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“Maybe. But you’re worse,” I said.
She didn’t say anything. She was breathing heavily, as if she was the one that had just gotten in a fight.
I didn’t know why, but that annoyed me most of all.
The blond guy was coming at me now… how irritating.
I prepared myself to punch some more. I loved the hurt. It made me feel alive, and I was ready for round two.
But the blond guy stopped short. I could tell he didn’t have the propensity for violence in him. He just wanted to puff up his feathers and try to scare me away.
“Get out of here right now before I call the cops,” he threatened.
I shrugged. “Don’t gotta tell me twice.”
“We already did.”
“Guess I’m a liar then. Surprise,” I said lightly as I turned toward the parking lot.
The further I got from them, the worse I felt.
I longed for the drama. I longed for the pain and the stress and the validation that flowed through me whenever I made her confront her past.
When I held her accountable forwhat she did.
And as peace returned to the night, I felt worse. I needed to take one more stab.
Just one more.
So when I was almost at my car, I tossed over my shoulder, “Ask her about who she killed and you’ll see therealGrace Sinclair.”
I didn’t hear a response from them, and I didn’t know why I was expecting to.
I knew they’d heard me.
I knew they’d look into it eventually.
Curiosity would work its black magic on them. It was only a matter of time before her delicate little relationship with them or whatever would come crashing down.
When I got in my Mercedes and shut the door, cleaved myself from the outside world, I felt suffocated. Now there was nothing but being stuck in my own head, forced to obsess over Grace.
I had to make her understand what she did. To her mother, to her father, to me. I had to give her a semblance of the pain she’d made me taste over the years I spent with her. And to do that, I had to get her alone—away from those two assholes she somehow managed to keep in her orbit.
I knew she couldn’t have genuine feelings for them. They were nothing but bodyguards, trying to thwart my mission:
To make Grace admit to what she’d done, come to terms with it so that we could finally be together again.
So that everything could be right.
But fuck, I hated her so much—!
Just sitting here in the driver’s seat thinking about it made my fingers twitch, made my arms tingle and simmer with rage. I wanted her, but I didn’t knowhowI wanted her.
So I hated her. I had to hate her.
I peered at the tin box tucked under the radio. Still there.
The only relief.
