Page 176 of The Morally Grey Billionaires Boxset

Two weeks later

Cade

“I’m fine,” I growl at Declan, who’s helped ease me onto the couch in the living room of my penthouse.

It took two mother-fucking-weeks to be discharged from the hospital—two miserable weeks of waiting, hoping for her to visit—and fuck, if I’m not relieved to finally be back home.

I knew she wouldn’t be here. I know she’s staying with one of her friends, but nothing prepared me for how empty the space would feel, how deserted, how lifeless my home would feel without her.

I walked inside, and the soul of the place seemed to have been sucked out of it.

Fucking hell, it’s not like she was here that long, yet the thought of being here without her sends a shudder of despair up my spine.

Declan straightens. “Should I get some water for you, and place it within reaching distance?”

“Nope.” I lower my chin to my chest.

“Sure you don’t want me to help you upstairs to bed. Those stairs can be a bit much to navigate right now.”

“I’m hurt, not dead,” I scoff. “I can make my way upstairs, thank you very much.”

“Hmm.” He strokes his chin. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Yep.”

“Sure you don’t want to organize for some help around the house?”

“Yep.”

He leans forward on the balls of his feet. “You going to keep acting like the spoiled, pissy boy then?”

“Yep.” I pause, then scowl up at him. “Ha, ha, very funny, Beauchamp.”

“All part of the service, King.”

I blow out a breath. “Sorry for acting like a woman on her period—" I wince. “Forget I said that. Didn’t mean to insult the fairer sex.”

He stares. “You apologized for an insult that’s second-nature to your misogynistic self?”

I scowl. “Trying to turn over a new leaf, but it’s not easy.”

“Most good things in life aren’t easy to come by.”

I angle my head. “Are we talking about the same thing?”

“Aren’t you talking about winning her back?”

“No… Yes—" I rub the back of my neck, then wince when the wound in my side protests. “I don’t know.”

He walks around the table and sprawls in my recliner, then turns around and throws one leg over the armrest. Fucker makes himself comfortable, like he’s going to stay here for a while.

“Umm, don’t recall inviting you to stay.”

“That’s fine, I invited myself.”

“Motherfucker,” I say without heat.

“Charming, King. This how you treat a friend who’s gone out of his way to accommodate your crabby bouts of anger?”

I force my shoulders to relax. “Sorry about that; you don’t deserve it.”

He stares again. “Fucking hell, is it sunny outside?”

I glance at the gloomy weather out the window, then back to him. “The fuck you talking about?”

“Two apologies in as many minutes. Surely, it means the weather’s about to turn or something.”

“Har, har.” I sink deeper into the settee. “You’re full of witticisms, aren’t you?”

“Someone’s got to lighten the mood. Not that you deserve an iota of lightheartedness in your life right now.”

I lower my chin to my chest. “I deserve that, and more. You should hear the reaming Zara gave me when I finally regained consciousness after the surgery. She didn’t give a fuck that I almost lost my life.

Well, she did. She even allowed herself to cry tears of relief that I was okay.

Then she wiped the moisture off her cheeks and proceeded to tear me a new arsehole. ”

He winces. “Ouch, not very pleasant.”

“Especially not when you’re still woozy with anesthetics.” I lock my fingers over my stomach. “I could have done with some tender loving care right about then, only—"

“She wasn’t there.”

“Yeah. Zara told me she stayed until the doctors confirmed I was going to be okay. Then, the two of them had a quick catch up, where she told Zara she was now my ex-fiancée, and she needed time and space to figure things out. Then she left.”

“Surely, not a surprising outcome, considering how much of a twat you’ve been to her.”

“Only I told her that I—" I glance away. “That I—"

“That you love her,” he says gently.

“Yeah.”

“And you think just because you told her, she should forgive everything you did to her? After how you turned her life upside down?”

I flinch, keep my gaze averted. To be honest, the thought had crossed my mind, yes. Clearly, I’m more of a prick than I gave myself credit for.

He sees the look on my face and shakes his head. “You have a thing or two to learn about women.”

I shoot him a disbelieving look. “And you’re the one to teach it to me, I suppose?”

He laughs. “Not me, but them.”

“Who?”

The front door swings open, and JJ walks in, followed by Sinclair and Michael.

“Oh, fuck, that’s all I need—the three wise men, coming here to give me a sermon, no doubt.”

JJ’s eyebrows slash down. “You motherfucking douchebag. You should be grateful you get a chance to learn at the feet of the masters.”

I scoff, then shake my head. I’m going to change.

That’s my promise to myself, since I woke up and found her gone, remember?

Not that it’s going to be easy. Not that I want to be told just how much of a worm I am—believe me, I know it—and not by these men who’ve found their soulmates and are fucking happy with their lot, and…

I’m sodding envious of them. The realization sinks in, and it must show on my features, for JJ snorts.

“Exactly, you shitstain, now you get why you should be zipping it and listening to what we have to say.”

I raise my hands. “I’ll hold onto every word.”

Michael snorts, then trains those dark eyes on me. The menace emanating from him reminds me the ex-Mafia Don is not to be trifled with.

“Thank you for your help taking care of that bastard.”

He tilts his head. “He’s being kept alive until you get a chance to decide on his fate.”

Yeah, that scum-of-the-earth stalker is in the hospital, being guarded by cops who are on JJ’s payroll.

Despite being bashed over the head with a skillet and thrown down the fire escape, the motherfucker survived.

Not for long, though. Once I’m well enough, I plan to finish off the job.

JJ also made sure the police wouldn’t bother Abby about it.

It’s the least I could do for her, after all.

Sinclair, who headed to the kitchen when they arrived, comes back with a tray filled with mugs. Steam swirls from their contents.

I eye the mug of liquid he slides in front of me. It has what looks like a tea bag floating on the surface.

“It’s herbal tea,” he drawls at my unspoken question.

“Eh?” I blink as he walks around the room and the rest of the men, even Declan, take a cup. Then, Sinclair sits down on the other side of the couch from me.

“Drink,” he growls.

I take a sip, and gag. “The fuck is this?”

“Chamomile, it’s good for the nerves,” he says with a straight face.

“Nothing wrong with my nerves.”

“Not yet.” He smirks. Michael bares his teeth. JJ chuckles. Declan’s shoulders shake. He glances down into his cup—which I notice he’s not taken a sip from yet. Coward.

“What the fuck do you mean?” I narrow my gaze.

JJ leans back in his seat. “We’re here to teach you the art of groveling.”

“Ex-fucking-cuse me?” I splutter.

“You heard me, boy.” His grin widens. “I assume you want to win back the love of your life?”

I nod slowly.

“Then I’m afraid groveling is a rite of passage you’ll have to, sadly, endure,” he declares.

“Boyfriends, fiancés, and husbands are only as good as the grovel they give,” Michael rumbles.

Sinclair nods. “It’s the only thing that stands between a life in which you have your soulmate by your side and one in which you take a fast train to becoming a sad, lonely and bitter man who let the one slip away.”

“On that note…” Declan places the mug on the side table, then rises to his feet. “Uh, I just remembered I have somewhere very urgent to be. Good luck, ol’ chap.” The fucker pivots and marches off.

“Your time will come. Just you wait, you cumwipe,” I yell after him.

“What are you, five?” JJ snickers.

“I might as well be, the way you guys are talking to me.”

“Just calling it as we see it, dick-canard,” Sinclair says in a genial voice.

I take another sip of the tea—because why not?

My life is already in the toilet. Come to think of it, it isn’t as horrifying as the first mouthful was.

Maybe, I’m getting used to it. Which is a more frightening thought, actually.

“Is there a reason you chose this particular type of herb?” I scowl at Sinclair.

“Finally, he gets it,” Sinclair places his mug on the table next to him. JJ and Michael follow his lead.

“Personally, I never drink chamomile, but it serves its purpose,” JJ murmurs.

“Wha—?” I glance between the three men, then down at the mug of tea.

I hesitate, then take another sip, and this one goes down smoothly, leaving a trail of heat in its wake.

In fact, I dare say, a warm feeling envelops my stomach, then radiates out to my extremities.

“Huh. It really does have a bracing effect.”

“No shit,” Sinclair’s smirk widens.

“And, as you finally guessed, there’s an allegory hidden in this entire chamomile tea business.”

“There is?” I frown, then because—what the fuck, I’m going for broke here—I drain the entire fucking mug like it’s the finest whiskey and place it with a thump on the table next to me.

“Care to take a guess?” Michael drawls.

“Something to do with how the more you swallow your pride, the easier it gets?” I wager.

"And?" JJ asks.

"And that the more you humble yourself for your woman, the more used to it you get?"

Sinclair makes a circular motion with his palm, indicating I should continue.

I rise to my feet and begin to pace, slowly. My still-healing wound protests. The various aches and pains I carry from my run in with that motherfucker make themselves known, but I push them aside. Nothing like a bit of pain to cleave clarity through the myriad of thoughts running through my head.

I know what they’re trying to tell me. In fact, I’m sure I spot a glimmer of the thought I need to pin down hiding just out of view in the corner of my mind.

I stop, then turn to them. "So, what you’re trying to tell me, what I already know, but what you jokers have clarified further for me, is that I’m not getting out of this.

It needs to be an epic kind of a grovel for me to win her back? "

JJ jerks his chin. "More than epic, a grovel as deep as the Grand Canyon—"

"—Followed by a grand gesture of Everest proportions," Michael interjects.

"A grand gesture?”

"The grandest of grand gestures." Sinclair nods.

"No pressure." I laugh nervously.

"It’s only your life at stake," JJ murmurs.

A life that already belongs to her. I took a knife for her. I’d do it all over again, given a choice. It’s my fault that bastard came for her a second time anyway, and I’m going to make sure he doesn’t get another chance.

I look between them. "I’m going to do everything in my power to make it up to her. I’m going to use every resource at my disposal to win her back. But first" —I turn to Michael— “take me to her scumbag stalker. We have unfinished business."