Page 70 of Grace

“Calm down, little brother.” He nods to the girl, signaling her to leave us. He watches her as she walks away, then turns back to me, his face hard. “The whole station is buzzing like a beehive because of what you just did.”

“What should I have done instead? Watch her get raped?”

“No.” His answer surprises me.

“When are they coming for me?”

“They aren’t. Ortíz will take care of it.”

“But Grace…” My Adam’s apple lurches when I think about her eyes full of terror.

“They won’t take her statement. She’s a mess. After what they did to her—or, more precisely, after what you did to her… she doesn’t want to be in the headlines again. She’s unstable. Several people can attest to that. Ortíz will make it look like she was walking home when she saw the bodies and came up with delusional stories because of her troubled past.”

“They’ll think she’s crazy!” I lean into my brother’s face. His smell—the scent of his expensive, spicy perfume mixed with alcohol—hits my nose. My hands clench into fists at my sides.

“She is,” Lucas says with a cold smile on her face. “She’s not a reliable witness, and what she said might get… forgotten somehow.” He takes a sip of his drink.

I’m afraid Lucas is right, but Grace didn’t used to be like that. At least not before she was kidnapped.

Chapter 7

Grace

The next morning, Cyrus wakes up to find me sitting beside him, nervously watching him and chewing my nails.

“Why aren’t you sleeping?”

I didn’t sleep a wink—not really. And if I did, it was only five minutes here and there. I kept drinking coffee and checking the locks. I checked the blinds, closed the windows, and drew the curtains closed. The bedroom is hot and airless. Cyrus is slick with sweat—but I had to do this if I wanted any chance of closing my eyes. Because I saw him all night. His gaze, his face, and… his body. And dreams coiled around me like snakes, trying to crush me while injecting poison into my veins. A poison named Chase Baker. A poison that doesn’t kill me—quite the opposite: it makes me feel alive. My heart rate isn’t slowing down. The wheels keep turning in my head. I no longer feel like I’m half-dead. The slumber, the waiting… it’s over. The will to live wakes up. Because I no longer have to be afraid of Bo and his gang. Chase killed them. He’s here. Stalking me. Watching me.

Maybe this moment is what I’d been waiting for, somewhere deep down. A reason to stab him in the heart with a kitchen knife—to do what I’d been too weak to do years ago. To make him pay for all his sins. I did have the opportunity—the perfect one, served on a silver platter. And I didn’t seize it. But I won’t be weak this time. I’m going to do it. Because that kiss was only a momentary weakness. I was crazy.

Cyrus looks away, stricken. He’s acting strange—irrational—as if guilt were clawing at his chest. I don’t like this.

“Why doesn’t this upset you?” I ask. “I know you’ve seen a thing or two as a cop, but I thought that—” I take a deep breath, “—something like this happening to your girlfriend would affect you more.”

“I knew.”

“You knew what?” My heart starts hammering.

“That Chase Baker’s been out for two years.”

“What?” My breath catches in my throat. “Why didn’t you tell me?” I jump out of bed nervously, accusation blazing on my face.

Cyrus jumps out of bed too, stands up angrily, and rakes his fingers through his wet, matted hair. Drops of sweat glint on his huge body like diamonds.

“Because you weren’t doing well, Grace. Remember how you were when you were released from the hospital. You couldn’t have handled the burden of knowing he’d been released, and—”

“Say it! Say it, Cyrus!” I demand. My hand clenches into a fist at my side.

“You still aren’t doing well!” His deep voice booms through the room like an explosion. “Hearing the tiniest noise scares you to death. You close every door and window, even though I’m lying right here beside you…”

“I’m sorry, Cyrus. I…” I bite my lower lip and shake my head. “We kissed. Or—more precisely—he kissed me, and I didn’t object. I couldn’t.”

Cyrus looks away, disappointed. I step toward him, but he raises his hand. I stop. I don’t know which of us is more hurt—him or me…

“Cyrus…” My voice falters.

“Stay home today, Grace. I’ll send an officer to stand outside the door, and… keep it locked.”