Then Story’s scream pierced, before it abruptly cut off.
Like a sick tick of the clock, silence weighed in its wake.
“Go,” I told Lottie. “Get out while you can.”
“But—”
“I can’t protect you both at once!” I gritted. I gripped her shoulders, bruising her, trying to get her to see the truth.
“If it comes down to it, Lottie, I’ll choose her. So go. Get out.”
Get out before I became everything I warned West I would be.
Before I tried to use Lottie to save Snitch.
Her brow furrowed. “I’ll try to find help. I’ll wait for you both in the tunnels.”
I reached into West’s hand, grabbing the coin and the locket.
“Just save yourself,” I said, then ran in the direction of Story’s scream.
I found my grandfather in the ballroom. It was dark, and the only light came from the moon reflecting off the chandelier. Story was held to her knees by one of my grandfather’s guards.
Her fucking knees.
My vision blacked; I took a step to my grandfather, ready to strangle him. When Story cried out.
“Grayson, don’t! This is what he wants!”
She was clearly in pain. Breathing through her nostrils, jaw clenched tight. How much longer did she have until the baby came? How was this stress affecting the baby? How the fuck was she even upright?
I had one single thought: get Story and our baby out, no matter the cost to me.
I rushed toward her—to be immediately torn back, an arm at my neck. I fought, ripping at his hold until my muscles screamed. Until the man at my back screamed and fell to the ground.
I went right back for her.
“I wouldn’t,” my grandfather said, and a moment later, Story cried out. I froze mid-step as the man at her back lashed her with his belt.
“Every step you take is one welt for her.” My grandfather turned to Story. “See? I was right. Your gallant hero could never resist the urge to save you.”
Story’s watery eyes found mine.
I ground my teeth. “She’s having a baby. You’re fucking sick.”
“You know how to end this, Grayson. I’m sure four coins is enough for her.”
I paused—four?
I tore my eyes from Story, to my grandfather.
“Yes, four coins. Did you really think I was going to sit back while you threw away my life’s work? I have plans bigger than you, bigger than your precious little love story, that have been in the works for half a goddamn century.” He laughed, shaking his head. “Your father never understood their importance. He was going to waste them all, just like you. But here we are. Fate has corrected itself.”
That’s when I realized, all of this was never about getting one coin.
It was about me.
About creating a situation where I’d crack…and I played right into my grandfather’s hands.
I reached into my pocket.
“Grayson don’t!” Story looked at me with wide, pleading eyes. “He’ll kill you like he killed your father! Don’t! This is what he wants! It was never about me, Grayson, it was always about you—”
Another blow landed harshly on her back, then another. Relentless.
Beryl’s eyes flashed to hers. “You keep forgetting your place.”
“Stop!” My yell bounced off the domed ceiling, and I pulled out the first gold coin. “Story is free,” I growled.
My grandfather closed the distance between us, taking the first coin.
“No.” Her voice was thready and weak; she could barely keep her head up.
“Our child is free.” I handed him another.
“No.” Her cry shredded me, left my lungs in tatters. “Don’t.”
“Don’t fucking think about challenging either of these.” I placed the two coins in his palm. My fingers flexed on the fourth one, before leaving it.
His smile stretched, showing the dimples I’d rarely seen.
Dimples that reminded me too much of my own.
Story wept as our happily ever after shattered.
His fist closed over the coins. “I think you have about five minutes before the police arrive.”
Fifty-Nine
STORY
Grayson dragged me off the floor. My shoulder blades burned, my back ached, I was in pain everywhere. Vaguely, some primal part of me screamed the contractions were coming too fast.
I didn’t care about any of that. All I cared about was the broken, thorny boy standing before me.
“What did you do?”
“What I had to do,” he gritted.
I could see the crown on his head.
The weight on his shoulders.
“I won’t lose you again. I—” I broke off as another contraction hit me. Too fast now.
His eyes blazed at that, and he breathed heavy through his nostrils. He gripped my arm, dragging me from the ballroom. “You have to go. Now.”
“No!” I couldn’t leave him. This can’t be it. It can’t be over.
Coins he’d saved for over a decade, all in the hopes he could leave this world. In one fell swoop, he’d used them to cement his stay in hell forever.
I was free, and Atlas was chained.
I couldn’t breathe. He gripped my face. I could see the words in his head, what he wanted to say, but Beryl Crowne was only a few feet from us.
Watching.
“She’s free from me, from the Crowne world,” Beryl drolled. “I can’t promise what will happen when the police arrive and there’s no one to blame for her lover’s death.”
Grayson gritted his jaw, eyes flashing back to mine. “Go, Snitch.” He pulled me closer to the arched, ballroom entryway.
“Leave you?” I blinked as tears filled my eyes. “For how long? I told myself I would never leave you again. That I would never let us be separated again. It was a mistake the first time—”
He cut me off, gripping my face and dragging me closer. “What did you say, Story?”
I blinked, taking in large lungfuls of air. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“You said our fate isn’t forbidden. Our destiny is divided. We haven’t found the right path.”
“I was fucking wrong!” I screamed.
“I’ll destroy it,” he said, voice shaking. “We’ll destroy it. Crowne Hall isn’t safe. Not yet.” He dug his thumbs into my cheeks. “I will make it safe.”
The way he spoke, the deadly determination in his voice, I knew this wasn’t a promise for him to come back to me.
It was a goodbye.
“I see the pain in your neck and the weight on your shoulders, Grayson!”
“And I saw the rust on your heart, Story!”
My mouth parted. “It isn’t the same,” I whispered.
“You can’t take someone else’s struggle; sometimes people are destined for pain. Isn’t that what you said?”
“It isn’t the same.” Tears clogged my throat, my voice messy and ugly. “I can’t. I can’t leave you. I can’t—”
“I can’t leave, Snitch. I couldn’t make it perfect. I tried so fucking hard.” He held me tight, as if with a hug he could engrave me into his soul, then whispered, “Find Lottie. She’s in the tunnels getting help.”