Forbidden Fate (Crowne Point 3)

The bones snapped in unison, the crack echoing in the air. It came down to just West, me, and some loser I didn’t give a shit about with the biggest bones, so we all lined up to break the final bones.

My heart pounded.

Sweat beaded my brow.

This felt like life or death.

We broke, and West held his up, triumphant. I stared at my puny bone, gut sinking. It was like it happened in slow motion. West wrapped his arm around Story’s waist, dipping her like she was a dame in an old movie. She gripped his shoulders. And then…they kissed.

Twenty-Eight

GRAY

* * *

I dropped my bone to the ground as the paparazzi’s cameras flashed.

I saw red. I saw black. Beyond the bright, burning spots blanketing my vision, West was kissing Story.

He was kissing her.

He was kissing my fucking girl.

I didn’t realize I was heading to them until Lottie gripped the fabric at my bicep.

“What are you going to do?” she asked.

Beat his face into the fucking floor.

West and Story came back up, and she blinked, looking flustered as he laughed with the room and paparazzi continued to take photos.

“There’s press everywhere,” Lottie said.

I don’t give a shit.

Maybe I had been deluding myself. Was she fucking him? The idea drove me absolutely insane. I couldn’t think beyond it.

I zeroed on West’s hand on her waist. It isn’t the tight grip driving me mad. It’s the way Snitch touched her lip, with the dopey, blurry look in her eyes. That’s my fucking look. My fucking lips. She’s my fucking girl.

Fifteen minutes passed as they took paparazzi photos. I picked the skin at my thumb absently with my pointer finger, zoned in on them.

Be a good man.

Pick.

Honor your vows till the very end.

Pick.

Even if it kills you.

Pick.

Lottie left to go join her friends, but I stayed until Story excused herself, heading to the towering pecan fondant cupcake nightmare my mother had had specially designed for this.

I followed.

Feeling more like a predator than a man.