And I am her long-awaited consequence.
20
CHEMISTRY
LONDON
Trekking through a muddy creek with a convicted killer on the run is not how I imagined my life would end.
And it will end—badly. There’s no other logical conclusion to this insanity.
Detective Foster probably already has me pegged as Grayson’s accomplice. When he discovers the gun Grayson discarded, he’ll determine that I helped Grayson escape, that I went with him willingly.
If I don’t end up dead, I’ll face prosecution for aiding and abetting a murderer.
I’m still trying to comprehend what made me take his hand.
I know he’s a killer. I know he’s a psychopath. I know that when he’s forced to confront his delusions, he’ll become even more unhinged, and I’ll likely become his next victim.
Yet, for just one moment, as I stared into the clear blue of his eyes, every warning vanished, and I craved that clarity for myself, the freedom to exist without shame or guilt.
He has answers.
In retrospect, as I experience my own bout of clarity—brought on by extremely sobering pain—I see how expertly he’s mastered his manipulation tactics. He was able to manipulate me for one simple reason:
He has my secret.
I’ve spent nearly my entire life running from my father’s deviant legacy. How could I let Grayson go, just vanish into the world, leaving me in a constant state of dread—the fear of when and how he’d expose my lies. Always looking over my shoulder, waiting for him to return for me.
He didn’t really give me a choice.
And I’d be lying if I claimed fear was my only motivation. The draw I felt to Grayson during our first session has influenced every choice I made since. I’m tethered so tightly to him, I can feel him in my veins, like poison in my blood. Drunk on him.
Fear and attraction. A toxic combination.
And yet, I’m a skilled manipulator, too. I’ve spent months getting inside Grayson’s psyche, studying his compulsions, learning what makes him tick. He’s highly intelligent and methodical, but he’s also vulnerable.
Grayson walks a little ahead, his broad shoulders tense. He glances back to ensure I’m keeping up.
“I can’t go on like this,” I say, my bare feet dragging, my heels long gone.
I’m not sure if I’m talking more about my emotional state or the fiery pain consuming my body. Both are wearing on me, and I drop to my knees.
Grayson kneels beside me and pulls my shoulder bag over my head. “You have meds in here?”
“I do, but they won’t help. I’m too far gone.” The only thing to help the pain at this point would be to knock me unconscious. It would be a welcome break from this reality, honestly.
I notice the blood staining his damp shirt as he rummagesthrough my purse until he finds painkillers. He thumbs out two and feeds them to me, forcing my mouth open. “Chew them,” he orders.
I’m too drained to argue. I break each pill in half with my teeth and swallow the bitter chunks until the pills are dissolved. “You’re hurt,” I say, nodding to his shoulder.
He doesn’t acknowledge the wound. Instead, Grayson scoops me into his arms effortlessly, carrying me against his chest once again.
I’m too drained to argue this point also, and simply link my arms around his neck. “A lot of women end up with men like their fathers,” I say, my fingertips tracing his skin. “I admit, I used to judge some of my patients pretty harshly for that, but I guess I’m no different.”
He doesn’t remark as he wades through the shallow stream, just holds me securely against him, focused ahead.
“Do you have any idea where you’re going?” I ask.
