His Trouble Maker

Chapter 112

Chapter 112

Chapter 112

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JESSICA

“I’m okay baby, really.”

Grayson sighs, burying his head further into my neck, making me laugh. I don’t think I’ve seen him cry like that earlier. My fingers brush his hair, admiring him like this. I don’t know what happened or how many days I’ve been sleeping, but I remember some fragments of what had happened before.

Ishift a little, body fucking heavy, muscles stiff like they’ve

“Jess…” voice low, rough, like it scrapes his throat raw to say it.

I feel his chest hitch, ribs brushing mine. God. I really fucked him up, didn’t I? This big, stubborn, half–feral man looking at me like I’m about to vanish if he blinks.

Fuck. He looks so… vulnerable. My hand slides down, knuckles bumping his jaw, thumb brushing the cut under his eye. When did he get that? And why is it not healing?”

Slowly, he lifts his head–fuck, it still knocks the air out of me.Hair stuck to his forehead, eyes shot red, jaw tight like it hurts him to breathe.

“Hey,” I rasp, tongue dry, voice scratchy like gravel. “W–What happened?”

Grayson looks wrecked. Worse than I remember. Like he hasn’t slept in days.

His gaze drags over my face, jaw, throat–hungry, haunted, desperate, all at once.

I shift on the mattress, heel sliding against the sheet, knee bumping his hip. The bed creaks under the weight of us both, wood complaining loud enough to drown out my heartbeat for half a second.

“Did… did I do this?” The words scrape out raw, softer than I meant, almost afraid of the answer.

His jaw tightens harder, a muscle ticking. “No, baby,” he mutters, voice rough, barely a breath. “You didn’t.”

My nails graze lower, skimming the sharp line of his throat. I feel his pulse hammer under my fingertip – quick, uneven, like he’s barely holding it together.

out shaky. “How long… how long was

bruised skin under them. Shoulders lift, ribs

rasps, voice gone hoarse, like it hurts him to admit it. His hand comes up, rough palm catching my wrist, holding it

my knee. The room smells like sweat, old blood, the ash and

close.

quieter. “Talk to

and shaking. “… I fucking missed

“Grayson…”

I was?” His voice roughens, turns sharp at

nothing

knot in my throat.

Jess,” he grinds out, breath hot against

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U/4U Mon, Sept

Chapter 112

heat of him burns through

feel my wolf stir, restless under my ribs–caught between wanting to nuzzle closer and bare her teeth at the

the cut at his cheek again. This close,

breath hitches, chest shuddering under my palm. “No,” he rasps.

The words scrape out, half–broken.

“Nothing.”

“What about Riot?”

bunching like he’s holding back from putting his fist through the wall again. “Don’t,” he mutters, voice gone raw, almost a snarl. “Don’t say his fucking name right

“Why?”

I hear

dry as bone.

breathes, voice so low it vibrates through my ribs. “From finishing

know what he’s doing–throwing blood and rage at me so I’ll stop asking. “That’s not what I asked,” I rasp, voice rough, throat burning. “Tell me what happened.

so hard it must hurt. His breath

like gravel dragged over stone. “Don’t make

it,” I push, nails biting through the thin cotton stretched over his ribs. “Say what he

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