Why did West use his coin on me? If people were willing to die over it. Kill for it.
That night with Grayson, he threw it down for a few seconds with me.
“Why did you use your coin on me?” I whispered.
West paused mid-stretch, arms over his head. He slept without a shirt, and in the morning light, his biceps glowed like roasted chestnuts.
Slowly, his warm brown eyes found mine. “You really don’t know, Story?”
“It doesn’t make sense to me.”
He stared at me a moment, chocolate eyes reading something from me. “Why have you slept in my bed every night for months?”
For Grayson.
For our love.
So he could have the happily ever after he deserved, so he didn’t have to choose. But I wouldn’t tell West that.
“So Gemma and Tansy aren’t thrown on the street.”
“That’s why you did it? For Gemma and Tansy? There’s probably never been a more undeserving pair for your kindness.”
I took a deep breath. “Can you still call it kindness if you only offer it to those who deserve it? You’ve never done something for anyone if you didn’t get something out of it, have you, West?”
He looked like I’d struck him.
For a second, I thought good. Maybe something was finally getting through to West, maybe he’d change.
Of course I was wrong.
I moved to get out of bed, and he gripped my wrist, pulling me back.
“How are you feeling?” He palmed my stomach, possession seething from his grip. “You’re so big now.”
I wanted to scream.
To shove him off.
But then something miraculous happened, and I lost all train of thought.
A kick.
I couldn’t breathe or move. From the joy that overwhelmed me, and the absolute dismay at having it happen with West.
I hoped in vain that he didn’t feel it, but then West let out a small, startled laugh, his eyebrows skyrocketing. “It kicks.”
She. She kicks.
“Is this the first time?” West rubbed my stomach, possession seething the grate in his voice.
I let out a weak, parched, “No.”
West’s brow wrinkled, and he stared at my stomach for a long time, an emotion I couldn’t read muddling his eyes.
Everything that had happened to me since I’d left. Swallowing my words, living in fear, the countless beatings… None of it compared to the heartache of this moment.
This was Grayson’s kick. This belonged to Gray.
“This looks fucking cozy.”
I jumped, scrambling up at Grayson’s voice.
He leaned in the doorway, watching me with no emotion. The more Grayson and I were separated, the colder and crueler he became. Not to me…to everyone. To the world. I don’t think he noticed, but I couldn’t help but notice.
West leaned back, throwing his arms out to rest on my pillow.
“Morning, Crowne.” West laughed, getting out of bed. “I think I need a shower after last night. Want to join, Angel? You’re invited too, Crowne. I think she’d want it, right, Angel? If he slid inside you, alongside me.” West’s gaze slashed to the side, catching mine.
Grayson stared at me. “Maybe she would.”
I sucked in air at the bitter coldness.
West made his way to the bathroom, his laugh lingering hauntingly with the spray of the shower. Every morning, Grayson was here; every morning, West taunted us. And every day we looked for a coin I was beginning to think didn’t exist.
We’ve looked everywhere, beneath every poem. In the library, the graveyard, even Gemma’s wing.
She really wasn’t happy about that.
Every clue we checked, every lead we followed, it was like someone had already been there. One step ahead of us.
Was it possible his grandfather had already found it? This was all for nothing?
I reached for Grayson’s hand and he pulled back like I was made of mold. Silence stretched. The perpetual sucker in his mouth evident by the stem between his lips.
He tilted his head, eyes narrowing with savage interest. “Why the tears?”
I swiped my cheeks furiously, trying to hide them. I knew how much this hurt Grayson and I didn’t want to add to that hurt.
He gripped my wrist, stopping me and yanking me close. He looked at my wet hands, jaw clenched. “Are you trying to fucking hide this? What the fuck did he do? Why are you crying?”
My shoulders fell with my head. “She kicked, Grayson. She kicked.”
For a moment, the iron wall Grayson had erected fell. I saw everything. The anger, the anguish, the joy. It bled from his face, into his bruising grip.
Then pain flashed in his eyes, stark and violent. Grayson pressed me hard against the window, his free hand found my stomach. “Did he feel it?”
I nodded, shame flooding my body.
He dug his fingers into my flesh. “That belongs to me.”
“I know,” I whispered.
His nostrils flared at my words, but the muscle in his jaw feathered. As if he liked my submission, but hated the reason for it.
He pressed me deeper into the cold glass, knee between my legs. “You gave something away that didn’t belong to you.”
I swallowed. “I know.”
“How are you going to make up for it, Snitch?”
He was angry and cold, a thin fraying wire.
In the background, the spray of water could be heard—West getting into the shower.
“I’ll do anything,” I said. I would do that, I would give him anything to show I belonged to him and only him.
He gripped my chin, yanking my neck back. “Well, isn’t that a fucking lie? You’re getting pretty good at those, wife.”
He didn’t call me little wife.
I missed it. Ached for it.
Somehow we’d found ourselves fighting for the same team, but on opposite sides of the war. I loved him, he loved me, but like he’d said, It means we love each other madly. It means we’re soulmates. It means we’re always on the same side, even when we’re not.
“He’s right, you know. My family isn’t worth it.”
“But you are,” I said.
He looked away. “You’re so goddamn stubborn.”
I scoffed. “Pot meet kettle.”
At my scoff, he pressed into my pussy with his knee—hard. His hand spanned the length of my jaw, thrusting his thumb into my mouth, dragging along my lips and teeth as he rubbed my pussy with his knee. He stared at my lips as gasps fell from them.
Bored.
Like he was doing something routine.
“How long since you’ve been fucked, wife?”
Months.
Since before I left for Scotland. But he knew that, because it was him who controlled when I got fucked. I don’t know why he hasn’t fucked me, I don’t know how he hasn’t—I haven’t denied him. I’ve all but begged at his feet. Sometimes I think it was punishment for this, for sleeping in West’s bed.
But then he’d say something cryptic, and I felt like I already have the answer to end this torture
“Should I fuck you?”
Please.
He grabbed my hand, holding it to his iron-hard cock. “Flip you around. Bend you over. Make you scream in another man’s bedroom. Is that how you’ll make it up to me?” He laughed. “I think that’s a gift for you.”