“I guess I’ll go by myself.”
I turned on my heel, heading toward the cemetery when I was grabbed on both biceps. Grayson had grabbed one bicep, West the other.
“Fine,” they gritted.
Thirty-Seven
STORY
If someone had told me a year ago I’d be spending my New Year’s digging up fresh earth in the graveyard, my glittery dress torn to pieces, I wouldn’t have believed them. If that same someone had told me Grayson and West would be my company, I would have thought they were insane.
I brushed aside dirt from the tenth grave we’d dug. West bent down beside me; a moment later, Grayson elbowed him out of the way.
We were supposed to split up to cover more ground, but they wouldn’t let me out of their sights. Gray sandwiched me on one side, West the other. It was probably some kind of fantasy, having two of the most powerful men in the world fighting over you, but this was my nightmare.
I only want Gray.
Well, I would be lying if I said I didn’t still feel something for West…but it wasn’t love. I yearned for Gray, and I hurt for West. He was rust. A bruise on my heart. Something I wished would heal so I never had to feel it again.
Gray stared at me, his blue eyes probing, reading my thoughts. I cleared my throat and moved my attention from the dirt, to the mausoleum. I felt along the edges of the cement, for the loose cracks and border, then tugged.
Oh my God.
“It has a false back!”
I tugged harder, trying to get the small cement piece out.
My uncle was always a fan of Agatha Christy, of secret tunnels, false walls, and hiding spaces…maybe that’s why he enjoyed working here so much.
Maybe I should have noticed Grayson and West were no longer beside me, but how could I? Excitement crept into my chest as I pulled the square out, revealing a dark hole in the mausoleum. Maybe this was it—the end. Just as the excitement grew, it plummeted into a rock in my gut.
Nothing.
Well, not nothing. I fingered the dusty, square outline where something had been.
“I don’t understand,” I whispered, pulling my fingers back, covered in dust and cobwebs.
“You kissed her?” Gray growled.
I spun at Gray’s words, uncertain what had preceded them, but knowing what came next wouldn’t be good. They’d stood up and now towered above me. West leaned against a mausoleum, one leg propped. Grayson leaned toward him, fists clenched.
“Someone had to give her a New Year’s kiss,” West said.
I slowly stood to my feet. Gray stared at me, waiting for me to tell him that West was full of shit. Tears burned the corner of my eyes and I slowly shook my head, lips parting, but only silence came out.
His brows caved, and he looked away.
He was hurt.
My heart split open.
This was not a secret I planned on keeping. It only happened hours ago, I’d been assaulted in the meantime, and then we came here. I think maybe I leaned into the distractions, because now that wound was open again. Raw. Bleeding.
West laughed. “She wanted it.”
I wanted to be strong. I wanted to tell West to shut the fuck up, but it was all I could do to keep from crying.
Gray’s attention swerved back. He rolled his neck, the deadly, cold look I knew too well darkening his blue eyes.