Lottie’s eyes slowly met mine. “I don’t know.”
The sense of dread that washed over me was like the time I went swimming in December. But the slow numbing started from an icy cold drip in my soul.
She wasn’t safe.
Something slammed against Lottie’s door, like an open-fisted knock.
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.
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.”
No.
I can’t fucking leave him.
I knew we only had five minutes, but I couldn’t process anything. Not the advancing pain in my abdomen, letting me know that another, much more urgent clock was ticking down as well.
“Story!” Grayson gripped my cheeks. He lowered his voice, until only I could hear. “Go to the tunnels. Find Lottie.”
“Come with me, Atlas,” I begged.
Everything was foggy.
This wasn’t happening.
This couldn’t be happening.
We couldn’t have lost.
“You promised you wouldn’t miss the delivery. You promised.”
Grayson dropped to his knees, pressing his head to my stomach. A single second spanned a lifetime. “This was always how it was going to end,” he said.
Then he stood.
His jaw tight, eye
s dark.
Panic seized my lungs and I doubled over in pain. I gripped his bicep as another contraction hit me.
Beryl laughed, and Grayson flexed his fingers into a fist.
“I should have ripped him out of you,” he growled. “I should have fucking ripped him out of you when I had the chance.”
The sirens grew louder.
“The weight is too heavy for your shoulders,” I cried.
“My shoulders will get strong. Now leave, but do one thing for me.” He shoved fabric into my hand, wet and cold. “Survive.”
His green pocket square, sticky with blood. Inside, bloody and cold, wrapped around my locket, was the final coin.
How—what—I couldn’t ask him, not with Beryl watching our every move.
He turned from me.
“Grayson, you survive too. You promise me. You survive too.” He wasn’t responding, and the longer I went without a response, the higher my fear rose. “Grayson?”
“Leave, Snitch!” he yelled, and I jolted, running out of the room, pausing only to give one last look.
“My song will wait until you return, Atlas.”
I ran to find Lottie; the last thing I saw was Grayson standing tall before his grandfather.
A fault line formed along my heart at exactly 2:02 in the morning. With every beat, I felt it digging. I swallowed, throat dry, as I left the love of my life forever.
Sixty
STORY
Lottie was waiting just outside the entrance to the tunnels.
“Where is Grayson?” she asked.
I rolled my lips, shaking my head, unable to say the words. The realization dawned on Lottie slowly as her mouth parted. Grayson Crowne was out doing what Grayson Crowne did best—sacrificing himself.
The gravity of the situation was apparent in the low way she spoke, the tight draw of her brow.
“I don’t know if this is a good idea, but I don’t have any ideas left and she—” Lottie broke off on a breath. “She was the only person home I could think of…the only person who isn’t them.”
“Who?”
“Jesus Christ. If I look between your legs, am I going to see little baby Gray giving me the finger? How the fuck are you standing?”
Destroyed Destiny (Crowne Point Book 4) Page 31