I couldn’t control Vander. I didn’t have enough power yet to kill him. But I could strap dynamite to my chest and take him down with me.
“Walk one step into my town and I’ll assume I have my answer,” I said, echoing the threat he’d given me before Valentine’s Day.
Vander responded with a tight smile that didn’t meet his eyes. Without another word, he left. I watched him disappear through curtains of weeping foliage.
I knew this wasn’t over. At some point in time Vander would come back. But for now, we were safe.
Still, my back was tight with nerves as I turned again to the funeral. The crowd had nearly cleared. The only people who remained were immediate family. I couldn’t shake the tension.
Uncharacteristically, I pulled out a cigarette and lit it, just as it was yanked out of my hand.
“Don’t smoke.” Gemma smiled at me, taking a drag from the cigarette. “You taste better.”
FIFTY-FIVE
GEMMA
One Week Before
“Kill me,” I said.
Grim stared back at me, the look in his eyes a mix of anger and irritation. An insanely inappropriately timed thought came to mind. His face reminded me of that oneSpongeBobepisode.
How many times do we have to teach you this lesson, old man?
I nearly laughed, but instead put a hand to his heart, calming him. “Gemma Crownehas to die. My family is at risk.Yourfamily is at risk. And as long as I live, you’ll never be free.”
“Gemma—”
“But,” I interrupted. “Just because GemmaCrownehas to die doesn’t mean I do.”
Suspicion narrowed his eyes, but somethingelse glimmered in the dark depths—hope. He rose up next to me, hands planted in sand silver with moonlight.
“What are you thinking, Rich Girl?” He gripped my chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Say it clearly.”
“We fake my death.”
He rubbed circles in my chin with his thumbs, eyes unreadable. Our breathing created wispy tendrils of hot-white smoke in the cold. Beyond Grim, the hedge maze towered, golden lanterns flickering against the black-green leaves.
After a moment he released my chin. “You can’t go back from this.”
“I don’twantto go back,” I said, grabbing his hand. “I want to go forward.”
The pure, concentrated devotion in his eyes nearly floored me. He shook his head, exhaling, and turned toward the ocean.
“If I were a better man, I’d try to talk you out of this,” he said, rubbing his forehead, eyes still on the ocean, moon reflecting broken shards.
I grabbed his face between my palms, turning him back to me. I leaned forward on a smile I couldn’t contain, and kissed him.
“Good thing you’re not a better man,” I said against his lips.
When I pulled back, some of the heaviness cloaking Grim had dissipated. A soft smile curved uneven on his lips.
“It’s too cold for you,” he said, rubbing the goose bumps off my arms. “And we have a death to fake.” He reached for his shirt, discarded in the sand.
“You’re the one who’s shirtless,” I said, but let him drape the black fabric over my arms.
Grim stood and held his hand out for me. I clasped itand he dragged me up off the sand, into his arms. He wrapped one arm around my back, the other caressing my cheek before sliding into my hair.
