Chapter 8
GREYSON
I led Ada into my bedroom and sat her on the en suite counter as I grabbed the first aid kit stashed beneath.
We were a downright mess, and I loved it. But I had to attend my open wound—the vigorous fucking had left me drained.
I meticulously cleaned the laceration and set up the suture pack. Ada picked up the needle and thread.
“I’m not sorry,” she said before she punctured the sharp tip through my skin.
I hissed. “I’d be disappointed if you were.”
She didn’t reply, concentrating on her task, as familiarly had me reminiscing out loud. “Just like old times…You playing my nurse.”
Her gaze flicked to mine, and the tormented look made me pause.
“What happened when I was away?” I asked. She shrugged. “Talk to me, Ada.”
“Why? As if you care.”
“I’m the only one who does.” The remark was harsh, but it was the truth. Her mother was a neglectful bitch, and my father was a psychopath. Neither of them thought of her as a priority.
“Did they get worse?”
She shook her head. “Not them.”
Then it clicked. As she finished the suturing and tied off the knot, I grasped her hands in mine, willing her to listen.
“Ada, I found a way to stop the nightmares.”
She shook her head. “I was wrong. They weren’t nightmares, Grey. I-I’m being haunted.”
“I know.”
“No, you don’t!”
“Then fucking tell me, Ada. I’m right here.”
Her features contorted into a vicious mask, her tone thick with accusation. “Since you left, he’s gotten stronger, Grey. So much stronger. Every time I close my eyes, I’m scared I’ll get lost in my own head, and won’t be able to wake up again…That I’ll never be able to escape him.”
This fucker!
“Listen to me carefully, Ada. I know someone who can exorcise the spirit.”
Her features flickered before me—hope to disbelief. “Impossible.”
“It’s not. I have a friend at Bartholomew who specialises in these areas. He’s a talented medium and has offered to help us.”
“Do not lie, Grey.”
“Never. Not about this. You’re coming with me, and it will all be over.”
Ada’s gaze went vacant, processing everything I was offering. After a few beats, she gave a nod and slid off the counter. I knew she was sceptical, and wouldn’t truly believe until she met Triston in person.
I caught her hand. “Where are you going?”
“To shower. It looks like we’ve been in a massacre."
“Don’t. I can’t stand the thought of you washing me off. Washing us both off.”
My haunted girl shocked the shit out of me as she pressed close and laid a kiss to the centre of my chest. “I won’t stay clean for long…My birthday isn’t over yet.”
Fuck. Despite the blood loss, my body managed to drain what little remained to my hardening cock. To know she was mine for the rest of the night…I wouldn’t be able to hold back much longer.
My fingers gripped her chin. “I have one more gift for you, birthday girl. Have your shower, then get into bed. I want you waiting and fucking ready. ’Cause when I return, I want back inside you.”
Ada bit her lip. “Don’t take too long.”
“Wait up for me, little rabbit.”
I was keyed up, high as I walked the empty corridors, the party dwindling to a few stragglers.
I’d changed into a new set of clothes, but refused to shower, not yet ready to lose her essence. Ada had given herself to me, freely and wholeheartedly. When we finally joined…Fuck. I had never experienced such euphoria.
I was already an addict by then, but now I was a full-blown user without any chance of recovery. Just the thought of her waiting for me, cocooned in my silk sheets, had me overheating. I knew that once I returned to my bedroom, I would never leave her side again.
Thus, I wanted to get this shitshow over and done with.
I’d single-handedly picked out her gift—a family heirloom that would perfectly complement her dark features. The only problem was that the signature piece was in a bank deposit box that my father only had access to.
Nothing from Charles Carmichael ever came free, especially for his son. Hence why my jaw was clenching when I knocked on his office door.
It was time I tallied the price of my request.
“Greyson,” he said, voice clear through the thick wood.
That was all he had to say—my name, in that specific commanding tone. Ada was the only reason I followed the summons, entering the office he considered a sanctuary, filled with all manner of luxury and power—everything he loved.
My father sat behind his desk, toking on a $20,000 cigar as his severe grey gaze clocked my approach. I was the spitting image of my precious papa, much to my disgust. He was handsome, wealthy and influential, which meant he was untouchable. For now.
But with my enrolment at Bartholomew came the opportunity to network and connect with others who were just as rich and just as depraved as my wicked bloodline—if not worse.
I was actively laying down the foundations of his downfall, and I couldn’t fucking wait for the day I killed him. Preferably with my bare hands wrapped around his throat, so I could stare into his eyes—exactly the same shade as my own—and watch his life drain from them.
No guilt registered. I was what he made me. The prodigy he carved and tortured in his image.
“Take a seat, son,” he said, gesturing to one of two armchairs in front of his desk.“You look like shit.”
I shrugged. “Did you get what I asked?”
“Hmm. Curious,” he said, ignoring my question. Father stood and turned to his minibar, pouring two drinks of top-shelf whisky before offering me one.
He was probing, prolonging the silence to intimidate. A shame that trick had stopped working when I was a kid.
I played him at his own game, raising the crystal rim to my mouth and pretending to drink. I wasn’t ready to wash away her taste that lingered on my tongue, no matter the quality of the liquor.
He broke, collecting the trinket from inside his suit jacket. Holding the bright gem up in the air, he inspected the sheen with a critical eye.
“Curious…that you requested this specific heirloom your mother adored.”
“She wanted me to have it. That’s why it wasn’t buried with her.”
“Yes, but it was never hers to give. Like my predecessors, I gifted this necklace to her on our wedding day, and she never took it off. It was the only thing that survived that tragic car crash. So why would you want to give it to an outsider?”
Of course he knew it was for Ada. “She’s a Carmichael, isn’t she?”
“In name only.”
I wanted to punch him. He placed the gift on his desk before giving me his full attention.
“A priceless jewel of this calibre will cost you.”
“Name the price.”
“Your hand in marriage.”
My fingers tightened around the thick tumbler—the only tell that my insides were seething in rage and ruin. Yet, my expression remained in place—cold, apathetic, psychopathic.
I had mastered my mask many years before, as survival deemed it so. Not getting the reaction he sought, Father continued, digging into his endless pocket to remove a ring box.
“I’ve made an advantageous deal with the Sullivans, and in return, they’ve asked for an arranged marriage between you and their daughter.”
“I’m not marrying Annika.”
“Well, she wants you. And there’s nothing that Sullivan girl can’t get once she cries to her daddy. And the number of shares and money he’s willing to throw at this proves that.”
And the cracks began to show. “She’s fucking deluded. I’m not putting that ring on her finger.”
He tsked, as if dealing with an errant child. “You’re looking at it wrong, son. This ring is a form of control. Nothing more. Bring that Sullivan bitch into line, then we’ll have their whole domain under our rule.”
My knee was bouncing now, the structure of my control evaporating like steam. And my fucking asshole of a father smirked in triumph.
In one last fuck you, he opened the tiny case, revealing the extravagant engagement ring within. The gigantic diamond projected shiny prisms around the room when a soft knock sounded from the closed door. I was going to be sick.
Father placed the open ring case next to Ada’s birthday present, the sight conflicting and disgustingly wrong.
As he walked past me, my father laid a hand on my shoulder, its weight crushing despite the light pressure.
“You will do this, Greyson. Propose, get her all nice and pliant, then show her her place…Where all women should be—on their knees.”
I was a fool. I’d given him the knowledge of my one true weakness. And in doing so, I had handed him the tools to destroy me.