Grayson still hadn’t let me go, and West looked between us, at me and then Grayson who adjusted his hard-on, unashamed.
“Our ground rules….” West rubbed his jaw. “I think we need to adjust them. Whatever you do to Story is fair game for me.”
A cold smile speared Grayson’s lips. I knew what was about to happen before Grayson stood slowly to his feet. Knew the danger before his blue gaze turned icy.
“By my count,” West continued. “You owe me a kiss.”
It seemed like every second he could, West wanted to remind me that Gray and he might be working together, but they were not a team.
I quickly scrambled to my feet, placing myself between Grayson and West.
That thing between us, the dark crackling flame, popped.
I pressed my hands to their chests. Grayson’s glare shot to me, jaw clenched, telling me to move so he could fucking end West—but if he did that, then Gray would be the one hurt most.
The pressure of his chest bent my wrist back.
“By my count,” I gritted, turning to West. “You pulled a really shady fucking move today. So maybe you should stop counting.”
West arched a brow, then stepped back, hands raised.
After a few seconds, Gray stepped back, dragging his hands through his hair.
West put his arm out, so I could entwine mine in it. I ignored him, but I followed him anyway, my heart aching. Because I knew I’d been gone for too long, and knew Grayson had to return or he’d be beaten again.
“I think I saw your siblings in the hall, Gray,” West mocked, as I followed him out of the room.
Siblings?
Gray and I realized what he meant at the same moment.
The bastards were back.
Just in time for their mother’s funeral.
Thirty-One
STORY
The morning of Josephine’s funeral was snowing lightly, blanketing the sand of Crowne Beach in a soft powder. It was almost surreal in its beauty. My girl had already come and dressed me in a long black dress with a high collar and I felt a little bit like my old self.
I focused on my clear, manicured nails, and not West, the tall reminder leaning in my doorway that I was not my old self. That everything was not the same.
“I’m not winning your heart by standing on the sidelines, Story. I’ll play dirty.”
I scoffed. “You don’t know how to play any other way.”
His eyes darkened; he looked away.
Silence pressed.
“How is your fiancée going to react to all of this?” I asked. “You’re trying to win me over, but what about her?”
He tilted his head slightly, eyes gleaming. “You don’t know who I’m marrying?” His voice was too light, too soft.
I didn’t trust it.
“How would I? You haven’t told me.”
A look flickered in his eyes, but it was gone before I could decipher it. “What did you think of me back then?” He took a step inside. “When we were kids?”
Trap. My brain screamed it.
Back then, he was my prince. Not because he was rich and handsome, but because he saw me.
Or so I’d thought.
“You were so…different,” West continued. “That night we didn’t even kiss—”
“Because it was all a bet,” I cut him off. “So why would you?”
The muscle in his jaw feathered. “Do you remember how it started?”
Of course. It was burned in my blood. It all started with broken glass. During another Crowne party, glass pierced the thin leather slippers Tansy made us wear, imbedding in my heel.
West came down to the servants’ quarters to help me, even though I insisted I was fine. At the time, I was sharing a room with three other girls, and the place was a mess. I was ashamed of my living quarters, and so nervous, because I liked him. With my leg in his lap, he sat on my bed, and we talked for a while.
Then a pile of books fell from a rickety shelf above, and he lunged before they could hit me.
Suddenly West was on top of me, and he didn’t move. I didn’t move either, and I didn’t ask him to. He looked like he wanted to kiss me and I remember wanting that so badly. I’d never been kissed, let alone by someone I liked.
It started out magical.
But he didn’t kiss me, his hand slid up my inner thigh.
“You were so different,” West continued. “You were so shy and so…not. Your eyes grew so wide when I slid my fingers inside you. I lost my mind a little. I couldn’t think beyond seeing every look, every sound. I didn’t pay attention to anything else.”
He looked down, brow furrowing.
Shame?
No. That’s not right.
“Was I your first?” I asked.
The vulnerability vanished from his eyes, and he came to me, shadowing me over the vanity.
He reached down, thumbing my cheek. “The night you let me fuck you”—I jerked away but he tore me back with his other hand, gripping my chin.
He continued to stroke down my cheek, softly, like his grip wasn’t bruising.
As if his words weren’t cutting.
“The night of the masquerade, when he came in the room, your eyes grew again in the way I’ve dreamed about for years.”
My eyes watered. “Stop.”
I had no choice but to look at his eyes. It was either there, or his thighs, where he’d grown hard.
“Then you let me come in your cunt without a condom.” His eyes dropped to my thighs, like he was picturing it. And then I couldn’t not.
He licked his lips. “How did it feel?”
Twisted and dirty and like I’d given power to something I didn’t even know still existed inside me.
I would never tell him that.
Nostrils flared. “He fucked you out of me.”
“I don’t share, Story. I never did. But I realized something.” West trailed his knuckles along my cheek, past my enraged glare and through my tears. “I will do anything to see that look on your face.”
“That look doesn’t belong to you,” I gritted. “That look is his.”
His eyes flashed. “If you loved him, then why did you sleep with me? You don’t love him, not the way you think you do. Because if it’s love, then you wouldn’t have sought me out, Angel.”
He dropped his hand with a vicious jerk, then adjusted his erection.
“We should probably go. We don’t want to be late.”
It wasn’t a big turnout, but then I’d imagine the only Crowne who really would have wanted to come to her funeral was already dead—Grayson’s father. I knew the only reason the living Crownes were even in attendance was for appearances’ sake.
West stood next to his father—whose beady fucking eyes were on me throughout the entire fucking ceremony. Grayson stood next to Lottie, eyes on me. I was alone for once, alone since my uncle’s funeral.
It was nothing like my uncle’s funeral, or what I can remember through my foggy grief-stricken brain. Everything was white with winter. The beach powdered in snow, the sky silky ivory. The only color came from the waves, a deep iron.
I stared at the triplets, an idea forming in my mind. If Josephine knew about the coin, was it possible her children knew something as well?