Cracked Kingdom (The Royals #5)(86)

I never hear the shot, only its echo in the park. I don’t see my father fall, because my attention is focused on Easton sprinting toward his dad. I don’t register that it’s my dad who cries out in surprise and not East or Callum or Ella, until Ella’s high-pitched “Mr. Wright!” jerks me out of my trance.

“Dad…” I stumble toward him where he’s lying on the ground.

He hasn’t moved since the gunshot. His hand is flung over his head, reaching for that bag of money.

“Dad.” I fall to my knees beside his body.

Relief hits me. He’s still breathing. His chest is rising and falling. But he’s grimacing in pain, and there’s blood around his mouth. I never wanted this. I never imagined that this is how it would turn out. I thought I’d get evidence. I thought there would be newspaper articles and lawsuits and legal filings. I did not believe there would be guns and violence and blood. I tug my sleeve over my fingers and try to wipe it off.

“You’re going to be okay,” I whisper. I fumble inside his coat pocket, looking for a phone. Blood pulses up with every breath he struggles to take, slicking my fingers. “I’m going to call the ambulance. They’ll save you.”

His hand clamps over my wrist in a surprisingly strong grip. His fingernails dig into the scar. “You got me killed,” he spits at me.

My heart lurches. “You don’t mean that.” I twist out of his grip and press down on the wound.

He gasps in pain. “If you had kept your mouth shut…I wouldn’t be here. I should’ve broken…more than your wrist…Should’ve pushed you harder at the hospital.”

“P-pushed me?” The hospital? Is he talking about the night I fell and hit my head? I suddenly feel queasy.

His harsh laughter is cut short by a cough. “You tripped…with help.”

Tears burn my eyes. Oh my God. My father is the reason I lost all my memories? He did this to me?

“I never wanted you kids…None of you...none of you…” he repeats in labored breaths. “A burden, all three of you girls. A worthless, money-sucking burden.”

He rolls over painfully onto his stomach, pushing himself along the pavement until the bag is in his grasp.

“Stop moving,” I order, gathering my wits and scrambling after him. He’s too weak now to push me away. I pull him onto his back and scream over my shoulder, “Help me! My dad is shot. Help me.”

“Don’t…want…help.” He tries to pry my fingers off his chest, where the blood is burbling up like a small fountain. “Leave me to die…worthless…child.”

“Come away, Hart.” Strong hands grip my shoulders. “Dad’s called an ambulance. Someone will be here soon.”

“He’s hurt, Easton. My dad’s hurt.” But he’s more than hurt. His eyes are staring sightless at the sky. His chest has stopped moving.

Easton pushes my face into his shoulder so I stop staring at my dad’s dead face. “I know. I’m sorry.”

I cling to him as my father’s terrible admissions ping around in my head. I wish my memory loss began today. A kid shouldn’t have to hear that her father wanted her dead, that if he could rewind time, he would’ve hurt her worse. Hot tears scald my cheeks. He got what he wanted. His words, his confession, his rejection are tearing me to pieces.

“It’s going to be okay,” East murmurs into my hair.

But the cold sound of a bullet being chambered tells a different story.

“Easton, my boy, come over here by the rest of the family.”

We both look up to see the ugly barrel of Steve’s gun pointed in our direction.

“What are you doing?” Easton growls, immediately stepping in front of me.

“We’re going to resolve this by ourselves. You, me, your dad, Ella. I never would’ve hurt you, Ella. You know that right? You’re my daughter. I needed to scare Dinah and you happened to be there.”

“You pointed a gun at me, just like you’re pointing it at Easton!” Ella exclaims.

“No. It’s pointed at Ms. Wright. I wouldn’t hurt Easton, just like I wouldn’t hurt you. Callum knows this, don’t you, friend?”

“Steve!” Callum yells. “Stop this.”

Steve responds, low and unintelligible. Or maybe I just can’t hear because panic and horror have filled my head.

“You’re going to have to shoot me to get to her.” Shoulders rigid, Easton spreads his hands out.

“No. No more,” I snap. I’ve reached my blood and guts limit. I’ve cried all the tears I have in my body. I can’t take another moment of this drama. “Stop this. Mr. Royal, put a stop to this,” I beg Easton’s dad.

Callum springs into action, rushing toward Steve, who swings around reflexively. I’ll never know if he pulled the trigger intentionally or whether it was in reaction to a threat, but the bullet flies out anyway.

“Dad!” East screams.

“Callum!” cries Ella.

I shout in horror.

Because it’s not Callum whose body jerks as the bullet finds a target. It’s not Callum who staggers backward in shocked pain. It’s not Callum who collapses with his hand pinned to his side.

It’s not Callum.