.”
Demi lifts her gaze into mine, her forehead wrinkling.
“I never moved on. Not once, Royal,” she says.
A dusting of snowflakes falls from the sky, and she shivers, pressing her body harder against mine to stay warm. I’m a fucking inferno, and she’s an ice princess, and somehow this just works.
Lifting her chin and lowering my mouth to hers, I crush her sweet lips with an owning kiss.
“I love you so fucking much.” My words fit softly between our kisses, and my fingers lace through the dark hair at the nape of her neck.
“I love you too.”
I kiss her again and again, my lips decorating every inch of her neck with hot grazes that evaporate into the chilly night.
“Where do we go from here?” I ask.
Her lashes flutter, weighted with tiny snowflakes as she looks up to the dark window of my apartment.
“For now, let’s go inside.” Her hand slinks behind the back of my neck, and she balances on the balls of her feet to press her mouth against mine.
I slip my jacket over her shoulders and we head inside. By the time we’re climbing the narrow stairs to my apartment, her hands are working my belt buckle, and my hands are in her hair. I’m almost convinced she’s going to drop and suck me off right here in the hallway.
She rises, kissing me again and sliding her hand down the front of my pants. We stumble backward to my apartment door, and I damn near kick it down when the key gets jammed in the lock.
Slamming the door behind us, I scoop her in my arms and deposit her in the middle of my unmade bed.
Her smile fades in and out, like she’s unsure if this should be a silly little romp or her way of showing me how hard she still loves me and proving how much she believes my truth.
Hovering over her, I pull her shirt up, my cock throbbing and aching each time she squirms beneath me.
“I love you.” There’s a breathless urgency in her words and a sweet plea in her blue eyes. “I love you so, so much.”
My tongue catalogs the dips and curves from her caved belly to the lace cups of her bra. Moving it aside, I take her pink buds in my mouth, one by one. Every square inch of this woman, inside and out, is addictive. Every square inch of her was made for me.
“I love you so fucking much it hurts.” I breathe my words against her satin skin.
Her hands hook beneath my arms, pulling me close against her as her hips circle beneath mine. Our lips smash, greedy, insatiable.
And when I look in her eyes, I know she’s mine.
Forever this time.
Nothing can tear us apart. I won’t allow it.
Chapter Forty-Four
Royal
Five minutes after Demi leaves Friday morning, there’s a knock at my door. Glancing out my window, there’s nothing but a set of tire tracks where her car was parked overnight.
Slipping a t-shirt over my head and adjusting my sweats, I answer the door.
“Don’t, don’t, don’t.” Misty holds her hand up, pressing her palm against the door so I can’t slam it in her face. “Hear me out, Royal.”
“What the fuck are you doing here? I told you not to come here.” My jaw clenches tight.
“Let me in, Royal. I want to talk.”
“No.”
I push the door, but she blocks it with the steel toe of her scuffed boot.
“I’m clean. I swear. And I want to talk to you. It’s really important.” Misty fidgets, her fingers twitching as she chews the side of her lip. Her dark eyes are brighter than usual today, and her skin almost appears clearer than it was just a day ago. “Just give me five minutes of your time, and after that, you never have to see me again. I promise.”
“No.”
“It’s about that night.” She sighs, lowering her gaze to my feet. “As part of my addiction treatment, I have to apologize to the people I’ve hurt.”
“What the fuck is an apology going to do, Misty? Is that going to get me off the sex offender registry? Is that going to give me back my family?”
“Your family?” She wrinkles her nose. “You mean, the Rosewoods?”
“Damn right, I mean the Rosewoods. They were the only family I ever had, and I lost them because of you and your goddamn disgusting lies. They’re never going to look at me the same because of what you did. My good name is ruined. I’m nothing but white trash now. It was never supposed to be this way.”
“I’m sorry, Royal.” She says it like a child trying to get out of a punishment, like she resents the fact that she has to apologize.
It’s not fucking good enough.
“You ruined my life, Misty.” I punch my fist into the wall beside the door, leaving a knuckled indentation. My sister jumps and leans away. “I should’ve been a lawyer. I should’ve married Demi. I should be a fucking family man by now, living the life I was meant to live.”
Misty tucks yellow strands behind her ear, her chin quivering as she looks up at me with puppy dog eyes.
“I messed up, Royal. I know that. But it’s in the past. I don’t know how to fix it now. We have to move on.”
“You . . . you don’t know . . . you don’t know how to fix it?” A sarcastic laugh originates in my belly. “Seriously? Are you a goddamn moron, Misty?”
Her eyes gloss, filling and spilling over in seconds.
“Tell the fucking truth!” I scream at her. “Go to the police and tell them you lied. Tell them the truth about what really happened.”
She sniffs, wiping away thick tears with the sleeve of her shirt.
“Rick fucking raped you, Misty,” I say. “I drove up there to help you. And you ruined my life.”
“If I tell the truth,” she sobs, “I’ll go to jail.”
“What?” I huff. “You don’t think you deserve to spend a little time behind bars? You think you should walk away from what you did unscathed? Do you have any idea what my life has been like for seven long years? Any at all?”
Misty buries her face in her hands, bawling. Muffled cries are the only response I get.
“Tell the truth, Misty. You can’t change what you and Rick did that night, but you can clear my name. It’s the least you could do, don’t you think?” My fist is balled against my forehead. “I just want my fucking name back. I want everyone to know you lied about that night, and I want my name off the goddamn sex offender registry.”
“I don’t want to go to jail, Royal.” Her lip trembles.
I smirk. “Am I supposed to feel sorry for you now?”
She shakes her head. “I know I fucked up. I know I did. If I could take it back, I would. I just want you to forgive me. And now that Rick died, I’ve never felt more alone. You and Mom are all I have.
I don’t even have any friends. Rick never wanted me to. Shit, he barely let me leave the house most days. Kept me high as a kite so I’d stay close to him.”
I lift a brow. “So you’re admitting he was a manipulative piece of shit?”
Misty rolls her eyes. “Yeah. I’ve been seeing a counselor at the addiction center, and she’s helping me to see the bigger picture. Rick used me.”
“Tried telling you that a long time ago.”
“I really thought he loved me.” She wipes another tear. “All I ever wanted was for someone to love me.”
“I loved you.”
“But it wasn’t enough. I wanted someone who wanted to see me every day. Who made me feel special. Loved me in a deeper way. It was never anything you did wrong, Royal. It’s just what I needed at the time, and Rick gave that to me.” Misty shrugs, lifting her eyes into mine. “He threatened me that night. Made up this story. Told me what to say to the police. Said if I didn’t, he’d kill you and make me fuck all his friends while he watched.”
“Jesus, Misty.” My chin tucks against my chest. The tiniest sliver of my heart wants to protect her, but I’ve spent so long hating her that my sympathy chip has become desensitized to her bullshit. She’s a proven liar. This could be just another lie of hers. Another manipulation.
“I love you, Royal. You might not love me, but you’re my brother. The only one I have. And I’ll love you forever.” She wraps her skinny arms around her narrow body, the sleeves of her sweater hanging past her fingers. “This wasn’t easy for me. To come here. To tell you I’m sorry. But I hope someday you can find it in your heart to forgive me. If not for me, for yourself.”
She sounds coached, like she’s repeating the lines her counselor fed her, but at least she’s here. I won’t discount how hard it was for her to darken my doorstep after the last time.
“Misty.” I drag in a slow, intentional breath and let it go. “Just tell the fucking truth. Go to the police. Tell the truth. Make this right.”
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