Total pages in book: 44
Estimated words: 40635 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 203(@200wpm)___ 163(@250wpm)___ 135(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 40635 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 203(@200wpm)___ 163(@250wpm)___ 135(@300wpm)
"I want to see, Grayson," she whispers.
"You want to see?"
"You," she clarifies. "I want to see you."
"You can see me anytime, baby. I'm not going anywhere unless you kick me to the goddamn curb."
"No, you don't understand." She huffs out a breath, untangling herself from my arms. The look in her eye when she meets my gaze… Jesus Christ, I know that look. It's hellfire and lace, all wrapped up in one beautiful package. It's Mina, fierce and burning hot as the surface of the damn sun. Nothing stands in her way when she's wearing that expression, certainly not a motherfucker like me.
My goddamn heart lodges in my throat, my balls cinching up tight as she grabs my hand, clawing for the door handle. Before I can even say a word, she's practically leaping from the SUV, dragging me out behind her.
And like always, I follow. Straight to heaven or straight to hell, I follow.
Chapter Eight
Mina
I'm not entirely sure what I'm doing as I drag Grayson through the front door, but my heart is beating a million miles a minute, and I need to see him. I need to know exactly what he's been through. Until I see it for myself, I can't process it. And if I can't process it, I can't move forward. I feel stuck right now, the past clinging to me like vines.
I desperately want to break free of it. But it's choking me. I heard every word he said. I felt it. And I believe him. But I need to see it. Because he lived it. I need that part of his life to be real to me in a way it isn't right now. To do that, I have to see it, all of it.
Maybe that doesn't make sense. I don't know. But it's how I feel as I drag him straight up the stairs, not stopping to think. Not stopping for anything. I burst into my room, slamming the door back against the wall.
"Mina, baby…"
I spin on him, my eyes wild as they tangle with his. "Please, Grayson," I whisper, my voice ragged, pleading. "I can't…I don't…" I inhale a shaking breath. "I have to see you."
He searches my face, looking for something. An explanation? The truth? I don't know. But whatever he finds has him nodding. He kicks off his shoes, reaching for the hem of his T-shirt. "I want you to remember something for me," he murmurs, his voice a soft, familiar rumble.
I bob my head in a nod, my hands tangled together in front of me.
"They don't hurt. Not anymore." He swallows hard. "Just…remember that, okay?"
Oh, God.
I nod, the motion jerky.
He tugs his shirt up his body, yanking it off in one fluid move.
I stare at him for a long moment, just…stare. I don't even know where to look first. I remember every ridge, every muscle. Even after all this time, I never forgot the way his abdomen always contracted when I ran my fingernails down it. I never forgot how hard his body was or how freaking perfect. He was always my fortress, so much bigger than he had any right to be. And yet, so damn gentle with me. Familiar tattoos still litter his skin. I've traced every damn one with my lips, my fingers…the tip of my tongue.
But the edges are marred now. Distorted. Masses of scar tissue and jagged, healed wounds cut across them in a dozen different places. They're bad. So much worse than I can wrap my mind around.
He turns slowly, letting me see his back.
A sob rips from my lips, my knees shaking. Healed whiplashes score his back from the top of his shoulders all the way down. Some are deep, so damn deep there was no way for the flesh to heal properly. It's pitted and grooved, as irreparably damaged as the skin on the backs of his hands.
"Grayson," I whisper, moving toward him without even giving my feet the command. I lift a shaking hand, tracing along the deepest of the lashes.
His body shakes, his breath erupting from his lungs in a strangled groan. He's so tense, so rigid.
I lean up, placing my lips against the bottom edge of the scar, trying to breathe peace into him. He deserves it. God, he deserves so much more than that. All this time, he's lived with this. He endured all of this pain, all of this torment, and somehow, he still found his way back to me. He never stopped trying.
This man…loves me. He's always loved me.
And I never stopped loving him. Even when I was terrified I shouldn't. Even when I wanted to hate him because I thought he was making it all up, my heart was his. It'll always be his.
I don't know what comes next for us. I don't know how we navigate everything we've been through and everything still in front of us. But everything in me surges toward him, screaming for him.