Iniquitous (The Marked #3)(39)

“I wanted to, but…” I didn’t want to outright tell him that I had suspicions about his father. That I suspected his father and my uncle were involved in my attack at Taylor’s party. This was a conversation that needed to be had face-to-face. “It’s a long story, Trace, but I’ll tell you everything when I see you. I just…I can’t do this over the phone.”

“Okay, then let me see you, Jemma,” he pleaded. “I’ll take you wherever you want to go. I just need to see you. I need to know you’re really okay.”

Tears brimmed at his words. I could hear the want in his voice, the sheer need he had for me. As afraid as I was to see him, as much as I feared his reaction to what had transpired between Dominic and me, I needed him too.

“Jemma? Are you still there?”

“I’m at the Huntington Manor.”

“Don’t move,” he ordered and then hung up the line.

I placed the phone down beside me and angled myself towards the fire. Fear knotted my insides as I wondered how I was going to feel when I was finally inside his arms again. After everything I went through—everything I’d done to stay alive—I wasn’t sure I still fit in that space anymore. I wasn’t sure I still deserved him. He was everything good in this world. Beauty and light and strength. And I was the thing that lived in the dark.

The thing that destroyed all of the good in the world.

“Everything alright, love?” asked Dominic. He stopped at the entrance of the den and leaned his shoulder against the wall. The way he stood, with the light from the fire highlighting his cheekbones, he looked like a beautiful angel.

The good kind, for once.

“Trace is on his way.”

He studied me as tears tumbled down my cheeks freely.

“I’m assuming those are tears of joy?”

He walked over to me and took a seat on the edge of the coffee table across from me. I buried my face in my hands not wanting him to see the emotional mess I’d become.

He moved my hand away from my face and gazed at me, not saying anything.

“You like seeing me cry or something?”

“No.”

“Then stop staring at me, Dominic!” I wasn’t in the mood for this…this…whatever the hell this thing with Dominic was. “I’m embarrassed enough.”

“There’s nothing to be ashamed of, love.”

“Easy for you to say.”

“You did what you had to do to survive. He won’t like it, but he’ll understand.”

My head popped up, surprised that he knew what was troubling me. “How did you—?”

“We’re bonded, angel. That doesn’t disappear just because we’re home.” His hand came out and wiped away a strangling tear from my cheek. “He’ll forgive you.”

I shook my head. “All I do is hurt him.”

“You’re worth suffering for.”

“Don’t, Dominic. Please.” I didn’t want to be consoled or touched or looked upon. Not by him. My life was confusing enough right now without having to worry about whether I’d gone ahead and caught feelings for him. I buried my face in my hands again. How the hell was I going to tell Trace the truth when I wasn’t even sure of it myself?

“I do hate to see you cry, angel. Tell me what I can do to make you feel better. What do you need?”

I really needed him to stop saying all the right things to me.

“Nothing. I’m fine,” I said, shaking his offer away. “Really. Everything’s fine.” Pulling in a lungful of air, I wiped my cheeks clean in an effort to regain some of my composure.

He picked up my hand and for a second, he just held it. “Angel, I—”

Dominic’s words were cut off by the sound of the front door crashing open, followed by a set of heavy footsteps. Within seconds, Trace appeared at the entranceway—eyebrows pulled together, chest rising and falling at dangerous speeds.

My breath caught in my chest.

His mouth opened to say something, but nothing came out. Instead, he just stared at me…

Eyes crestfallen.

Heart broken.





18. BADGE OF DISHONOR


I shot up from the couch as though I’d just been caught doing something I wasn’t supposed to be doing. Who knows, maybe I was doing something wrong. But I didn’t move after that. Not a muscle. I couldn’t. I just stared back into Trace’s piercing blue eyes—eyes that were now filled with hurt and anger—as a million perfect almost-lifetimes with him flashed through my mind. Each one dragging me closer and closer to my own unravelling. My emotions twisted inside of me, shifted towards him, but my feet remained unmoving as though cemented to the ground.

“I’d tell you it’s nice to see you again, Romeo,” said Dominic as he picked up his glass and took a sip of his drink. “But that would be a lie.”

Trace didn’t answer. He just attacked.

Glass shattered as Trace barreled into Dominic, knocking him clear off the coffee table and landing several feet from where I was standing—frozen like a half-wit. There was no pause in his attack, no chance for Dominic to catch his footing and defend himself as Trace rained down blow after blow without the slightest regard for Dominic’s life. How ironic that after everything Dominic and I lived through, he was about to end up dead right here in his own freaking living room.