Page 107 of Twisted Control

“That’s your loss.”

I leave before the temptation to pull the trigger wins.

Levi is still on the bottom of the stairs where I left him, breathing in wet, ragged gasps. Blood pools beneath his shoulder. It’s a lot of blood. His eyes are open though, glassy, but he’s conscious.

I pause for half a second.

“You’ll be fine,” I mutter, stepping over his body. “It’s just a nick.”

Every instinct in me wants to stop and help him.

But I don’t.

Grace is out there right now. Alone, on foot, with nothing.

And it’s all my fucking fault.

33

GRACE

I’m sitting in The Patriot, the same dingy bar where everything with Drew first began. It’s quiet. Just a couple of lone drinkers nursing their beers in silence, each lost in their own little world.

I’m perched on the exact same stool I was sitting on the night my world fell apart. This time I don’t even have cash for vodka. I’m sipping a sad little glass of water instead.

My feet are absolutely throbbing. My thin heels are now filthy, one strap half torn from the long walk down the hill. A neighbor I barely recognized had pulled over when she saw me trudging along the roadside and offered me a lift into town. She didn’t ask any questions, but the look she gave me when I asked to be dropped off here said everything.

But I didn’t know where else to go.

For the first time in my life, nobody is coming to fix this for me. Dad threw me out, my phone is gone. I don’t have my bank cards but I’m sure they’re frozen already. It’s late afternoon, my feet are bleeding through a pair of ruined heels, and by tonight I genuinely might not have anywhere to sleep.

That should be the thing terrifying me most.

Instead, my mind keeps circling back to Drew.

He’s a hitman.

The words slide around in my head without settling anywhere solid. Every time I try to connect them to his face, my brain rejects it instantly. I think about the way he held me in bed, the quiet little smiles he gave me when we were alone.

Then I think about him killing someone. The disconnect is so extreme it makes me feel almost dizzy. And underneath all of it sits one horrible, humiliating thought. How could I have been stupid enough not to see it?

I think I’m starting to hyperventilate because the bartender keeps glancing over at me with growing concern while he wipes down the counter for the third time.

“There’s a phone there if you need it,” he says gently, nodding toward the old landline tucked beside the register.

I stare at it for a second.

There’s only one number I still know by heart.

My fingers are trembling so badly I nearly misdial the first time. I force myself to breathe, then punch the numbers in again and lift the receiver to my ear.

He answers on the third ring.

“Finn…” My voice cracks the second he answers. “Dad knows. He knows about Drew.”

There’s silence on the other end.

“And he told me Drew’s a hitman,” I whisper. Saying the words out loud makes my stomach twist violently.