The Price of Grace

by Diana Muñoz Stewart

  Grace pushed against him. “The paintballs are less dangerous than being smothered by you.”

  “Stop shooting,” Justice called from her spot on the guard tower. “It’s a fucking massacre.”

  He rolled off them, stood up, and helped Gracie and Tyler to their feet. The two of them burst into laughter. They high-fived each other. Made his heart do something funny, a bit of gymnastics in his chest.

  He reached out and drew them both in for a bear hug, lifted them up. They complained mightily, but what was a man to do? They’d just survived a massacre together. Yes, sir, he was that damn lucky.

  Chapter 70

  The Mantua Home campus looked idyllic in autumn. Trees filled with green, yellow, red, and orange leaves lined the campus lawns, streets, cozied up to brick buildings and park benches. The wind smelled of earth and a summer well spent.

  Gracie’s heart was light as she left the quad with Tyler by her side. The teams had broken up after the war games, and groups of people walked here and there. Dusty, Justice, and Sandesh strolled together, discussing the “fucking massacre.”

  It was still weird having the school so empty this late into September, but it sure made it easy to get around. They walked into the main road leading onto campus and toward the front gate. The sun was starting to set, spotlighting the tops of the trees with an orange glow.

  Cee, Romeo, and Jules jogged past heading toward the house. One of Leland’s rules for training. She remembered it well from childhood. Don’t walk, run. Romeo bumped Tyler’s shoulder as he jogged by. “Ask again.”

  Gracie yelled after him, “Don’t encourage him. Remember who you’re training with tomorrow morning.”

  Romeo turned around and spread his arms wide. “Dusty said he’d train with me.”

  She turned to look at Dusty, who gave her a sassy Southern grin, or at least that’s how she took it, when he winked at her.

  She didn’t try to hide her smile. “You’re lucky you’re so cute.”

  “So, can I?” Tyler asked.

  Letting out a breath, she grabbed his hand, held it as they walked. Yes. He was too old to hold his mother’s hand, but strangely he never objected. “We’ve been through this, Ty.”

  “But Rome goes here. Why can’t I?”

  Oh boy. This was the third time he’d asked. And it made her beyond happy that he wanted to make a home here—even if it was just during the school year. She could see him all the time. Get to spend time with him, take him for ice cream, teach him about computers.

  “School won’t start until the end of October this year. There’s a short holiday break. A shorter summer break. It wouldn’t be easy. And I don’t think your parents—”

  Ty brushed slightly sweaty bangs from his green eyes. “No. Dad knows. I talked to him.”

  John knows? Surprising. Well, John and El had become a lot kinder to her since she’d saved Tyler’s life. And all that other stuff with the authorities. John felt guilty after accusing her of kidnapping Ty. She shuddered. Tried not to think about it.

  Truth was, she would love for Tyler to go to school here, but was that fair to the girls here? Ugh. What was she doing? She was making excuses. Sexist excuses. The kind that made Tony run away, fake his own death. Well, that and the fact that he knew if he’d stayed he’d have been M-erased. Man could run, but he couldn’t hide. “I’ll talk to Momma.”

  Tyler perked up, swung their clasped hands back and forth. “She’ll let me in. Momma loves me.”

  Gracie’s throat grew tight. “Yeah. She does.”

  As they neared the main gate, she could see John and El sitting in their car.

  “Are you sure you talked to your parents about it, Ty? They won’t even come onto the grounds.”

  He cringed. “Yeah. I talked to Dad. Mom, uhm, I mean—”

  “She’s your mom, Ty.”

  His face reddened. “Yeah, Mom’s against it. She thinks it’s too expensive.”

  It was expensive. El could’ve just been saying that, but Gracie was going to take her at her word. She was done feeling guilty or wrong about being present in her son’s life.

  Gracie grinned at her son. “Did you know that family goes here for free?”

  Chapter 71

  Standing behind Gracie outside the new and improved “Staff only” doors leading from the back of Club When?, Dusty tied the blindfold—a long strip of black silk—over her eyes.

  Pretty as a picture in spiked red heels and a short red dress that laced up the back, she didn’t object. The curve of her fine ass reminded him of an apple. Ripe. Juicy. Begging to be bitten.

  One thing at a time. He bent forward, put his lips by her ear. “You ready?”

  She tilted her head back. “I’ve been ready for weeks.”

  He had too. But the thing needed to be perfect. Taking a small nibble of her earlobe, the silk from the blindfold pressed against his cheek, he whispered, “Is that excitement or wariness in your voice?”

  She laughed. “Excitement. If I hadn’t promised, I so would’ve peeked in there to see what you’ve been up to.”

  “Have to say, I was impressed with your self-control.” Especially since they were both living at Club When? now. It had taken all his powers of persuasion, after the club had been repaired to her specifications, to get her to allow him to take over designing the theme for the grand reopening.

  He hoped she liked it. Hoped what waited beyond was their future.

  “Good thing you hadn’t peeked,” he said, giving her a light pat on the round swell of her ass. “You would’ve been in big trouble.”

  Grabbing her by the hips, fingers itching to pull that bow, he steered her through the doors, using his foot to kick one open. Lord, he was starting to sweat.

  Inside, the ceiling of the club was draped in black fabric. Projected on that silk was an endless night sky, brilliant stars, the Milky Way’s glimmering sweep of silver dust, and the ethereal pinks and golds of distant galaxies.

  Sculpted white trees draped in lights perched along the perimeter of the dance floor. And on each of the white-linen-draped tables twinkled smaller handcrafted versions of the trees.

  A light show of white shimmered slowly over the floors and walls. All along the bar were a series of glowing tall and short silver candles.

  Mouth dry, heart pounding, Dusty fished out the remote and hit the button that started the music pouring out of the speakers. The sounds of the piano played quietly, and then Garth Brooks began singing what Dusty now thought of as their song: “Make You Feel My Love.”

  “Dusty?”

  “One sec.”

  He tried to still his pounding heart, took the ring from his pocket. Dropping to one knee in front of her, he held up the gem that reflected the purity of his intentions and his undying love.

  “You can take off the blindfold, Grace.”

  She reached up and pulled it down. Her hands flew to her mouth. Her eyes bounced around the room, glittering with the reflection of all those lights. By the time they settled back on him, tears streaked her cheeks.

  He found his own eyes growing wet. Aw, hell. He adored her. “Grace Divine Parish, will you do me the honor of marrying me, making me the luckiest man in all of the universe?” She dropped to her knees, took the ring. “Yes. A thousand times. In a thousand ways. Yes.”

  * * *

  Felt good to be back behind the bar of Club When? Especially when he was putting together his favorite, or at least his most cherished, drink. Dusty took in the growing crowd beyond. Still early, but looked like another banner night. He just hoped it went smoothly.

  First week back, and Club When? was experiencing a bit of a hiccup. There wasn’t a night this week that the bar hadn’t had at least one fight.

  Starting to feel more like a club bouncer than a bartender, he couldn’t help but wonder if it had anything to
do with the “costume change” as Grace called it. She’d loved the wedding theme—so said her enthusiastic yes—but later pointed out that they’d have to tie the theme to a specific date in history.

  He’d considered it and decided a royal wedding was an historical event. What wasn’t to like about Kate and William’s wedding? Pomp. Ceremony. Crazy hats. Maybe it was the hats.

  He passed the drink to the customer, telling her, “It’s called Blood and Guts, because you need some to drink it.”

  She smiled, clinked her blue swirly drink with her boyfriend’s beer. Squaring his shoulders, Dusty moved to the other end of the bar. He’d seen the guy come in earlier. Apparently the man didn’t understand the “get lost” signal Dusty had been sending him. Couldn’t really help the curl of his lip as he reached the end of the bar. Guy deserved a sneer. “What do you want, Mack?”

  Mack nodded. He looked a little older. Nose a little less straight. His face a little rounder, like he’d put on a few.

  “Guess you’re wondering why…” Mack trailed off.

  He wasn’t wondering. Dusty knew exactly why he was here. Turned out the FBI didn’t take kindly to agents using manufactured evidence against innocent people. Mack’s case and career had fallen apart. But not before he’d taken the low road.

  “Naw, I think I get it. You need a job.”

  Mack’s eyebrows jumped, and he laughed. Just a little. He waved around the club. “Pretty romantic.”

  Yes, it was. Every time he walked in here, Dusty was struck by the overwhelming truth that he’d been given a gift. Her. He hadn’t been sure she’d say yes. And he’d had nerves the night he’d asked her to marry him like he hadn’t had in…well, ever.

  The word yes had never sounded as sweet in the history of mankind. Made even sweeter by the sharp yeses he’d coaxed out of her fifteen minutes later upstairs in that big bed of hers.

  “I came to apologize to Gracie Parish. It got messy there.”

  Messy? Fucker had arrested Gracie after they’d come back from dealing with Layla and her crazy vendetta. Dusty had gone insane trying to find Gracie. Fucking Mack. He’d had her transferred to a black site. Tried to get her to confess, hoping to salvage his career—and Rush’s.

  Honestly, he’d never been more grateful for the Parish family pull than when they’d joined with him to help locate Gracie, and Dusty, Justice, and Sandesh had gone in there and busted her out.

  Still made his blood boil. So, no, he wasn’t going to be nice to Mack. It was all he could do to stop himself from punching the guy before forcibly hauling his sorry ass out of the club. He caught the eyes of the woman whose presence was currently stopping Dusty from following that exact course of action. Beautiful. “If you want to apologize to her, turn around. She’s standing behind you.”

  Mack blanched and spun around. Gracie stood there, wearing her Club When? finest and looking hotter than any woman had a right to.

  “Apology accepted,” Gracie said. “Now if you don’t mind, Dusty and I were just going to rewatch the shockumentary on disgraced Senator Andrew Lincoln Rush. Did you hear when the authorities finally came to believe my version of events and searched Layla’s home, they found she had numerous videos showing the disgraced senator had drugged and raped girls? Including several recordings of him, drunk and slurring, admitting his despicable behavior?”

  Mack nodded. “I did. Yes. I guess you just can never tell what people are like behind closed doors. Sometimes, people confuse you.”

  “Yeah,” Dusty said, scratching at the beard he’d been growing, “it’s so difficult to figure out that someone drugs and rapes people when you’ve seen the video of one of his rape victims telling you that she’d been drugged and raped.”

  Dusty eyed his old friend meaningfully. Mack had the good sense to stay quiet.

  He began to walk away, turned his head back toward Dusty. “Your dad died. Did you know?”

  He did. And he knew his congregation had tried to stay together, but in the end couldn’t. He hoped they all ended up better for it.

  Seeing Dusty wasn’t going to answer, Mack took a deep breath and walked away. Dusty watched him go. Good riddance.

  Gracie climbed up onto a stool, leaned across the bar, ran her thumb along the shadow of stubble on his chin. “You’re still mad at him, huh?”

  She looked worried. Like he’d hold that grudge forever. And he might. But how to explain to her? Those panicked, brutal moments of not being able to find her, then finding her and realizing she was locked up, taken somewhere where people could and did hurt her. Of the anger, and the lengths he’d gone to to rescue her. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t.

  She had her own stuff to deal with regarding that mess. But she was here now. Safe. And—as much as she’d object, tell him the word meant ownership, though that’s not how he felt—she was his.

  Maybe seeing the thoughts playing across his face, Gracie swung over the bar, dropped down next to him, wrapped her arms around his waist. Aw, hell. This woman. He bent to her, kissed her for all he was worth, kissed her like a man who had almost lost the best thing that had ever happened to him.

  And she kissed him back. Just as sweet and hot as every minute he spent with her. When they pulled apart from their kiss, it was to the approach of three twenty-somethings, who sat down and began singing with the music pouring through the club’s speakers—“Going to the Chapel”—out of tune and without the correct words.

  Gracie grabbed him by the belt hooks and moved her sweet ass to that god-awful song. Actually, now that he thought about it, he kind of liked that song. Might just be the company. Or the friction.

  “Love you, Grace.”

  The singing trio whistled and hooted as Dusty bent and kissed his bride-to-be. His.

  Chapter 72

  Making their way through the corridor of the Parish Palace, as Dusty had taken to calling the Mantua Home, Gracie tried not to let her tell-a-tale face let Dusty know just how freaked out she was about what was going to happen. It was unprecedented, unusual, and scary.

  Now that the lower levels of the League were back in operation, Momma was going to reverse the M-erasure that Tony had performed on Dusty. Unfortunately, it was much easier to hide a memory, as Tony had done, than to retrieve it, so they weren’t sure it would work. But Momma was going to try and make him whole, give him back his memory.

  They walked in silence, their footfalls resounding off the corridor walls as a soccer game echoed from the gym. She directed him left, toward the elevators. Though she pressed the up button, they weren’t going up.

  The doors to the elevator slid open. They walked inside. The doors slid shut. That was probably the longest she’d ever not heard him talking.

  Dusty reached for the B—basement floor—but didn’t press it. “Not really four floors, right?” he finally said.

  “Not really.” Gracie put her wrist up to the control panel. The elevator beeped. Gracie swallowed and said, “Subfloor 4B.”

  Another beep. The new system had added security that she thought was a bit too much. A small door on the panel slid open. She bent, let it scan her eyes. The elevator repeated the floor she’d identified and then said, “Grace Divine Parish. Welcome. Rider two, identify yourself.”

  Dusty turned his wrist over, eyeballed the elevator like it was a demon. “So I just…”

  She grabbed his chipped wrist and held it up to the sensor. The elevator beeped. He bent toward the scanner. It read his eyes and said, “Leif Eric McAllister. Also known as Dusty. Also known as American Ninja Warrior. Also known as Southern Accent. Welcome.”

  He laughed in a way that was both amused and disturbed. He looked at her, honey eyes alight. “Rome?”

  She nodded. He shook his head. “Kid’s gonna pay for that.”

  Dusty reached for the indented handrails on the sides of the elevator. She intercepted his hand, pushed h
is arm away. “Nope. Justice would never let you live it down.”

  He smirked at that.

  The elevator intoned, “Proceeding to Subfloor 4B.”

  “Well, I’m all about impressing your…”

  The elevator dropped.

  Fast.

  Dusty jerked sideways, hit the wall, grabbed the handrail. “Shit.”

  Feet braced wide, Gracie stood her ground and grinned at him as he used the handrail to regain his feet.

  “Got a lower center of gravity,” Dusty muttered.

  And that only made her smile widen.

  The elevator slammed to a stop. Dusty released the white-knuckled grip he had on the handrail, walked away from the sides. Looping her arm around his, she didn’t bother to hide her smile. “What do you think of Elevator-X?”

  His easygoing grin gracing his too handsome face, he declared, “That’s just not natural. That’s what that is. Un…natural.”

  He bent and kissed her. His tongue moved into her mouth. The stubble on his chin scratched pleasantly against her. Heat rolled through her body and she grabbed his shirt, pressed herself closer.

  As the doors opened, the elevator announced, “Sub-floor 4B. Welcome, you are being monitored. Entering unauthorized areas will result in immediate expulsion.”

  He pulled back from the kiss, rubbed his thumb across her lips. “Sweet as you are hot.”

  Heart hammering with lust and a sudden fear, she really fucking loved this guy. She grabbed his hand, squeezed. “It’s going to be okay.”

  “Hadn’t been nervous at all until you said that.”

  Taking a right off the elevator, away from the misted glass doors of Internal Security—no way was she going in there—she led him to a door that meshed with the walls so seamlessly you had to know it was there. She held her wrist up to the hidden sensor in the wall. There was a beep. Dusty leaned over her and did the same. Another beep and, “You are cleared for access to Neuro Room 3D.”