“No one. I mean, I don’t know.” Technically that wasn’t a lie.
The muscle in his jaw popped with anger in a much too delicious way. For a minute, I thought he was giving up. Instead, as if suddenly remembering, he took a sharp left. I realized he was heading for the spot. The one spot I kept all my secrets, desires, and fears.
Only one person besides me knew about it.
Of fucking course it was him.
I should’ve changed it.
Panic gripped my stomach, so I did the smart thing…I jumped on his back. He was too wide. I was too small. My legs spread out behind his back, and I clung to his neck. We must have looked ridiculous, me in my bespoke white party dress, him in his suit, utterly ignoring my existence.
He laughed darkly. “Nothing to hide?”
It was useless trying to stop him. I was literally on his back, and he carried me like I was a backpack, digging through my room without pause. He bent down, and I climbed higher, looking for leverage. Absently, I noted how tight the muscles on his back had become.
He paused. “What is this?”
I knew what he’d found by the tightening of his muscles even though I couldn’t see.
Oh, just my collection. So many photos of me. Some of them harmless, and many of them public, but somehow so sinister.
Like the tabloid upskirt photo, but zoomed in at an obscene angle.
The picture of me topless, again zoomed in and with the man in the photo’s eyes crossed out in red.
My stalker went into great detail about exactly what he would do to me when we were finally together, but they were all signed off beloved, as if he didn’t know he was being creepy.
As if… we were a couple.
It was nausea inducing. It was a strange motivation that moves you to keep things like that. Fear that if you don’t, no one will believe you when it happens.
When.
“It’s nothing,” I said quickly, even though I couldn’t see what he’d grabbed.
He shucked me off him without effort. I fell to my ass with a minor thud. My heart hammered as Theo thumbed through each one with a torturous meticulousness, pausing occasionally to reread a letter or examine a photo. He gave nothing away in his look.
Slowly, his eyes found mine.
Theo bent down until we were eye to eye, suit stretching across his knees, a kindness in his pale green eyes that made my gut tighten.
“What is this?” he asked again, holding up the stack of papers and photos. His voice was like earlier, as if I were a frightened doe he had to soothe off the road.
I was more terrified of that than any of his cruelty.
I stood up, dusting nonexistent items off my dress. “I’m a Crowne, Theo. Death threats and stalkers kind of come with the package.”
I stared into Theo’s eyes, acting as if fear wasn’t strangling my chest. He got an odd look across his face before folding something and shoving it in his pocket.
I looked at his pocket. “Theo, you can’t tell anyone. Especially my mom.”
His brow furrowed in pity. “She could help, Abigail.”
“We’re both thinking of the same person, right? Tansy Crowne, the woman who told me my incessant need for attention was exhausting, you know, that one time I had the gall to start my period during the annual Christmas party?”
His nostrils flared, but he nodded. For a moment I thought that was the end of it.
“How long?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know.” Over a year. No one checked my mail the way they did my grandfather, mom, and siblings’. They didn’t think anyone cared about me. And at first I didn’t think it was a big deal either. By the time I realized it was too late. I’d tried desperately to keep my last guard, but in the end, he ran when I needed him most.
I had no one to blame but myself.
Theo leaned forward, clear eyes shadowed under his hard brow. “How. Long.”
Like I’m going to tell you— “A year.”
Theo’s eyes softened, and I lived for that moment.
I could forget myself, forget Theo was just as much a threat as the man planting dangerous, lascivious promises atop the hood of my car and in my mailbox.
“You’ve been dealing with this for a year?” Theo asked softly.
I shrugged and played it off like I always did. “Yeah. Sorry, Theo. Someone beat you to the punch. It’s not a big deal.”
Just like that, he was rough again. “Not a big deal? Are you fucking kidding me, Abigail?”
“Careful, Theo, it sounds like you might care about me. Are you actually taking your bodyguard duties seriously?”
His glare returned. “You’ve been keeping this from me?”
“Fuck off, Theo.”
The fireworks were reaching their crescendo. Pop, pop, pop one after another, until brightness eclipsed the sky, illumining my entire bedroom.
He grabbed my elbow, eyes searching. “What else are you keeping from me?”
Theo didn’t mean it that way, but my heart pounded, a liar about to be caught. I struggled in his hold. This was too real, too close.
“Let me in, Abigail. Let me protect you.”
Time froze, the deafening pops faded, and all I saw was Theo. His earnest eyes, blazing by the colorful fireworks’ light.
He didn’t know how much I wanted that. That was all I wanted, but he’d already taken so much from me. I couldn’t give him more.
I yanked my arm free with one final, painful tug, stumbling back into my double doors.
Outside my window, drunk girls stumbled on the pier, holding each other for leverage, bottles of champagne gleaming gold beneath the fireworks. Boys with their backs to the massive white yacht also held champagne, but theirs had sparklers shooting white and gold from the bottle.
“The after party is starting,” I said instead.
Theo narrowed his eyes. “You hate after parties.”
I shrugged. “A lot has changed, Theo.”
With my arms behind me, I opened my double doors.
Theo moved to follow me, so I put a hand out. “I don’t need a bodyguard to go on my yacht. I don’t need anything from you.”
Because you can’t give me what I need, your heart.
Theo’s jaw clenched, grinding his teeth, watching me until I disappeared out of my wing.
Thirteen
ABIGAIL
One word to describe a Crowne after party? Opulent. Wealth and excess were flaunted like the Louis Vuittons we used once then never again. We were kids raised without any worries or rules, and we stanched our boredom with debauchery.
To my left, three girls hooked arms and jumped off the boat, still in their glittering party dresses. Probably more than some people’s entire house payments… but that was the fun of it. In boarding school, I’d once seen a classmate use the back of a MacBook to write his notes, because he’d run out of paper. Now, one girl held a bottle of Cristal in her hand, and their laughter disappeared with the splash.
I kicked off my heels, wishing I’d had time to change. You didn’t wear your party clothes unless you planned on ruining them.
“Who let Reject on the boat?”
I paused at my “name,” turning to see the First Daughter doing a line of cocaine as one boy I recognized from some new teen drama did a line off her naked back. She stood up, pressing her nose, and shot me a glare.
Never mind it was my family’s boat; she never did get over the whole ripping out her extensions thing.
“I really like what you’ve done with your hair.” I did a circle with my hand, gesturing to her hair. Her glare dropped, uncertain. “It’s so brave to use rat hair for extensions.”
Her hair was a long, luxurious auburn. The best extensions money could buy.
She flipped me off, then leaned in as the teen heartthrob held his phone up to take a selfie, boobs out and all. She stuck her tongue out, holding up a bottle of Cristal. It wouldn’t go anywhere save our finstas. There was always an unspoken rule at
these parties: never share publicly.
Because as long as we didn’t end up on the news, our parents let us do anything.
If we did… well, I served as the cautionary tale.
I moved through the party, noticed and unnoticed at the same time. The Crowne shadow. The thump thump thump of electronic music pulsed an upbeat, luxurious music. Designer shoes hung from a chandelier. And a fear twisted in my gut that maybe I should’ve let Theo stay. What if my stalker was here, somewhere?
No. It was impossible.
He couldn’t be here. I eyed the guards at our docked yacht’s entrance. The after party to the Crowne Fourth of July was the most exclusive party in the world, even more so than the party that preceded it. Even if he’d somehow gotten into the Fourth of July party, he wouldn’t get here. Still unsettled, I headed toward the balcony to hopefully watch a drunk idiot make a fool of themselves.
“Abigail…”
I nearly jumped at the voice, then I settled.
“Khalid,” I said.
“Call me Prince,” he said with a gross smile.
I barely stifled my laugh. “No, thanks.”
Real-life prince and princesses from places like Dubai and Denmark often attended our parties. Maybe somewhere else that would’ve been impressive, but in Crowne Point they were just another douche.
“Your hands are empty,” he said, noting my lack of drink.
I stared off the balcony toward the horizon. Below us, someone was lighting off what looked like anti-tank weapons, by the rattling boom and accompanying tangerine flash in the sky. A sign everyone was getting drunker, and the night was getting darker.
“I see you’re putting that Yale degree to good use.”
He laughed, but it was empty. The kind people like him use to try and butter me up, as if I wasn’t raised around his kind, as if I can’t see right through him.
I side-eyed him. “What do you want?”
He laughed again, then slid one arm along the railing, getting closer. “Straight to the point, Abby. I like that.”
Then his hand was on the back of my neck, his alcohol-laced breath on my cheek.
I pushed him away.
Ew.
“C’mon, Crowne. You’ve never said no before. Why start now?”
Sometime in boarding school, someone started the rumor I was easy. I never denied it, because denying it was akin to ratifying the thing. Sort of like with this asshole—the more you say no, the more they hear yes.
He came at me again, with more fervor.
So I pushed him with both hands. His drink fell from his grasp, landing on the bottom deck with a shatter. Someone yelled party foul.
“So you open your legs for every other guy but not me?” He came back at me, pushed me flat against the railing. “What’s the deal, Abby?”
No sooner had Khalid pressed his hand between my legs and fear wrapped its ugly hands around my throat, than he was yanked back. Violently.
Theo.
His name was a sigh of cool relief in my veins.
He held Khalid by the collar, practically lifting him on his tiptoes.
“Don’t touch her,” he growled.
Khalid rolled his eyes. “Someone fetch a bone; the dog is growling again.”
Theo grabbed his other arm, putting it behind his back the way he’d done with Alaric and Geoff, forcing a yelp from Khalid. Anytime Theo acted like this, my heart fluttered. I could get used to it, I thought. I was getting used to it, and that was the problem.
Theo shoved Khalid against the railing with so much force the railing shook. “Apologize.”
I couldn’t imagine a prince, third in line to the throne, saying sorry to anyone, much less a girl.
And I was right.
“Fuck off,” Khalid gritted.
Theo paused. For a second I thought he’d let Khalid go. Then, in almost slow motion, he bent Khalid’s finger back. Crack.
Khalid screamed.
Sounding all at once bored and furious, Theo said, “Keep your hands to yourself.”
My eyes locked with Theo’s, still holding Khalid. The pale green depths were filled with an inscrutable emotion—if I didn’t know better, I’d say need. There was a fire in them matching the burning sky. Blood rushed fast and furious through my ears. Unintentionally, I wet my lips. His eyes dropped to them.
Theo stepped back. Khalid hung over the railing, using it for support. Theo grasped my elbow somewhat gently, considering what those very hands had just done seconds before. He steered me away from Khalid’s moans and the menacing words he yelled at our backs.
He careened me all the way to the front of the boat.
People made out and more on white leather, but I was stuck on Theo.
“You broke his finger.” Awe laced my words.
He scoffed. “He got off lucky.”
I blinked in surprise. Lucky? What else could Theo do, if provoked?
I pulled my elbow out. “Why are you here?”
He quirked his head to the side. “Hmm… that doesn’t sound like thank you.” He stepped closer, and I took a step back. My back bit into the railing. “Did you really think I would let you out of my sight? After tonight?”
Yes.
No.
I don’t know.
“Why do you care? You’ve made it clear you don’t care what happens to me.”
“Don’t care, Abigail? There’s a reason they call me your dog.”
“Stop,” I said weakly, turning my head away from him.
“Those fights I got in when we were kids?” He gripped my biceps, thrusting me to him. “For you.”
I slowly looked back, eyes locked.
“Every single broken bone. Every bloody knuckle. It was all. For. You.”
“Stop!” I yelled.
Funny Theo. Sweet Theo. Aggressively protective Theo.
It was too much.
“You want to talk about not caring? Look in the fucking mirror. All I’ve ever done is care about you.”
My heart pounded like the pop pop pop of fireworks as his grip tightened, pulling me closer until our lips were only separated by the breath of ocean air.
I darted my tongue out to wet my lips, and his eyes dropped to them, hooded.
“Ooooh! Theo and Abigail are about to fuck.”
I was pulled from Theo’s searing gaze to the boat’s leather couches where we’d drawn an audience. My classmates and peers made kissing noises at us, and a few made the jerking-off motion.
“Isn’t bestiality illegal?” one of them asked.
“You would know,” another countered, and the guy who’d asked threw a vape at his head.
“Get the fuck out,” Theo practically growled, his grip tightening on my arms painfully. I didn’t think they would listen, but they all quickly scrambled off the couches, mumbling something about a rabid dog.
The time it took for them to leave was enough for me to come to my senses.
I pulled out of Theo’s grip, but his eyes were back on me, and that was almost worse. They dug through my walls.
“Let me fucking protect you, Abigail.”
“You can’t. You’re the one person who can’t.”
I was always Abigail Crowne, and my last name always eradicated anything else about me. Abigail Crowne needs her mother’s approval. Abigail Crowne has no friends because Abigail Crowne is a fire starter, an attention seeker, a whore. Abigail Crowne hurts before she can hurt.
With Theo, I was always just Abigail.
And that was the problem.
“Abigail—”
“You broke my heart!” I think I yelled, but the sound of fireworks, music, and illegally obtained weapons was so loud I couldn’t be sure. “You talk about how you’re going to break my heart, but you already did, Theo. You shattered it into a billion pieces.”
His grip loosened, eyes wide, lips parted.
I took the opportunity to run. I ran back into the party, into the black and glitter and flashing lights, deep
into the pounding music. Away from Theo, from someone who saw me, disappearing into a world where no one saw me.
Because that was truly safer.
I took another shot of vodka, then slammed the glass down.
I can’t believe I told Theo that. Fuck.
Slam.
I can only imagine the ways he’s going to use it against me.
Slam.
Deciding to forgo the shots and grab a bottle, I carried it with me into the master bathroom. Astonishingly, no one was in the bed, but laughter and giggles trickled out of the bathroom. I saw their shoes before I saw them. Spiky, silver, sparkly heels sticking out of the bubbles. They drank from a champagne bottle, curls sticking to their perfectly done makeup. Only their jewels and shoes were left on their naked bodies.
“Get out,” I said, taking a drink, not bothering to hide my glare.
“Um, fuck off, Reject.”
They giggled harder.
I vaguely recognized them, the way I vaguely recognized everyone. I think one of them was friends with my sister, or maybe had sat on the face of my brother.
With an exhale, I threw the bottle against the wall. It shattered by their feet. It wouldn’t cut them, but it was enough to get them scrambling out of the tub.
“Are you a psycho?” they screamed, bubbles stuck to their artificially tanned skin.
“Um, maybe?” I said in the same annoying tone, bobbing my head like they had.
The door slammed shut behind them and I headed to the balcony.
Fireworks still reflected on the ocean. Laughter was almost as loud as the music. We’d reached the point in the night where clothes had become optional. I hung my arms over the balcony. The water looked blurry, and I felt… off. I attributed it to the alcohol and heartache.
“Abigail.”
I turned around at the voice.
I hadn’t heard the door open.
A man stood in the bedroom with the same vaguely familiar face everyone here had.
“What do you want?”
A smile speared his lips. “Finally making an introduction… though it’s unnecessary. We’ve met before.”
“I’ve never met you.”
He frowned. “You don’t remember me?”
I rubbed my head, blinking through the fog. I’d barely had anything to drink—the hell was wrong with me?
Heartless Hero Page 12