Page 49 of From West, With Regret (NYC Billionaires #2)

I grind my teeth, certain they’re going to crack. If this is the way Heath is talking to London now, I can only imagine how it was when they were married. The thought makes my blood fucking boil.

Heath shrugs a shoulder, swaying on his feet as if he’s on the deck of a ship at sea. “I had hoped forcing you two off a cliff and to your deaths would be considered an accident.”

Fevered anger sizzles in my veins, and I clench my hands into fists.

“Asshole,” I practically hiss. “You almost killed us.”

Heath’s eyes dart to mine. “That was the point, West. You stole what was mine, and you needed to pay the price.” His eyelids flutter, and he leans to one side, unstable on his feet.

I take several steps back, landing on the creaking floorboards, and before I know it, we’re standing at the top of the stairs, outside of the closet.

“You’ve always stolen what was mine!” Heath shouts, spitting in my face.

“Now you’ve stolen my slut of a wife, and for that I’m going to do what I should have done when we were kids.

Kill you.” He raises his fist in the air, rearing his arm back to deliver a blow, but I duck before he gets the chance.

Wrapping my arms around his waist, I try to push him back into the closet, but I’m unsuccessful.

The fucker is stronger than I anticipate, and my foot is already hanging over the edge of the staircase.

Heath and I are wrapped up in each other, but I’m unable to push him back.

The alcohol has somehow made him stronger.

My feet are hanging too far over the edge for me to gain my footing.

Out of nowhere, his body stiffens against mine, and we’re tumbling.

London shrieks in the background, but she’s quickly drowned out by the sound of breaking wood, the music downstairs, and Heath’s grunts in my ear.

My back hits the wall, and my ass lands on one of the steps.

I try to let go of Heath, but his grip around me is relentless, and he pulls me until I’m flying over him.

I brace myself for the blow surely coming to my head.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I wait for the pain.

The edge of the step slams into my spine, and I can’t figure out what’s up and what’s down. We just keep rolling.

At some point, Heath and I come to a stop. My head pounds, and my body aches, but I’m quick to my feet.

Heath’s fist is the first thing I see when I gather the strength to look up.

It connects with my jaw, and I stumble backward.

I grab onto a chair in the dining room and slump over.

Blood spills from my mouth onto the rich, dark wood, a sickness washing over me.

The bar is quiet now. The live band has stopped playing, and when I look around, the entire crowd has fallen back, creating a circle around us.

Every single person is frozen, staring at us.

I try to catch my breath. I spit, letting the blood spray to the floor. A sharp pain stabs at my ribs from the inside, the sensation even more intense when I try to take a breath.

London races down the stairs, pushing through the outer edge of the crowd to get to me. Her eyes are wide with shock, bouncing between Heath and me.

Heath stands on the opposite end of the circle the crowd has made, close to the front door. Blood spills from the top of his head, down the side of his face.

When London reaches me, she places her hand on my back, urging me to focus on her.

But I don’t trust Heath. I don’t trust him as long as he’s near London.

His mission is to kill the both of us, and I have no reason to believe he won’t follow through on that promise, even if there are hundreds of witnesses.

I wipe the back of my hand across my mouth when someone emerges from the crowd, standing between Heath and me.

My mother steps back unsteadily, her mouth agape.

“Heath?” She glances back and forth between her two sons.

At first, I think she’s looking at me with just as much surprise and unanswered questions swimming in her mind.

Then I recognize her expression. The one of suspicion, as if I somehow knew Heath has been alive this whole time.

As if I knew about Heath’s insane scheme to fake his own death. Like I must be involved in some way.

“Mom,” Heath slurs, unable to make eye contact with her. He sways again, stumbling on his own feet. Falling back on his heels, he crashes into a group of people near the middle of the dining room. No one catches him, gasping as they step back, allowing him to fall to the floor in a heap.

Groaning, he rolls onto his side and attempts to stand. He squeezes his eyes shut, staying on his hands and knees as he attempts to regain his bearings.

“What are you doing here?” my mother asks. “How are you alive?” Tears well her black-lined eyes. She blinks, allowing them to spill over, leaving trails of white across her pink-dusted cheeks.

Alden, Holt, and Asher appear at the edges of the crowd. When they see my face, they immediately turn their attention to my brother, ready to pounce on him, but I raise my hand and shake my head. I don’t want to make this a bigger scene than it already is. I just want my brother to leave.

“How are you here?” my mother asks Heath again.

Dots flicker in my vision, and I swear, London’s hand on my back is the only thing keeping me anchored to the floor, holding me to this earth, saving me from being swallowed up by the darkness.

Heath’s once-blue eyes have now turned completely dark. Pools of black cloud his vision as he stares at our mother. He points directly at me with a shaking, angering finger.

“My so-called brother is fucking my wife!” he booms, filling the eerily silent bar.

I immediately feel everyone’s eyes move to me. Including my mother’s.

“What?” she gasps.

“I’m not fucking her, Heath.” I snarl, anger getting the best of me. I feel lightheaded, and I think the pain from the blows to the head and falling down the stairs are starting to catch up to me, but I don’t lose focus. “I’m in love with her, and I’ve been in love with her since we were kids.”

“Kids?” my mother asks, her penciled brows pulling together. “What do you mean, West?”

Heath lets out a bitter laugh. “Oh, this is a story I’ve learned while following them over the past several months. One you won’t want to miss hearing, Mom. Old-fashioned love story right there.”

My mother turns her attention back to Heath. He begins making his way over to me, shoving chairs aside and bumping into tables along the way. The wood creaks against the marble floor.

“West and London came from the same shithole foster home,” Heath continues. “And it seems my wife’s little memory loss wasn’t so little after all. She’d forgotten all about how she was in love with West before.”

My mother covers her mouth with her hand. With teary eyes, she slowly turns to look at London, then me.

“Glenna,” London says, stepping closer. “I?— ”

“I don’t understand.” Glenna turns back to Heath, ignoring London and me.

“Heath faked his own death,” I say with as little emotion as possible. “He’s been stalking us for months. He tried to kill us when we took our trip up to Albany.”

Heath’s now standing a table length’s distance away from me, and I swear, I can still smell the whiskey on his breath. Though it could be the blood still pooling in my mouth. I can’t differentiate anything anymore.

“Is that true?” Mom asks, her eyes bulging out of her head. “Heath?”

“Yes.” He whips his head her way, staring coldly in her direction.

“How?” Her face transforms from confusion to realization. “Is that where the money went? You took it?”

“I needed it,” Heath spews, spit spraying from his lips. “I needed it to survive, and my connections at the bank assured me they wouldn’t reveal it was me.”

When my mother doesn’t respond to Heath’s confession, his bloodshot eyes search the room before landing on me.

I shudder when Heath tips his head back as another sinister, bitter laugh escapes him.

Swaying some more, he presses his hand to his chest and tips his head back, squeezing his eyes shut, his mouth wide open.

Then he lurches forward, moving around the last table separating us.

From the corners of my eyes, I see Alden and a security guard growing closer. Even if they were to jump in and intervene, though, Heath would still get to me first.

With his shoulders slumped, my brother looks up at me with hooded eyes. “Do you know what I find ironic about this whole situation, brother ?” His mouth curls, his tongue laced with poison .

“What is that, Heath?” I ask, sniffing. Whiskey and blood. It’s all I can smell and taste.

“That even as I’m finally revealing the truth to an entire room of people about how you’ve always tried to steal what’s mine, like the dirty little thief you are, you still come out looking like the hero.”

“I’m not a hero, Heath.” A cold drop of blood slides down the length of my jaw to my neck. “You’re just the fucking coward who felt the need to beat his wife to make himself look like an even bigger asshole. I didn’t have to do a fucking thing.”

“Fuck you.” Heath growls, lunging for me.

I’ve barely taken a painstaking breath when his arms wrap around me again.

He slams me onto the table. Shrieks and cries from the crowd vibrate across the bar as the force he’s used on me snaps the fragile table in half.

Splinters and shards of wood dig into my back.

The lightheaded feeling expands. Flickers of black dots pepper the edges of my vision.

I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to inhale a breath, starving for oxygen.

When I manage to crack my eyes open, I see Heath on top of me, rearing his fist back. He tries to hit me but fails, his fist missing and slipping past my shoulder. I take the opportunity to fist his shirt and pull myself up, then I slam my head to his, forcing him back.

I grit my teeth through the pain, the echoing agony expanding in my brain. It feels like it’s going to explode. More blood spills down the side of my head, and I can feel my hair sticking to my skin.

But I don’t stop. Once I pull myself to a half stand, I grab Heath by the shirt and hit him again.

Anger overtakes me, and I think of all the times he treated me like shit growing up.

I think about what London told me that first day, the truth about her marriage to Heath.

How he’d abuse her in every way he could.

I hit Heath again, forcing him to his knees in front of me.

His eyes roll back before his head falls forward, his neck going limp, unable to hold it up anymore.

Blood drips from his face, spilling into his lap.

With what little strength I have left, I wrap my hand around his arm and lift him up, thrusting him toward the front door. The crowd clears out around him.

He stumbles back as Alden and the security guard quickly grab hold of him.

“Get out!” I shout. The bitter, metallic taste of blood is impossibly stronger. One of my eyes is already swelling shut, but my vision of my brother is still clear. “Get the fuck out.”

He resists the security guard and Alden’s hold, but they don’t let up.

“Fuck you! You can’t order me to do shit.” Heath shouts, still trying to jerk away from Alden.

I have half a mind to call the police and turn him in for faking his own death.

But when I see Glenna standing on the edges of the crowd, tears streaming down her face, something inside me cracks.

Her shoulders are wracking with sobs. All Glenna ever wanted was two boys.

Two boys to love, and while Heath doesn’t deserve her, he’s still her son.

He’s her flesh and blood. I’m thankful for the gift of a stable life she was able to give me, and while I’ve always thought of her as my own mother, that’s one fact I’ve never been able to understand. A fact I’ve always been envious of.

Glenna looks at Heath the way I’d always wished my own mother would have been able to look at me.

Her obvious heartbreak causes me to make a split-second decision—one I’m not certain Heath deserves—because all I want to do is move on.

To live my life with London, hoping my brother will take his second chance and slip back into the shadows.

We can each live our own lives without interfering with the other.

“It’s over Heath,” I tell him, sticking out my chin. I clutch onto my side, another sharp pain like a dagger to the ribs. “Leave before I come to my senses and turn you in.”

“Fuck you.” He huffs, still defiant. I know part of his stubbornness is from how drunk he is, but not all of it. It’s in Heath’s nature not to let go and admit defeat. “Always so disgustingly soft. Something that will always be your downfall.”

I nod my head toward Alden, silently telling him to take Heath outside. He nods in acknowledgement.

Walking backward, they lead Heath through the front door and don’t let go until they’ve reached the sidewalk, which is still crowded, filled with the line of guests waiting to gain entry. All of them have now turned their attention to the scene that’s continuing to play on outside.

“I’ll be back for her,” Heath says, staring blankly at me before shifting his attention to London beside me. He narrows his eyes, wiping the back of his hand under his bleeding nose. “I’ll be back for you, my sweet little cunt.”

She slips her hand in mine, and only then do Heath’s bloodshot eyes fall.

The corner of his mouth tilts as he continues walking backward. The streets of New York City are alive. Bright neon lights flash, and traffic whizzes by, everyone out there oblivious to what’s happening.

Heath continues stepping back, his foot wobbling on the edge of the curb. He slips between two parked cars, stumbling onto the street.

London’s hand falls away from mine as my blood grows cold.

“Heath.” Her voice is unsteady. “Heath, stop.”

My stomach lurches with sickness, watching him continue to step backward, never taking his eyes off us.

He’s sloppy and lazy, unaware of how far he’s wandered.

His feet scrape against the rain-soaked street.

The reflection of the surrounding lights brighten his skin, highlighting the blood and bruises from our fight.

But they also highlight the sheer bitterness and anger engrained in his expression.

“I’ll come back for you,” he calls. “And I’ll take you down with me.”

He takes another unsteady step backward into the street, into the traffic lane, past the cars parallel parked along the edge.

I follow London as she moves forward, but we barely make it to the point where the sidewalk meets the street before I hear her bone-chilling scream and feel my face splatter with blood I know isn’t mine.