Page 146 of Burning Embers
She’ll probably never talk to me again after this.
Not that I blame her.
I all but drag my mother outside, and it’s only when we turn the corner does she sag slightly, the fight seeping out of her. I stop walking, and she leans against me with a muffled sob.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispers, crying. “I’m so sorry.”
I keep my arms limp by my sides, unsure of what to do.
After a moment, I hesitantly hug her back, stroking her snarled hair away from her face. “It’s okay, Mom. It’s okay.”
“I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.” And then she dissolves into sobs.
She doesn’t stop crying until the following morning.
Forty-Nine
EMERY
The prick doesn’t even glance up from his phone as he maneuvers the backstreets. He’s completely oblivious to the predator stalking his every move.
Watching him. Waiting for him to fuck up. Hoping he does.
I have my hood pulled up, obscuring my blond hair and hiding the majority of my tattoos from view, and I keep my face lowered. I’m nothing but a shadow traversing the streets.
A phantom.
I’ve been trailing Grayson for over a week now, and so far, he hasn’t done anything too exciting. He only left his apartment a few times, and that was to go shopping and pick up Chinese. It seems as if he spends the majority of his time at home.
Which means I need to break into his apartment.
I spotted him on the phone earlier this evening, though there was too much traffic for me to hear who he was talking to. I did, however, hear Grayson tell a stranger that he’ll meet up with him or her tonight.
I just need to be patient.
Grayson ducks inside his apartment complex—a nondescript, five-story building with peeling paint and row afterrow of unwashed windows—and I wait a few moments before rushing forward with my wolf speed and catch the door before it can shut and lock. I step into the lobby and survey the room.
No Grayson.
Taking a deep breath, I press my senses outwards until I hear what sounds like footsteps on a staircase. Grayson must be climbing the stairs to a higher floor—which makes sense, considering the fact that the elevator has a huge OUT OF ORDER sign taped to the front.
I count each step he takes before deciding his apartment must be on the third floor. Only when his footsteps retreat do I race up the stairs as well, my feet feather-light on the cement steps. The door to the third floor creaks when I open it, and I inwardly wince, freezing in the entryway. When no one barges out of their apartment and demands to know why I’m here, I begin to relax.
Once again, I utilize my enhanced senses to listen.
A couple is fighting in one of the apartments, and a baby cries farther down the hall. In another, I hear a door slam and muffled cursing.
I close my eyes, willing myself to concentrate, and finally pick up on a gruff, raspy voice saying, “Gracie.”
I zero in on that one-sided conversation.
“Gracie, please pick up the damn phone. We need to talk.” There’s a pause and then, “I’m so fucking sorry. Just let me explain. I’m coming over whether you like it or not.”
Gracie…
A leaden feeling settles in my gut at the revelation that my sister’s right. Heischeating on her. I don’t want to jump to conclusions, but only a man in love would sound that desperate and heartbroken over a girl not speaking to him.
So he’s a crazed murdereranda cheater.