Page 37 of The Beast

“You can’t,” I whisper. “Because you know. Somewhere underneath all that rage, you know I didn’t do this.”

He’s so close now. Close enough that I can feel the heat radiating off his body, smell the familiar scent of him underneath something darker, something new.

I lift my chin, defiant even as my heart pounds. “Someday you’re going to realize how wrong you are. And when you do, I hope it destroys you. I hope the guilt eats you alive.”

He moves so fast I don’t see it coming. One second, I’m spitting fury at him, and the next, his hand is fisted in my hair, and his mouth is on mine.

The kiss is brutal. Punishing. Meant to prove that he still has power over me, that my body will betray me even when my mind knows better.

And god help me, it does.

I should push him away. I should bite and scratch and fight. But instead, my hands are fisting in his shirt, pulling him closer, and a noise escapes my throat that sounds too much like a moan.

He breaks the kiss as suddenly as he started it, then steps back, leaving me swaying, breathless, my lips bruised and tingling from the feel of his beard. Without thinking, I reach up, my fingers brushing his face, no longer smooth and familiar, but rough and dangerous.

“You still want me,” he says. It’s not a question. “Even now. Even knowing what I came here to do.”

I can’t deny it. The evidence is all over me. My face. My ragged breathing. The way my body is still leaning toward his like a flower toward the sun.

“I hate you,” I whisper.

“But you want me anyway. And that,” he says, “is going to be your downfall.”

“You’re wrong about me. You’re going to hate yourself when you finally realize the truth.”

“Sweetheart, I already see the truth in your eyes.”

He starts to walk away, then turns back. He nods toward the butterfly, still screaming silently on the wall. “Consider it a reminder. Of what happens to beautiful things that get too close to hands that want to destroy them.”

As soon as he’s left the back room, I slide to the floor, my hands shaking. A moment later, David rushes back in. “Bella? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” But I’m not, and we both know it.

“Did he hurt you?”

I touch my lips. “Not the way you mean.”

David looks at me for a long moment, then holds out his hand. “Come on,” he says quietly. “Let’s get you upstairs.”

When I’m back in my suite, I call Harper and tell her everything as my tears flow. She lets me cry and says all the right things, but it’s not enough. Nothing will be enough until Gabriel trusts me again.

If he ever trusts me again.

Mostly, I’m afraid that the longer he pushes me away, the smaller our chance becomes. Because as much as I love him, I’m not going to wait for a man who hates me, no matter how certain I am that he’s hating for all the wrong reasons.

“It’s going to work out,” Harper says when I tell her all that. Except I don’t believe her. Not anymore. I’m not even sure she believes it herself.

Still, I haven’t given up yet. “Can you talk to Leo for me? He sent the text about Gabriel being alive. He might know something about what happened to him.

I hear a light tapping, then her perky, “Done. Anything else?”

Some of the tension drains from my body simply from knowing that she’s got my back. “Yeah. A list of everyone who knew about the Aspen cabin. Gabriel thinks I was the only one, but I can’t possibly have been. At the very least, my father must have found out somehow. How can I dig into my father’s movements around the time of Gabriel’s death? Where he was, who he met with, unusual activity. That kind of thing.”

She sucks in air. “That’s going to require some creative sneakiness. Your dad’s no idiot. He’s going to keep his dirty laundry well-hidden.”

“I know. But there has to be something. No one covers their tracks perfectly. I just don’t know how to find it.”

“Me neither,” she says. For that kind of digging, you need deep connections and a lot of pull. The Grimm name might do it. I can ask Leo, and —Oh! Hold the phone. Remember when I handled the mess with that actress? The stalker thing?”