NOVA POV
"What do you an she won’t disturb anymore?"
I don’t know what scares more, maybe it’s Grant’s calm voice, or the casual way he says it. His tone is even, flat and weirdly controlled.
"She’s been handled," he says simply. "Nova, let this go. My n in Texas already handled her and Tyler."
My brain blanks. Handled?
Like they were files. Or packages. Not people.
I blink twice, hoping this is one of those monts you wake up from, sweaty but safe. But I’m wide awake, and Grant’s tone doesn’t have room for misunderstanding.
We’d just spent hours tangled in each other with our tattoos still stinging, our skin slling like sex and ink. It was supposed to be our peace treaty, our way of saying nothing can co between us again.
But this is a nightmare wrapped in silk sheets.
I sit up slowly, dragging the duvet over my bare chest, my heart still beating erratically from more than just fear. Grant sits at the edge of the bed, naked except for his boxers, his muscles flexing with every quick tap on his phone screen.
He looks too composed, too beautiful, and sothing about him is too wrong.
I clear my throat, because if I don’t speak, I’ll choke.
"If Sandy and Tyler are being handled"—I actually raise my fingers to make the air quotes—"then what about Lena? What about your daughter?"
His thumbs stop mid-type. His eyes flick up to et mine, those cool gray eyes I’ve drowned in too many tis. He stares just long enough to make my pulse stutter, then looks back at his phone.
"She’ll be fine."
"Grant!" I snap. "She’s your daughter, for crying out loud!"
"I didn’t say otherwise." His voice is as cold and unforgiving as a stone wall.
I let out a frustrated grunt. "You’re being so dismissive. What if sothing happens to her?"
He exhales, patient but patronizing. "My n know not to touch a hair on her head."
God, I want to shake him. "You talk about people like they’re chess pieces!"
"And that’s why I win," he replies easily, setting his phone aside at last. "It’s for her own good. She should be grateful I’m doing everything I can to keep her safe."
"By killing people she cares about?" My voice cracks. "By hurting people she loves?"
His smirk curves slowly and deliberate. "Collateral damage."
The words land like bullets. I feel the air leave my lungs. The man I thought I loved just called murder collateral damage.
I press my palm to my forehead, breathing in, counting to ten. One. Two. Three—
I grab my phone before my courage can slip away.
I dial Lena. It rings once, twice, then goes to voicemail. I try again. And again. Straight to voicemail. Panic starts in my chest, rising fast.
I call Katie next. She picks up almost imdiately, her voice trembling through the line.
"Where are you? Lena’s in the hospital. Accident. Ergency. They said one of them’s dead—I don’t know who!"
My blood runs cold. "Dead?"
"Yes, bitch, dead! I’m almost at the hospital. I’ll text you the address."
The line cuts off.
I stare at my screen, my pulse roaring in my ears. My body feels both heavy and hollow. I can’t hear anything except Katie’s voice repeating that word: dead.
Please not Lena. Please not her.
She’s my anchor. She doesn’t deserve to die.
And as much as I hate Tyler, hate his arrogance, his secrets and what he did to , I don’t want him gone either.
And Sandy... I’ve prayed to never see her again, but not like this. Not under headlights and blood and sirens.
My chest constricts. I press my hand over my heart, as if I can slow it down. "Soone’s dead," I whisper, my voice breaking. "Soone—"
Grant looks up at like I’m an overdramatic child. "Nova—"
"Soone’s dead!" I shake his arm, my voice rising. "Do you understand what that ans?"
He doesn’t answer imdiately. Instead, he pulls into his chest, his hand smoothing down my hair like he’s calming a frightened pet. "Shhh," he murmurs. "It’s okay."
But it’s not okay.
Because right against my ear, he adds in a whisper so low I almost miss it—
"Collateral damage, sweetheart."
The words ripple through , colder than ice water.
I go still.
I can feel his heartbeat against my cheek, steady and sure, and I wonder how a man can feel so alive while talking about death like that.
Slowly, I pull back. His hand drifts toward my breast again, absent-minded, like it’s his right. I caught his wrist mid-air.
"You need to stop this, Grant." My voice shakes, but I force it steady. "All of it."
He quirks an eyebrow. "Stop touching you?" His voice drops lower, teasing but also kind of dangerous. "That’s a request I can’t grant. You belong to ."
He sits up, bracing on one arm, the other snaking behind my back to drag closer again. His body heat is magnetic, his scent intoxicating.
"As much as I belong to you," he adds, brushing his lips against mine.
I want to lt. God, I want to. His lips taste like sin and smoke and the kind of love that ruins you.
But soone’s dead.
And he’s smiling about it.
"No." I push against his chest, forcing my mouth away.
He chases the kiss, his lips grazing my jaw. "Don’t say no, Nymph."
"Grant—stop!" I slip off the bed, dragging the duvet around like armor.
He leans back on his elbows, watching with the lazy amusent of a lion watching prey that thinks it’s escaped.
"Let’s talk about the people you got handled," I say, voice sharp.
"They’ll be fine." He stretches. "Now co back here. Let handle you."
My heart clenches. "There’ll be no handling until I know which one of them is dead."
He groans, like I’m a stubborn child. "As long as Lena’s alive, I’d say my plan worked out perfectly."
"Soone is dead!" I scream now. "Does that an nothing to you?"
His gaze softens, but not in kindness. In pity.
"As long as that soone isn’t you, Nymph."
His hand trails up my leg, stopping just below my knee.
The gesture is so casual it makes sick.
"Then you’ve got the wrong girl to stand beside you while you go on a killing spree," I whisper.
He tilts his head, studying like I’m a puzzle he’s already solved.
"I don’t do things wrong, baby," he murmurs. "You’re perfect for ."
My throat tightens. "Not ."
He smiles in a slow and chilling way. "The bleach to my bloodied hands."
Tears sting my eyes. "Not , Grant," I whisper again. "Not ."
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