“Our ground rules….” West rubbed his jaw. “I think we need to adjust them. Whatever you do to Story is fair game for me.”
A cold smile speared Grayson’s lips. I knew what was about to happen before Grayson stood slowly to his feet. Knew the danger before his blue gaze turned icy.
“By my count,” West continued. “You owe me a kiss.”
It seemed like every second he could, West wanted to remind me that Gray and he might be working together, but they were not a team.
I quickly scrambled to my feet, placing myself between Grayson and West.
That thing between us, the dark crackling flame, popped.
I pressed my hands to their chests. Grayson’s glare shot to me, jaw clenched, telling me to move so he could fucking end West—but if he did that, then Gray would be the one hurt most.
The pressure of his chest bent my wrist back.
“By my count,” I gritted, turning to West. “You pulled a really shady fucking move today. So maybe you should stop counting.”
West arched a brow, then stepped back, hands raised.
After a few seconds, Gray stepped back, dragging his hands through his hair.
West put his arm out, so I could entwine mine in it. I ignored him, but I followed him anyway, my heart aching. Because I knew I’d been gone for too long, and knew Grayson had to return or he’d be beaten again.
“I think I saw your siblings in the hall, Gray,” West mocked, as I followed him out of the room.
Siblings?
Gray and I realized what he meant at the same moment.
The bastards were back.
Just in time for their mother’s funeral.
Thirty-One
STORY
The morning of Josephine’s funeral was snowing lightly, blanketing the sand of Crowne Beach in a soft powder. It was almost surreal in its beauty. My girl had already come and dressed me in a long black dress with a high collar and I felt a little bit like my old self.
I focused on my clear, manicured nails, and not West, the tall reminder leaning in my doorway that I was not my old self. That everything was not the same.
“I’m not winning your heart by standing on the sidelines, Story. I’ll play dirty.”
I scoffed. “You don’t know how to play any other way.”
His eyes darkened; he looked away.
Silence pressed.
“How is your fiancée going to react to all of this?” I asked. “You’re trying to win me over, but what about her?”
He tilted his head slightly, eyes gleaming. “You don’t know who I’m marrying?” His voice was too light, too soft.
I didn’t trust it.
“How would I? You haven’t told me.”
A look flickered in his eyes, but it was gone before I could decipher it. “What did you think of me back then?” He took a step inside. “When we were kids?”