“Grayson!” Story grabbed my arm with both hands, using all her strength to keep me from ending his life. Hands still clenched around his throat, I glanced at her. Tears stained her soft hazelnut cheeks. My grip tightened.
For that alone, I could kill him.
Her raspy plea. “He’s not worth it.”
For months she’d kept saying that. She didn’t fucking get it.
Keeping one hand pinned on his neck, I caressed the other down her cheek. “You are worth it, Story. You.”
Her glance fluttered to the side, to West starting to gain consciousness again. Blood stained her cheek where my knuckle had been. His blood. Anger rose up in my throat again, hot and choking.
“So then listen when I tell you this isn’t what I want. I want you, I want us, a future where he is a distant memory. This?” She glanced at him again, swallowing. “He’ll be in our lives forever.”
I dug my thumb into his pulsing vein.
“Please,” Story whispered. “We’ve come so far. We’re almost there.”
I yanked my hand from his neck, shaking it out because the muscles still wanted to be wrapped around his throat. Story threw her arms around my neck, nearly tackling me.
I forgot West and just hugged her, fucking hugged my wife. I pulled us off the ground, gripped her tight beneath the hollows of her shoulder blades, until her heartbeat bled into mine. Knowing she was in my arms—mine and safe.
West’s wet and bloody laugh sounded beneath us. “You still need me.”
I think Story sensed the change. Maybe my muscles tightened, maybe my breathing changed. Or maybe she just knew.
Because she whispered, “Grayson.”
I pulled back to see her walnut eyes, using her to steady myself as I spoke. “You’re done, du Lac. Done with her. Done with here. Get out before my kindness wears off.”
“You need me.” West scrambled shakily to his feet, pulling my attention back. “Lottie might not be pregnant with your kid, but you still signed that postnup and I still have everything on you. I’ll destroy you. I’ll destroy your family. I won’t stop until my name is on everything you love.”
He sounded as unhinged as he looked, and the violent waves crashing only added to it.
I carefully put Story behind my body.
“No,” I said lightly. “You won’t. You don’t have anything…not anymore.”
The password was songbird like Lottie said. It was done. We were free.
His eyes popped at that, then he scrambled to pull up his phone, eyes growing as he clearly saw the truth.
It was gone.
All of it.
His head snapped up. “When the fuck did you do this? When?”
“Does it matter?” Story hedged from behind me. “It’s over, West.”
“It’s not over, you’re still my mistress! You still need me. You still need that coin. Without me, you won’t be safe. You’ll never be able to leave me until you find it. You’ll never be able to forget me.”
With Story at my back, I couldn’t see her face. But I wasn’t worried.
“You’ll always be an outsider, West,” I said calmly. “What we have, you’ll never break. Never get inside. Never even touch.” I looked over my shoulder, catching a glimpse of her face. “Right, little nun?”
She stared at me with those big, mossy eyes like I was the fucking king of her universe. Then nodded before mouthing Neruda.
My lips tilted. There she was—my Snitch, my little nun, my wife.
“You’re so goddamn naive. Both of you.” Reluctantly, I looked back to West. “What’s your plan now? She’s not safe here, and you know it. Lottie just announced to the whole world that she doesn’t have a Crowne in her belly, and the entire world thinks the Cinderella of Crowne Hall is secretly carrying one. Do you really think our family gives a shit who the real father is?”
“It’s over. It’s done. Get the fuck out of my house. Get the fuck out of my town. I’ll give you ten seconds to get going, and after that…” I cracked my knuckles.
One…West glanced over my shoulder at Story.
Two…His bloody nose dripped onto his cracked lips.
He stared at us, eyes wild. “You should know better. Who’s the real monster, Gray?”
Five…“You.”
At seven seconds, I arched my brow. My muscles itched to end him, ruin him, regardless of the consequences.
But West swiped the blood from beneath his nose, stepping back toward the trees. “This isn’t fucking over.”
I watched him until he disappeared into the swaying, silent trees. I didn’t stop watching, even as the seconds faded into minutes, and the minutes faded into the wind.
“Grayson?” I flinched at Story’s palm on my shoulder.
I didn’t realize the tension in my chest, the mass of tangled vines wrapping around my heart, until her palm landed on my shoulder.
“What are you doing here?”
I turned and seized her face, crushing my lips against hers, kissing until all that held her up was my grip. With the flicker of the moon between our lips, against her wet mouth I said, “You said you needed me.”
Fifty-Four
STORY
You said you needed me.
Grayson slammed his lips against mine and I kissed him back. Like I was dying—like I’d been dying. I could never get tired of kissing him—every kiss was a piece of his burning soul.
“I don’t—” I broke on a breath. “When did I say that?”
“You sent me a letter. Think, Story.”
The secrets I’d been keeping from myself, sending off to a version of him—was it possible he read them?
He dragged my lip out, stopping at the last minute, teeth hanging on the edge. “Tell me your words, little nun. I know you want to.”
He repeated the demand he’d spoken over and over again for months, but the frustration was gone from his touch, and anger no longer burned his tongue. With that, the floodgates opened.
I was the villain until you made me the hero in your story.
I should make you beg at my feet.
You said you needed me.
Grayson’s words spiraled around me—my words. My heart raced, my gut fluttered. I was hyperaware of everything from the tips of my toes pushing into the cold sand drenched with West’s blood, to the salty breeze blowing on my fingertips.
Grayson was there for me. Grayson was always there.
“You-you knew?” My tongue tangled over the words. “All this time? And you didn’t say anything?”
He tangled his hands in my hair, pressing his forehead to mine. “I responded to every single one.” Grayson’s thumbs dug into my jaw, kissing my neck before planting a hot open-mouthed kiss on my jaw.
“But…” My words were barely a gasp. “I would have known if you’d sent something to me.”
“I didn’t respond from my account. I couldn’t.” His eyes fell to my lips, but then he stepped back. “Open up your phone, little wife.”
Grayson waited as I opened my account, looking for a message, anything from him. I couldn’t find anything, but then I went to a spam folder—Atlas. I froze on the account name with a blank green profile picture. The first message started with Dear little wife.