Royal Line (Tattered Royals #1) - Carrie Ann Ryan Page 0,71

pretty much everything else still ached too, especially my heart. I knew I was an idiot, but how far I had dug myself into this hole was a little ridiculous.

I was home in Los Angeles and a million light years away from my heart. But London was safe and tucked away.

And I was alone. Exactly where I needed to be. I deserved that and more.

I’d hurt her. Maybe if I had been strong enough, she wouldn’t have been hurt at all. And if that was the case, maybe there would have been a chance for me to stay with her.

I frowned at that line of thought, knowing it couldn’t go anywhere.

She wasn’t for me.

She couldn’t be.

She’d tell me if something changed with her circumstances within the next month, but other than that, there would be no contact. There couldn’t be. Not when she had a whole life in front of her that had nothing to do with me. And I would always be the one in the shadows. The one who took the bullet for my charge.

And I couldn’t do that and be with London at the same time.

I still couldn’t get her face out of my mind.

It’s for the best, I told myself. It had to be.

I needed to change my bandage soon and set up the next job with my team. I was lethargic and unmotivated. I had already checked in on Sparrow and annoyed the hell out of her. She should be fine and was on the mend, but I had almost lost her too, and I wouldn’t have been able to live with myself if I had.

I would never tell Sparrow that, or she would kick my ass. She was my friend, my teammate, and she had almost died because of my recklessness.

That was why both of them had gotten hurt, and I would never forgive myself.

A loud banging on the door made me freeze and reach for my gun, only I had already put it in the safe. But I had a few weapons near.

I pulled the knife out of my boot and went to the door.

I was already on edge, but when I looked through the peephole, I cursed and thought about keeping the knife. Instead, I slid it back into my boot and opened the door, preparing for what was eventually going to be my downfall.

Three men stood on the other side of the door, all in suits, one looking a little disheveled, one looking cocky as hell, and the other looking like he would break me.

I knew right away who he was...the king.

The King of fucking Alden.

The two flanking him like the Men in Black were London’s other brothers, Breck and Wilder.

“Aren’t you going to let us in?” the cocky one asked, and I knew that one was Breck.

The other one, Wilder, didn’t live up to his name. He just pushed his way through, silent and brooding. It seemed the wild one was Breck, at least from what I could tell from news outlets. The brothers had been named wrong, or maybe they had been named just right.

“Come right on in, why don’t you?” I scoffed, pissed off that they were on my doorstep, and ready for whatever fight came.

“I’m sure you would’ve invited us in eventually,” King Roman said, glancing around my loft.

I was rarely at home. And when I was, it was just to sleep, train, and get ready for the next mission.

It had been that way at my old job and continued as I had built my company.

The only reason I had the place was for storage and to be able to say I had a home. But I didn’t really. It was hard even to stay there most days. Phoebe had never been in my home. I’d gotten it after I had lost her.

And I even had a bit of her stuff packed away in the closet, which I’d never again look at. Including that damned box from the nursery.

I’d given most of the things to her family. Her parents hadn’t even spoken to me since her death.

But I kept a few things—a few things I didn’t need to see.

“Should I fix the punch now or what?”

“I take it you know who we are?” the king asked, his voice cultured, that same coolness I had heard over the phone and in countless media appearances.

He was a hardass, but I supposed that came from ruling a country. I respected Roman, but that didn’t mean I had to like him,