Page 117 of I Will Revel in Glory (Death by Daybreak MC 3)
Grey pauses, standing up and moving out of view. When he returns, he has a bottle of Scotch that he doesn’t bother to pour. Instead, he unscrews the cap and puts the bottle to his lips, downing several gulps in a way that concerns me.
In this life, it’s important to stay grounded, to remember who you are, what you’re doing, and most especially why you’re doing it. I’m doing this so that I can live in relative peace in this town, with this club, with these men. That’s what I want, the chance to make my own decisions, to control the outcome of my own life.
What about Grey? What is it, exactly, that he’s fighting for?
“Talk to me,” I command, scooting back so that I can relax in the pillows and pretending like I don’t smell that distinct suede and violets scent of Crown. Fucking Crown. Ugh. He’s annoyed the fuck out of me for years—most of my life, actually, seeing as I can’t even remember when I first met the man—but now, some of the annoying things he does … aren’t so annoying. Or rather, they still are, but I find myself flushed when he does them, when he tells me what to do, when he tosses haughty, imperious looks my way.
I’ve fallen. Hard. So hard that I’ve crashed to the ground and broken into bits of shattered bone and ruined flesh.
“You know that my mother was the one who pushed for Queenie’s death, don’t you?” he asks, and I feel that old, familiar hatred digging its claws into my soul.
“She insinuated as much,” I say, remembering the way her smile stretched across her face like a disease. “Do you think I’d ever accept the offspring of some dirty whore as my grandchild, as the heir to my husband’s throne?” That utterance alone is enough for me to want vengeance against that bitch.
“My father didn’t care much either way. To him, we’re just pawns. For my mother, it was imperative. She didn’t want an illegitimate heir. More than that, I think it was personal for her.” Grey looks down at the bottle, like he’s staring into an amber vat full of Wolfe family secrets. “Part of that, I believe, was hurt. She wanted to inflict the same pain on Cat that he did to her. But it was something else, too. Pride, probably.”
I just sit there and listen, letting that rage solidify into intent. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: I’m going to kill Giulia Wolfe. I want that, her blood, my hands. I want to kill Alvise, and I want to look into his eyes as I do it. I want to slaughter the men who raped Posey, chop their dicks off and choke them with the severed appendages.
That’s what I want.
But my motives are obvious.
“What does any of this have to do with you?” I ask, and he turns to look at me through the screen, his gaze as penetrating through time and distance as it was when we held each other before he left the compound.
“My mother’s the one who advocated for both of us to die, you know that, don’t you? She lobbied for both of our heads. She doesn’t trust me; she’s poisoning my father against me.” Grey shrugs his shoulders and takes another swig of the Scotch. “The worst part of it all is that she’s right. She’s right, and my father is far too sentimental for his own good.”
He frowns, and fuck if he doesn’t look like someone spiraling into the endless black of the underground. It’s going to consume him, if he isn’t careful.
“She will never let me take over for my father. Never. So if this is what I need to do, then it’s what I’ll do. She’ll be staying in the penthouse suite with one of her lovers. Coincidentally, the man she’s fucking is the one in charge of the tactical team. Good luck for you.” Grey swigs his drink again, but it isn’t so simple as all that. He must have some feelings about this, other than thoughts of world domination.
“It’s okay to be upset,” I tell him, and the look he throws me is awful. He’s angry with me, but I can’t decide if we’re back to me rejecting him, or if he just doesn’t like to be challenged and made to feel uncomfortable. “You can love and hate your mother both at the same time.”
“Don’t make the mistake of thinking that I feel things the way you do.” He throws this last barb back at me as the bedroom opens and in walks Crown, handsome as shit in a white wifebeater with his black leather shoulder holsters thrown over the top. His leather cut is in his hand, and he carefully hangs it up in the closet before pausing and putting his hands on his hips while he watches me.
