I need to mentally list what I’ve learned.
Someone named Drucilla has me, and her father’s with her. She’s a lawyer—I think that’s what they mean when they said “solicitor”—and her father is…in parliament, I think they said?
He has a good reputation. Would not be a suspect in a double murder.
Drucilla has known Liam for a while. At least I thought so. I can’t remember why now…
Liam’s father, the king, suspects but doesn’t know for sure if Liam is actually a bastard child. (Which explains why Liam told me he’s not a prince).
Liam is not really a bastard child.
Maybe these two people have been blackmailing him? Threatening him with the results of a paternity test, threatening to reveal he’s not really a royal?
God. Poor Liam.
I feel something soft against my ankle, and my heart stumbles. Then I feel the roughness of a cat’s tongue.
Grey!
As Grey licks me, I think of all those internet stories about people and their pets. Freddy the pit bull who woke Mom from sleep when little newborn Laura stopped breathing. That lion who runs and jumps into the arms of his former keeper. The cat who died in a house fire beside his owner, snuggled up against her.
My stomach churns with nausea.
I notice the smell of…cinnamon? It’s a house smell, kind of a Glade Plug-Ins type of smell.
I’m in someone’s house.
Grey licks me, and I wish futile wishes like that he could talk or untie things or wield a knife in my defense. I wonder how long until my captors notice Grey is in this room with me. I wonder if they’ll notice I’m awake.
I put some effort into regulating my breathing. I think of lions hugging people and that Internet video of a sloth scratching a cat’s head.
Then I hear a door open, and their voices are loud enough to let me know they’re in my room.
“Oh, there he is. Come here, kitty. Come to mummy.”
Hard arms pick me up. I hear a chuckle as I’m thrown over a painfully hard shoulder.
“Playing possum, are we?”
I don’t speak or move.
“We’ve got a new idea for you.” I’m feeling hopeful, praying that they’re taking me somewhere more public than a room inside a house.
That is—until I hear the ocean. Feel the rough floor of what smells just like a boat.
THIRTY-THREE
Liam
Gone—without a word.
I can’t say I blame her.
She must have been upset, because although she took her cat and most of her belongings, she left several things, as if she rushed off without thinking.
The first thing I do when I realize is text Heath. I have to find her.
‘I’m on it, bro.’ That’s what he texts me back.
Heath tells Ain, and Ain comes back from vacation a few hours after I notice that she’s left. He checks on me, tells me he’s proud of me—apparently his sense of smell was better than I knew—and goes into his office to track down her rental car and flight plans.
Meanwhile, I miss two calls from Drucilla.
I know I should answer, but I feel like shit, and I don’t want to go meet her right now. If they tell the press, so be it. I already told the one person whose opinion matters. What’s the rest of the world?
At some point, the story will get out: I’m not a prince. My mother cheated on my father with a longtime family friend, my father’s friend, one Ronald Gibson, who at this point is a leader in our country’s parliament. He and his daughter, Drucilla, my secret half sister and childhood playmate, have been blackmailing me for more than half a year now, threatening to have my bio father, Ronald, take a DNA test proving he’s my sire and go to the press with it.
Why, I asked Dru long ago.
She smiled and said, “Why not?”
Dru and I hooked up one time when we were younger, and instead of being disgusted like I am now that I know who she really is, she seems to love our perverse history.
I hate her more than I have ever hated anyone except my biological father, Ronald. Which is saying something, given how King Gregory began to treat me after my mother and sister died.
I’ve spent a lot of time considering my options, one of which has always been to simply have Dru and Ronald killed. I know it’s what a lot of people in my position would do, if not in modern times, certainly in centuries past. And at least a time or two I’ve wished I could. That I could just remove my conscience, set it on a shelf and let it collect dust.
I never could. And so I’ve made my peace now. Soon, people will know. I’ll lose Haugr Castle, Pirate Island, all the other places where I made my childhood memories.
I tell myself, as I sit behind my desk and guzzle lemon water, that it will be okay. Everything will be okay once I find Lucy and apologize.
The call comes at a little after midnight. I’m asleep at my desk, weighted by the smallish dose of Librium I’m still taking for the next two days and drooling on my elbow.
My phone’s screen says HEATH.
“Hey, man. Bad news. We tracked Lucy’s rental to that strip of public beach a couple miles away.”
My mind buzzes. “And?”
“The cat is in there going nuts.”
“And?”
“She’s not there. Ain’s had people looking for an hour—you missed calls from him; he’s down there now—but no one has found her. Liam…it looks like she may have had a boat strapped to the top of her vehicle.”
“A boat? What do you mean?”
“Some kind of canoe, based on the way the rope is tied.”
“What rope?”
“There’s rope around the rack on top of her Range Rover.”
I close my eyes, rubbing them hard. “What are you talking about, Heath? That doesn’t make a fucking bit of sense.”
“I’m not saying that it does, man. I just wanted to see if I could wake you with a phone call. I was going to call Mora if not, have her go get you up.”
“Do you have the cat?” I ask him.
“What?”
I sit up. “Did you get her cat out of the car? You can’t leave cats in cars.”
“I don’t know. I’m not there.”
“Where are you?”
“Ain and I are going to the guard. To report her missing.”
“Is her car unlocked?”
“I don’t think so,” he says.
I grab my tool kit and on my way out of the castle, holding it in one hand while I blow up Lucy’s phone with my other.
When I get to the beach Heath described, I feel ill. That’s her car. It doesn’t take me long to fuck a window up and get inside. I pull the cat into my lap.
“Where is she, kitty? Where’d your mum go?”
Grey paws my shoulder, then nuzzles my cheek. And I smell it: Chanel Grand Extrait. I fucking hate that scent. I’d know it anywhere. Even in hell, where it seems I now may be.
* * *
Lucy
Sand. It’s in my mouth and eyes, it’s in my hair and every crevice of my body. I think it’s the worst thing that could happen. That’s until I hear a door creak, and I’m dragged down steps…into a shallow pool water.
Oh my God. They’re going to drown me.
* * *
Liam
“I wanted to meet up with you, but now I’m busy,” Dru says.
“Busy doing what?”
“I’m at a party here in Clary.”
“Whose?”
“I’m in a club, Liam. Are you lonely? Want to come and join me?”
I feel cold. So fucking cold and scared for Lucy. “I don’t know. I might. I need a drink tonight myself,” I lie.
“Bad day?”
“You have no idea,” I tell her, fishing for some comment showing me she knows that Lucy left.
“My poor brother. Not much going right for you these days. Are you sorry you threw me out of your party the other night? That wasn’t very nice. I could have ru
ined you then, but I gave you another chance.”
“So kind of you, Dru.”
“Let’s meet somewhere new tomorrow. I’ll come up near Haugr. I could use a change of pace.”
My heart trips. “Where?”
“Maybe one of the beaches. Or the castle. Something easy for you. I heard you’re detoxing.”
“What?”
“I know, I know. It’s a secret. I can keep a secret.”
Who told her? The only person who knows—besides the doctor—is Heath.
“Where are you tonight?” I ask her. “I may come to Clary.”
“I was at Pike’s Bar, but now I’m leaving. Not sure where. Why don’t you call me if you come down here. We could meet up tonight I guess. Get it over with.”
I hang the phone up, get out of the car and bash my fist against one of its windows.
“FUCK ME! FUCK!”
Something is going on, and Dru’s involved. I don’t know what it is. I don’t know how to find Lucy.
* * *
Lucy
I know where I am. At least I think I do. The water is rising. I’m alone, and I’ve screamed so much as the water climbed up to my shoulders, I can’t even really hear my own voice anymore.
* * *
Liam
I step out of the Range Rover, her cat in my arms, and start toward my Jeep. I’m hit so hard in the back, I drop the cat and stagger, almost falling on my ass as a blur of darkness interrupts my vision.
Then I’m face-down on the pavement with my arms behind my back. Someone’s straddling my back, patting me down. I feel a hand in my back pocket, realize that my phone is being stolen.
“What?” I croak.
It’s the Librium. Got to be the fucking Librium that’s making me so heavy.
I buck under the weight atop me, kick and try to use my arms, and he’s off me. I’m free for long enough to get up to my feet, find myself facing a man in a black ski mask, and receive a right-hook to my jaw with my eyes wide open.
The last thought I have before going down is fucking alcohol.
* * *
I wake to the sound of ocean waves, to the smell of an island. It’s bright outside. Brighter than nighttime. I wake in a boat: one of my own canoes, a green one that I keep at Sheep Island. By the look of the sky to my bleary eyes, it’s sometime not long before dawn.
I look down at my body. Fuzzy. Heavy. I remember the masked man in the parking lot and feel for my phone. And…I’ve got it?
I fumble for the passcode—same as always—and look at my texts. The last one sent, to Heath, says ‘I can’t believe she’s fucking doing this to me. I’ve got a plan, though. Something she and I discussed before she went crazy.’
Did I send that text? I didn’t. I know because the voice-to-text feature doesn’t punctuate exactly like that.
After a moment of staring at my phone’s screen, I jump up. That’s when I realize: my canoe is broken, and it’s dragged atop…the door that leads to the sandy dungeon. I’m on Sheep Island. What the fuck is going on?
I toss the canoe aside and try to pull the top of the dungeon open. It won’t open. Fuck!
“Lucy! Lucy!” I lean down against it. “Are you in there?”
I finally get the door open, go downstairs… and Lucy’s floating. Oh God. Lucy’s floating on her back. As soon as she sees me, she makes a crying sound. I pull her out and notice that her head is bloody. Her pupils are dilated. Her hands are tied, but loosely. Her wrists are bleeding, and she’s coughing like she swallowed water.
I shut the door behind us, pull her against me, murmuring her name. And there is Ronald.
“You didn’t think I was going to let you get away? Take her back downstairs, Liam. Maybe Lucy will get to live.”
I’m so stunned by the sight of him, I almost drop her. My hands grip her more tightly on reflex.
“No.”
“You won’t get off this island, Liam. Do you want Lucy to be with you?”
* * *
Lucy
I’m still pregnant. I don’t know how I know—but I can feel it. It’s the only thing that kept me treading water when I could barely move my hands and my feet were still tied last night. Sometimes, I could get my head against one of the uppermost stairs, so that helped too.
My mind feels slightly clearer than it has been feeling, even though I’m shivering against Liam and I feel as if I’m on the verge of crying.
“She shouldn’t be here at all. Lucy has nothing to do with this,” Liam tells the man in front of us.
He shrugs. “In any event, you’ve got two choices. Put Lucy down. We put her in the boat. I’ll shoot her up again with ketamine. She won’t remember anything. And then I’ll push the boat toward mainland. You jump off the rocks at the north point of the island, go for a swim, and don’t come back.” My stomach freezes at the man’s horrible words. “I’ll have an anon call placed to the water guard, and they’ll come rescue Lucy.”
“What’s my other option,” Liam asks in a low voice.
“You and Lucy make a run for it, and I’ll shoot both of you.”
Liam slowly shakes his head. “Neither.”
“You want back inside the dungeon, then? Give you some time to decide?”
My whole body stiffens with my need to scream “no,” so I’m stunned when Liam says, “Not the dungeon. I want to sit with Lucy on the beach so I can talk to her. So I can get her ready for the boat—if I decide to send her off.”
The man chuckles. “You don’t make the rules here, I do. And you know why that is. I could have been a good father to you. A good father to the little rosebud. I asked your mother to choose, and she chose him. Did I ever tell you that? I don’t think Dru knows, not the full story. We were lovers since we were children, but she chose the throne instead of me.”
Liam’s body doesn’t move as the man’s face reddens, his mouth tautens. “I would have loved her. Given her the world. Look at me now,” he says, holding his arms out. “I’m ambitious. Successful! Your father—your faux father—he’s a laughingstock! The people of Gael can’t wait to see him out of power. Me—I’m popular.”
“That’s debatable,” Liam says drolly.
The man laughs. “Go on and debate it. I—”
One second I’m in Liam’s arms and the next I’ve hit the hard ground. I hear grunts, the smack of flesh on flesh. I hear a curse that doesn’t come from Liam—and then I hear Liam’s voice, my name. “Go, Lucy!”
It takes me a long moment to realize that my feet are still tied, but my hands aren’t. I have to focus hard to free my ankles from the rope wound around them. I have to block out Liam and Ronald, even as I see the older man on top of Liam. I see a gleam of metal, and I jump up without thinking. My legs are still slightly tied, but I can move enough to throw myself on Ronald’s shoulders.
I wrap my legs around his waist and wrap my weak fingers around his neck. He throws his hands up and back, trying to grab at me, to shake me off—and it’s a good thing; he’d had a gun to Liam’s head!
The distraction enables Liam to get a punch in. Ronald barks and brings the gun down on Liam’s temple.
Blood spurts from the wound, and I grab Ronald by his ear. I pull so hard, I hope I pull it off.
“You’re not my father,” I hear Liam growl. He backhands Ronald, who tries to get Liam in the face with his gun. Liam grabs at the man’s right wrist. I try to shift my body weight to Ronald’s right shoulder, even as he tries to shake me off.
“You’re nothing,” Ronald growls.
Liam’s got his fingers wrapped around the gun’s barrel. His eyes fly to mine for just a moment, telling me to go. Instead I lean down, biting Ronald’s neck as hard as I can. As the man tries to shake me off, Liam gets the gun.
“MOVE!”
I know the word is meant for me, and so I scramble off Ronald. The gun goes off so fast, and it’s so loud, I’m stunned and on my ass for a long moment.
Then I realize Ronald’s on the g
rass; he’s bleeding from his chest. Liam’s face is bloody, too. He’s staring at the gun. He blinks at me.
“Lucy?”
His voice sounds low and unsteady.
“This is my gun,” he says, starting to pant. “I know the safety.” His eyes blink as he looks down on Ronald. “I don’t have service here. I don’t have phone service.”
“My phone’s wet.”
I read the panic on Liam’s pale face. I can see the terror in his trembling shoulders. As he closes the distance between us, Ronald starts to gurgle.
“Lucy.” I’m pulled against his chest, and then we’re moving. Liam is steering me away from Ronald. “Fuck. Lucy. I’m sorry. I’m so, so, so sorry.”
He wraps his arms around me, kissing me as blood pours from his temple. I can feel him shaking hard. Or maybe that’s me.
“Are you hurt? Are you bleeding, Lucy?”
“I don’t think so.” I start sobbing. I cling to his neck. “I thought I was going to drown. I’m still pregnant, I don’t know for sure…I think.”
“Acushla. I’m so fucking sorry…”
“He’s not your real father.” It’s all I can think of. I feel Liam’s body go still at the words. “He and his daughter were talking. You were how he felt betrayed by your mother. I guess…her being with your father…made him angry.”
Moaning floats on the cool breeze from where Ronald is lying. Liam’s hands cover my ears, pressing my head against his chest.
“I’m sorry, Lucy. I’m so sorry.” He repeats the words as we both shake and hold each other. “We need to get off the island, but the boat is broken.”
“His daughter could be around.”