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.