Page 109 of From West, With Regret

“Tell me you’re mine, London. Tell me you’re mine, or else I’ll make sure West can never steal you from me again.”

I don’t answer him. I’m not even certain what his threat means. I’m too focused on the black spots creeping into my vision. Too focused on simply trying to breathe.

Heath leans in, his whiskey-scented breath stinging my nose, surrounding me like an invisible cloud. “Say it,” he hisses. “Say you’re mine.”

A tear slips from the corner of my eye and down my cheek.

I look Heath straight in the eye before the stars swallow me up. “I was his,” I squeak out, my throat searing with pain. “I was his before I ever became yours.”

Then the stars call me home.

THIRTY-ONE

WEST

I barely heard the crashing sound coming from the closet upstairs before I was running. I shouldn’t have been able to hear it. Not when there are hundreds of people chatting downstairs and music playing. But my heart is always tied to hers, calling me.

“London!” I yell, racing up the steps. Panic overtakes me when I hear a heavy sound coming from the closet. I reach the landing, force the door open, then I’m struggling to catch my breath and understand what I’m seeing.

Heath standing over London’s lifeless body.

Ignoring the fact my brother is here and alive, I fall to the floor and crawl the two feet to her.

“London, baby,” I softly say, cradling her head in my hands. “Come on, London. Breathe.” Her neck is red, but her face is pale. A strong sensation of dread washes over me. I push her black hair aside, revealing her soft cheek, continuing to stroke my hand against her skin.

“Oh, no,” Heath mocks behind me. “Are you going to cry over the loss ofmywife?”

I ignore him, despite the instinct to fucking kill him. “You aren’t gone. You’re okay,” I tell London.

Fear creeps in, and every moment of the past fifteen years crashes into me. The sleepless nights, wondering how I’d let London slip through my fingers. I’d watched her disappear in the distance, and with time, I was convinced I’d never see her again. And now that I have her back,all of her, I’m losing her all over again.

“West.” Her beautiful mouth falls open on a small gasp.

Holy shit.

Relief hits me, and I cup London’s face. She hasn’t opened her eyes, but I see her breathing. I hear the air she’s pulling in and letting out.

She’s alive.

I’m almost distracted by her proof of life until I remember why we’re here in the first place. My vision quickly turns red, and every muscle in me fights to control itself.

“What the fuck did you do?” I snap my head up to Heath.

He’s swaying, switching between using either shelf on either side of him to keep himself steady. With half-closed eyes, he glares at me lazily. “I only gave you what you deserve.”

“You could have killed her.” I pull myself to a stand in front of London. If Heath attempts to touch her again, there wouldn’t be any question as to whether he’s truly dead this time.

“I was dead,” he slurs in a somber tone. He frowns, then sluggishly lifts his arm, gesturing toward London. “But that didn’t stop you from fucking my wife.”

I grind my teeth. “She isn’t your wife.”

“The fuck she isn’t!” Heath straightens his arms at his sides, his body stiffening.

“You were dead, Heath! She was free the moment your casket was lowered into that fucking hole in the ground.”

“Doesn’t count when I’m not in it.” He laughs. No, in fact, he cackles, like he finds all this so fucking funny.

“You treated her like shit. You abused her and treated her as if she were anything but your wife. So, don’t stand there acting all high and mighty, as if you have any argument to stand on.”

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