by Keri Lake
But what about now?
With his wife having left him, his career destroyed by some scandal Aunt Midge told me about, and his daughter dead, would he still feel the same hatred toward me? Would I still be unwelcomed?
Would I even bother with a man who once threatened my mother to destroy me?
I walk along the path toward the house, the warm sea air leaving a saline mist across my face. At the sound of an engine, I turn to see a vehicle slowing alongside me. Inside, Patrick Boyd stares back at me, his smile bright and friendly, as usual.
I wonder if he knows who I am. If he recognizes himself in me.
“Need a lift?” he asks through the rolled-down window.
“No, I’m just heading back to Aunt Midge’s. Thanks, though.”
The car comes to a stop, which brings me to a stop, and I turn to see him climb out of the vehicle.
“Isa, we need to talk.” The tone of his voice has changed and carries an edge of confession. It’s vastly different from the man I’ve met on a few occasions. One clearly versed in polish and veneer. “I know … who you are. What we are. And I just want to say, I was such a stupid, selfish bastard back then.” Coming around the car, he folds his arms over his chest and leans against the hood. “I was scared, and your mom … she was so young. But so incredibly beautiful and smart and funny.” Smiling, he stares off like he’s lost in the thought. “But we were wrong together. Still, I shouldn’t have scared her away. I feel like everything that happened was my fault. And I want to make things right with you.”
There’s a part of me, a niggling sensation that tells me to run away, but it gets tamped down by the authenticity of his voice. It’s unnerving how genuine this sounds to me.
I’m a girl from the streets, though. And I always go with my gut.
“How did you know I was here?”
“Your aunt told me where to find you.”
Bullshit. Aunt Midge wouldn’t have told an FBI agent where to find me, let alone this guy. “Look, I really need to get back. Aunt Midge is waiting for me. She’s got lunch planned.”
“I’d love to give you a ride and talk more on the way.”
“I appreciate it, but I need some time to process everything.” I don’t even realize I’m backing away from him at first, until the guardrail hits my leg.
Lips pressed together, he nods. “Of course you do.” He reaches behind his back, and something flips inside my head. A warning.
Run.
I twist on the ball of my foot, and dart forward.
A pop sounds behind me, and pain explodes in my ankle, white hot streaks of it climbing my leg. A throaty scream rips from my chest as I collapse to the ground, and I pull my knees up to find blood seeping out of a dark red hole, where a small bit of white peeks out. Every muscle in my body is shaking on a rush of adrenaline, while I watch the blood trickle down my skin to be wicked away by the sand. Nausea gurgles in my stomach, my hands cold and clammy, and I swallow it back the bile that rises to my throat. “Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God.”
At the sound of approaching footsteps, I crawl toward the opposite direction, kicking away from him with my one good foot. “Somebody, help me!” Fingernails digging into the sand, I pull myself along, my body burning with urgency.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t want to do that. But I had no choice. You’re as stubborn as your mother.” He reaches down into my pants pocket, sliding out my cellphone, and pitches it toward the ocean.
Arms snake beneath mine, and when he tries to lift me up, I scratch at his skin and scream again. “Please, somebody, help me!”
There’s nobody here. Nothing but cliffs, and the soft rustle of trees over the distant crashing of waves.
This is where I’m going to die. Fish food, just like my mother.
“Freeze, or I swear to God, I’ll pull the trigger.” Relief bursts inside of me at the sound of familiarity and I turn to see Mr. Goodman pointing his gun at Boyd. “N-now get down on your knees, and p-p-put your hands behind your back. Where I can see them.”
Eyes brimming with malice, Boyd keeps his gaze on mine, as he releases me and lowers to his knees.
I kick away from him over as much distance as I can, and whimper when the pain of the bullet flares to life inside my ankle.
“Pressure, Isa. Put p-p-pressure on it.” Mr. Goodman takes his eyes off Boyd for a split second to glance down at my ankle, and that’s when Boyd twists like a snake, tossing a dust cloud of sand into the air. “Ah, shit!” Eyes clamped shut, Mr. Goodman stumbles backward. “Run, Isa!”
Dread ruptures inside of me again, and I roll onto my belly, pushing to my feet.
A piercing scream echoes behind me that’s quickly cut short, followed by a thud.
Don’t look back, my head tells me, as I hobble over the guardrail, down the sandy incline. The agony throbs in my ankle, air burns in my chest. There’s nowhere to hide. Only the endless sand and dunes for miles, but I keep on, trudging over the soft surface that kicks up into my wound. A crashing sound from behind has me skidding to a halt, and I turn to see Boyd’s car barreling toward me through the sand.
Oh, my fucking God!
Screams tear through me, echoing in my ear, and I limp forward, desperate to ignore the agonizing pain with every step. My feet tangle beneath me, and the earth crashes into my face.
The car comes to a stop, and I scramble to get back to my feet. Once upright, my foot flies out from beneath me and my shoulder smacks into the sand. The gritty surface scrapes across my skin as my body is dragged backwards, and I kick out, the pain shooting through my ankle the moment it makes contact.
“Ah, fuck!” I cry out, and Boyd gathers up both of my legs, pulling me by my calves. I grapple for something to hang on to, but only soft sand slips around my fingers. Grabbing a handful of it, I toss it at him, employing the same method he used on Mr. Goodman, but he turns, dragging me behind him.
Once alongside his car, he releases my legs.
Pushing to my elbows, I sit up from the ground to flip over, and a flash out of the corner of my eye is the only warning before a knock to my jaw rattles my teeth. Another hit kicks my head to the side, and I lie disoriented, staring at my reflection in the chrome hubcap beside me.
Jaw throbbing, I blink hard to focus.
“I’ll give you this, you young bitches don’t go down easy. Last one didn’t, either.”
He killed Nell. It wasn’t Lucian, or Schadenfreude. It was my father.
The world shrinks to a pinprick and swallows me whole.
Chapter 60
Lucian
My phone buzzes, and I glance down, frowning to see Friedrich’s phone number flashing across the screen. It’s rare that he calls my phone for anything, so I’m guessing this is important. I answer it on the third ring.
“Lucian, I just got off the phone with our contact, who has been in touch with Mr. Boyd. It seems you were wrong about his offspring. There is one illegitimate child who might prove to be of some interest to our study.”
Doesn’t surprise me. Boyd had a number of affairs during the course of his marriage. Probably got a prostitute knocked up. “And what does this mean now?” I ask.
“It means he might be worth considering, given his background. She appears to be young but has a bit of a history herself. Her mother was a student of his, who apparently passed away just recently.”
A student of Boyd’s. Local girl, then. “Who is it, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“Her name is Isadora Quinn. I’d like to bring her to the Institute. Run some tests on her. At the very least, prove his paternity.”
Motherfuck, fuck. Muscles burning with tension, I curl my hand to a tight fist at the thought at the thought of Friedrich getting his on Isa. They’ll lock her up and study her like a guinea pig, like they did me, or worse, like Melody Lachlan, rocking in the corner with a pile of dead birds on the floor. “Do you have her now?”
“No. Not at the moment. He mentioned that he’ll get back to us a
fter he’s had the opportunity to talk to the girl. In the meantime, I’ve dispatched someone to Tempest Cove to retrieve her once we hear back.”
“And you’ve not heard back from him yet?”
“No. Not yet. I suspect he’s meeting with her, as we speak.”
Meeting with her. In contact with her. I’ll kill the prick myself. “And you don’t happen to know where?”
“No. Unfortunately, I don’t.”
Rubbing a hand down my face, I inwardly groan. “Thank you for the update, Friedrich. I look forward to hearing from you.”
“Of course.”
I hang up the phone and dial Rand’s phone number, not even giving him the opportunity to greet me when he answers. “I need Mr. Goodman’s contact number. Now.”
“Yes, of course. Would you like me to get in touch with him?”
“No! I need the number now!”
As he rattles it off, I jot it down onto a sheet of paper from my desk, and as soon as I have it, I click out of the call.
I dial the number.
It rings and rings.
No answer.
I dial it again.
It rings and rings.
“Fuck!” Adrenaline courses through me, and I shoot out of my chair, scrolling through the apps on my phone. I click on the tracker app linked to Isa’s bracelet that I handed off to the investigator at the end of our meeting. The blinking dot skates along State Rd. like the asshole is in transit.
At the ding of the elevator, I lift my attention to Rand, who shuffles across the room, into my office. “You sounded distressed, Master. Is everything okay?”
“No, it’s not fucking okay.” From my desk drawer, I lift the gun stored there and pop the magazine to find it packed with bullets. Stuffing the weapon into my pants, I swipe up my phone from the desk, watching his eyes widen. “Friedrich called. They’ve taken an interest in Isa.”
“Whatever for?”
“She’s apparently my sister-in-law. Go fucking figure.” I round the desk and stride toward the elevator. “How did our contact miss that little detail?”
“Her birth certificate didn’t list a father,” he says after me, when I pass. “Master, I’ll have Makaio fetch the car.”
“He’s welcome to follow me, but I need something faster.”
Chapter 61
Isadora
An earthy scent pervades my senses, until I can practically taste it on my tongue, as I blink out of the black void. A hard thump rattles me awake, and I open my eyes to the surrounding darkness of trees, beyond the halo that shines down from a floodlight overhead, the grit of dirt pressing into my cheek.
Confusion hangs like a thick cloud inside my head that’s throbbing with an intense ache. I squint my eyes against the pain and attempt to raise my hand, which doesn’t move. Stretched behind my back, both arms are bound together by a band of rope, or something, that bites into my wrists. Moving my legs proves equally impossible, and I stare down myself to find white nylon cord tied around my ankles.
Panic settles over me, my muscles cold and stiff.
Another thump reaches my ear from behind, and I twist over top of my bound arms to find Boyd slamming a shovel into the ground, the mound of dirt beside him telling of a hole he’s dug.
A scream cracks through my chest, and I squirm and tug at my arms to get loose. “Somebody! Somebody, help me!”
In the pause, Boyd raises the dirt-filled shovel on a grunt and tosses it onto the mound. “Scream as much as you want. No one can hear you out here.”
Another scream tears out of me, louder than before. And another. I scream for what feels like minutes, until my voice is hoarse and a cough sputters in my throat.
“Told you. No one can hear you.”
Still caught up in a spell, I turn into the ground, gasping for a breath. “Why … are you … doing this?”
He jabs the shovel into the earth and, with his shirtsleeves rolled up, wipes his arm across his forehead. “Tell me, Isa. Do you know anything about politics?” he asks, striding toward the trunk of his car. Popping it open, he peers inside for a moment, and swings his gaze toward me, as if he expects me to answer.
Instead, I remain silent.
“It’s the most intense game I’ve ever played in my life. A dirty match between you and the public. Every move dictates whether you ultimately win, or lose, and there is no room for error, because let’s face it, people are fucking unforgiving pricks.” He reaches into the trunk and hauls the private investigator up onto the edge of it. The sight of his lifeless, glassy eyes staring back at me, while half his body hangs out of the trunk, sends a wave of nausea to my stomach. Boyd rolls his body over the side, and it topples to the dirt below. “When your mother told me about you all those years ago, I was on a winning streak. Perhaps the best years of my life, if I’m being honest.” Hooking his arms beneath the investigator, he drags him toward the awaiting hole he’s dug.
Behind my back, I curl my fingers over the rope, my fingertips in search of the knot to loosen.
Dropping him alongside the shallow grave, Boyd remains bent, hands on his thighs, as if to catch his breath. “Finding out she was pregnant was like someone knocking me out of the game. This town would never forgive the beloved teacher and coach and future mayor who fucked his student and knocked her up.”
“Maybe you should’ve thought of that before you put your dirty hands on her.”
Chuckling, he kneels down and shoves at the investigator, pushing him into the hole. “I’ve always had a thing for young pussy. Tight, pink, sometimes bare. It’s always been my kryptonite. The one vice I couldn’t give up, if I tried.” He nabs the shovel from beside him, while a cramp settles in my fingers as I scrape my nails over the too-tight knot of my binds. “I remember the first time I cornered her in the locker room. It was after practice. She always waited to change until after the other girls left.” Lifting the dirt from the mound beside him, he drops it onto the private investigator’s body. “Being more developed, she was always ... self-conscious. With good … reason.” His voice is broken by the toil, as he buries his victim. “Her tits … looked like implants … so perfect.”
“You’re sick. And fucking disgusting!”
Pausing, he straightens and smiles back at me. “Am I? Seems your beau likes young pussy, as well. He’s not much younger than I was, in fact.”
He also wasn’t my teacher and coach, and I’m not sixteen years old, but I don’t bother to argue with this crazy asshole.
“Not that I blame him …” Shovel piled high with dirt, he grunts as he dumps the last bit into the hole. “If you weren’t my daughter, I’d be all over that tight little ass of yours, too.”
The thought of that sends bile up my throat, and I have to press my lips together to keep from throwing up.
Eyes on the grave, I breathe hard through my nose to calm the hysteria itching to break free. “What do you plan to do with me?”
He tosses the shovel towards the woods and rubs his hands together. “You’re my ticket to power. Ironic, isn’t it? The daughter who nearly ruined my career is the only one who can save it now.”
“How?”
“When you’re knocked out of the political arena, and the fickle crowd shuns you, the only thing that can put you back in the game is money and power. At the moment? I have neither.” Setting his hands on his hips, he inhales and exhales deeply, glancing around. “This used to be my domain. My kingdom. And now it isn’t. But with the right connections, and power in my corner, I can own this whole fucking state. And Lucian Blackthorne, for that matter.”
“What does this have to do with me?”
“I happen to know someone who will be very interested in meeting you.”
My heart hammers inside my chest when he stares back at me wearing that evil politician’s smile he’s perfected. “Who?”
“Doesn’t matter. You wouldn’t know him. But he’s perhaps the only man your little boyfriend wouldn’t dare cross.” As he strides to
ward me, I kick myself back in a laughable attempt to get away from him. He kneels to the ground beside me, and when he reaches out to touch my hair, I crane my neck away, my whole body trembling with rage and fear. “I understand a number of these men enjoy young pussy as much as I do. Once they’re finished poking and prodding you, I’m certain they’ll have a number of unorthodox tests to run.” Hand stroking my head, he grips a handful of hair in his fist and gives a hard yank, sending hot streaks of pain across my scalp. “They’ll test your tolerance for pain like you’re a fucking guinea pig in a blender.”
“He’ll find you.” My voice chokes on the tears that I won’t give him the satisfaction of seeing. “Lucian will kill you.”
“Lucian bows to The Collective. If I prove to be of interest to them, then my life becomes far more valuable than yours.”
According to Giulia, Lucian never subscribed to the ideologies of Schadenfreude, but he funds them, just the same. What if Boyd is right?
What if Lucian’s loyalties are stronger than his feelings for me?
Chapter 62
Lucian
The engine roars down the highway as I feed it more gas. The dot on the tracker app appears to have stopped in some remote part of the island. A wooded area with cabins that the locals like to rent out on occasion.
So much for trusting the private investigator.
I should’ve known his interests would be selfish. I asked him to contact me if anything seemed sketchy, but the gumshoe in him must’ve looked at it as an opportunity to take out one of the bad guys singlehandedly.
A few miles behind me, Makaio follows in the Bentley, struggling to keep up. My adrenaline is through the roof, and if I happen to get my hands around Boyd’s throat, I might just snap it by accident.
An ache throbs inside my skull, casting a flash of white light behind my eyes, and I shake it off, rubbing my temple with the heel of my hand.