Page 18 of The Beast

“Do you remember what they said?” He moves closer, so I have to tilt my head back to meet his eyes. “The men you were with. When they left me bleeding out in that cabin? Do you want to know the last thing I heard before I passed out?”

I shake my head, mute with horror.

“’Say goodbye to your girlfriend, Grimm.’ And the last thing I saw was you raising a gun.”

The world tilts. I grab the sofa harder, knuckles going white.

“No.” It’s barely a sound. “No, that’s not—I didn’t—I wouldn’t. Gabe, you have to know that. I would never hurt you. And I wasn’t there. I wasn’t in Aspen until we realized you were missing. I didn’t do this,” I say again, my voice choked with tears.

“Didn’t? Didn’t what?” His voice is a snarl, lower and wilder than I’ve ever heard from him. “Didn’t order the hit? Didn’t know about it? Didn’t fucking pull the trigger yourself? Or maybe you didn’t think I’d be around to follow the money trail and identify you? Hell, I see the truth in your eyes right now.”

“Dammit, Gabe, no.”

“You wanted money? The gallery? I would have given you anything. And now I’m just ashamed I never saw the black inside you.”

“You prick,” I whisper, my body trembling with fear and fury. “You unimaginable bastard. How the hell can you believe that about me? I would never, ever, have believed you’d hurt me.”

His smile is thin. “And that’s why you thought you could get away with it.”

I try to speak, but my mouth is bone dry. I want to pinch myself awake from this nightmare. Except it’s really, truly happening. He believes it. I’ve never seen such fury on his face—and considering Gabriel’s reputation, that is saying a lot.

I start to speak—though I have no idea what to say—but he cuts me off.

“Are you going to tell me that it was a setup? Because that’s damn sure what I wanted to believe. Daddy trying to twist the knife as his people killed me. Trying to make me believe that the woman I loved was complicit.”

He steps closer, and I shake, suddenly terrified.

“I wanted so badly to believe it wasn’t you holding that gun. And that’s what I would have believed, too. And I did. I talked myself into it. She loves me. She would never…”

His lip curls. “What a fucking crock.”

“But I wouldn’t,” I say, barely restraining myself from shouting. “You were right. I truly wouldn’t.”

“If you’d wanted me to believe that, you should have paid more attention to the money trail. Because when I checked, sure enough—money gone. But that wasn’t the kicker,” he says before I can protest again. “The real proof? The rock-solid proof even tighter than that. Not just your eyes, sweetheart. No, it was that you were the only person on this planet who knew where my cabin was. I hadn’t even told Leo.”

He leans in, then traces his finger gently down the side of my face, then down my neck, then lower still until he’s cupping my breast, and I’m trembling. Not with the desire that has always been my reaction to this man. But with fear. Pure, horrible fear.

“And now you have all those pretty paintings by a famous dead artist. Now you have a fortune in the gallery. And you’re about to inherit one of the most profitable casino/hotels in the country. And I can draw a straight line back from all of those to my death.”

I taste tears, but all I can do is shake my head.

“A bullet that barely missed my heart. Another that almost nicked my spine. Then another that got me in the gut. Fists and boots slamming against me until it wasn’t even pain. Just nothing. I was nothing. And your fucking goons were right there, making it very clear that each and every blow was a present from you and Daddy Dearest.”

He makes a scoffing noise. “The fire? They said that was from you alone. So congratulations, bitch. You worked the long con on me. But I promise,” he adds, leaning so close I feel the whisper of his breath on my ear, “I will have vengeance.”

He means it. He really means it. And fear courses through me, because I know what he’s capable of. But it’s not fear that drives me to speak. It’s pain. It’s fury. And it’s bone-deep loss.

“You unimaginable bastard,” I say, my voice low and flat. “I would never—never—have believed you would hurt me. And for money? In case it escaped your notice, you fucking prick, I have money. Not really starving on the street.” I swallow, then lift my chin, hating that this is happening and not quite believing it’s real. “If it had been me, I would never have believed that you’d hurt me. You could have put a gun to my temple, and I still wouldn’t have believed you were the one holding it.”

I wipe away the tears. “Five years. I’ve mourned you for five years, every day wishing you were beside me. And now…now all I can do is look back and think what a damn, stupid waste. Because I loved a man—I believed in a man—who didn’t love me back.”

His jaw tightens, but it’s not belief I see in his eyes, but fury. As if he’s pissed that I’m not playing my part.

Yeah, well, too fucking bad.

I take a step toward him, my rage having completely overtaken my fear. “Do you have any idea how many tears I shed for you? How many investigators I hired to find your body? I was there with the cops. I found your ring. Your teeth.” I shudder. “The cops found blood and bits of burned skin in a shallow grave of leaves just a foot from the cabin’s remains.”

My voice shakes, but I hurry on, the words spilling out along with the tears. “They didn’t know if you crawled away and ended up as bear food or if you got trapped back in the cabin and turned to ash.”