Grey: The Retribution (Spectrum Series Book 3)

by Allison White

  He looks a little taken aback by my abruptness, but it doesn’t last long. A charming smile that suits him incredibly well washes over his face, and he gives a curt nod, holding his hand out for me, which I gladly take and let him pull me onto the dance floor.

  “Thought you’d never ask,” he jokes, spinning me. My dress picks up, and I giggle and place my hands over it, laying it flat against my thighs.

  Tonight is just about me and him…no one else. No one at all.

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Grey

  You have got to be kidding me.

  But of course, she’d be here. And she isn’t alone. She’s with…him. The perfect, golden boy who’s never done any wrong. I scoff so loud. I sound like one of the assholes wandering around like they run the world.

  Why didn’t I see this coming? Actually, maybe I did. Look around at this glamorous ball, with all these rich prudes showing off their flashy jewels and sizing up each other’s money. But whoever won still came out as they started—a poser. I bet none of these people ever worried about where their next meals would be coming from or how real life works in general, beyond their shiny cars and flashy parties.

  The urge to punch everyone in here grows to the point that I nearly act upon it on a pot-bellied tycoon passing by. He glances at me with disgust before taking one of the small but, most likely expensive, free appetizers. I hope he chokes on it.

  “Psst,” one of the scrawny boys working the crowd says. “You gotta display a smile or you won’t get a tip,” he continues in a low whisper, glancing around in case one of the bozos would hear him and strip him of his honor or something.

  I scoff even louder. “As if these pricks would tip.”

  “Still…” He awkwardly shrugs his bony shoulder. “You’re not the usual type that works these parties…Maybe you should, you know…t-try a little harder?”

  I finally settle my eyes on him and scowl. “Fuck off, skeleton,” I hiss, and he makes a squeaking noise before scrambling away into the crowd. I roll my eyes and go back to staring at the couple. I want to punch Liv’s little boy toy with the hair. My blood begins to boil.

  I don’t even know why I’m doing this…yes, I do. I need the money for better MMA gloves. I work for Dean, and he favors me more than his other workers, but that doesn’t mean he’s friendly in that sense when rewarding me for my business. Not that I expected that from him. He’s a selfish asshole. And I guess I’m the same way because I stare down Liv and her date until she drags him into a crowd of pleasers. I have to look away and count to ten, to keep myself from blowing up and getting arrested. Liv surely wouldn’t bail me out a second time.

  So I guess I am being forced to watch my ex-girlfriend chat up a storm with wrinkled bags of money and her new boyfriend. I hate that I’m being so bitter when I have Rose. I mean, we’re not really together-together, but it’s enough to keep Liv on edge. But now that I see that her and that tall prick of hair have gotten closer, it makes me upset. No, more than upset. It makes me furious. Because she was mine and she still is…so she shouldn’t be anywhere near him. I just want so badly to bash his fucking face in for being so close to her, for wrapping his arm around her, for laughing at him, for…well, everything.

  I have to tear my eyes away and take a lap around the party. I am supposed to assist these lazy assholes at the food table, but they’ll figure it out themselves. They didn’t just become rich by being idiots. Well, most didn’t, I think. I wonder how Liv’s family is rich. Maybe on her father’s side? There is no way her mother’s side actually worked for anything. The bloodsucker that she is, I doubt any person with her blood could work hard enough for their money, except Liv. She is actually the smartest person I know; there’s no doubt she didn’t get more of her father’s genes.

  When I get back to the table, I feel a little calmer. Not as much as if I’d gone out and smoked, but I can’t. I think it’s going to rain, and what’s the point if the cigarette gets put out the second I light it?

  A chunky woman wrapped in a full gown of silver bedazzles, and a beehive stares at me then at the table.

  “For fuck’s sake,” I mutter under my breath. I grab one of the small china plates and stack one of the tiny appetizers on it and shove it into her chest. “I know you didn’t become chubby without knowing how to stack a plate,” I snap, and she gasps dramatically, her false lashes flying open like windshield wipers.

  “You can’t speak to me that way,” she squawks like a parrot.

  “Oh, yes the fuck I can. ’Cause guess what?” I shoot her a smirk and whisper, “I just fucking did. Now move along, you disco ball. Scatter. Scat. Go!” I fan her away, and she looks around like a frightened little dog before scurrying away to her tycoon husband, who fails to withstand the daggers I throw at him.

  I shove one of the surprisingly good fuckers in my mouth and watch as Liv talks animatedly with one of the old geezers. It looks like she’s networking her way through the crowd, most likely to impress her mother’s buddies. My blood boils when I think of that old rag. I tried my hardest to apologize to Liv all of last week, but her mother kept blocking my attempts and threatened to call the authorities and even press charges if I came within five feet of her daughter. Too bad she wasn’t there to stop me when I fucked her daughter in the shower.

  Right before you crushed her, of course, my subconscious sneers, or have you forgotten that part, motherfucker?

  I sour at the thought and curse at myself. I wish I could go back in time and take back what I said to her. I didn’t really mean it. I just…fuck, I just want her to be happy, and she wouldn’t be with me. Who knows? Maybe she was faking before because she was writing that exposé bullshit on me. What if she was just faking everything?

  You’ll never know that unless you properly talk to her, you stubborn ass! The dude is at it again.

  Calm the fuck down, dude. You’re part of me too, so, technically, you’re also an ass. Take that! I shoot back.

  Am I seriously arguing with myself right now?

  “I really need a smoke,” I mutter to myself, scratching the pack in my pocket.

  “I could use one,” a man I didn’t notice walking up to me says. He’s flashing me a smile that makes me want to offer the money I don’t even have, and I instantly know he’s a sly motherfucker, known as a businessman. Plus, he’s wearing a gold chain underneath his Armani suit. There are tells.

  I scoff. “Gotta work,” I mutter, staring across the room with a frown. Liv is now dancing with the golden fucker. He’s giving her the full asshole package, charming smile and hands above her ass and all.

  Pussy.

  “Or, are you too busy checking out your…let me guess…ex? You think you’re too bad for her? She deserves someone she is supposed to be with…deserves? And you despise him and want to beat his ass?” he guesses, and I nearly gawk at him because he’s dead on. Maybe he’s secretly a mind-reader. I consciously try not to think of any important shit like my social security number. Again, he looks like a sly mofo.

  “What are you?” I question, narrowing my eyes.

  He lets out a roaring laugh.

  “The CEO of Wilkinson Enterprises.” He holds out his hand and grins. “But you can call me Harry.”

  I’m not too fond of holding hands with rich pricks…but he seems kind of cool, so I briefly shake his hand.

  “Grey,” I reply, watching for his reply. People normally laugh and ask if it’s short for something. I normally punch the fucker in their face.

  He nods, mouth twisted up like a pretzel. “Unique, I can dig it.”

  I just nod and glance around, trying not to seem like a complete sap, watching his ex-girlfriend be happy with someone else. “Well, I have to work, so…”

  He laughs again. “You call insulting Gretel work?” he says, gesturing to the fat lady I barked at. I shrug again, watching for his reaction, but all he can do is laugh like I told him the funniest thing on the planet. “If so, sign me up.”

 
I give him a slant of my lips and shrug. “Comes with perks…”

  “Like?” He squints his eyes.

  “The food, of course, though some are shit.” I point to a bowl with slimy black stuff. “You fuckers eat baby fish? What kind of sick fucks do shit like that?”

  He chuckles and shrugs like he’s saying “What can you do? We’re rich and can do whatever we want.”

  “I just came over here to see what’s got your attention so strongly.” He pivots on his shiny loafers, I almost burst into laughter, and he hums and taps his chin as he tries to find Liv. As if he’d actually point her out just like—

  “Olivia Westerfield.” He glances at me, and I grind my teeth. “Great taste, young man. Splendid girl.”

  “But taken,” I murmur, balling my hands in fists.

  “Or you’re just too stubborn to try and get her back,” he suggests with a hint of a laugh in his voice, like he’s mocking me, but I strangely don’t mind. He must be a gypsy or something. He looks at me and hums some more before a smile finally breaks out over his face. “You seem like the stubborn type.” He narrows his eyes, examining me. I scrunch up my face. He smiles wider. “And a fighter…ooh, you got some fire in you, don’t you?”

  “How—?”

  “Scars above your eyebrow and your knuckles, which are in balls.” He raises his hands as he takes a step back. “Don’t swing, I’m old.”

  “Not that old,” I quip, smirking.

  “But let’s not stray from the topic. Why don’t you just apologize?” He stuffs his hands in his silk pants. “Whatever happened, the woman is always right—always.”

  “Not this time,” I grit out.

  He sighs and nods understandingly. “I was like you once. Hot-headed. Stubborn. Me and the love of my life, Myrtle, had a falling out. I put my pride aside and apologized.”

  “Crazy, she doesn’t look like a Myrtle.” I nod to the young girl with blonde extensions and a nice rack in a skin-tight dress. She must be with him; these other assholes aren’t cool enough to have her. They’re stuck with overweight women that don’t know how to get food—I call big BS on that—named Gretel. The older women look at her as if she’s the plague, but the girl couldn’t care less as she knocks back glass after glass of champagne.

  He laughs, putting up his hand. “Guilty, but she didn’t take me back.”

  I look at him, dumbfounded. “And how is that supposed to encourage me?”

  “It isn’t,” he says, walking back to his girl. He points a finger at me. “But she can leave even without you apologizing. Point is: apologize. Try to get her back, show her you still care…she may give you another chance. You never know.”

  I avert my eyes and bite my lip. Maybe he’s right…

  I glance up and find her laughing at Nick like she’s having the time her laugh, his arm slung around her waist.

  Or maybe he’s full of bullshit because he’s rich, has a young girl with nice tits, and has nothing but time to give bad advice to lesser guys with a fighting streak.

  Fed up with this whole…thing, I storm out to the back. There is a massive backyard with a colorful garden, but most of it is shaded by the darkness of the night. I sit on the top marble step and take out a cigarette and light it. I take long drags, letting the smoke burn my lungs before breathing out. It eases some of the tension in my shoulders and chest but not the unsettling feeling that’s crushing in on me within.

  “Hey…” a voice I know too well calls out behind me twenty minutes later.

  I turn around and peer up at Liv. I am struck by…how ethereal she looks. Perfect. Almost too perfect, she nearly blinds me. Her curled hair around her little ears, lips painted with gloss, dress glittering under the moonlight, and eyes wide and blue, staring at me with worry.

  “Are you okay?” she asks, her voice too soft, too fragile for my ears.

  “How do you do that?” I ask, my voice almost a whisper.

  “Do what?” She pouts her big beautiful lips.

  “Act so nice even after all the fucked-up things I have done and said to you.” I shake my head, truly confused. I take a long drag, looking away from her. She is too light for me. Thunder cracks in the sky, and I just take bigger smokes.

  It’s quiet for a while, her staring at me and me smoking my cigarette.

  “Why were you in the hospital?” I ask. The question has been killing me for a whole week.

  She grunts as she sits next to me. “I don’t want to talk about that.”

  I nod, then breathe out a puff of smoke. “Did you…you know…try to…you know…?” I can’t even insinuate my greatest fear.

  I see her shake her head softly, and I don’t even hide the heavy sigh of relief. “Good.”

  “It was an accident.”

  “What was?”

  She looks at me, and I look at her, but she looks offended. “I’m not talking about it.”

  “Why not?” I’m annoyed she won’t just tell me. “Don’t you think I deserve to know?”

  She scoffs and looks at me like I am insane. “Are you kidding me? After what you said, after what we did!” She raises her voice then bites her lip to cool down. “I shouldn’t even be talking with you right now.”

  “So why are you?”

  She stares at me, studies me for a long minute, then slumps her shoulders and stares at the marble gliding downward. “I don’t know…because I still feel drawn to you, I guess.”

  My heart thumps harder.

  “Do you want that to go away?” I ask and take a small puff, keeping my eyes on her through my peripheral vision. “Are you feeling drawn to me?”

  Please say no, because then we’d have a chance…I’d have a chance.

  She doesn’t answer, just shrugs.

  My heart breaks a little, but I’ll take what I can get. That being her willingness to actually talk to me after what I did to her.

  “I’m sorry…” I mutter.

  She looks at me, taken aback. “What?”

  I ignore the rain droplet that falls on me but wipe away the one that falls on her cheek. She sucks in her breath as I curve my finger over her top lip, wiping away another drop, and say earnestly, “I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt you.”

  She closes her eyes, and a teardrop flows down her cheek.

  “What’s wrong?” Why am I always fucking up, even when I try to make things better?

  She shakes her head, choking back a sob. “I—”

  “Livvy? You out here?”

  You have got to be fucking kidding me.

  Liv looks over her shoulder and stares at her date, who is standing under the bright patio light, contemplation written on her face. Then she glances at me. Like she’s trying to decide whether or not to speak up. He can’t see her. Only I can. And when she looks at me, I see it. She can choose to sit here with me in the dark because she feels drawn to me…or go up to him in the light and continue chatting with old rich fucks and be where she belongs.

  I stare at her and soak in her every detail like it’s the last time I’ll ever see her. Because if she does choose him, it very well may be.

  She looks back at me, tears welling in her eyes, rain droplets in her hair. She looks conflicted, like she doesn’t know what to do. But if she decides to stay here with me, she’ll only end up being hurt. I have done so too many times to count. And she didn’t deserve any of it.

  “I—” she begins.

  “You should go.” I decide for her, turning away, taking a long drag.

  “Grey—” She sounds hurt, and it hurts me deeply.

  “I said go, Olivia!” I snap, facing her as I blow out smoke.

  She waves her small hand, lips trembling. Finally, she nods numbly and runs up the stairs. To her true prince charming. Why would she want a dark knight when she has him…?

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Liv

  I couldn’t sleep last night.

  My brain was too occupied thinking of Grey. From the moment I saw him and was terrifie
d, because I’d never been in a room alone with a boy before. To the taste of his mouth and how he always smelled of Clove cigarettes and dark chocolate. Bittersweet and addicting. One taste was enough to leave me wanting more. So much more. Even now. I touch my lips and feel how cold and hollow they feel. Like there’s an arctic hole on my face and it will never ever be filled with the fire that lingers in his mouth.

  I turn on my side on my bed and close my eyes. Today I have another therapy session. But I don’t feel like going. Because all I can think about is him, and she’ll ask what I am thinking about, and I’ll tell her, and she’ll dive back into old wounds that I’m trying to close, and she’ll order me to move on. She’ll drill it into my head that I will be stuck in a constant cycle of pain if I don’t just get over him. Then she’ll call my mother, she’ll come, annoyed that she had to be called, and she’ll enroll me in the mental asylum and probably have me hooked up to IVs and have me brainwashed.

  Tears prick my eyes, and my chest feel super heavy. I can’t go to that woman, not today. Not when Grey is stuck in my mind like a horror movie. My subconscious is screaming at the screen for me to stop. To listen to the doctor and my mother and everyone else, to erase the boy with black eyes and an even blacker soul and walk away while I have the chance. She is wailing and begging me to stop, to save both myself and her. But I can’t listen to her, just like the actors don’t listen to the restless audience.

  He did yell at me to leave him alone last night. And although every bone in my body wanted me to say no and stay in the dark with him, he wanted me to go. Although I came alive under his touch in that shower in ways I couldn’t think possible, he doesn’t want me. So I should get over him, and I should be with Noah, and I should focus on the program and finishing college, and I should be happy. I will be happy…ish. But at least the word happy is still thrown in there…right?

  A knock sounds on the door, and I sit up. “Liv? You in here?”

  “Yeah, come in.” It’s Mason.

  He walks in and sits on my bed. He looks nervous. “I need your help,” he says.