Page 50 of From West, With Regret (NYC Billionaires #2)
THIRTY-TWO
LONDON
I figured I would be accustomed to the taste of blood by now, but it’s different when it isn’t your own.
West’s arms had just wrapped around me, dragging me toward the front of The Veiled Door, trying to pull me back from seeing Heath’s ravaged body smeared across the concrete.
He was too late.
I’d witnessed all of it. Heard it. Felt it.
The large New York City tour bus is splattered with Heath’s blood, but so are we.
It screeched to a halt, stopping as soon as it hit him.
Heath is dead. Officially.
Taking all his lies, deceit, and vengeance with him.
Snapping my mouth shut, I get a true taste of Heath’s blood. Bitter and sour. Pungent.
I vomit all over the wet pavement.
It’s only a matter of minutes before the crowd both gathers and disperses, all at the same time. It moves like a current to where Heath’s crushed body is smeared across the city street.
My hands shake uncontrollably, and when I finally gather the courage to look up and see West staring directly at me, reality sets in.
Blood is sprayed across my hands, like the splatter of spray paint I’d once used on a commissioned piece I’d done back in college for a friend of mine. I frantically try to wipe it away, but the dots just spread into streaks, coating my skin like faded ink.
“London.” West’s bloodied, bruised hands cradle my face, imploring me to look up at him. His face is covered with cuts, and I can’t tell which drops of blood are his, and which are Heath’s. He’s covered in it.
“West,” my voice quivers. “I tried?—”
“I know. It wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t your fault.”
“I tried to stop him but—” Heath has spent months stalking me, nearly killing us in the process, and although my love for him no longer exists, still, witnessing the death of your ex-husband, watching as his body turns to mush on the pavement, is something I would have never wished for Heath.
“There was nothing you could have done, London,” West says, blood dripping from his chin.
“No!” Glenna emerges from the front of the bar, racing across the sidewalk to try and reach her son, screaming at the top of her lungs, but Alden and the security guard posted at the front entrance of The Veiled Door stop her.
“Heath!” she shouts, trying her best to fight against their hold, but she quickly gives up, collapsing onto the wet pavement.
Her shoulders wrack with sobs and she rocks back and forth, clutching her chest. “My son!” she wails. “My son.”
I bite down on my bottom lip, trying to wrap my head around how the best night of my life turned into one of the worst.
Turning my attention back to West, I look up at him with watery eyes. Tears spill down my cheeks, and when I see the large gash to his temple, I gasp. Reaching up, I press my hand to it, trying to stop the bleeding.
The red splatter of blood has turned an unnatural shade of black, soaking into West’s green suit. I’ve never seen blood like this before.
Forcing myself out of the shock inside me feels like I’m being yanked back down to earth. West is my entire world, and he doesn’t look the same. He stumbles forward.
I catch him. “West, what’s wrong?” I ask, panic stricken.
“My ribs hurt and my head,” he mutters.
I look up at the spot where my hand meets his temple. Blood leaks between my fingertips. “West.” I chew on the inside of my cheek, frantically searching for an ambulance or for anyone who can help.
“I’m okay, Dimples,” he croaks, his voice too light.
He doesn’t look okay.
He slumps forward again, and I catch him a second time, cradling his head against my chest.
Flashing red and blue lights flicker against the front of West’s bar, and relief trickles down my spine. “An ambulance is here, West. Just hang on.”
I wave my free arm frantically in the air, calling them over.
The paramedics rush to the spot where the bus crashed into Heath, but one runs over to me, noticing West slumped against me.
“What’s going on here?” the paramedic asks.
“He has an injury to his head.” I remove my hand and show him the wound. “He’s also complaining about his ribs.”
“Seriously, Dimples,” West breathes, exhausted. “I’m okay. It’s just a scratch.”
“Stop, West.” I run my hand along the back of his head. The thought of losing him is unimaginable. I already spent fifteen years without him.
The paramedic leaves to grab a gurney, pulling it up behind him.
West lifts his gaze long enough to look me in the eye.
Fresh tears fall from me as he raises his hand and brushes my cheek.
“If you think I’m leaving you now, London, after all this time, you have another thing coming.
My love for you is endless, and I won’t let a fucking scratch to the head or bruise to the ribs take me from you. ”
I sob harder, his words hitting me.
“I love you.” I lean down and press my lips to his before he’s sitting back onto the gurney.
“I love you, too.” Tilting his head back, he squeezes his eyes shut and grunts in pain, still clutching his side. Then his eyes crack open to find his mother still crumpled on the sidewalk. “Make sure my mom is okay. Please .”
I tremble and suck in a quick breath. “I will, but I’m going with you to the hospital.”
There’s no fucking way I’m leaving West.
“Were you a witness to what happened here?” The paramedic nods his head toward the grisly scene.
“Yes.” My voice is weak and uncertain.
“The police will need a statement from you.”
I open my mouth to protest, but West stops me. “I’ll be okay, London. We’ll find each other afterward. We always do.”
His words hit me like an arrow aimed straight for my heart. “Fine.” I whisper, not arguing.
“I love you.” West kisses the back of my hand before surrendering to allow the paramedics to do their work.
Once they start to wheel West toward the ambulance, I meet Glenna where she is on the pavement.
Julianna and Selene are kneeling beside her, and when they see me, they stand. Glenna looks up with her tear-stained cheeks .
“London,” she sobs.
I kneel beside her and look at her with sympathy. Despite how horrible her son was and the pain he caused not just me, but to everyone around him, I feel for her.
Although I felt the love from my adoptive mother, I never felt this type of love.
The kind where they would do absolutely anything for their child.
Cut from the same cloth, walking around with the same blood coursing through their veins.
The kind of motherly love where they wouldn’t willingly leave this world while their child was still in it.
My mother’s love wasn’t that deep, but I know Glenna’s was for Heath.
“Glenna.” My chin trembles. “I’m so sorry.”
I’m not just sorry for Heath’s death. I’m sorry he lied to her, keeping his true colors hidden.
Her eyes soften, and for the first time since we met, she’s looking at me with love and kindness, no more bitterness.
Only understanding. While I could also be angry at her for all she’s accused me and West of these past few months, I’m not.
I only feel sympathy for a woman who has nearly lost everyone she’s ever loved and been betrayed by her first born.
“He was my son.” Her brows pull together, her eyes softening with tears.
“I know.” Opening my arms, I pull her to me. I hold her and allow her to cry into my shoulder for what feels like forever until a police officer is standing above us.
“Excuse me, ma’am,” she says, holding a notepad in her hand. “Are you the wife of the victim?”
I let go of Glenna, pull myself to a stand. “I was.”
The police officer’s brows knit before she tips her head back. “May I speak with you about what happened here?”
I nod once, then turn back to look down at Glenna.
She reaches up and grabs my hand, shifting her attention to the back of the ambulance before she turns back to me and gives my hand a reassuring squeeze. “Take care of my son.”
My chest warms, despite the cold, darkness of tonight. I squeeze Glenna’s hand back. “Always.”
After she lets me go, I follow the police officer over to her vehicle parked along the curb.
We pass the ambulance, where West was taken to moments earlier.
The back doors are open, and there are at least two paramedics hooking him up to various machines.
They’ve removed his suit jacket and tie, leaving his button-down shirt open, revealing his tattooed chest. One of the paramedics is hunched over, examining his side. Torrential waves of emotion fill me.
My love for West.
The betrayal of Heath faking his own death.
Him on a mission to kill both of us.
My memories coming back to me after all these years.
Everything crashes into me as I follow the policewoman and take in the scene outside of The Veiled Door.
The bus that killed Heath is in the middle of the lane, and the crowd surrounding it has dispersed.
Police caution tape now blocks off its perimeter, preventing onlookers from getting too close.
A chill slinks down my spine from the memory of Heath’s hand around my neck, promising me I would forever be his.
Then I remember the strength in my voice when I fought back and spoke my truth without any fear.
Taking in a deep breath, I look away from the evolving crime scene and toward the still-open ambulance to find West’s kind, blue eyes staring directly at me.
A familiar sense of calm wraps around me, the same as it was the day I walked into The Veiled Door for the very first time.
When West was behind the bar. I may not have had my memory then, but I think, looking back on it now, I loved him at first sight.
When the ambulance doors shut, and I turn to the policewoman, with her pen poised to take my statement, I decide to leave my past behind.
This time, for good.