Cracked Kingdom (The Royals #5)(59)

When I return, Seb is dressed and sitting in the lounge area, looking more like a guest than a patient. He's rifling through a GQ magazine.

"What's going on?"

He doesn't answer.

"Seb? Why'd you get dressed?"

He finally looks up at me, a smug expression on his face. "I'm getting out of here."

"How?"

As he continues to smile, a flicker of dread snakes through me. "You didn't."

He shrugs. "What's the big deal, anyway? He'll come pick us up and drop us off. No one will care if you don't make a big deal out of it."

"This is wrong." I tug my phone out, but realize I can't make the call. I deleted that contact a while back and I don't know the number. I clench my jaw again. "You don't call the devil for help."

"Too late."



*

“I’m glad you called me.” Steve O’Halloran’s heavy hand falls on my shoulder, and I do my best not to flinch. It goes to show how dumb the system is that a guy who is charged with murder and attempted murder can walk around free. And don’t tell me that his ankle bracelet or million-dollar bail requirement is any kind of deterrent. Steve’s got access to a lot of money. He hides it, like a squirrel, all over the place. I started picking up that habit myself. I even got my dad to install the safe in my walk-in closet after Steve showed me a cool one in his bedroom.

I send Seb a killing glare, which he ignores as he climbs into the backseat. He got what he wanted and isn't concerned about any fallout—a sentiment that I recognize and am beginning to realize isn't just selfish and shallow, but actually harmful. The speech I gave Ella about pursuing fun above everything else sounds so idiotic in the face of this.

"Did you forget something?" Steve asks.

"My mind," I mutter under my breath. I wrench open the back door and push Sebastian over.

"Sit in the front," he complains. "I'm sick. I need to lie down."

"Because not sitting in your seat and wearing a seatbelt last time worked so well for you," I say sarcastically.

Seb responds maturely by giving me the finger. I buckle in and ignore the fact that the passenger seat of Steve's new Tesla is pushing my knees into my chest. It's uncomfortable back here, but I'm not sitting next to the man who tried to kill Ella. I already feel about as low as an ant's foot and I'm not going to compound it by treating him like he's a friend of the family.

"How are you two boys?" Steve asks as he motors slowly toward home. The man is a speed demon. We would be home in five minutes if he drove normally. Instead, he's rivaling Ella's pace. At this rate, we'll be lucky to get to our house before the sun rises.

"Great," Seb chirps. "Can we stop somewhere?"

"No," I bark. "We're going home."

I can't effing believe that Seb wants to spend more than two minutes with the dude in the driver's seat. Steve killed a woman, and to cover it up, he tried to kill Ella. Breathing the same air as him is making me sick.

"We can stop anywhere you like," Steve says.

Seb perks up and starts to say something until I place my booted left foot on top of his right foot and press down. At this point, I don't care that he just got out of the hospital. We are going home. My eyes convey a host of very real threats, and Seb knows me well enough to realize these are not empty promises. He might be seventeen, but he's been in the hospital for two weeks and we both know I could put him back there with little effort. He shuts his mouth and leans against the window while I remove my foot and put it back on my side of the car.

"Home is fine," I answer for both of us.

The ride home is mercifully short. As soon as the vehicle stops, I'm ready to leap out. Steve bringing us home won’t be a problem if no one knows about it.

"Time to wake up, sleepyhead. You're home." I shake Seb, who fell asleep despite the quickness of the trip. "Come on, let's go," I hiss. The longer we spend in the driveway, the more likely we're going to be discovered.

"Is he all right?" Steve twists around and pats Seb on the knee. "Hey, kiddo. Are you okay?"

"He's fine," I say, but inwardly, I'm worried. Did we bring him home too soon? I shake him harder. Maybe too hard, because he moans with pain and bats me away with a flurry of fists and legs.

"Fuck off," he growls. "Are you trying to send me back into the coma?"

"Sorry.” I hurry out of the car and around to his side.

He stumbles to his feet, grabbing on to the car and then me before taking a wobbly step forward.

Steve catches Seb's right side and instructs me with a jerk of his head to take the other. So much for my plan to sneak into the house.

"I can walk." Seb tries to throw us off, but the kid's as weak as a newborn.

Steve and I virtually carry him up the wide steps to the front door. "I can take it from here," I tell Steve.

He smiles. "I wouldn't dream of abandoning you."

I grit my teeth. "Really. We're fine. Aren't we, Seb?"

Seb's head lolls on his shoulders. "Yeah, fine," he says sleepily.

Alarm rises inside me. I narrow my eyes at Steve, feeling suspicious. "Did the doc really sign off on this?"