Page 2 of Wicked Minds
Because now the power to destroy me is in his hands.
My fingers are chilled to the bone as I hug myself, my breathing catching on a sob as the rough edges of panic prick at the edges of my mind.
There is absolutely nothing I can do, andthatis what is so terrifying. The fact that I have no control over what Royce does with this knowledge.
If he tells Logan.
If he tells Grayson.
I shudder at the thought. Which reminds me, I haven’t locked my door—in case Royce skips straight home to tell them and Grayson comes storming over here to choke me out again. Not that a flimsy lock would keep him out for long, but still. I reach up and flip it, the click of the bolt sliding into place only offering me a modicum of relief as I sag against the door.
Eyes falling closed, I bring my knees up as my head drops back.
It’s your secret to tell.
I think they should know the truth.
The laugh that leaves me is mirthless.
In the span of one sentence, Royce went from giving me hope that he might keep this to himself to making me think he’ll tell the others—especially if I don’t.
He promised to keep both Grayson and Logan away, but now that I think back on it, he never promised not to tell them about Aurora.
Although I had left his car with the sense that he wouldn’t.
Do I believe him? Can I trust him? Do I have a choice?
I huddle against the door, struggling to breathe past the weight pressing down on my chest. Squeezing my eyes shut, I force myself to suck in a shaky breath, filling my lungs and holding it for the count of three before slowly blowing it out. I need to ground myself. Need to put a stop to this spiral beforeit escalates. Freaking out won’t do me any good. It won’t help Aurora.
I need to be strong.
I need to accept that there is nothing I can do to change this situation. Royce will do whatever he does. The best thing I can do now is prepare myself.
There is still a shakiness in my limbs as I push to my feet and lift my chin, standing tall in the face of what could be my ruination.
What will be will be, and there is only one place I can go to work through this fear and construct the armor I’m going to need for the battle ahead. To prepare myself to go toe-to-toe with three sinful devils.
The dance studio.
It takes hours. I spend all afternoon in the dance studio, the pounding rhythm of the music a cathartic release to the terror gripping me. With every spin, I shed the weight of that despair, and with every leap, I reclaimed my inner strength, using the powerful beat of the music to hammer it into determined resolve.
By the time I leave the dance studio, I’m brimming with fiery perseverance and ungodly rage. My feet slap against the sidewalk as I march back to my apartment. Except, it’s not the street before me that I see, it’s Logan’s fucking face when he sneered at me in the bathroom that day. Grayson’s haughty smirk when he told me to get on my knees for Royce. Royce’s indifference when he loomed over me on the sofa that first morning.
I stomp up the stairs to my apartment with all the fury of a woman scorned.
How dare Logan simply take Grayson at his word. Aftermonthsof chasing after me. Hadn’t I earned the fucking right to defend myself? To express my side before he fell into line at Grayson’s side?
Don’t even get me fucking started on Grayson. Hisaudacity. The fucking arrogance. I’m boiling with fury over how he thought he had any right to kidnap and hold me hostage. He might be hurting, but it is no excuse for his actions.
Reaching my apartment, I let the door slam behind me as I go straight to the bathroom, turning the water in the shower to scalding before stripping out of my clothes.
Just like dancing purged me of my fear, the shower does a good job of dulling my wrath to a simmering anger. By the time I step out, steam fogs up the bathroom mirror, and wrapping a towel around myself, I step up to it. I deliberately kept the lights off in the dance studio so I wouldn’t have to see the marks I know litter my skin from last night, but I can’t ignore the damage for much longer.
Taking a fortifying breath, I swipe a hand across the mirror.
I suck in a breath as my gaze zeroes in on my neck, already purple and blue from Grayson’s bite, before slowly dipping lower over the little nicks across my chest, the harsh red lines from Grayson’s blade.
Closing my eyes, images from last night flick through my mind. Of Grayson’s rigid stance as he stood in the kitchen, exuding hatred like sweat from his pores while the air crackled with the sheer intensity of his wrath.
