Page 47 of From West, With Regret (NYC Billionaires #2)
“Sorry to interrupt.” Lewis appears from the other side of the bar. He trades nervous glances between West and me. “Do you know if we have any more of this whiskey?” He holds up the empty bottle. “We’re pretty swamped here, and I haven’t had time to check upstairs in the storeroom.”
“I’ll go check,” I tell him. I turn to West and stand on my toes to give him a kiss.
Glenna rolls her eyes.
I look at her with sadness and regret. Regret only for knowing she’s hurting. I’m hoping one day she’ll understand when West tells her about our history together.
I turn my attention back to West, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. “I’ll be right back.”
“Don’t take too long,” he says, his eyes softening with longing.
It jumpstarts my already revved-up heart.
I reluctantly leave West and his mom, hoping somehow that the time it takes for me to run this errand for Lewis will give them the opportunity to repair the damage Glenna’s put between them.
I’m weaving my way through the crowd when my phone vibrates again in my hand. I ignore it, knowing it’s the unknown caller. Several guests offer me their congratulations. I nod and continue through, finally taking a breath once I reach the bottom of the stairwell.
I take the stairs slowly, lifting the bottom of my floor-length, black satin gown.
My heels clank against the weathered boards, and my mind wanders to the countless days I came up here to work, secluded from everyone downstairs.
I was in my own world up here, lost in the memories of West’s hands and the necklace I’d given to him for his birthday. Before our world came crashing down.
The price we paid to get here has been worth it.
I’m smiling to myself, thinking of West’s mouth against my ear when I reach the top landing.
The door to the storeroom is propped open.
I push it open and immediately start scanning the shelves for the whiskey Lewis needs, but the blood drains from my face when I see the man standing in front of the opposite shelf.
Crisp and clean, he’s unmistakable, wearing a freshly-pressed suit.
His blonde hair is neatly styled, pushed back, revealing his crystal blue eyes.
Unsteady on his feet, he sways as he holds a small piece of paper between his fingers, and the thick, black diamond wedding band on his fourth finger causes my stomach to somersault with nausea.
How? How is he possibly standing here in front of me when I’d seen his coffin.
I’d seen the hole dug into the ground, ready and waiting to be his final resting place.
“Heath?” I whisper, my voice already shaking.
“London.” He sighs, his shoulders dropping as if he’s relieved to see me. “Finally.”
His arms sag in front of him, and he takes a wobbly step forward. His eyes are bloodshot, the dim light of the closet casting shadows across the sharp planes of his face.
“You’re, um…” I swallow the bile in my throat. “You’re alive?”
Ten agonizing seconds of silence pass.
“You know,” Heath finally says, slurring. “It’s a shame I cut my brother out of my life. I didn’t realize I’d have all the liquor I could ever want at my disposal.” He swallows thickly, then lifts his angered eyes toward me. “And an unobstructed view of my wife’s heart.”
The breath catches in my throat when he holds up the piece of paper pinched between his clenched fingers.
“Heath.” I close my eyes. In fact, I squeeze them tight, trying to wrap my head around the fact he isn’t actually dead. “Heath, listen to me…”
“Don’t,” he booms, causing my eyes to snap open, my heart leaping at the sound.
The memories of being Heath’s wife come back full force. It’s amazing how the mind can spend months pushing aside the trauma, but once you find yourself faced with it again, you’re transported back to feeling as little and insignificant as humanly possible.
Instinct and a year’s worth of conditioning myself to create as few waves as possible when it comes to Heath’s outbursts settles in like muscle memory. I wring my fingers and take a step back, reaching for the doorknob behind me, but Heath is quick to stop me.
He stomps across the room, the boards creaking beneath him. My back falls against the door, slamming it shut.
A small whimper escapes me as he slaps his hand against the door behind my head. I wince, turning my face away from him.
“Don’t you fucking say a word,” he seethes. His breath reeks of alcohol. “You always opened that mouth of yours when you should have kept it shut. Seems my sweet London hasn’t learned her lesson.”
Forcing the tears back, I stare up at Heath with as much anger and hatred as I can muster. “I’m not your wife anymore.”
He slams his hand against the door again, this time with a clenched fist. I jump again, but Heath forces me to look at him when he grabs my chin and presses the base of his hand to my throat. “I’m alive and breathing, my love, so you are very much still my wife.”
“Why are you here?” I bite through the growing pain from his tight grip. I stretch my neck, attempting to release the pressure he’s placing on it, but it’s no use. “How?”
“No, no, no. I get answers first.” He clicks his tongue in disapproval, then carries me over to the shelf, never letting up on his hold on me.
His hand is a vise, tightening around my throat with minimal effort.
Each finger presses into my neck like thick strands of rope, slowly and mercilessly strangling me.
Fear grips me as he drags me to the other corner of the closet. It’s a small space, but it’s too much when trapped with Heath. Still gripping my neck, he bends down and picks up the sheet of paper.
The drawing of West’s necklace.
“What is this?” he asks, spit flying from his curled lips.
My eyes feel like they’re going to pop out of their sockets. I claw at his wrist, tugging and pulling on it. My nails scratch against his skin. I wedge my fingers under his, hoping to pry them off, but again, I fail.
“Tell me!” he booms, shaking me.
“It’s a necklace,” I grind out, gasping for breath, black spots feathering the corners of my eyes.
Heath smirks devilishly. “Whose necklace?”
I look straight into his eyes. The ones I thought I loved before I remembered what true love felt like. I’d already loved before, and if I knew then, if I’d have kept my memories, I would have known what I felt for Heath was nothing compared to what I’ve always felt for West.
Tears well in my eyes, and my throat burns. I may never see him again after tonight. I think back to seconds earlier, the way he kissed me before I said I’d be right back. His kind blue eyes full of love for me.
Then I get a flash of the day I left with the Walkers. The way he kissed my cheek, whispering he wouldn’t stop searching for me, promising we’d be together again. Even if I were to die by Heath’s hand, I’m thankful West was able to fulfill his promise. He won’t have to live with the regret.
I feel my body going limp, my arms and legs turning to lead. The strength I have is quickly fading. Metal digs into my back, but it doesn’t matter. It won’t matter when I’m no longer breathing.
“Whose necklace, London?” Heath booms, his face turning cherry red, the veins popping in his neck.
“Your brother’s.”
His eyes darken. “I always wondered why he wore this. What it meant. Where he got it. He was always so goddamn protective of it, and always so disgustingly secretive.” He looks down at the drawing, then shoots me a glare. “But now I understand it. Now it makes sense.”
“West…” I start, but Heath stops me.
“West has always tried to take what’s mine.
He inserted himself into my family and tried to fit in where he didn’t belong.
The asshole always thought he was so fucking special because he was dealt a shitty hand in life.
Boo-fucking-who.” He mock frowns and rubs under his eye, wiping away invisible tears.
“Now that motherfucker thinks he can steal my wife from me. But you’re mine.” He pulls me forward by my neck, then slams me against the shelf. “Mine!”
I cry out, a loud yelp squeaking from my throat.
A searing pain shoots across my back, and I want to give in. I want to surrender like I did the night Ryan attacked me. I want to surrender like all the other times Heath lashed out .
“Tell me you’re mine, London. Tell me you’re mine, or else I’ll make sure West can never steal you from me again.”
I don’t answer him. I’m not even certain what his threat means. I’m too focused on the black spots creeping into my vision. Too focused on simply trying to breathe.
Heath leans in, his whiskey-scented breath stinging my nose, surrounding me like an invisible cloud. “Say it,” he hisses. “Say you’re mine.”
A tear slips from the corner of my eye and down my cheek.
I look Heath straight in the eye before the stars swallow me up. “I was his,” I squeak out, my throat searing with pain. “I was his before I ever became yours.”
Then the stars call me home.