Love Bleeds Deep by Rien Gray

Author:Rien Gray [Gray, Rien]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: LGBTQIA+, contemporary, romantic suspense, nonbinary, queer, bisexual, interracial, established couple, assassin, dark, #ownvoices, PTSD, revenge
Publisher: NineStar Press, LLC
Published: 2021-05-21T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Nine

JUSTINE

Campbell leaves for Paris a few minutes after dawn.

After last night, avoiding worry is beyond my capabilities. But they explained their plans to me over an excruciatingly early breakfast, and with what happened to Natalie, I couldn’t justify asking them to stay. Victor has to be tracked down one way or another. At least they seemed to be in a better mood this morning; I woke up to a kiss, then an invitation to the shower.

There are things that break me too. They just come from somewhere else.

I knew that almost from the start, ever since Campbell took me to the potter’s field in Chicago, but it was entirely different to wake up to that haunted look on their face and recognize that pain down to my bones. They seem so unstoppable, I think a part of me sometimes forgets, which isn’t fair. The same way Campbell guards my grief, I have to do everything I can to guard theirs.

Out of curiosity, I check the weather in Illinois. It’s frigid compared to Montfort-l’Amaury, high winds driving the chill even deeper. With the breeze playing in the garden around me, I snap a picture of the flowers and text it to Dalia with the message: I really needed this vacation.

Her response is instant. Oh my God. Nia told me France was beautiful, but that’s ridiculous. Stay and relax as long as you want, okay? The gallery’s doing great.

I send her profuse thanks, then abandon my phone to the garden table so I can lean back in my chair and bathe in the early sun. After a decade in Chicago, I'm used to tempestuous weather swinging from season to season, which puts today on this side of paradise. New York City wasn’t much better throughout the year, but the reminder of how long I’ve been away from home hits low in my chest.

Richard and I met in New York, and at the time, I was desperate to get away from Flushing. Marrying him was a contradictory rebellion—taking a husband to ease my parents’ worries, but not a man they would have ever chosen. He promised me freedom, saying we should move to his hometown after the ink was barely dry. I took the bait, and soon after, Richard started to get angry if I asked to spend holidays with family. The first time he hit me was the day I had planned to go home for the new year.

Campbell was right. If I could have him killed again, I would.

The slow pour of water makes me sit up, looking for the source. At the farthest end of the flowers, a tall man tends to the poppies, his broad shoulders swathed in heavy blue flannel, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. A thick scar splits the dark skin of one forearm, traveling from his wrist and disappearing under the folded cuff of fabric. His short, curled crown of gray hair gives me a ballpark age of sixty-plus, although you wouldn’t know it from his fluid steps around the garden.

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