Grey: The Retribution (Spectrum Series Book 3)

by Allison White

  I look at him, dumbfounded. “We spoke, like, an hour ago. Don’t you remember?”

  He shrugs, then makes a big show of yawning as he sits up. His black shirt rides up, and I have to look away, too intimidated by his inky torso. “I was drunk an hour ago.” His voice is deep, and his dark hair is ruffled. He looks incredibly hot and weirdly criminal-like. That just turns me on even more.

  “Apparently, you still are.” I finally look back at him and gulp, seeing he’s standing now, watching me like a predator watches weak, feeble prey.

  “Why’d you come?” he questions, genuinely confused.

  I shrug. “I couldn’t just let you rot in here.”

  “Why not?” I’m nervous as he takes a few steps toward me. “I may have been belligerently drunk…but I remember what I said to you.” He’s close enough to the point where he can smell the fear off of me. “So…why’d you come?”

  “Because…” I frown and decide to tell the truth. “Because I’m an idiot who can’t seem to let you go…”

  He doesn’t say anything, but he does look pissed. “You should have just ignored me. I was a mess.”

  “And you still are,” I defend myself and point at him. “Your eyes are bloodshot, and you’re slurring your words. You drank so much, it’s still affecting you.”

  “So? We’re not together anymore.” He clicks his tongue, grabbing the bars, making me flinch a little. “Rose could have come for me.”

  I scoff. “With five hundred dollars?”

  His eyes go wide for a split second, then he barks, “You spent five hundred dollars to get me out?”

  I don’t know what to say, so I just nod. “It was nothing, really.”

  “Five hundred dollars isn’t nothing, Liv,” he grits out.

  “It was nothing to get you out,” I declare.

  He rolls his eyes and mutters, “You rich fucks.” He turns to me. “You can’t just go throwing money around for people who don’t care about you anymore!”

  “So why did you call me?” I snap, sick of his lying. He breathes roughly and turns around. “Why didn’t you immediately call Rose instead? Hm? Because I’m sure she would have scrounged up something to get your ungrateful ass out!” I am so done being here for him when he doesn’t even appreciate it.

  I turn around and begin to walk away, but I’m tugged back before I can get a step in.

  He holds my hand through the bars. Great. He can do this little signature stunt of his, even behind bars! I don’t know whether to be terrified or turned on…I’ll go with both.

  He stays silent for a long time, trying to think of what to say. Finally, he comes up with, “I called you because, even though I was drunk out of my mind, and may still be…you were the first person to come to mind.”

  I shiver from both his words and the way he’s rubbing the back of my hand with his thumb.

  Before I can say or do anything, the officer who walked me back here calls out, “Unhand her, Wyler!”

  “Fucking cock-blocker,” he grumbles, and my cheeks heat up. He lets go and hides a smile directed toward me as he rubs his lower lip and turns his back on me, walking over to the bench. He takes a seat on it, then slowly looks at me with a small but wicked smirk.

  Holy moly…

  ***

  “Which house is yours?” I ask Grey as I slow down the Mercedes convertible I borrowed from my father’s massive collection—he’s a bit of a car junkie. I look up at all the colorful houses that line the cute neighborhood, that has a small beach on the other side, as a sort of backyard. Imagining Grey out in the ocean in the early mornings doing yoga crosses my mind, and I laugh.

  “Ouch,” he groans. He’s next to me, reclined all the way back, inked arm slung over his eyes.

  “Sorry,” I murmur, and he groans again, but this time because he’s sitting up and peering out of the window.

  “That one, with the fucking flamingo in the grass.” He shakes his head, annoyed, and sits back.

  “Oh, okay.” I pull over and park in front of the house. I unbuckle my seatbelt, and he stares at me but doesn’t say anything. “What?” I slowly let the belt retract from my hand.

  He looks me up and down once, then shrugs. “Nothing,” he mumbles, then climbs out of the car.

  “I just want to use the bathroom really quick,” I tell him, exiting the car. “If that’s what you’re worried about…”

  He opens the white picket fence when he looks over his shoulder and shrugs. “Not worried,” he says, then turns around and jogs up the stairs.

  Okay…

  I follow him into the house and curiously look around. It’s pretty spacious and kind of colorful, with turquoise and pink walls. Immediately, I see the ocean through the patio door that’s across from the front door, with the living room to the right. On my left is a functional kitchen with white everything. I have to walk around a bit before I find a hallway with three doors. I peek inside each until I find the bathroom and slip inside.

  I do my business, then stare into the mirror as I wash my hands. I widen my eyes and watch as my entire body flushes bright red. I’m still wearing my dress and shoes from last night, and my makeup and hair are an absolute mess. I completely forgot to make myself presentable or even shower before I left my house, only because I was so focused on getting Grey and making sure he was okay. No wonder everyone at the precinct was looking at me like I was a fucking loony girl. Or I was on the radar of some particularly pervy criminals…

  “Fuck me,” I mutter and splash water on my face until I am bare and even more of a mess. I cringe, but it’s much better than how I looked before.

  I open the medicine cabinet and search for some Listerine. My breath must reek. I find Grey’s pills and feel my blood run cold. I ignore it and take the Listerine and gargle some of it a few times before putting it back where I found it. I close the cabinet, dry my face with some paper towels, then step out.

  Do I just quietly leave and act like this didn’t happen, or do I check in on Grey because I’m a fairly compassionate human being?

  I choose the latter and softly knock on one of the doors. “Grey?” I slowly open the door and stick my head inside.

  He is sprawled out on the unmade bed, snoring away.

  I smile before stepping inside. I kick off my heels and sigh in relief. I didn’t realize it until now, but those things were killing me.

  I inch over to Grey and whisper, “Grey?”

  When I get no response but loud snores, I giggle and begin to work. I unlatch his belt and undo his zipper. Before you get the wrong idea, I am making him more comfortable. I know how hot he gets when he’s hungover, and I don’t want him intolerable. I carefully slip his dark Levi jeans down to his ankles, then untie and take off his boots and take the rest of the jeans off. I fold them and place them in the hamper before taking his boots and placing them in the closet. I grimace and quickly close it, finding Rose’s stuff in there.

  I wonder where she is. It’s really early, and I haven’t seen her around…

  I ignore the thought and walk back over to Grey. I maneuver the thin bedsheet from under his large body and lay it over him. Heart heavy and tugging toward him, desperate for him, I brush his hair out of his eyes and place a gentle but chaste kiss on the tip of his nose.

  “There you go, big guy…” I whisper, beaming.

  I stand straight and am about to leave when my wrist is captured in familiar rough fingers.

  I turn around and feel everything in me freeze.

  He looks up at me with large, black eyes. He isn’t here right now. I can tell from how his thick eyelashes flap constantly and his fingers wiggle a bit.

  “Grey, what are you—?”

  “Stay,” he grumbles and closes his eyes, pulling me to him.

  “I—” I’m speechless.

  What do I do?

  “Stay,” he repeats, but his eyes have closed, and his fingers grow loose.

  Before they can fall and before I know what I am d
oing…I grab his fingers and run my thumbs over them. I look for a response, and he smiles the smallest smile. I am a sucker for that smile and an even bigger sucker for him in general, because I climb over him and lay next to him, my heart in my throat.

  He rolls over and wraps his arms around me, nose snuggled on my neck. I turn around so my back is to him, and I feel his lips curve into a smile. I smile too and close my eyes. I fall asleep in the amount of time it took to fall in love with him: a second.

  For the first time in months…I feel alive again.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  I didn’t know how much I missed hearing snoring until I woke up to it the next morning. It’s low and deep, like an animal growling, scaring off other smaller animals. But it strangely attracts me and makes me snuggle to the grumpy beast beneath my arms. The smell of Clove cigarettes and chocolate causes my stomach to grumble, and I slowly lick my lips, suddenly very, very hungry.

  I slowly open my eyes and find a blurry face. I blink some more and feel my heart drop when I find Grey asleep. And then I look down. One arm is lazily draped over me, holding me close to his chest that is softly going up and down, up and down…he smells so good. I lean forward and catch an extra scent, woodsy cologne maybe? I smile as I take him all in. It feels like forever since I’ve last seen his face like this without him screaming in mine, so I take the opportunity and drink in every feature I can.

  I peer down and examine him. His long eyelashes are clenched, his eyes moving subtly under his eyelids. His grip on me feels almost like a habit, like he’s supposed to clutch onto me as if he never wants to let go. I assess the soft curve of his cupid’s bow and his rock-hard jaw that looks like it was sculpted by Michelangelo himself. A tattoo peeks from under his rumpled black t-shirt, and it takes everything in me not to pull the collar down and admire the ink artwork.

  I take the big risk of trailing my finger down his straight nose that has little bits of freckles; you wouldn’t see them unless you were extremely close. I make a pattern along his stubbled cheek and bite my lip. I decide I like the stubble; it makes him look…sexier, somehow.

  I stop before he can jolt awake. I sit up, but his large hand is still latched possessively onto my side. I sadly smile until it becomes a full-on frown, because he has to let go, because I have to leave…because he still doesn’t forgive me and never will. I just have to accept it.

  With that sad thought, I swing my legs over the bed and stand up. I grab my shoes and walk out the door without looking back. I’ve already done the best I could. Now I should leave, no matter how much I want to get back in bed and discover his divinely marred skin again. If I go back and do that, he’ll only flip out and bring up the reason we’re not together again. And it’ll just be a shit show, and it is way too early for him to yell at me.

  I’m opening the door when I hear him scream a blood-curling scream. It sounds eerily familiar to the night of the accident…and I instantly drop my shoes and make a mad dash to the bedroom.

  “Grey?” I throw open the door and gasp. “Grey!”

  He’s writhing on the bed, screaming his lungs out. “No, Liv! Come back! No!”

  “Grey!” I run over to him, jump on the bed, and hover over him. He keeps pulling his head away from me and shaking, but I finally grapple his cheeks and pat them. He’s sweating profusely, his face red, veins throbbing erratically. Is he having a nightmare…about leaving that day? I thought I was the only one…apparently not.

  “Liv! Please, no! Liv!” He’s screeching now, and my heart is beating out of my chest.

  “Grey, Grey! Wake up! It’s just a nightmare!” I reassure him frantically.

  “Liv!” he pleads.

  “Grey!” I pat his cheeks again and straddle him. I cup his cheeks, but he won’t stop thrashing. “Fuck,” I grunt, then do the one thing that might calm him down: I hug him. I wrap my arms around him, and I shush him, rocking back and forth gently. He stops screaming and whimpers, softening at my touch. I kiss his nose and whisper, “It’s all right, I’m here.”

  “Don’t leave again,” he mutters, but I don’t think he’s out of his dream yet.

  I smile slightly and kiss his forehead. “You’re okay.” I drag out the word. “You’re safe now.”

  Silence ripples through the room as he fights to get his breathing under control. I just keep swaying and pecking his face, whispering sweet nothings that I know for a fact will calm him down. He shakes and mumbles incoherently. I find it trippy that he’s now the one suffering nightmares broadcasting his painful past, but he helped me get through mine, and I will gladly coax him through his own. It’s the least I can do.

  His light snores fill the air, and I sigh in relief.

  I can’t leave now. I have to help him. Every bone, every breath in my body is so used to taking care of him, I can’t just stop now.

  I quietly sit, then stand up. He is soaking the bed with his sweat. I strip the sheet off of his torso and neatly fold it and put it at the end of the bed. I manage to lift his arms and push it up and over his head. I’m kind of scared he might jolt awake and punch me in the face. But when I tap his cheek and he doesn’t budge, I take it off completely, fold it, then place it in the hamper. I pad over to the door and flip on the ceiling fan.

  As the blades swirl, I get a whiff of myself and nearly gag. I stink so bad; I still haven’t showered since last night’s rager. The remnants of that wild party still linger in my hair. I can practically feel it. I must have drunk and vomited so many times without remembering.

  Unable to take the rank smell anymore, I walk over to his dresser and pull out one of his white shirts and sweatpants. I glance at him one more time to see if he’s stable, then slip out of the room, leaving it cracked so I can hear if he freaks out again.

  I walk into the bathroom and shed my clothes, neatly folding them and putting them on the toilet. I then shower, scrubbing my skin raw with my bare hands, making sure I am clean as can be. When my skin begins to burn under the hot water, I wash off quickly and step out, wrapping a towel from a rack around my body.

  I gargle the Listerine again, two times actually, until I can tolerate my breath a little more. I dry off and decide to go commando on the panty front. There is no way I am wearing that again. Nor am I wearing my bra; the thing is a boa constrictor out for my blood. So I just get dressed in his sweatpants, tie the strings so it doesn’t fall down my legs, and shrug on his shirt that falls around my mid-thighs.

  I pad into the kitchen and pop two slices of bread in the toaster. While that heats up, I pour out a glass of cranberry juice and pull out a plate; the fructose in the drink will give him some energy and has vitamins he desperately needs. I search the fridge and find avocados, thank God. I pull one out, place it on a chopping board, and take out the pit. When the toasted bread pops out, I place them on the plate and spread the avocado all over. This will help soak out the toxins in his body, and he’ll actually be able to keep this and the juice down. If he eats any greasy foods, it’ll only irritate his stomach even more and he’ll throw up all day; his throat will have gone, and he’ll just feel like crap.

  When I turn around, plate and juice in hand, I jump slightly.

  Grey is standing a few feet away, a confused expression plastered on his face.

  I swallow the heartbeat rising in my throat and nervously pad over to the island, giving him a small smile.

  “Good morning…I—I made some breakfast.” I shrug. My voice is small, unsure.

  He still doesn’t say anything, just stares at me.

  I wring my shaky hands together and begin to say, “I’m sorry if you think I’m breaking some boundary…I’ll leave—” I turn to the front door, ready to leave before he screams at me. I have a bit of a headache.

  I stop when I feel his fingers clamped around my wrist. My heart skips a beat, and I snap my head to where his thumb is rubbing the skin on my wrist. I feel my skin prickle with electricity and fire, and I hold my breath in anticipation for the bomb he
’s about to drop on me. But when I look in his eyes, I know he isn’t going to be dropping one anytime soon.

  His brows are drawn together, his eyes peering through me. The amount of emotion and intensity piercing through me with is enough to put me six feet under.

  “Stay,” he finally says, voice raspy.

  I gulp and nervously avert my eyes, but he crooks a finger around my chin and forces me to look up at him.

  “You sure?” I say, my voice a mere whisper.

  He furrows his brows further and drops his hand. I feel cold without it now. He looks pained and unsure himself as he nods curtly and glances at the island. “Yeah…” He doesn’t sound so sure, so he rubs his neck and slowly walks over to the island.

  This is so weird…

  I swallow a lump in my throat and walk into the kitchen. I can feel his eyes on me, but I ignore them and pick up an apple and wash it off, tossing the sticker in the trash. It is quiet as he eats, and I chew. You can practically taste the tension between us. Neither of us knows what to do. Ever since we’ve bumped into each other, he’s been swearing me off and pushing me away and we’ve been tense. But now…now he’s calling for my help from jail, I’m picking him up, I’m sleeping in his arms after he pleads for me to stay…and now we’re awkwardly and silently eating the food that I made.

  “I just want to—” he begins the same time I say, “Do you feel…?”

  We laugh and offer the other speak first. We laugh again, and I nod to him to speak.

  He breathes heavily, playing with his lower lip. “I just want to say…thank you.”

  I blush and glance to the floor. “Oh, it’s no problem.”

  “Really…” He grinds his teeth and ruffles out his hair, struggling for words; I watch patiently. “You had no obligation to help me out the way you did…and I’m sorry I was an ass to you back at the police station. You were only trying to help…but I don’t deserve it.”

  The frown dripping on his face breaks my heart, and I find myself standing in front of him. The urge to hug him is very strong…but I hold back. I can’t push this…whatever it is.