Page 62 of Hunted Innocence

But if they hear that Grayson feels a certain way, that could make them see me differently, too. I can’t take anyone elselooking at me that way, like there is something wrong with me when I didn’t do anything.

My life has never been my own, and this is just another way that I’m a victim. I hate it. I don’t want to be this object that Landon Tate broke. I don’t want to be this untouchable creature. I am more than just a survivor. I want to thrive, and I want to do that with someone who doesn’t see me as broken.

After a good, long cry, I stand and walk over to the sofa, sinking down on the cushion. Turning the television on, I blink at the sight in front of me. It’s a picture of Landon Tate on the news.

I turn the volume up so I can hear what the news anchor is saying. “Landon Tate, who was on administrative leave from the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives, was found deceased a few weeks ago in the bathroom of the Willow Club. His toxicology has come back, and it showed that he died from a fentanyl overdose. The investigation into his death is now closed.”

I turn the television off and sink my teeth into the inside of my cheek, worrying the skin back and forth a few times. It is truly finished. Done. As his wife, I should probably go back to Washington, where he’s been stationed, and clean out his shit, but I don’t want to.

In fact, if the world could forget we were ever married, that would be the best outcome. I know I’ve forgotten—or at least tried my hardest. I’m sure that there are some legalities I’m supposed to be handling as his estranged wife, but I don’t care enough to figure them out. I’m glad he’s gone, and I want to forget he ever existed.

There is a knock on the door that causes my spine to straighten. The sun has set, it is past nightfall, and nobody should be here, knocking or otherwise. I look at the door but don’t make a motion to move from my place on the sofa.

My gaze slides to the locks, and I take them in to ensure that they are indeed locked. Then, as if I’m doing it with my mind or something, the dead bolt begins to slowly unlock. The handle turns, and the door opens.

I’m sure I am staring at the door wide-eyed and lips parted in shock. Grayson walks through, closing it behind him before he lifts his gaze to meet mine. His brows snap together, and he tilts his head to the side in an unasked question, but one that I understand.

“I wasn’t expecting anyone,” I say.

He hums but doesn’t explain to me why he’s here or what’s going on. Instead, he closes the distance between us, walking around my sofa before he sinks down on the edge of the coffee table in front of me.

“Grayson?” I ask.

He shakes his head once, which causes my lips to snap shut. Sucking in a breath, I hold it for a moment, then let it out slowly as I wait for whatever it is he’s going to lay on me. His lips slowly curve up into a smile, and my entire body freezes as he reaches into his pocket and produces a small box.

“Grayson?” I breathe.

“I’m not going to ask you to marry me,” he begins, “but I know that having you by my side until the day I die won’t ever be enough. I could never see you as damaged. Be mine. Move in with me. Don’t leave.”

I want to tell him yes.

I want to wrap my arms around him, kiss him, and tell him that, yes, I will love him forever and be with him forever. But I don’t do that. He opens the box, and a ring winks back at me. It’s an oval emerald with diamonds around it. I don’t get the chance to admire it because Grayson shifts forward, touches his mouth to mine, and kisses me.Hard.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

GRAYSON

Reaching for her,I slide my arms beneath her body and pick her up. Hearing her tell me that she thought I was looking at her with some kind of shame or disgust when, in actuality, it was the exact opposite.

The ring is so that she knows how much I actually do care for her. I know that marriage is probably not going to happen between us, not with her being married to Landon still. She doesn’t need to deal with the questions that would come along with anything else that has to do with him.

I carry her to the bedroom, walk her over to the bed, and slowly set her down on her feet. Placing her so that she’s flat and stable. Tilting her head back slightly, she looks up into my eyes. She’s beautiful and haunted all at the same time. I wish I could take all of that away from her, that I could make her past disappear.

But I know as much as she does that the past is what makes us appreciative of the present and the future.

“Grayson,” she breathes.

The way she says it goes straight to my dick. I promised myself that this would never happen again, that I would never fuck her again, and yet that’s the only thing I want to do. I want to slide inside of her, wrap my fingers around her throat while I fuck her until we both come.

Doing that won’t protect her in any way. I would venture to guess it would only do harm at this point, which is why I know that I need to stay away from her, at least sexually. I’m at a tough fork in the road. I want her, and I could go as far as to say that Ineedher, but the way I would need to have her is dangerous to her mental health.

And I know that all I want to do is protect her at all costs.

Instead of ripping her clothes off and taking her as roughly as I want to, I sink down to my knees. Wrapping my fingers around her hips, I guide her down to the bed, and thankfully, she sits.

I can only hope that this is enough to ease her internal anguish about me, about the way she thinks I feel. That she realizes how fucking perfect she is, but also that all I want to do is protect her and ensure her happiness.

“I haven’t had dessert in weeks, baby.”

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