Fallen Heir (The Royals 4)

I watch helplessly as she reverses out of the driveway. I want to shout for her to come back, but I know she won’t hear me from all the way over there. Plus, the engine of that Volvo is loud as fuck. And so is the squeal of tires from the other car on the road and—what other car?

I blink a few times.

Maybe it’s because I’m drunk that the pieces don’t fall into place right away. My brain registers each thing separately.

The flashing headlights.

The crunch of metal against metal.

The body lying on the side of the road.

My legs start pumping. I sprint, falling to my knees next to a girl that my mind dimly registers as Lauren. Why is she here? She doesn’t live here.

No, she does. She lives down the street. But right now she’s curled over on the pavement as she tries to shake my brother awake. He’s lying half on his side, half on his stomach, as if he dove onto the ground from a great height. His white T-shirt is torn and streaked with blood. There’s blood on the pavement, too.

So much blood.

I feel sick but somehow manage to choke down a rush of vomit.

Something digs painfully into my knees. It’s glass. The windshield, I realize. The Rover’s windshield is gone.

“Sawyer,” Lauren begs. “Sawyer.”

“It’s Sebastian,” I choke out. I can tell the twins apart in my sleep. Even when I’m drunk.

Lauren wails harder.

As my pulse careens wildly, I look at the Rover again to check for my other brother. Sawyer’s slumped over the wheel, the seatbelt cutting into his neck, the airbag pushing against his face. A line of blood drips from his right temple toward his chin.

I turn toward the Volvo. It’s mostly intact, except that the back door and bumper are completely dented in. My heart lodges in my throat when the driver’s door flies open.

Hartley stumbles out of the car. Her face is white, like Seb’s T-shirt used to be. Her eyes are wide, but there’s something almost vacant in them. Like she’s gone completely numb.

Her gaze lands on Sebastian. It rests on his terrifyingly still form. His bloodied, crumpled body. She just stares and stares, as if she can’t comprehend what she’s seeing.

Finally, she opens her mouth and a desperate, strangled scream comes out. And mingled in with her screams are three gut-wrenching words that make my blood run cold and my entire body feel weak.

“I killed him.”

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