Page 117 of High Reward

We get her a glass of water to drink, and chat with Bellamy and some of the others at the bar. People make a fuss about how pretty the wings are, and just as I’d hoped, Grace beams with every compliment on both the beauty of the piece, and the way she endured what it took to create it.

When she winces a little too hard for my taste, we lead her back to the stage where I quickly take the needles and feathers out. Lili follows behind, wiping each prick mark with an alcohol wipe. Grace hisses through the burning sensation. I press a kiss to her shoulder when the last needle is free and help Lili finish cleaning her up.

Then we wrap her in a soft blanket and take her back to our suite where we can all soak up the afterglow of the experience we just shared.

We settle onto the sofa, with Lili beside me, and Grace in my lap with her legs stretched over Lili.

“You made me so proud tonight, Butterfly,” I tell her quietly, kissing her hair. “How are you feeling?”

She laughs, shaky but real. “I’ve never felt so seen.”

Lili leans in and kisses her forehead, then rests her cheek against my shoulder. “That’s what you deserve, lover You’re not invisible. You’re fucking unforgettable.”

We sit there for a long time, letting her come down before I put her in the shower and check the marks on her back to see if any need ointment.

As I gently clean her, I remind her in quiet tones that tonight she wasn’t just a canvas for my art. She was the star. The one everyone noticed.

She earned her wings.

And I’ll make damn sure she never loses them again.

Chapter 29

Grace

Mybackiswarmwith a delicious sting when I wake the next morning. It’s early, and Lili and Victor are still asleep on either side of me. I lay there for a long time, contemplating how nice it is to be here like this.

With Kara and Sampson, half the time Kara wound up on the futon in the guest room, claiming to be too hot. Thinking of Sampson causes an ache to bloom in my chest. I was never meant to be with him, but his life being cut so short by suicide is painful. Guilt threatens to overtake the morning, and I squeezemy eyes shut, pressing my palms over them in an attempt to shove the emotion aside.

I let my mind wander to last night’s needle play. It was intense and cathartic, and I want to crystalize every second in my memory.

The feelings the memories evoke bring to mind a scene I wrote in one of my unfinished manuscripts. I look to either side of me, and ease down the center of the bed so I can crawl off the end without climbing over either of the sleeping bodies next to me.

I pull on a robe and grab my laptop bag. The club is quiet, everyone is still sleeping except for Samuel Carter who sits near the entrance to the main dungeon, keeping watch. They have a rotation of security team members always keeping an eye on things, even through the night.

“Would you like some coffee, Samuel?” I ask as I tighten the belt on my robe.

He holds up a mug and smiles. “All set. Thank you, though. You’re up early today, Miss Grace.”

I smile. “Slept hard after my scene last night. Woke up inspired, but I don’t want to disturb my… partners.”Is that what they are?“Will I disturb you if I sit at a table out here and work?”

He waved a hand. “By all means. This is your home more than mine. I took the overnight shift because Erin has been having trouble sleeping with me in the same bed now that she’s growing a whole human.”

I grin. “It’s hard work. You’re going to make great parents.”

Silence falls over the space as I settle into a chair and open my laptop.

My heart is racing as my cursor hovers over the file name for my manuscript. A reaction I often have. It’s one of the reasons I’ve never published. The crippling self-doubt and impostor syndrome have kept me from doing final edits on anything I’vewritten, and despite the mountains of research I’ve done on publishing, I’m still too chicken to put myself out there.

But something about last night, and the way I woke up this morning has me thinking about it again. I want other people to enjoy what I’ve created, so I double-click to open the document.

As I read through the scene that was rattling around my brain, I get engrossed in my own story. My fingers rest on the keyboard, one finger drifting down to the trackpad to scroll the page from time to time.

Time away from the story means I’m seeing it with fresh eyes, and I like what I’ve written. It’s the first time I’ve been excited by the prospect of someone else, a stranger even, reading my books.

Soon, I’m typing notes in the side panel about the changes I want to make to these characters to strengthen them. Before I know it, I’m lost in the work and joy of writing.

A plate with two strips of bacon, some strawberries, and fluffy scrambled eggs appears in front of me, and I glance up to find Tyson Vance standing over my table. “Eat. You played hard last night, and something tells me you haven’t had protein yet.”