Page 111 of From West, With Regret

“He’s an associate of someone I used to work with,” Heath slurs, but his anger hasn’t let up. His chest is still hard as stone under my arm. “I might have given him a heads up on an investment in the stock market.” He sniffs, narrowing his blue eyes. “But it didn’t exactly pan out how I thought, and, well...”

He has got to be fucking kidding.

This time, I’m the one narrowing my eyes.

“This is insane. You know that, right, Heath?”

“You don’t understand.” His nostrils flare. “Rhys’s family has operatives everywhere. They were tracking me and waiting for the moment to snub me for the poor advice I gave them. I tried to reason with them that any market investment advice I gave wasn’t guaranteed to be successful, but let’s just say the O’Connells don’t exactly give a shit when it comes to those sorts of details. So, I did what I had to do.”

I pull off him. The longer we stand here, the more drunk he seems. The alcohol is settling into his veins with every second. His eyes are bloodshot and lined red.

Fuck, how much has he had?

“What changed, then?” London asks, moving behind me. “If you’re supposed to be dead, why are you here?”

His expression shifts. Drunk, blue eyes darken, and the muscles in his jaw swell as he clenches them. There’s anger and fury aimed toward London. He take a step forward, jutting his chin out. “Because I found out you were fucking my brother!” he shouts. “I tried to get answers, but you’ve ignored every single one of my calls. I’ve been watching you, London. I had my suspicions. Ever since the day of my funeral.”

“You were there?” she asks.

“Of course, I was.” Heath laughs maniacally. “I needed to see how my family mourned me and what my wife had to say when she realized she was going to live without me.”

“Heath…” London’s voice is quiet, caught in disbelief. She isn’t alone.

He frowns and shakes his head in disbelief. “Not one thing.” Holding up a single finger, he wags it in the air. “Not one single sentiment fell from that pretty mouth of yours. You couldn’t say one fucking thing!”

London shudders, blinking with Heath’s increasing fury.

I look at my adoptive brother—the one who’s hated me from day one—with repulsion.

“Anyway,” he sniffs, raking his hand through his disheveled hair. “I forgave you. Chalked it up to you accepting your life as a widow in mourning. But then…” He dramatically inhales a deep breath.

“I kept watch over you, staying in the shadows like I was supposed to. It was difficult to hold back and stay hidden, but I knew I couldn’t show myself until I knew for certain. Then I saw you at Club Verona. I knew you were fucking each other then. After that, I made a plan. I followed you out to Albany and?—”

“That was you?” London cuts himoff.

“You know, babe, I’m surprised your pretty little head didn’t catch on to that earlier. You may have lost your memory, but I thought you’d at least kept your intelligence. I guess I was wrong, huh?”

“Our marriage was over long before you faked your own death, Heath,” London says.

Though that doesn’t seem to faze my brother.

I grind my teeth, certain they’re going to crack. If this is the way Heath is talking to London now, I can only imagine how it was when they were married. The thought makes my blood fucking boil.

Heath shrugs a shoulder, swaying on his feet as if he’s on the deck of a ship at sea. “I had hoped forcing you two off a cliff and to your deaths would be considered an accident.”

Fevered anger sizzles in my veins, and I clench my hands into fists.

“Asshole,” I practically hiss. “You almost killed us.”

Heath’s eyes dart to mine. “That was the point, West. You stole what was mine, and you needed to pay the price.” His eyelids flutter, and he leans to one side, unstable on his feet. I take several steps back, landing on the creaking floorboards, and before I know it, we’re standing at the top of the stairs, outside of the closet.

“You’ve always stolen what was mine!” Heath shouts, spitting in my face. “Now you’ve stolen my slut of a wife, and for that I’m going to do what I should have done when we were kids. Kill you.” He raises his fist in the air, rearing his arm back to deliver a blow, but I duck before he gets the chance. Wrapping my arms around his waist, I try to push him back into the closet, but I’m unsuccessful. The fucker is stronger than I anticipate, and my foot is already hanging over the edge of the staircase.

Heath and I are wrapped up in each other, but I’m unableto push him back. The alcohol has somehow made him stronger. My feet are hanging too far over the edge for me to gain my footing. Out of nowhere, his body stiffens against mine, and we’re tumbling. London shrieks in the background, but she’s quickly drowned out by the sound of breaking wood, the music downstairs, and Heath’s grunts in my ear.

My back hits the wall, and my ass lands on one of the steps. I try to let go of Heath, but his grip around me is relentless, and he pulls me until I’m flying over him. I brace myself for the blow surely coming to my head. Squeezing my eyes shut, I wait for the pain. The edge of the step slams into my spine, and I can’t figure out what’s up and what’s down. We just keep rolling.

At some point, Heath and I come to a stop. My head pounds, and my body aches, but I’m quick to my feet.

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