Everything about this moment felt fateful, from the pounding fireworks to the blood on their hands.
I kissed the lips of a god, so fate punished me.
Maybe I’d kissed the lips of two.
Grayson, who I’d watched for years and hoped would never notice me. Yet, in the end, his attention was the catalyst to set my soul on fire. West, who I prayed for years would look back again in my direction, but whose attention proved the most destructive.
No one ever accused gods of being kind to mortals.
West stood up, beside Gray, and Grayson dragged his thumb along my jaw, looking me over for any signs of hurt.
“I’m okay,” I said.
Every muscle in him was coiled and throbbing.
I gripped his bicep. “I’m okay, I promise.”
He let out a pained exhale. “Either way. We’re not going down to the cemetery tonight.”
“Agreed,” West said.
Like coming out of a dream, I scrambled up. “No! We might not get another chance for months.” The next time Crowne Hall would be this distracted…it could be the baby shower. Which would be months from now.
I knew Gray wouldn’t let West look on his own, neither could he leave me alone with him, no matter what weird Twilight Zone camaraderie had just happened.
West folded his arms, and Gray did the same.
“You’re not going,” Gray said.
I’ve decided I don’t like it when West and Gray team up.
“I’m not letting some asshole ruin this!”
Speaking of said asshole, he moaned in the sand. Gray’s jaw ticked.
I glanced at him. “What’s going to happen to him?”
“Paparazzi are going to get an anonymous tip,” Gray said. “There have been rumors about him for years.”
“Well…” I glanced at the sky, to the fireworks almost finished. “Let’s go.”
“You’re pregnant,” Gray and West said at the same time again.
Gray exhaled through his nostrils, rubbing between his eyebrows like it hurt to agree with him.
“Again… I’m pregnant, not dying. I can go.” I touched Gray’s arm. “He barely touched me.”
Gray stared me down. Stay here.
I blinked at him. No.
“I guess I’ll go by myself.”
I turned on my heel, heading toward the cemetery when I was grabbed on both biceps. Grayson had grabbed one bicep, West the other.
“Fine,” they gritted.
Thirty-Seven
STORY
If someone had told me a year ago I’d be spending my New Year’s digging up fresh earth in the graveyard, my glittery dress torn to pieces, I wouldn’t have believed them. If that same someone had told me Grayson and West would be my company, I would have thought they were insane.
I brushed aside dirt from the tenth grave we’d dug. West bent down beside me; a moment later, Grayson elbowed him out of the way.
We were supposed to split up to cover more ground, but they wouldn’t let me out of their sights. Gray sandwiched me on one side, West the other. It was probably some kind of fantasy, having two of the most powerful men in the world fighting over you, but this was my nightmare.
I only want Gray.
Well, I would be lying if I said I didn’t still feel something for West…but it wasn’t love. I yearned for Gray, and I hurt for West. He was rust. A bruise on my heart. Something I wished would heal so I never had to feel it again.
Gray stared at me, his blue eyes probing, reading my thoughts. I cleared my throat and moved my attention from the dirt, to the mausoleum. I felt along the edges of the cement, for the loose cracks and border, then tugged.
Oh my God.
“It has a false back!”
I tugged harder, trying to get the small cement piece out.
My uncle was always a fan of Agatha Christy, of secret tunnels, false walls, and hiding spaces…maybe that’s why he enjoyed working here so much.
Maybe I should have noticed Grayson and West were no longer beside me, but how could I? Excitement crept into my chest as I pulled the square out, revealing a dark hole in the mausoleum. Maybe this was it—the end. Just as the excitement grew, it plummeted into a rock in my gut.
Nothing.
Well, not nothing. I fingered the dusty, square outline where something had been.
“I don’t understand,” I whispered, pulling my fingers back, covered in dust and cobwebs.
“You kissed her?” Gray growled.
I spun at Gray’s words, uncertain what had preceded them, but knowing what came next wouldn’t be good. They’d stood up and now towered above me. West leaned against a mausoleum, one leg propped. Grayson leaned toward him, fists clenched.
“Someone had to give her a New Year’s kiss,” West said.
I slowly stood to my feet. Gray stared at me, waiting for me to tell him that West was full of shit. Tears burned the corner of my eyes and I slowly shook my head, lips parting, but only silence came out.
His brows caved, and he looked away.
He was hurt.
My heart split open.
This was not a secret I planned on keeping. It only happened hours ago, I’d been assaulted in the meantime, and then we came here. I think maybe I leaned into the distractions, because now that wound was open again. Raw. Bleeding.
West laughed. “She wanted it.”
I wanted to be strong. I wanted to tell West to shut the fuck up, but it was all I could do to keep from crying.
Gray’s attention swerved back. He rolled his neck, the deadly, cold look I knew too well darkening his blue eyes.
I planted myself between them. “Wait, just…wait.”
Jaw clenched, Gray exhaled—pissed I was choosing West. But this wasn’t for West, it was Grayson’s bloody knuckles. For the bruises blackening his body when he snuck out to see me. He didn’t think twice about hurting himself for me, so someone had to.
West wasn’t worth it.
I wasn’t worth it.
West grabbed my hips, yanking me to his chest, lips to my neck. “Didn’t you, Angel. Your groan was so fucking hot.”
Grayson’s mouth hooked to one side venomously and he laughed, but it was caustic and without humor.
Then he reached over my shoulder and grabbed West by the back of his neck. “Stop using her as a shield. Let her go so you can bleed.”
I was sandwiched between them, the sky aglow with the new year, but my nose was filled with the scent of decay. Grayson’s breath heated my forehead, his chest pressed against mine, and I was too aware that he wasn’t looking at me.
West rubbed his cock against my ass. “I like her between us too much.”
Grayson snapped. He slammed West’s head into the mausoleum and West let me go on a sharp inhale. I stumbled free. Still without looking at me, Gray shoved me behind him, his grip on my arm tight.
“The only thing stopping me from fucking ending you right now is her. The minute that changes, I’ll get my knuckles bloody with you.”
West grinned, rubbing the back of his head. “Promises.”
I blinked. What did that mean? He was waiting for me?
“You’re so perfect together,” West goaded. “You must tell each other everything. Like…who I’m marrying.”
I assumed West was just trying to get into my veins, lying as usual. So I scoffed. I believed Grayson wouldn’t have kept something so big from me.
But Grayson stiffened.
And suddenly a knot formed in my gut.
West leaned to the side to see me behind Grayson and grinned. “It’s Gemma.”
The knot twisted. “You’re lying. You said your fiancée knew the deal, that she was okay with it. Gemma already has a fiancé.”
West arched his brow. “I told you in Scotland you were putting your eggs in the wrong basket, Angel. Why don’t you ask Grayson if I’m lying?”
Grayson, who’d been silent for the past few seconds.
Whose grip o
n my arm squeezed.
“He’s lying, right?”
Having to marry his sister off to a monster would kill Grayson.
“This isn’t going to work.” Grayson spat blood onto the dirt. “We’re done.”
He pulled me toward Crowne Hall, as if to drag me out of the cemetery. I gasped for air—he lied.
He fucking lied.
I fought back, digging my heels in. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
He dropped me and spun, eyes wild. “Why don’t you tell me your secrets, Snitch?”
There it was again, that cryptic look.
That vicious anger on his tongue.
I don’t understand.
“I tell you everything!” I yelled.
Grayson shoved his tongue into his cheek, looking away like I’d just fucking spat at him.
Behind us, West laughed. “Tell her the whole truth, Grayson. Even if you find the coin, there is no leaving Crowne Hall, is there?”
Grayson’s gaze shifted over my shoulder, murderous, but he doesn’t say no.
He doesn’t. Say. No.
Thirty-Eight
STORY
I had to get out of here. I was outside, but…there was no air. Grayson gripped my wrist, yanking me to him like he saw the words in my head.
I want your throat raw. I want it to hurt, so every time you speak, you feel the secrets you’re keeping from me.
“You hypocrite.” I pulled at my wrist. “I expect West to lie to me. But you? Does your throat hurt every time you speak, Grayson Crowne?”
He looked away. “It’s not as simple as West is making it seem.”
“Do you remember the first thing you ever said to me? You said you wanted honesty. Bloody. Raw. Jagged. Truth. You are a hypocrite, Grayson Crowne.”
I tugged and tugged on my wrist, but he wouldn’t let me go. Instead, he pulled me closer, blazing eyes looking down at me from his rigid nose. The square of his jaw somehow sharper.
Not fair.
That he was somehow more handsome when he’s hurt me so badly.
“It’s not that fucking simple,” he growled. “I have a plan B. That’s all.”
I could see my breath heating the cold night, but it wasn’t coming back.
Stolen.
“Plan B?” I gasped. “What do you mean plan B?”
“What if we don’t find it, Snitch? What if we find it and…” He dragged his bottom lip between his teeth.
In that moment, the puzzle pieces clicked together. I should have seen the signs. It was always there. In his sad eyes. In those cryptic comments. He wouldn’t risk me, he never could.
And this was only risk.
“Do you want us to stay?”
“No. Not us.”
“You would send me away—” I stumbled back, and he pulled me back to him by my wrist so hard I had to plant my palms on his chest for stability. “You would sacrifice yourself—”
“I would save you,” he cut me off, the intensity in his voice like gravel.
“I’m not going to stop fighting for this,” I whispered. “For us. For our freedom.”
He gripped my cheeks, pulling me close until I could taste the honesty on his lips. “And I will always make sure you’re safe first.”
Tears pricked my lids. “So…what does this mean? We’re on opposite sides again?”
I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t fight with him again.
He drew me closer, our foreheads pressed. “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.”
“You said you could let me be Atlas,” I whispered.
I felt his brow furrow against mine. “I don’t know how to do that, Snitch.”
Sadness settled as dew on my heart. The seconds stretched into infinity as we stared into each other. I forgot where we were, the day, the time.
I think Grayson got lost too, because when the moment shattered, I saw it clearly in his eyes.
“This is really touching.” West’s bored voice drifted from behind us. “But the fireworks are over, so unless you want everyone to know what the fuck we’ve been up to, maybe put a cliffhanger on the melodrama.”
Grayson’s grip slipped from my cheeks to hold my biceps, his gentle touch now a vice. “Don’t fucking do it.”
“What choice do I have?” I begged. “I’m his mistress. And we are…” Smoke. In my lungs. Burning my throat. “We are nothing. So.” I swallowed.
The anguish in his eyes seeped like acid into me. “You’re my w—” he caught himself.
Because even now, we couldn’t say it.
Not in front of West.
And that’s why I had to do this; we’d been stuck in this black bubble, never moving forward, too afraid to do the necessary things to pop it, too afraid to be covered in the sludge.
I didn’t want to sleep in West’s bed.
I didn’t want to be anywhere near him.
“If you try to send me away, I won’t go. I’ll stay with him. I’ll fight for this even if you won’t.”
“You don’t think I’m fucking fighting, Snitch?” he snarled.
The same circle.
The same nightmare.
Over and over again.
Maybe we really were like mother, like daughter, but my brand of heroin tasted like whiskey and lollipops.
I shoved Grayson with both hands, stumbling free—but the cruel part was that I know he’d let me go. This decision rests on my shoulders.
West held out his hand, waiting for me. His smile was so wide, I swore the fucking moon caught the white canines. “My bed has been really fucking empty without you.”
Just as my hand enclosed in West’s, Grayson fisted the shirt he’d given me, pulling me to him by the bloody fabric at my chest. West still held my wrist, keeping me tethered to him.
“What are you doing?”
Grayson growled against my lips, so West could clearly hear. “Giving my wife her New Year’s kiss.”
He crushed his lips against mine, mean and vicious, bleeding his anger into his kiss. He curled the fabric of my dress until I heard another tear, until I had to arch into his kiss. Into this pain. My shoulder screamed as West tugged me back.
Held between the two of them as they fought bloody for scraps of my body.
“These are my lips.”
He commanded with just the kiss, every brutal swipe of his tongue calculated torture. Even as another man held my wrist, I knew only Grayson—hot, demanding, vicious.
“Mine to mark,” Grayson said between his teeth, dragging my bottom lip out.
“Mine to ruin.” Then he bit. Hard.
My gasp melted into a groan, ripped and ravaged from my lungs.
“Give your groans back to me.” He sounded demonic. “Give them all back to me.”
Then Grayson shoved me off, dragging his thumb across the blood on his lower lip, glaring at me as he shoved his thumb into his mouth.
I finally got my New Year’s kiss with my husband, just as I was being sent away to the bed of another man.
Grayson went inside without another word.
The wind whipped the dark soil around West like some monster in an old black and white movie. A thing that lured maidens in fairy tales.
He dragged a knuckle down my flushed skin. “The look on your face was spectacular, Angel.”
I saw the triumph in his eyes, and I tore my face from him. “I didn’t choose you, West.”
He grinned. “But you didn’t choose him.”
Thirty-Nine
Dear Atlas,
I am your snitch and I’ve come to whisper secrets I can’t even say to myself.
Why can’t I see him as the villain?
Since that night, a briar has grown untamed inside of me, the feeling that refuses to die: I want more.
It drips ink into my blood.
Is it the shame that makes my fantasy so poignant?
I want him, but I don’t…want him. I w
ant to carve the rust off my heart.
I am your nun and I have come to pray at your altar.
Atlas, please carve out the humid sweetness from that night that keeps rusting along the curves and crevices of my beating organ. Use reality’s jagged knife.
With ugly.
With mean.
With fucking.
Bruise me and make me bleed until I don’t see anything but the truth.
I don’t want him; I want a safe facsimile, some effigy I can use to scrape the doubt and rust from my heart.
Do my wicked fantasies make me wicked? Does my shame make me shameful?
I can’t get that night out of my head.
I can’t get him out of my blood.
I am your wife and I have to come beg at your feet.
Be my puppet master, make me dance with your desire and bleed on your stage.
Ruin him with reality.
Ruin me.
Please.
Forty
STORY
January faded into February. I was five months pregnant and it showed—five months pregnant, and in West’s bed. Grayson and West snuck me to the necessary doctor’s appointments, and with Beryl and Arthur gone, we’d fallen into comfort as we grew used to this new normal, a world where I woke in another man’s bed.
A comfort like the warmth before dying from hypothermia.
Deadly. Wrong.
I held sheets to my chin, staring at the faint crack on the soft eggshell paint in the ceiling. That was how my heart felt.
Maybe I should’ve been grateful West hadn’t tried anything…but every time I go to bed, I wonder: is tonight the night his hand finds his way to my inner thigh? But then he just slid into bed and wished me goodnight.
I hated it.
He always kept his phone next to him on the nightstand. Most mornings—and some nights—I could get to it and try a few passwords.
Now, slowly and quietly, I lifted the blankets off to reach for it—
“I know you’re awake,” West said, opening his eyes and stretching.
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