Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 93463 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93463 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
For one wild second, when he leans in close to me, I think he’s going to kiss me, that this is all some nightmare, and I’ll blink and wake up.
That he’ll say sorry.
But he doesn’t.
He pushes.
And the world rushes by me as I plummet downward.
Sky, sea, and screams blur together.
The icy mouth of the dark Irish Sea swallows me whole.
Chapter 27
SEAMUS
My hands are shaking, but I don’t let it show. I stand at the cliff’s edge, and I swear to fucking Christ, I’ll hear the sound of her scream being swallowed by the wind and water for the rest of my life. It's carved into me now, the sound of her voice breaking as the sea opened up beneath her.
The wind bites at my arms. She was wearing the little dress I picked out for her, loose and lightweight on purpose.
The sea crashes below like it’s mourning her, but I don’t look down. I can’t. Instead, I turn toward my crew. Toward Branson.
My heart is in my throat, pounding so loud it might crack my fucking ribs. “Are you happy now?” I snap, venom lacing my voice. “You fucking traitor.”
He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t blink. Just smiles, sharp and cruel.
There was a time I looked up to Branson. He was almost a hero to me. My father’s best mate. Loyal to our family. Powerful. Strong and ruthless. A man to fear, a man to follow. But now…
“I didn’t know you had it in you,” he mutters.
He turns away from me, bored already, and faces Ashland. “Find the body,” he says. “I want evidence that she’s gone. Call me when you have it,” he adds, like he's talking about a broken vase, and not a person.
Ashland nods. There's something in his eyes, almost a glint of glee. I don't meet his stare, don’t want to give anything away.
“Yes, sir,” he says and walks toward the narrow stone steps cut into the cliffside, leading down to the rocky beach below.
The sea is rising. The tide will wash everything away soon. We’re at high tide as the minutes drag.
The salt wind stings my eyes, but I don’t wipe it away. I don’t say a damn thing while I wait for Ashland’s call. I just stand there. Still. Numb. Until the phone rings.
Branson puts it on speaker, staring at me like this is a show he’s been waiting years to watch.
I turn, my breath catching.
Ashland’s voice comes through, clear and cold. “I’ve got her,” he says. “There’s no pulse. Looks like she broke her neck.”
A pause.
“She’s gone.”
I close my eyes. Even hearing those words makes pain lance through me, bright and vivid.
Branson smiles. “Well done, Seamus,” he says quietly, like he's proud. “Let’s go tell your father.”
We march into the house, and my stomach twists and churns. I feel like I might vomit, but I don’t reach for my phone. I don’t do anything except move.
Kyla stands by the front door. Her face is pale, stricken, her mouth open in disbelief. “Seamus, what did you do? What have you done?”
My mother is behind her, one hand pressed to her mouth like she’s seen a monster. Fuck me. She looks at me as if I’ve drowned a fucking basket of puppies. “Seamus,” she whispers, her eyes wide.
“I don’t want to hear it,” I say, my jaw clenched. “I had to prove my loyalty. You know that.”
I turn and face them both fully. “I did it for you. To protect you. All of this, it's always been for you.”
“I never asked you to,” my mother whispers. Her voice breaks on the words. “Is she…?”
“She’s gone,” I say, turning away again. It's the only answer I can give.
Branson walks victorious. Triumphant. Smug.
My father’s waiting in his office. When we walk in, he looks up, surprised.
“What happened?”
“He did it,” Branson says, clapping me on the shoulder like I’m a boy who just lost his virginity. “Pushed her right off the goddamn cliff. Leave it to Seamus to kill and still make it a show, eh?”
My father blinks, then stares at me.
“You pushed Zoya off the cliff, son? You killed your wife?”
“You fucking told me to do what Branson ordered,” I snarl. Rage flares in my chest. I will never forgive him for this. Not ever.
I turn away and drop into the nearest chair.
“Did you have confirmation of it?” my father asks flatly, his voice hollow, his eyes wide.
Does he regret the order?
Branson nods. “Ash looked at the body himself. Said there was no pulse. She’s gone.”
“Who else witnessed it?” he presses.
“Me. Ashland,” Branson says. “Caitlin and Kyla saw from the window too.”
“Jesus,” my dad mutters. He runs a hand down his face. He’s not thinking about Zoya, not really. He’s thinking about my mother. About the emotional fallout. She’s seen him do terrible, wicked things, and she’s always forgiven him.