Page 48 of From West, With Regret (NYC Billionaires #2)

THIRTY-ONE

WEST

I barely heard the crashing sound coming from the closet upstairs before I was running. I shouldn’t have been able to hear it. Not when there are hundreds of people chatting downstairs and music playing. But my heart is always tied to hers, calling me.

“London!” I yell, racing up the steps. Panic overtakes me when I hear a heavy sound coming from the closet. I reach the landing, force the door open, then I’m struggling to catch my breath and understand what I’m seeing.

Heath standing over London’s lifeless body.

Ignoring the fact my brother is here and alive, I fall to the floor and crawl the two feet to her.

“London, baby,” I softly say, cradling her head in my hands. “Come on, London. Breathe.” Her neck is red, but her face is pale. A strong sensation of dread washes over me. I push her black hair aside, revealing her soft cheek, continuing to stroke my hand against her skin.

“Oh, no,” Heath mocks behind me. “Are you going to cry over the loss of my wife? ”

I ignore him, despite the instinct to fucking kill him. “You aren’t gone. You’re okay,” I tell London.

Fear creeps in, and every moment of the past fifteen years crashes into me.

The sleepless nights, wondering how I’d let London slip through my fingers.

I’d watched her disappear in the distance, and with time, I was convinced I’d never see her again.

And now that I have her back, all of her , I’m losing her all over again.

“West.” Her beautiful mouth falls open on a small gasp.

Holy shit.

Relief hits me, and I cup London’s face. She hasn’t opened her eyes, but I see her breathing. I hear the air she’s pulling in and letting out.

She’s alive.

I’m almost distracted by her proof of life until I remember why we’re here in the first place. My vision quickly turns red, and every muscle in me fights to control itself.

“What the fuck did you do?” I snap my head up to Heath.

He’s swaying, switching between using either shelf on either side of him to keep himself steady. With half-closed eyes, he glares at me lazily. “I only gave you what you deserve.”

“You could have killed her.” I pull myself to a stand in front of London. If Heath attempts to touch her again, there wouldn’t be any question as to whether he’s truly dead this time.

“I was dead,” he slurs in a somber tone. He frowns, then sluggishly lifts his arm, gesturing toward London. “But that didn’t stop you from fucking my wife.”

I grind my teeth. “She isn’t your wife.”

“The fuck she isn’t!” Heath straightens his arms at his sides, his body stiffening.

“You were dead, Heath! She was free the moment your casket was lowered into that fucking hole in the ground. ”

“Doesn’t count when I’m not in it.” He laughs. No, in fact, he cackles, like he finds all this so fucking funny.

“You treated her like shit. You abused her and treated her as if she were anything but your wife. So, don’t stand there acting all high and mighty, as if you have any argument to stand on.”

“West,” London croaks behind me. I fall to the floor again, holding her head as she tries to sit up. Her eyes roll as she tries to open them. She sits up, curling in as she starts coughing, her hand flying to her neck.

“I’m here, London,” I soothe.

She nods, then looks up at me with bloodshot eyes.

“See?” Heath releases a cynical laugh. “She’s fine.”

“How?” London asks, looking up at Heath. “How are you here?”

“Oh.” Heath swipes the open bottle of whiskey sitting on one of the shelves.

It’s practically empty, with less than a quarter of it left.

“My brother here hired some shitty security, that’s for sure.

” He looks at me. “One of your guys took a cigarette break down the alley, so I strolled in through the back door. I came up here hoping to find my wife, since this was her workspace before you let her move into your place. Then I found these.” He picks up a handful of papers and tosses them to me, followed by him guzzling down the remaining bit of liquor left in the bottle he stole.

My Big Ben charm. Dirt-covered hands. My hands.

“Seems she left them behind when you built her an entire studio at your place,” he mocks. “I guess she’s an easier fuck when she stays at your apartment instead of this shithole.”

I’m on my feet and crossing the room before I can take my next breath. I close in on Heath, pushing him back against the shelf, pressing my forearm to his chest, hoping it’ll keep him from going anywhere near London .

“You have ten seconds to explain how the fuck you are alive before I?—”

“Before you, what?” Heath raises his chin defiantly. “Before you kill me? Like you threatened everyone else who harms your precious London.”

He’s challenging me, daring me to kill him. Eyes the exact replicas of Glenna’s stare up at me, narrowed and menacing. Everything and everyone is a game to Heath.

“How do you know all of this?” I ask him, ignoring the twist of sickness in my stomach. I don’t know how the fuck my brother is still alive, but I know whatever answer he’s about to give won’t be a good or reasonable one.

The corner of Heath’s mouth tilts into a sinister smirk. He chuckles despite the hold I have on him.

“I had a plan,” he says, his eyes shifting to London. I don’t take a chance by taking my attention off him for even a second.

“A plan?”

“I had to.” His evil eyes shift back to mine. “I had to fake my death.”

“Are you serious?” I jerk my arm against him again. I knew his answer would be fucking stupid. It makes my blood boil.

“Yes. I had to.”

Silence, then…

“The helicopter pilot,” London croaks behind me.

“Unfortunate, really. Nice man.” Heath scrunches his nose, shrugging off his pilot’s death as insignificant. “But I had to do what I had to do.”

“You murdered him,” she adds.

Heath brushes her comment off again, the alcohol settling deep in his bones. That, or the man no longer has any fucking feelings whatsoever.

“Why?” London asks, her voice sounding stronger now. I don’t know whether she’s had a moment to catch her breath, but she sounds closer to me than before.

“What possible reason could have for faking your own death, Heath?” I seethe. “Who fucking does that?”

“You have no right to judge me. Not when you’ve been fucking my wife behind my back, but I should have known.”

“What? That I would betray you?” White-hot anger causes my fingers to coil. My muscles strain, holding back the inherent need to beat the shit out of him.

“It was only supposed to be for a short while,” he starts to explain. “Just long enough to convince Rhys O’Connell that I was gone. Then I was going to come back.”

“Who the hell is Rhys O’Connell?” London asks.

“He’s an associate of someone I used to work with,” Heath slurs, but his anger hasn’t let up.

His chest is still hard as stone under my arm.

“I might have given him a heads up on an investment in the stock market.” He sniffs, narrowing his blue eyes.

“But it didn’t exactly pan out how I thought, and, well. ..”

He has got to be fucking kidding.

This time, I’m the one narrowing my eyes.

“This is insane. You know that, right, Heath?”

“You don’t understand.” His nostrils flare.

“Rhys’s family has operatives everywhere.

They were tracking me and waiting for the moment to snub me for the poor advice I gave them.

I tried to reason with them that any market investment advice I gave wasn’t guaranteed to be successful, but let’s just say the O’Connells don’t exactly give a shit when it comes to those sorts of details. So, I did what I had to do.”

I pull off him. The longer we stand here, the more drunk he seems. The alcohol is settling into his veins with every second. His eyes are bloodshot and lined red.

Fuck, how much has he had ?

“What changed, then?” London asks, moving behind me. “If you’re supposed to be dead, why are you here?”

His expression shifts. Drunk, blue eyes darken, and the muscles in his jaw swell as he clenches them.

There’s anger and fury aimed toward London.

He take a step forward, jutting his chin out.

“Because I found out you were fucking my brother!” he shouts.

“I tried to get answers, but you’ve ignored every single one of my calls.

I’ve been watching you, London. I had my suspicions. Ever since the day of my funeral.”

“You were there?” she asks.

“Of course, I was.” Heath laughs maniacally. “I needed to see how my family mourned me and what my wife had to say when she realized she was going to live without me.”

“Heath…” London’s voice is quiet, caught in disbelief. She isn’t alone.

He frowns and shakes his head in disbelief. “Not one thing.” Holding up a single finger, he wags it in the air. “Not one single sentiment fell from that pretty mouth of yours. You couldn’t say one fucking thing!”

London shudders, blinking with Heath’s increasing fury.

I look at my adoptive brother—the one who’s hated me from day one—with repulsion.

“Anyway,” he sniffs, raking his hand through his disheveled hair. “I forgave you. Chalked it up to you accepting your life as a widow in mourning. But then…” He dramatically inhales a deep breath.

“I kept watch over you, staying in the shadows like I was supposed to. It was difficult to hold back and stay hidden, but I knew I couldn’t show myself until I knew for certain.

Then I saw you at Club Verona. I knew you were fucking each other then.

After that, I made a plan. I followed you out to Albany and?—”

“That was you?” London cuts him off.

“You know, babe, I’m surprised your pretty little head didn’t catch on to that earlier. You may have lost your memory, but I thought you’d at least kept your intelligence. I guess I was wrong, huh?”

“Our marriage was over long before you faked your own death, Heath,” London says.

Though that doesn’t seem to faze my brother.