I jerked to it. “Who the fuck is that?”
Lottie’s brows drew, her mouth parted in a pleading look, and she shrugged.
“Open it.” I nodded from Lottie, to the door.
She stood weakly, hobbling over to the door. I had a brief pang of self-disgust at making a woman in labor walk—at making Lottie do this, when she was so weak.
But I couldn’t trust her.
I couldn’t trust any of this.
Something was so fucking off.
When Lottie opened one of her double doors, I knew what was off. West leaned with one arm on the frame, head down.
I rolled my neck, fighting the urge to throw Lottie to the side. I don’t know what the fuck they’d done, but I knew they’d planned it together.
Lottie peered at her brother. “West?”
“The fuck is going on, du Lac?” I demanded.
“Tell…” West took a breath like he’d drunk too many whiskeys. “Tell her I didn’t get anything out of this. Tell her this time I didn’t do it for me.”
He took a staggered step through the doorway and I rushed to him, to push him back into the hall.
“Get the fuck out—”
I froze, noting the red beneath his hand, stamping the white lace molding.
Blood.
Another step, and he gripped the wall. Red smeared the path his hand took.
“I can’t do it anymore, Crowne.”
Thump. Thump. Thump.
At first, I thought the pounding was footsteps. But then I realized it was my heartbeat, it was the fear of what comes next.
“Do what?”
“Protect our girl.”
West fell to the ground, face planting on the hardwood. Lottie screamed as blood spilled in a shiny, red lake. West’s outstretched hand fell into the red, his fist uncoiling. From that fist fell something shiny and gold.
Snitch’s locket wrapped around the fifth coin.
Fifty-Seven
STORY
I jumped at the echo of a scream fading into nothing.
It sounded like Lottie, but that was impossible. Goose bumps peppered my arms. Crowne Hall without anyone is…wrong. There’s nothing to hide the ghosts.
Footsteps coming up the stairs had my heart calming. Grayson was back—and just as the first contraction hit me.
Perfect timing.
I swallowed a groan, turning. “Grayson—”
I froze.
“Hello again, Story Hale.”
No.
No, no, no.
Beryl Crowne in his iconic three-piece suit stood at the top of the stairs. His shoes shined with something other than polish.
Blood.
I stared at the fruity color. Why was there blood on the soles of Beryl Crowne’s shoes? I pushed down that deep, knifing fear that it had anything to do with Grayson.
“Do you have a handkerchief? No matter.” He grabbed the green handkerchief Grayson had saved from our wedding, wiping the blood off his shoes.
I was frozen. The breath stuck in my lungs.
“You’ll want to follow me now.”
Hand on my lower back, gritting through every contraction, I’d followed Beryl down the stairs and into the ballroom. Two guards joined us, eerily dead-eyed.
Who’s the real monster?
“I won’t scream,” I said.
He rubbed his jaw, eyeing me, then waved a hand. Before I had a second to process, one of the guards gripped my shoulder and pushed me to my knees.
Then a blow fell between my shoulder blades.
A startled half-scream fell from my lips. I slammed my hand across my mouth, stopping it, but not before it echoed and bounced in the empty ballroom.
“Why are you here?” I gritted.
Why are you back?
He arched a brow. “This is my home.”
“This has never been your home.”
He shrugged, like he was granting me that truth.
I swallowed a groan as the pain in my back used vicious talons to crawl into my abdomen. Beryl tilted his head as if he could see what was happening to me.
I figured I’d throw it all out there, stop playing coy.
“I don’t know where that coin is. I have no idea what my uncle wanted.”
He laughed. “This has never been about one coin, Story.”
A rock fell in my stomach. My mouth went dry and the room spun. When I spoke, my words were barely above a whisper.
“What was it about?”
“About returning some stolen property to its rightful owner, of course.”
Stolen? Who would have the balls to steal from Beryl Crowne?”
My father. Or at least I think so.
Oh God.
Oh no.
This was never about me. It was about Grayson.
We played right into his fucking hands.
“So you really killed your own fucking son?”
“Charles died in a tragic accident. And West…” He glanced at me. “You killed West. It can happen with mistresses, unfortunately.”
My blood went cold, and I glanced at his now clean shoes. “What? What happened to West?”
Grayson’s yell clamored down the dark hallway like a monster crawling up from the cave.
Feral.
Haunting.
Beryl Crowne smiled at me. “Still think he’s not coming for you?”
I clenched my jaw, fighting the fear in my throat.
“You know, the day you moved in I knew you would be trouble.”
I stifled my shock. As far as I knew, Beryl Crowne didn’t even know I existed until Grayson.
“It wasn’t Tansy bringing up her irritation for the new, insubordinate maid that kept staring her in the eyes that tipped me off—Antionette always has some issue with some servant.” He waved his hand at an imaginary fly. “It was Grayson. His sudden, odd urge to skip work. For what? To torment the new maid.”
He stared at me.
As if I wanted his daily torments? All those wasted soap buckets. All the times he tracked mud through my newly cleaned floors.
“I’m sure he thought nothing of it—but it was more important than the Crowne. Just like now, Grayson will choose you. Choose both of you.”
I knew Grayson would come for me, but I hoped he didn’t.
That was exactly what Beryl wanted.
A trap had been set, and I was the bait.
Fifty-Eight
GRAY
Lottie stared at her dead brother, face blank.
Like waking up from a nightmare, I looked around the room.
“Story?” I called for her, panic dragging my voice. “Where are you?”
I ran back into our room, up the stairs, sweeping the entire fucking wing. No Story.
I paused at my nightstand, my green pocket square now drenched in blood. I grabbed it, running back, my chest clenched from running…from fear.
Lottie still stared at West, his blood soaked into the hardwood like spilled wine. I gripped her shoulders, spun her to me.
“Where the fuck is Story? What did you do to her?”
Lottie stared back, eyes wide, mouth parted. I knew by her ashen face, her ragged breathing, she didn’t know any more than I did. Who’s the real monster?
Two women in labor.
One dead brother.
Fuck.
The scream ripped from my lungs, tearing the viscera as it went. Leaving me breathless. I didn’t realize I’d punched the wall until I was staring at the plaster around my knuckles.