Forbidden Fate (Crowne Point 3)

But it was a fucking bloodbath. I’d already witnessed four fights break out between different factions, and a few others between those who were supposed to be on the same side.

There were at least two hundred girls. Some of them were clearly Team Lottie, some were on my side, and most simply hated anyone who had the balls to claim Grayson Crowne.

Then there was a shout.

“It’s Grayson Crowne!”

I looked up and saw him, walking like the untouchable god he was, down the narrow strip dividing the factions, toward me.

The crowd grew wilder, thirstier.

“Team Lottie!” they called.

“Grayson!” hundreds called.

He looked like a movie star in his dark suit, his tie undone. A rock star. A god.

When they finally saw whom he was coming toward, the warmth vanished. He didn’t care, eyes locked on me. Even as the crowd turned violent and they surged toward him.

He got to me, bending down, just as the crowd surged. Plainclothes bodyguards appeared, creating a shield around us.

“Are you okay?” Grayson asked, unperturbed by the girls screaming inches away, only blocked by a wall of muscled bodyguards.

She’s a liar.

A cheater.

Team Lottie!

“Grayson, everyone can see—” He cut me off, lifted my chin, ignoring the calls of the crowd. So soft and gentle, examining the cut beneath my eye where the glass had hit.

Though his bodyguards bulwarked us, we were literally dividing the mob on either side. Girls screamed and pushed. Their hands and signs were like rolling tidal waves threatening to break through.

“Are you, Snitch?” His voice was so soft. “Okay?”

Our eyes locked and the madness faded away, the cries of Team Lottie disappeared. He licked his thumb, cleaning away the blood on my lip and beneath my nose.

My heart pounded.

This wasn’t okay. None of this was okay. Gray Crowne was not someone my heart could pound for.

His thumb lingered. Pulling at it, pulling down my lip to expose my bottom teeth. That ache. That tingle, that ripping at my heart. That uniquely Gray feeling. The one that shouldn’t but did.

“Answer me, Snitch.”

Why. Why do you care?

“Yes.” Voice soft. “My ankle hurts, but other than that I’m fine.”

His eyes narrowed, and his thumb kept rubbing.

“Please just let me go. Everyone is watching. Did you see the papers? They’re going to write even more stories—”

“I can’t.”

Pain, anger, anguish, as if he physically couldn’t. It was enough to seize my words, my breath, as I stared into his eyes.

At that moment, someone chucked a wooden sign over the fortress of bodyguards. As it was about to hit my head, Grayson’s other h