Page 8 of Judgment Day

I was raised by a dignitary, persecuted by an enemy, and tormented by monsters. And then I became one. Any humanity that lingered within me was purged during those five years in prison. They thought they were punishing me. They didn’t realize they were molding me into a weapon that would eventually destroy them.

Delicate fingertips gripped my forearm. Bronze skin contrasted the black fabric of my suit jacket. My eyes followed her arms all the way up to her slender shoulders. The black dress she wore hugged her torso tight, then flowed freely over her narrow hips and showcased her toned legs. Her dark hair was pulled into a knot at the back of her head. She was a picture of elegance and grace. My gaze found her face. She looked up at me, and the sadness in her eyes matched mine. It always had.

“Hello, Lyric,” I said, trying not to sound surprised to see her here. Of course she would be here. Here, she wasn’t a ghost. Here, she was the queen’s niece. Here, she was my wife, even though it had been six months since I’d seen her. I’d left her in Lincoln’s bed after saving her from his father’s wrath. Then, I’d found her father and handed her the happy ending she deserved, the only way I knew how.

She smiled, and it felt like home, even though it shouldn’t. “Grey.”

“We should find our seats,” Lincoln told her as he reached to put a possessive hand at her back.

Everyone’s eyes were on us, watching curiously. Lincoln was a stranger to these people. I could say he was a distant cousin or longtime friend. It would have been an easy cover.

But something stirred inside me, pushing me to reach down and grab his wrist before he touched her.

Maybe it was the challenge in his words the other night in my library that made me defiant. Maybe it was not wanting to answer unwanted questions about my fake marriage at my good friend’s funeral. Whatever it was, it slammed into me. “She should sit with me.”

“The fuck she should.”

My gaze landed on him, sharp as iron. “As far as all these people are concerned, she’s still my wife. Unless you want to turn this into a breeding ground for gossip tabloids when it’s meant to be a memorial to our friend, she sits with me.”

Lyric gave him a small smile. “Linc, it’s fine. It’s just an hour.”

Lincoln clenched his fist over the back of a nearby pew.

I stepped close to him, leaning in so that only he could hear. “You think I don’t know what it’s like to watch another man walk in with his hands all over the woman I love? That it doesn’t claw at me every time I see her with him, knowing it should be me?” My heart pounded. “The only difference is that when you leave here, Lyric leaves with you.”

His jaw tensed, but he gave a nod. “If you so much as touch her, I’ll fucking kill you.”

I chuckled to myself as I placed a hand at the small of her back and guided her down the aisle to the third row. Lincoln might follow through on his promise. He may actually kill me. But it wouldn’t be today.

A few people acknowledged us as we passed. Most were caught up in their grief, busy wiping tears with Kleenex.

“How have you been?” Lyric leaned over and asked quietly.

I felt Lincoln’s presence as he sat directly behind us.

I stared forward, watching Winston play the grief-stricken father and Sadie the queen who comforted him by slowly stroking a hand on his back. I convinced myself it was a role, like the one Lyric played right now. Except, she didn’t comfort me with gentle touches. She simply comforted me with her presence.

“We don’t need to do this,” I said.

“Do what?”

“Act like two friends catching up over drinks.”

“I thought we were friends.” Her voice had an edge to it.

“You should re-evaluate your definition offriend.”

She huffed under her breath. “Nice to see you haven’t changed.”

My mouth quirked at her attitude. “Neither have you.”

She reached out to where my hand rested on the pew in front of us, placing hers on top. “Linc told me what happened. About how you ran to Liam, held him, carried him. Something tragic happened to someone important to you, and like it or not, you’re important to me. So, yeah. I think I’m entitled to ask if you’re okay.”

Some emotions were better left guarded, locked up tight in a place where no one could reach them, where they couldn’t be used as weapons. Regret was one of them.

Was I okay?

Fuck no.

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