Fourth a Lie (Goddess Isles, #4)

by Winters, Pepper

  He put his own life on the line to encourage me to stay alive.

  Tears sprang to my hazy eyes. “GO!”

  Drake held out his hand, cooing, “Come here, little birdie.”

  Pika let out a huge screech, swooping toward him.

  I whistled loud and piercingly, stopping him mid-attack. If he got anywhere near Drake, I’d be forced to witness fourteen years of man and parrot brotherhood being decapitated before me. “Pika!”

  He snapped his wings and hovered just out of Drake’s reach. He squawked again, throwing me a rebellious glower.

  “Hibiscus, Pika. NOW!”

  He erupted in a chorus of angry chirps before finally darting into the jungle.

  My energy levels plummeted.

  My heart skipped with an odd rhythm, running out of blood to pump.

  Skittles still hovered above.

  Drake continued staring into the jungle after Pika, like the cat wanting to chase the juicy canary.

  I’d saved one bird.

  But Skittles was too brave, too bold, too loyal.

  She pinned in her wings and attacked Drake on my behalf.

  “No!”

  She dive-bombed, pecking at his eyes, scratching at his nose.

  Drake bellowed as she darted off, only to swoop in again, drawing blood on his cheek.

  “Skittles, stop!” I cried, my voice fading and weak.

  She didn’t.

  She continued attacking him, taking more and more risks, getting closer and closer to his flailing hands as he tried to protect his face from her beak missiles, so, so close to snatching her from the sky.

  Shit!

  Gritting my teeth, I gathered every remaining shred of power.

  I shoved off from the sand.

  I shut down every pain receptor.

  I ignored the blackness whispering over my mind.

  I hopped and threw myself on Drake, pinning him to the beach.

  His guards were on me a second later.

  Punches in my kidneys, kicks on my spine.

  My hands found his throat, squeezing tight, all while our legs tangled and the spear dug deeper.

  My vision blacked out, stuttering with warning.

  Skittles squeaked and plummeted from the dark sky, aiming straight for Drake’s eye.

  It happened in slow motion.

  Drake’s attention slipped from me to Skittles.

  His lips spread to reveal sharp teeth, his hand curled into a fist, and he struck at the perfect point of her trajectory.

  He punched her.

  Clear out of the motherfucking sky.

  “No!” I scrambled to the side, hauled back with the harpoon rope now wrapped around both Drake and my legs—a morbid, agonising mousetrap.

  My heart stopped as Skittles went from a fierce little fiend to a lifeless pile of feathers, tumbling from speed to silence. She splattered against the sand, somersaulting with a spray of golden granules.

  She came to a stop.

  Lifeless.

  Not moving.

  Dead.

  Skittles represented all the love I had for Jinx and all the things I’d failed at.

  I lost it.

  I howled and crawled back to Drake.

  I hit him, over and over.

  I got his jaw, his eye, his collarbone, his temple.

  I didn’t care where I hit, only that I did.

  I hit and struck and pummelled him with undying ferocity.

  My gaze caught the carnage of green feathers, unmoving and sand-covered.

  I hit harder, faster, crazier.

  I hit and hit and hit.

  But my body had reached its limit.

  I had nothing left.

  No life force.

  No blood.

  My fingers went from berserk to broken.

  My heart gave up beating.

  My eyes rolled back.

  I tumbled forward...

  ...and the world went deathly dark.

  Chapter Fourteen

  SULLIVAN SINCLAIR, OWNER AND CEO of Sinclair and Sinclair Group, faced trial for the fourth time today. Rival companies, Craden and Co, and Smart Int, hope for a conviction of life imprisonment. However, just like his previous arrests and subsequent court appearances, Sullivan Sinclair will most likely walk free this afternoon thanks to having the best lawyers that money can buy and no useable evidence against him. It seems this pharmaceutical mogul cannot be touched and continues to walk amongst us, murderer, whistle-blower, and all.

  I frowned.

  For the past hour, I’d been online, googling Sully’s atoll, clicking on Wikipedia links and doing my best to locate his forty-four islands that’d seemingly vanished without a trace. If I hadn’t spent time there, if I still didn’t taste salt in my hair from his oceans and feel his touch upon my tanned skin, I’d fear it’d all been a dream.

  The World Wide Web ought to have some mention of his location. After all, everything was on the internet these days.

  But...nothing.

  No link to his address. No mention of where he lived. No social media or tags from other people’s albums. The only thing I’d found was a corporate website for his company and a stern photo of him in a navy suit glowering at the camera with a simple bio stating he was the boss.

  I gave up trying to find his home and instead tried finding out about the man. Perhaps a hobby would lead me to him, or an old bill that’d somehow found its way into public knowledge would give me a starting point.

  However, googling Sully made my heart pound and palms perspire. I didn’t find a man known for deviant virtual reality or libido-enhancing drugs. I found no information on his proclivities about buying trafficked women. Instead, I read about a monster who, on paper, sounded utterly heinous and disgustingly powerful.

  Clicking on another article from a few years ago, I bit my lip and read.

  Upon taking ownership of his parents’ science research and highly lucrative drug business, Sullivan Sinclair, promptly fired most of the board, forbid animal testing, and enforced strict guidelines on the future of Sinclair and Sinclair Group. Stock market shares plummeted to a historic low when members of his board turned up dead a few weeks later. No evidence was found to the cause of their deaths, even though Sinclair’s own scientists made noises that they’d been working on a highly volatile compound that stopped the heart of any animal they’d tested it on.

  Ignoring the five-star hotel room that I’d rented—the first accommodation the man from Sully’s hangar had driven me to—I clicked on more links, skimming faster and faster.

  Sullivan Sinclair was once again arrested today for his involvement in the illegal recording and video sharing of a slaughterhouse in West Virginia. The footage has gone viral with over three million views in just twelve hours. At two a.m. on Thursday 15th February,

  Sinclair and two other men (who he refuses to name) were seen breaking into the slaughterhouse and recording footage of pigs crushed in pens, chickens walking over skeletal remains, cows sick with bovine spongiform encephalopathy, and recently slaughtered carcasses inhumanely dispatched and prepared for human consumption.

  Charges have been brought against TMT Feeds with more videos being leaked of employees physically mutilating the animals while in the chute waiting to be dispatched and one even performing sexual acts. Regardless of the seriousness of evidence, TMT Feeds will most likely be unaffected by allocations due to the law stating it is illegal to enter and film without consent. Therefore, all evidence is inadmissible. Sullivan Sinclair faces fifteen years imprisonment for entering private property and recording restricted activities. To this date, he has not released the names of his accomplices.

  Breaking News: Sullivan Sinclair walks free from murder.

  In a shocking tragedy today, Sullivan Sinclair—owner and CEO of Big Pharma Sinclair and Sinclair Group—has been interviewed by local enforcement for the murder of Sally Scoon. Ms. Scoon headed the campaign to bring back the right of fur use from fox, rabbit,
and other animals. Her social media was thrown into controversy when she filmed the killing and skinning of a rabbit to reveal the process of how pure her fur products are. Mr. Sinclair has declined an interview but eyewitnesses put him at the scene of the crime, the day before the gruesome discovery of Sally Scoon, who’d had her throat slit and skin removed in the same methods as those revealed on her Facebook page.

  I slapped a hand over my mouth, reeling away from the computer.

  Could the newspapers be right?

  Could Sully have been cold-blooded enough to murder a woman in the exact same way as she’d done to countless of creatures?

  Yes.

  A little voice shouted in my head.

  A thousand times yes.

  Sully could be cruel, cold, and completely unreachable if he chose. But he was also warm and caring and suffered far too much empathy for creatures he couldn’t save.

  He was the flip side of a coin. The yang to yin. The ocean crashing on a beach.

  He could be calm and gentle, but he could also be ruthlessly merciless.

  My heart thundered as nausea swam up my throat. If he could buy women and farm them out to guests for sex...of course he could kill. Of course he could turn off any guilt or wrongness because in his mind, he wasn’t doing something barbaric; he was doing something protective.

  Running shaking fingers through my hair, I glanced away from the countless articles painting Sully in black and white gory detail.

  The luxurious hotel room—complete with living room, huge bedroom with a four-poster bed, and giant ensuite—paled under the knowledge of what Sully had done. I’d booked this room with his money. I’d paid for this from wealth he’d made while killing fellow humans.

  It made me sick.

  All while a part of me understood.

  Sully had never pretended to be a good guy. His patience was non-existent when it came to men and women, yet endless when it came to creatures.

  He’d removed himself from society and cloistered himself in a paradise no one could find.

  For their protection or his?

  I skimmed the screen again, wincing at the pages and pages of hits on his name. All either blood-soaked or crime-etched—a manifesto of every dark and disgusting depravity he’d done.

  The notorious owner of Sinclair and Sinclair Group, Sullivan Sinclair, was questioned earlier this week on the death of his parents. His own brother, Drake Sinclair, has pointed fingers, suggesting the yachting accident and subsequent drowning wasn’t as innocent as first believed. Sinclair’s lawyers refused to comment.

  For Feathered Sake—an online group that has successfully exposed multiple areas of the dairy, meat, and egg industry—has recently grown from a few thousand members strong to close to two hundred thousand members, thanks to a rumour that Sullivan Sinclair has recently given his backing.

  The content of their YouTube channel makes even the hardened carnivore shudder as they learn where their pork chops and Sunday roasts come from. We cannot confirm the rumours circulating that their sudden growth or success in breaking into mainstream media with their illegal videos is because of a wealthy benefactor, nor that the lawyers protecting them are associated with Sinclair and Sinclair Group. However, Sullivan Sinclair has become well-known for being more wolf than human, choosing to protect the creatures who can’t speak over his own kind.

  Sullivan Sinclair...the enigma.

  According to Times Magazine, his personal wealth reached over ten figures last month thanks to breakthroughs and landmark sales. However, he is a man who has vanished from Big Pharma circulation. His board still reports to him, and he is still an active member within the science circles. However, he has not been seen as of late at functions or in city life.

  Could it be the constant rumours of how much blood coats his hands keeping him away?

  Could his lawyers have suggested he lay low after a recent charge of another member of his board going missing, only to be found a week later with his heart torn out?

  Could he be dying and sampling his own medicines in private?

  All we can say is Sullivan Sinclair is a monster when it comes to mankind. A well-known murderer, even if he’s never been convicted. He is a man who is seemingly untouchable.

  Slouching in the velvet chair nestled in the office space off the bedroom, I chewed my cheek with worry.

  I’d been booted from Sully’s islands. I’d been running around like an alarmist, drunk on panic about his survival. I’d spent his money and remained obsessed with the notion of going back as soon as urgently possible.

  Yet...

  How was I supposed to turn a blind eye to what he’d done?

  How could I accept that he might have killed his parents?

  That he’d killed people—plural, not single.

  That he bought girls and traded in sex and massacred men and attacked companies and earned a reputation for being an untouchable killer who only showed affection for whiskers and paws.

  God...does it make me a stupid, stupid girl to trust her heart over the ink online?

  To ignore the articles immortalizing his behaviour, warning me away with bold letters?

  Could I honestly trust that he’d never hurt me in the same way?

  Trust...

  I curled my hands, hating the niggle of indecision and slight whisper of self-preservation.

  You’re free.

  You can go anywhere.

  Do anything.

  Go home, be safe, ignore a man who deserves to burn in hell.

  But...

  Trust...

  Trust in your heart.

  Trust in your own knowledge of him...not what strangers have written.

  Sully had sent me away, knowing full well that I had enough ammunition against him to go to the police. The internet had no mention of his Euphoria or goddesses. I could reveal every dirty, torrid thing he’d done.

  Yet...he’d released me because he trusted me.

  Because he loves me.

  When Sully held me, he told me everything I needed to know.

  He was a good person—despite doing bad things.

  He deserved someone to fight for him—regardless of his past felonies.

  Pika and Skittles loved him.

  Cal respected him.

  And I...

  I have enough sticky-taped faith that he will never hurt me...if he’s still alive.

  I didn’t know if I’d regret my decision. I had no idea how I’d find my way back to him or if this would turn out to be the most painful choice of my life. But I did know if I allowed online articles to sway my commitment to him—then I didn’t deserve a happily ever after.

  Sully had given me his trust.

  Either way...I was going to break it.

  And I’d rather break it by going back than by running away when he needed me.

  I don’t care what you’ve done, Sully...I only care about what you are.

  Swallowing back my hesitation, pushing away the nonsense of leaving him to bullets and his brother, I scooted my chair closer to the computer and typed: Sullivan Sinclair property purchases and locations.

  * * * * *

  Dawn.

  I’d been up all night, going around in circles trying to find Sully’s islands.

  Not one hint. Not a single whiff of his location.

  The more time passed, the more a chill crept through me that Sully was hurt. I couldn’t explain it—I chalked it up to a racing mind and frustration at getting nowhere—but I had an awful, awful feeling that I was losing him, and there was absolutely nothing I could do.

  Sully...why the hell did you send me away knowing I can’t get back to you?

  Temper gave me a new surge of energy.

  My stomach growled, reminding me this hotel wasn’t like Sully’s villas. Breakfast would not magically appear, all organic and grown on Lebah. Here, I had to call. I had to accept a menu drastically slim on vegetarian options after a smorgasbord of deliciousness.

 
Ringing the restaurant, I ordered a bowl of muesli and local fresh fruit. Once my requests had been noted, I hung up and stared at the phone.

  A phone.

  I’d wanted access to one of these since I’d woken in my villa the morning after Sully gave me elixir. He’d made me sign a contract that I’d sleep with one-hundred-and-ninety-two men, and here I was, ignoring all that by fighting to go back to him.

  Snatching the phone, I dialled for an outside line.

  I rang my father over my mother.

  Ever since their divorce, my mother and I had slowly drifted apart while my father and I grew closer.

  A ring sounded in my ear.

  Ah, wait, I should’ve thought up a story!

  What the hell am I going to—

  “Hello?”

  I flinched, ready for his tears, his shock, his anger at my letter sent from the traffickers, the note I’d asked them to deliver on my behalf that I’d run away for love and not to worry. How ironic that it’d become real. “Dad...it’s me. Eleanor.”

  “Ellie!” His bark of surprise hurt my eardrum. “Oh, my word. What are you playing at? Leaving it over a month before calling your old man?”

  “Ha-have the police been looking for me?”

  “Police?” My father, Ross Grace, cleared his throat in suspicion. “Why in the world would the police be after you?”

  I frowned. “You weren’t looking for me? You didn’t get a note from the traf—” I cut myself off. “From Scott?”

  “Scott? Who the hell is Scott?”

  I sighed. He knew who Scott was; he just never approved. Not that he’d ever met him. I hadn’t exactly reached the commitment stage of introducing Scott to my divorced parents. “You know full well who he is. The boy I was travelling with. The one you threatened to turn his testicles into earrings if he ever hurt me.”

  “You calling to tell me I have a new pair of earrings?”

  I laughed under my breath. “No, Dad.”

  This was surreal. This was...normal.

  My life had endured the biggest upheaval of my twenty-two years, and my father acted as if nothing had happened.

  I felt adrift. No longer belonging to a boyfriend or parents who’d known the old me. Sully knew me. And I knew him.

  And he’s in trouble...I know it.

  Damn you, Sully, for making this impossible to get back to you!