“One time,” she says, “I’ll make the deal with you. Take Ethan off the island. Away from this place. But he gets to have her once. One time. You can even dictate which hole he fucks.”
I’m on my feet, hands fisted at my sides. I stalk over to her. She backs up, but that look in her eyes, the one that screams victory, it mocks me, and I can’t fucking stand it. Can’t stand her. I close my hand around her throat and shove her against the wall.
“He doesn’t lay a single finger on her. Not one.”
She smiles, even as her eyes redden, bulge, my hand squeezing her scrawny neck.
“Your hate makes you ugly, Lucinda. Makes you old. An old, jealous bitch.”
She’s got her hands on my forearm now, is trying to drag me off. She’s struggling for breath. I give one more squeeze before releasing her, watching her sputter and cough.
“You have twenty-four hours to decide before I tell Ethan he’s a bastard.”
“You’re just like your father. You fell for that whore like he did his. You let your Willow Girl come between your family, just like he did. I’ll smile when they carve out the name on your stone, right next to his. Next to your dead brother.”
“You’re a pathetic old woman,” I say, walking out.
“Don’t you dare walk out on me!”
I slam the door shut behind me, her words clawing at me, stalking me. Lucinda is a force to be reckoned with. This isn’t over. I know that. It’s not over by a long shot.
I go to Helena’s room, knock once. It’s more of a banging with my fist. “Helena. You in there?”
Nothing. I open the door, but the room’s empty. I try the bathroom, knocking again, but finding it, too, empty. Using the connecting door, I go to my room. Maybe she went there. But she isn’t here either.
“Helena?”
I hear the engine of the boat and rush to the window and I see Helena run toward it, watch her board. See the two figures on the boat.
“Helena!”
I turn, run for the door, but see the discarded letter on the floor. I bend to pick up the familiar note from her sister with her aunt’s obituary inside.
Lucinda did this. Lucinda gave it to her.
I crush it in my hand and am about to get up when Lucinda reappears in the doorway.
“I told you not to fucking walk away from me.” She stalks to me as I stand, and I hear the clicking before I see the gun she raises in her hand. Aims.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
I see the rage on her face, and I charge toward her, almost reaching her before she pulls the trigger.
Almost.
A flash of light and a burning pain stuns me. I stumble once, twice, but somehow, I’ve got hold of her wrist and when I fall, she’s falling too, and the gun goes off again and my shoulder burns.
I topple on top of her but a minute later, she shoves me off. I watch her rise to her feet, look down at me, and when I reach to touch my shoulder, warm liquid covers my hand.
“Lucinda,” I start, trying to raise myself up through the pain, but something hits me on the back of my head. It feels like someone’s slammed a brick against it.
I blink, try to force my eyes to stay open, but fall backward and all I feel is pain and all I see is black and all I hear is the sound of Lucinda’s footsteps running out of the room and I’m left with my thoughts and they’re churning, circling, exploding until they, too are fading.
Fading.
Gone.21HelenaMy Aunt Helena died the night I left.
She died while I was still on that plane.
She was dead when I asked him to let me call her over and over again, and he knew it and he didn’t say a goddamned word.
Not one.
I didn’t bother to pack anything. Nothing here is mine. I changed into a pair of jeans and grabbed a sweater, put on a pair of shoes, and picked up my passport. I walked out the door, and when I heard arguing coming from Lucinda’s room, I ran. I scrambled down the stairs, out the front door, and outside, the night calm around me, the quiet sounds of crickets and soft waves same as the other nights. Like nothing outside has changed. Like everything is just the same.
Tonight, the lights guiding the path to the docks are off. I guess Lucinda took care of that. Of course, she did. She wants me off this island.
I stop for a moment, hesitate. Why? Why would she help me?
No, she’s not helping me. She’s helping herself. I have to give her one thing. She’s been up front with me from day one. She’s been awful, but honest. She hates me, but she doesn’t play games with me. Not like Sebastian.