Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 81887 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 409(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81887 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 409(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
“It worked,” Flint murmurs, his hand finding mine. “For now.”
“They still suspect something,” Damiano says, rubbing his throat where Viktor’s hands nearly crushed his windpipe. “That deputy isn’t convinced.”
“But they don’t have proof,” I point out. “And they won’t find any.”
We sit in silence for a long moment, the weight of what we’ve done—what we’ve successfully covered up—settling around us like the island fog.
“What now?” Flint finally asks, looking between us.
Damiano’s hand slides to my shoulder, fingers tracing the bruises hidden beneath my shirt. “Now we decide.”
“Decide what?” I ask, though I already know.
“Whether we stay,” Flint says, his eyes serious, “or whether we run. Because maybe this is the island telling us enough is enough. It’s time to get away before the body count keeps climbing.”
The question hangs in the air between us. I look at these two men—one who’s never truly left the island, one who’s never felt he belonged anywhere. Both now tied to me through something deeper than I could have imagined when I first arrived at Heathens Hollow.
“I don’t want to leave,” I say, surprising myself with the certainty I feel. “Not when I’ve just found something worth staying for.”
Flint’s eyebrows rise slightly. “Even after all this? Three bodies, Briar. Three fucking bodies.”
“I know.” I meet his gaze steadily. “But I’ve never felt more alive than I have with you both. Even with everything that’s happened... maybe because of everything that’s happened.”
Damiano traces lazy patterns on my shoulder, his touch grounding me. “I tried leaving once,” he says quietly. “It didn’t work.”
“You came back,” I say.
“I always knew I would.” He looks around the room, at the house that’s seen so much darkness and yet somehow still holds light. “This island... it gets in your soul.”
“So what, we’re just stuck here?” Flint asks, but there’s less edge to his question than I expected. “Haunting this place like fucking ghosts?”
“No,” I say slowly, the truth crystallizing as I speak. “Not stuck. Chosen.” I look from one to the other. “I came back to this island to die. I was so sure I was just... wasting away. And then I met you both.”
“And killed someone,” Flint adds dryly.
Despite everything, I laugh. “Yes. And killed someone. And somehow ended up covering for two more. And found... whatever this is between us.” I take a deep breath. “Listen, Windward Estate has always been mine. My mother set up a trust when I was little—it passed to me when I turned twenty-one. It’s why I came back here instead of staying in Seattle.”
Damiano’s hand stills on my shoulder. “You own this place? All of it?”
I nod. “Everything you see. The house, the grounds, the maze... it’s all mine.”
“Jesus,” Flint breathes. “So this whole time...”
“I wasn’t just staying at my father’s vacation home,” I finish for him. “I was coming back to the one place that’s truly mine.”
For a moment, none of us speaks. The weight of the revelation settles over us like the island fog, changing everything and nothing at once.
“I’m not saying we need to figure everything out right now,” I continue, looking from one to the other. “I’m just saying... I don’t want to run. Not from this island, and not from whatever this is between us.”
Damiano’s fingers find mine, intertwining them. “I’m not running either.”
We both look at Flint, who stares back at us with that calculating gaze I’ve come to know so well. Eventually, he lets out a long breath. “I’ve never been able to leave this island. And now… I don’t want to.”
“I’ve never felt more alive than I have these past weeks,” I tell them honestly. “Even with everything that’s happened. Being with you both—it’s like I finally found the pieces I didn’t know were missing.”
Something shifts in Flint’s expression. “You’re serious.”
“Dead serious,” I say, then grimace at my poor word choice. “Poor phrase considering... but yes. I don’t want to leave. Not if it means leaving you two.” I look around the large room. “But… it’s a massive house. A lonely house. And well… you both could move in here… with me.”
Both men look at me with surprise.
“You don’t think this is too fast?” Damiano asks.
“We buried a body together. I’d say we skipped to the front of the line that night,” I tease.
“So you’re saying we could stay here. Together.” Flint sounds skeptical but hopeful.
“Why not?” I say. “Damiano already takes care of the grounds. You have The Vault. I can resume my photography. We make it work.”
“Simple as that?” Flint asks, but I see the longing in his eyes—the same need for belonging, for home, that I feel myself.
“No,” I admit. “Not simple at all. We’ve got three dead men connected to this property. We’ve got history between us that’s messy as hell. We’ve got complications I can’t even begin to count.” I squeeze their hands. “But we’ve got each other, too.”