Cracked Kingdom (The Royals #5)(79)

“Damn straight,” I confirm.

Felicity finally manages to stand up, but she’s still wobbling precariously on her heels. She glares at me, then at Easton, Ella, her own friends, and everyone else that’s looking her way with unrestrained laughter.

She opens her mouth as if to say something, but then she wisely slams it shut, brushes past me, and flies out of the room.

“Holy shit,” Ella’s friend Val says once Felicity is gone. “That was badass, Hartley!” She holds up a hand for a high-five.

I slap her palm, a blush creeping into my cheeks as other students come up to high-five me or gush about how awesome that was.

There’s one person, however, who doesn’t seem at all impressed by what I’ve done.

“Gee, she spilled something on some bitch,” Sebastian Royal says mockingly. “What a hero!”

“Seb,” Sawyer cautions.

“No.” The angry twin slices his hand through the air. “Who gives a shit that she told Felicity off? I can’t believe I even have to be around this bitch. It was bad enough that I came down to breakfast in my own house and she was sitting at my table like she didn’t ram her car into the side of my Rover, nearly killing me, my brother, and our girlfriend—“

“Ex,” Sawyer cuts in.

Sebastian ignores him. “—girlfriend who doesn’t even talk to us anymore. But now she sits at the family table at Astor Park, too? And she gets treated like some kind of hero? Don’t you guys even give a shit that I was in a fucking coma because of her?”

“Seb, man, don’t be like this,” Sawyer pleads.

“I see you’ve turned into a pussy since the accident,” his twin sneers. “I’m telling you, either you get rid of this bitch or you’ll be rid of me.” He jerks out of his chair and storms out of the lunchroom.

“He doesn’t mean it.” East turns to me, brushing a hand down my back.

A prickle of uneasiness follows the path of his palm. It doesn’t feel right to accept comfort from him. I don’t deserve this.

“I—I have to use the restroom.” I jump to my feet.

“Wait, Hart—”

“Let her go,” I hear Ella say to him.

As the third person to run out of the lunchroom in as many minutes, I’m sure I look ridiculous, but sitting in there with guilt pressing me into the tiles was worse. I don’t know how I can make it right to Sebastian, but I can at least start with an apology. I gave one to Sawyer this morning, but I’ve never been able to offer one to his twin. Words aren’t much, but they can be a start.

I jog down the halls trying to look for him, but come up empty. I slow to a halt near a sign that says “Men’s Locker Room.” I press my ear against the door and hear a squeak of sneaker against tile.

Taking a deep breath, I knock. “Sebastian? It’s Hartley Wright. Can I talk to you for a minute? I want to apologize.”

There are a few more squeaks as someone walks closer to the door.

“Thank you,” I say, and then let out a small scream when the door whips open and I see Kyle Hudson instead of Sebastian Royal.

“You owe me an apology, too,” Kyle snarls.

I jump back. “Why do I owe you one?”

“Because you exist, you stupid bitch.”

Man, I’m getting tired of being called a bitch. First Sebastian and now Kyle? And to think, a few minutes ago I was defending him to Felicity.

I could fire back an insult, but what’s the point? He’d only call me a bitch again which, as I just said, I’m tired of. So I turn my back and walk away.

Or try to.

A meaty hand with fingers as thick as hotdogs lands on my shoulder and whips me against the lockers. I land with a hard thud that momentarily leaves me breathless.

“You’re free game now, you know. The Royals stick together, so Easton Royal is going to kick you to the curb.” Kyle approaches menacingly.

I look around for something to rip off the walls and bash over his big head. “You bring your dick near me and I’m going to cut it off.”

He shoves me again. “Like I’d stick my Johnson in your dirty pussy. Forget it. But here’s a little preview of what life’s going to be like for you until graduation day.”

I don’t see his fist coming. It’s something I never expected. I thought he’d try to maul me, stick his tongue down my throat. I thought he’d flip my skirt up and I had my knee ready to go. I never in a million years thought he’d hit me.

The punch—powered by the anger of a two-hundred-and-fifty-pound boy who’s feeling humiliated and impotent—strikes me right in the gut. I fold over, the contents of my lunch flying out of my mouth. The blow takes my breath away and drops me to my knees. I gasp for air.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see a loafer rear back. He’s going to kick, my mind screams a warning. I curl up into a defensive ball and try to roll out of the way. I don’t make it in time and the hard toe of his shoe strikes my side. Through a haze of tears and pain, I try to figure out how to get out of this. Where’s a safe place? A classroom? Is there a classroom nearby? Come on, Hart! Get up, I scream to myself.

It hurts to move, though. I hear laughter and then a shuffling sound and then more voices that are abruptly cut off.

“What the fuck is going on here?” Easton’s bellow practically shakes the halls.