Page 50 of Piggy

Charlotte

Keysha steps back, admiring her work. “It suits you.”

I glance in the mirror, surprised. The dark lowlights warm my features, and the curls fall effortlessly over my shoulders in a nice shape. Controlled. Feminine. I don’t feel like a girl pretending to be pretty. I feel good in my own skin.

Grayson crosses the room slowly, eyes glued to me like I’ve been gone a year. He stops just close enough to touch, pinching a single curl between his fingers, then letting it fall.

“It’s... different,” he mumbles.

Keysha arches a brow. “Different? She’s fire.”

He doesn’t answer. Just watches me with that look that stirs butterflies in my chest.

She grabs her purse and winks at me. “I’ll leave you two alone.”

As she heads for the door, Atticus comes downstairs. Tall, lean, collared shirt ironed to perfection. His hair is neat, and his jaw clean-shaven. He’s no Brax. Less bulk, less bravado. But there’s a quiet confidence in the way he moves.

He’s older now. Twenty. He started interning as a game designer, working in the world-building segment. He loves it. He even got his first kiss last year.

With Keysha.

His eyes light up when she smiles at him. He straightens his spine and steps closer, only a little fidgety. “You look—”

She lifts a finger before he can finish. “No fantasy movie references, mister.”

His smile curves, more relaxed this time. “You look gorgeous .”

She primps her hair and looks my way. “Damn right. This man knows how to talk to a woman.”

Then, she laces her fingers in his. They leave without another word. When the door clicks shut, silence closes around us.

I muse. “Atticus and Keysha... Think Brax will be mad his little brother is dating his ex when he finds out?”

Grayson shifts. “Brax wanted Meghan dead after I told him about the van. We set a truce. He knows you’re safer with me. He loves you in his own way. He loves Atticus, too. He will be happy for them.”

I nod. “Good. Atticus deserves it. After all, he saved us, huh?”

He tilts his head. “ You tied me up.”

“You’re still mad?”

“No. I just haven’t forgotten.”

I laugh once, then glance at the small scar on my arm. A reminder. The bullet went clean through, but the memory isn’t clean at all. “It was chaos.”

His voice dips into that place. Dark, velvety, and intimate. Dangerous, really. “You think I don’t remember? Your body shaking. Fuck... that scream.”

His eyes lower.

I still shiver under his intense gaze, drowning in it. Love it. I blurt to break the tension, “Are you ever sad Meghan died?”

He furrows his brow, his confusion clear. “You’re my world. No other women visit my thoughts.”

I beam, but his answer twists something deep inside me. I lower my gaze to the ring on my finger, brushing the band. The metal is cool, but the memory behind it burns.

We married on the beach, not far from the docks where we had lunch every day. Nothing fancy, yet perfect.

Atticus gave me away. Keysha, my maid of honor.

Everyone barefoot, but he wore a suit — so handsome — jaw tight, impatient, until he saw me step onto the beach in a flowy white dress.

His eyes widened, overflowing with love.

And like always, he couldn’t look away. He took my shaking hands and vowed he’d protect and take care of me.

Everyone clapped, but he didn’t stop staring. Not once.

Because Grayson adores me. Worships me, really. In his own way .

His touch pulls me back as he moves closer, startling me as my back hits the counter.

I blink. My voice is small, but honest. “Do you not like my hair because you’re worried I’d leave you?”

“Cute,” he says, dragging his fingers along my arm. “You still think I’d let you leave.”

The silence pulses, thick with desire... and even fear. He sees me squirm, and he chuckles.

“Relax. Your hair is beautiful. Although, if you get too much attention, I’ll cut it off myself.”

I give a half-smile and tease sweetly, “Worried about men who might kidnap me?”

His lip curls. “Not on my watch, but do you want me to put the mask back on?”

I don’t answer. I can’t. Because I do.

Instead, I change the subject. “It’s wild the police never figured out what happened.”

“They were distracted,” he says flatly. “A woman mauled to death by a pig. A house full of strangers and endless DNA. A place of sex, drugs, and sin. Too many suspects to count. And a cop left dead. A bad cop. They wanted to forget about that case.”

“True. Riser wasn’t even his real name.”

Grayson nods. “He manipulated everything. Helped Meghan get me behind bars again. He probably wrote the police report after they tried to force you to write that letter. I bet helped Meghan avoid arrest that day. ”

He turns to the fridge, pulls out a water bottle, and hands it to me without asking.

“Thank you,” I say shyly.

“Drink. You’re dehydrated.”

I open it with a warm smile. He’s right. He’s always watching me, taking care of me. Even when he’s calm, there’s a tension in his shoulders, ready if I need him. I am his world.

I take a swig, then say, “I’m so relieved we got Wilbur back.”

“You mean, you’re glad I broke into Animal Control and stole him before they killed him.”

“You saved him. Not stole,” I tease.

“Yes, well, that pig loves you. Clearly.”

I nod proudly. “He was protecting the only mom he’s ever known. Me!”

“That’s why I got him for you in the first place,” he says. “Wanted to see if you liked caring for something helpless.” His voice drops a little further. “Like a child.”

My breath stalls.

His gaze burns down to my stomach.

“Wait... are—”

“I want to put a baby in you,” he says, unflinching. He lifts me onto the counter, settling between my thighs. “We talked about it a long time ago. You would be a great mother, Charlotte. You want one?”

I am stunned . He married me, sure, but he wants a family. To be a father. He sees it possible now, with me .

“I—uh—now?”

“I’m a supervisor at the docks. You’ve got your EMT job. And if you want to be home with the baby, I’ll make it happen. I already did once. I’ll do it again.”

His hands grip my hips, possessive and steady.

“I want one,” he repeats. “With you. Do you want to be the mother of my children?”

I hesitate, breath quick. Then, “Yes. God, yes!”

A flash of happiness lights his face. “Good. Because I swapped your birth control with placebos.”

My mouth drops. “ What! ”

He smirks. “Kidding.”

“You’re insane.”

“You like me this way.”

I swallow, then tap my chin. “Well... I do, but I also want to tie you up again.”

His brows pinch. “No.”

“I want to do it, though! Like before.”

He stares. Long. Quiet. Then shakes his head.

“Come on,” I whisper.

I won’t give in. So louder, I shout, “It’s be fun! One second!”

I slide off the counter and head for the closet, opening the box I stashed there days ago.

Inside: a mask, a coil of rope, a knife.

I pull them out and dress the part. Mask on. Shirt off. Bra unclasped. Pants kicked away until I’m bare and ready... there, perfect .

When I return to the kitchen, rope in one hand, knife in the other, I stand tall and command, “Hands behind your back, prisoner.”

Grayson smirks for just a second, his gaze smoldering with that quiet fire he keeps just behind his eyes.

I point the blade. “I said now. ”

He tilts his head, slow and predatory. “You have blood on your knee.”

“What?” I glance down, studying it. “Hey... There’s no blood—”

I look up.

Grayson’s gone.