Destroyed Destiny (Crowne Point 4)

“I think you’re supposed to push now,” Gemma said.

“Fuck you,” I groaned.

“Seriously, push.”

I rolled my head to the side, the cool sand feeling nice on my sweaty head. I found Lottie, and our eyes locked. She wasn’t pushing either.

“I won’t do it,” I whispered. “I can’t.”

I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think. I can’t deliver my baby on sand, with Gemma fucking Crowne as my midwife. While the Horsemen stood watch. While the love of my life was captive. While West du Lac was dead. I can’t, I fucking can’t—

“This isn’t how it was supposed to happen,” I said.

I’ll be there for you, Snitch. I’ll hold your hair back. I’ll get you ice chips. Let you scream and hold my arm until you break the skin.

Grayson was supposed to hold my hand.

He was supposed to push the hair out of my eyes.

He was supposed to be here.

“Push or your baby is going to fucking die. Do you want to be the reason your baby dies?”

“Worst midwife ever…” I mumbled.

He promised he would be here.

“He said he wouldn’t miss this.”

“Story, look at me,” Lottie said. “Look at me.”

I found Lottie’s warm brown eyes again. “None of this is how it was supposed to happen.”

She gripped my hand.

“Okay. YouTube says when I see a grayish sac…ew what? Oh, this is for a dog birth. Oh. Oh…”

“Fucking hell,” Grim growled. “Move aside. You’re going to kill them.”

“What do you know about delivering babies?” Gemma snapped.

“More than you. I delivered my sister.”

Grim has a sister?

Grim got to his knees in the sand, his dark black hair falling across his eyes as he went for my thighs.

I tried to shove him off. “I changed my goddamn mind

. Grim is the last person I want delivering my baby.”

He ignored me, my efforts to remove him barely jostling him. I was so tired. I could barely feel my legs. It felt like all my adrenaline slipped out of my body.

Through my suddenly foggy vision, I could see he’d taken off his jacket and pushed up his hoodie to his forearms. Black ink wrapped around muscular, caramel skin disappeared between my thighs.

Tattoos—the hands used to seal bloody contracts were now being used to deliver my baby.

That can’t be good.