Page 45 of Judgment Day

“What about that thing?” Leo pointed at the device in my hand. “The fuck even is that, anyway?”

The bottom of the handle was blunt and heavy. It was metal.

“This could work.” I bent down and grabbed the knife. “And trust me, you don’t want to know.”

Almost an hour, a whole lot of curse words and sweat later, and all the stalls were open.

Leo pulled his phone from his back pocket. “I’ll call Chandler and we’ll get them to the safehouse.”

The safehouse. Where Lyric was. Where her thoughts were flooded with the same as mine—these girls needed help. Wherewewere the same. Where she waited with eyes as blue as the ocean and lips that moaned my name. A deep, physical craving pulled at my gut and drew out my next words. “No. I’m going with you this time.”

TWENTY SEVEN

The only wayto our cabin was by winding roads through the Appalachian Mountains. It was a large A-frame with windows overlooking the valley. Pretty sure it was an airbnb before Chandler bought it. There were eight bedrooms—five upstairs and three downstairs—and six baths.

I thought I loved the fast pace of New York life, the thrill of not knowing what would happen next… until I was forced to slow down. Now, I loved gardens and libraries and valleys covered in evergreens.

It was customary to name a cabin, at least from what I’d seen. Lincoln called ours Hallowed Ground. It was sacred. Evil didn’t exist within these walls.

We had ten girls. We’d just sent five back out into the world, back to their homes, back to their families, and Leo and Grey were on their way with five more. I wasn’t naïve enough to believe that the Brotherhood was the only organization involved in human trafficking. Over four million people were trafficked every year—that we knew of. While the Brotherhood contributed to that number, they weren’t responsible for all of it. There were plenty of other groups out there like the mafia and the cartel. Which was why Leo searched for sites that offered up human lives on the menu and tracked them down. Since Crimson Sin, he’d been obsessed with it.

Saving five or ten at a time seemed insignificant compared to the vast amount of four million, but I was satisfied doing my part, no matter how big or small. Linc and I fed them, clothed them, and got them medical help if needed. Once we’d earned their trust, I worked on their other wounds, the ones that didn’t show on the outside. I’d told them my story—well, notallof it. I left my true identity out but told them how I’d been taken by the Brotherhood, how I’d tried to escape and was almost raped, and how I’d been saved and set free. I’d been subconsciously romanticizing Grey for months to these women. They called him a hero.

I’d once given him a watch with the definition of that word inscribed as a gift. Then, I read somewhere that a hero will sacrifice you to save the world. A villain will burn down the world to save you.

What did that make a man willing to sacrifice himself in order to save it all?

I came out back to sit on the wraparound porch and breathe in the fresh air.

And call Tatum.

I needed to hear her voice. It had been almost a week since I’d talked to her. I needed my best friend, even if we couldn’t exactly talk about what happened at the palace.

She didn’t answer, leaving me alone with my thoughts and the massive Rottweiler napping at my feet. Who needed a security system when you had Lucifer? Linc said this was his dog, but he never left my side.

I clicked out of my contacts and into my notes. Grey gave me this phone for my birthday one year. The only number I was allowed to call was his, but he’d stocked it full of photos from my past. It was the kindest gift anyone had ever given me. Now, the number was different, but I’d kept the phone and everything that had been stored on it.

I used to use the notes app as a journal, writing my thoughts in the one place I knew Grey would never look.

I read over the first one I ever wrote.

This place—it’s beautiful. Beauty like this is meant to be shared.

But I’m lonely.

So is he.

Sometimes, I feel him in my sleep, watching me. Sometimes, I look at him and wonder how something so beautiful can be so broken.

He says he doesn’t want me. I shouldn’t want him, either. But sometimes, when he looks at me as though it pains him to do so, I ache. I fucking ache in that place deep inside that can only be filled by a man’s touch.

He reads to me. I am naked and vulnerable in front of him, and he just… reads. In those moments, he does touch me. Only not with his hands. He fucks me with his words. His voice. His openness that he gives to me and only me.

We are light and dark. Night and day. Two worlds apart, thrown together.

He says he loves her.

I say love shouldn’t hurt.

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