Destroyed Destiny (Crowne Point 4)

“He’s…” I sucked in a breath through my nose. “He’s not coming.”

Gemma’s brow caved, but only for a second. “Well, let’s fucking go. I’m not delivering your babies.”

“Babies?” I jerked my head to Lottie. “You’re in fucking labor?”

“Well, so are you!” she snapped.

“How is this happening?” I rubbed my temple. “How is any of this happening?”

Gemma snapped her fingers. “Let’s go!”

Lottie, Gemma, and I snuck out in the dark of the labyrinth under Crowne Hall. It wasn’t lost on me that these tunnels had once been reserved for purposes like these, sneaking out mistresses in the dead of night.

The farther we got from Crowne Hall, the more real it became. I was leaving Crowne Hall, leaving Grayson, about to deliver his baby.

Unsure when I could return.

Soon, the brackish sea air overwhelmed the stony dark.

I could barely breathe, walking was a struggle, my back hurt. The coin in my hand was sticky with blood, and so many questions ran through my head. How did he get it? Who gave it to him?

That coin grants wishes, but only one. You only get one.

My uncle’s words echoed in my head.

Only one.

Another deeply painful contraction cracked through my body. I cried out and fell to the soft, cool sand. Early summer wind whispered across my cheeks as I took deep breaths, trying to steady the pain.

“Oh no.” Gemma snapped her fingers in my face. “Stand the fuck up. We have to get you both to a hospital.”

I pressed my hands into the sand, but I couldn’t fucking stand. An instant later, I had company. Lottie fell beside me, a blank and numb look on her face.

I glanced at her and a sudden, sharp pang hit my chest, this one having nothing to do with the baby.

West was dead.

I don’t know if I’d ever see Grayson again.

We had one coin to Beryl’s four.

Gemma eyed us with a low whistle. “I don’t think we’re going to make it. Fuck.”

“What do you mean—” Lottie broke off on a groan.

Gemma placed a hand to her lips, staring at us, brows drawn. “You’re delivering this baby on this beach.”

Gemma looked around at our dark, sandy surroundings. We were somewhat hidden by the rocks, and the beach itself was private.

“No fucking way—” I tried to stand again, wobbling and failing.

Another beat of silence pressed. I gritted my teeth through contractions that were coming faster and harder, as waves crashed violently on the shore.

I slowly looked back to Gemma, the realization landing like a rock in my gut.

She’s right.

“Have you ever done something like this?” I asked.