Beware the Wicked Heir

by Mara McQueen

  “No, you’re certainly not.”

  Olivia rolled her eyes. As if the situation needed petulance. He was overreacting. Completely. And she was starting to get angry as well. She didn’t have a trust fund she could fall back on if things got shitty. “I’m going to get some water.”

  If Olivia stood in that room any longer, chances were they'd start fighting. They had been having such a good time. But she couldn’t take it back and she sure as hell wasn’t going to back down.

  Olivia needed some distance. As she left the room, Kieran headed for his closet, face set in a grim expression. His eyes flickered to hers for the briefest moment before they both turned.

  She'd handled that badly. Kieran clearly had some abandonment issues, buried deep under a layer of sarcasm and wit. And Olivia had dug a little too deep. She should've waited for the right moment and talked about it. Calmly. But he'd overreacted after she’d tried to explain her shitty situation.

  It had been a mess.

  Olivia made her way down the stairway, once again trying to understand how someone could stuff so much wood into a house, only to cover up the magnificence of centuries past. The entire Bolton family must’ve been just as obstinate as its youngest member.

  She hoped the kitchen hadn’t suffered the same fate. The steps leading toward the underground kitchen definitely looked unencumbered by new additions. The small lopsided door, encased between the walls of jagged stone, stood slightly ajar. Was everything in this house crooked?

  The kitchen was immersed in darkness, the grimy windows situated near the ceiling filtering in little to no light. Olivia could barely distinguish a few shadowy shapes.

  She pressed her palms against the wall, feeling for a light switch. Surely, someone must’ve brought electricity down there. She walked slowly, careful not to step on something sharp, but the slippery floors were testing her balance.

  But...they weren’t exactly slippery, because each time she walked, Olivia heard a sloshing sound. Bertha must’ve spilled something while cooking.

  Thunder erupted outside, and the tall walls of the kitchen amplified the sound to a point where it resonated deafeningly. Feeling a bump under her fingers, Olivia pushed it. Light flooded the room.

  She turned, proud of her insignificant accomplishment, wondering where the glasses were.

  But her entire body seized up at the sight before her.

  Collapsed on the table, next to a bloodied and dented cleaver, blood gushing from her neck down to the floor, with her head sticking at an unnatural angle, was Sarah.

  Olivia screamed.

  Fumbling Around In The Dark

  Sarah. Dead. Murdered. Slaughtered.

  Olivia shook her head to stop the black spots forming before her eyes. She raised a trembling hand toward the first thing she could find, grasping its handle desperately.

  The blood was fresh, still flowing sickeningly onto the floor.

  Sarah’s mangled body on the table.

  Her curls garishly mottled with her own blood.

  The splatters on the walls.

  Gore. Death.

  Had Darryl done it? Was he still there? Had a murderer invaded the house?

  Olivia spun on the spot, slamming her back against the nearest wall. Nobody could sneak up on her like that. She needed to get out of there. She needed to find someone.

  Who'd done this? Anyone could have killed Sarah, she couldn’t trust –

  “Olivia, is that you?”

  Olivia let out a horrified shriek, crumpling against the wall. She needed to escape. Someone was coming after her.

  A woman, it was a woman’s voice.

  “Are you alright, sweetie?”

  Olivia blinked rapidly, gasping for breath. Had—had Sarah’s head just moved?

  She was alive!

  Still alive, still alive, still alive.

  Olivia rushed to her side, looking desperately at the gruesome sight before her. She had to stop the blood flowing before she called an ambulance.

  It took a few moments for her to register that Sarah smiled patiently up at her, breathing normally, her head still very much attached to her neck.

  “You gave me quite a fright,” Sarah said, barely moving her lips, which were half fused to the table because of the blood. “I think I’ve moved around too much. Would you be a dear and see if the mark’s visible from the door? It’s a big yellow line. I told Martin we should’ve made it shorter, but does he ever listen? No. Acting like a big hot shot film producer.”

  Olivia blinked rapidly, too stunned to do anything else.

  “He did come up with the idea, though,” Sarah continued as if she wasn’t in the middle of a supposed murder. “We couldn’t find absolutely any souvenirs. None. And we needed a reminder of the wonderful time we had here. Luckily, we brought our own little butcher knife along and decided to improvise a crime scene. Smart idea, huh? People are going to go wild on the forum when they see our little film.”

  Then she giggled. Sarah giggled, while Olivia was rooted to the spot, mouth agape.

  The souvenir? Sou-fucking-venir? That’s what had almost given her a heart attack?

  Heavy footfalls came near the door. Olivia didn’t bother to react when Martin appeared, holding a camera with his bloody fingers.

  “Sarah, I think the battery’s okay now,” he said, still fiddling with the device before he looked up. “Oh, Olivia. Great, great. Well, what’d think?”

  Olivia remained silent.

  Martin stomped pointedly on the red liquid smearing the floor. “Water, cornstarch and food coloring. Looks real, doesn’t it?”

  “Sweetheart? You mind pouring some more blood down my back? I think it’s cacked,” Sarah said, remaining motionless.

  Martin pursed his lips and squinted his eyes, studying the mess he and his wife had created. “Looks fine to—”

  A frantic Kieran jumped from behind the door. He pummeled into Martin, who lost his balance and collided clumsily with the tall counter behind him.

  Olivia didn’t even flinch. The absurdity of it all had numbed her.

  Kieran’s eyes bulged as he took in the scene before him. “What—”

  “So good you’re here!” Martin exclaimed, standing up again and patting Kieran on the back. “Now we can film a hand actually holding the knife over Sarah. Isn’t that nice, sweetheart?”

  Sarah agreed wholeheartedly. “Wonderful. And Olivia seems to have a good pair of lungs on her. She can scream in the background, but maybe tone it down a tad. The sound on our camera isn’t top-notch.”

  “What if she yells from upstairs? Oh, maybe I can film her running in the rain.” Martin’s small eyes darted around the kitchen, trying to find new angles.

  Kieran snarled at Martin and headed straight for a still stunned Olivia. As soon as his bare feet stepped into the red goo, he recoiled and cursed under his breath. That didn’t stop him, though. He placed his strong arms on her shoulders, bowing his head to look into her vacant eyes.

  “I ran as soon as I heard you scream.” Judging from his wet hair and chest, he had probably been in the shower. “Are you alright?”

  Olivia pursed her lips and gave one last disbelieving look at Sarah. The woman and her husband were insane. Completely insane.

  Olivia pressed her makeshift weapon—a fucking ladle, no less; perhaps she could’ve served the killer some soup—against Kieran’s chest, and walked away without a word.

  “Are you two sure you don’t want to appear in our film? It’s going to be posted on all the top forums, I can assure you,” Martin said.

  “No,” came Kieran’s terse reply as he followed a distraught Olivia.

  She went up the stairs with robotic movements, her eyes still wide. Fucking house with its fucking creaky banisters and fucking insane guests and their fucking ludicrous—

  Souvenir. Sarah thought it smart to pretend her head had been chopped off for a fucking souvenir. Unbelievable. Madness everywhere Olivia went in the house.

&nbs
p; Kieran was right behind her, scrapping the runny fake blood off the soles of his feet every other step. When they reached the second floor, Addie walked by them.

  “My, my. Now that was a scream.”

  Olivia passed her, paying no mind to the daft idiot.

  “Sod off,” Kieran said.

  “For real now, didn’t know you were that good, Kieran. I thought you’re rubbish, what with nobody ever coming round to see you—”

  “One more word and I’m throwing you out.”

  Olivia headed straight for Kieran’s room, and only stopped once her knees hit the edge of the bed.

  “Olivia.” Kieran stopped behind her, his breath on her shoulder. “Are you alright?”

  “Ever since I came here,” she said, her voice distant, even to her, “it’s like I got thrown into another dimension, with its own rules I haven’t learned and probably will never be able to.”

  Kieran sighed and circled his arms around her waist, drawing her back into his chest. The back of her head fell on his shoulder, her stare blank.

  “Whenever I think I got the hang of it, something else smacks me over the head. How—how can you stand it?”

  Kieran tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and rested his cheek on the top of her head. Olivia’s heart ached for him. His loneliness must’ve been suffocating.

  “I have to. Until Nan...” His sigh shot from his chest straight through Olivia’s. Her heart ached for him, this amazing man who had to watch his only remaining family wither away day by day. “...until she decides to live somewhere else.”

  “I’m sorry.” For everything. For the fight they had. For not being able to help him. For having to leave. For everything, she wanted to say but didn’t have the courage to.

  Thankfully, Kieran, being the intelligent man he was, understood what she blabbered about and kissed her temple.

  “I’m the one who should be sorry. I apologize, I shouldn’t have reacted that way.” After a long pause, he whispered, “I want you to stay. I’m not going to ask you to. That would be too selfish even for me. I simply wanted to let you know.”

  Olivia closed her eyes, clutching his hands tightly. Kieran and his goddamn perfect words for every occasion. “I don’t want to leave, either. But I have to.”

  “I know. I’ll understand, too,” he said with the first smile of the day dancing across his lips.

  They stayed silent for a while, holding each other. Everything was extreme with Kieran, from the loud passion to the quiet calm, but Olivia liked it all. She liked it so much.

  “I want to stay here until I leave tomorrow evening,” she said, willing her voice to be strong even as her insides crumpled. “I mean—in your room. And study, I suppose. I mean...it would make sense to hash out the contract details and...I can go, of course. No, never mind, I’ll sleep in the other bedroom.”

  Her face burned up. She shouldn’t have brought it up, but the thought of being alone in this house...

  The image of Sarah on the kitchen table flashed in Olivia's mind again. She flinched, closing her eyes.

  “Of course,” he said, squeezing her more tightly. Olivia wasn’t sure if he was even aware of it.

  She turned and hid her face in his naked chest, trying to hide her unavoidable blush. “Thanks. You won’t even know I’m here.”

  “I don’t know about that,” he said with mock seriousness. They were trying so hard, both of them. Trying to ignore the inevitable, pretend they had all the time in the world to enjoy each other. He grasped her chin and turned her face to his, his thumb caressing her lips. “You kick in your sleep.”

  Olivia looked up at him with wide eyes, straining to not laugh. “You, sir, are a liar.”

  “I have the marks to prove it.”

  “We both know those marks didn’t happen while we were sleeping.” Olivia quirked her eyebrows, a soft smile gracing her lips. But a smile was all she was willing to give right now because the image of Sarah’s neck dripping with blood refused to leave her thoughts. “And for my first act as a temporary guest in your room, I am going to devour all your books on the manor.”

  Kieran made quick work of finding more extraordinary books about his estate, while Olivia tried—and failed—to get Maria on the phone. How many meetings could the woman have? Sending a text about securing the Bolton Manor listing just didn’t have the same ring to it. She’d have to try again and pray.

  Olivia settled on Kieran's cloud of a bed, lost in the books, while he focused on his laptop and whatever secrets he needed to uncover.

  Look at them, being a powerhouse couple. Or the couple they could have been if they’d met at another moment, in another life.

  But they could pretend for one more day...couldn’t they?

  A Conversation For A Sunny Day

  Olivia inhaled page after page of images of Bolton Manor, savoring every mural and wall sconce, once all the morning’s adrenaline dissipated. But fatigue set in.

  Lulled by the rain beating against the windows and Kieran’s calm breaths, she drifted off, clutching his pillow which smelled deliciously like him.

  But her dreams weren’t pleasant. They were plagued by Greek gods, frolicking around near a meadow. No, they were near the ocean. No, the manor’s lake.

  Kieran was there, but his name started with an M, and he kept laughing and sneering at the others, splashing them with filthy water. And he had a sister—yes, a sister, a twin sister who looked to be in pain. No, she was sad. Miserable. And she dragged him under the water, while the others cheered on. Olivia, or at least, dream-Olivia, was helping the woman pull him under the water, with even more vigor, as he thrashed and opened his mouth to scream, but no sound came out—

  Olivia woke with a start, eyes darting to every dark corner. It took a few moments to get her bearings. She must’ve slept for hours, dreaming about drowning and stupid creepy shit.

  Kieran lay next to her, his back resting against the embossed headboard. His eyes roamed over a crumpled piece of paper that gave off an unpleasant smell—like industrial cleaner mixed with rotten cinnamon. He held the paper very close to his face, straining to decipher it in the dim lights of the candles, the only light source. It still hadn’t stopped raining.

  Olivia stretched leisurely and scooted closer to him, propping a pillow behind her back.

  “Nightmare?” he asked, gaze scanning the small words Olivia couldn’t decipher. She was a bit unnerved each time he showed a glimmer of his job.

  A phone call here, a coded paper there, always met with that intense gaze that drove her wild. She wondered what else Kieran was hiding behind that deep stare of his she wanted to get lost in time and time again.

  She yawned until her jaw popped. “It’s this house. Driving me insane.”

  “I know the feeling,” he said dryly.

  Olivia wanted to push the hair back from his face and run her fingers all through it. In the low light, his angled features stood out even more. He looked incredible, with shadows dancing on his stern face. And then there was the glorious tattoo snaking up his arms onto his back.

  “You’re staring,” he said and looked at her. The corners of his lips quirked up and the soft lines on his forehead disappeared.

  Olivia sucked in her cheeks. “Just admiring your tattoo. It looks amazing.”

  More than amazing—it made her underwear feel unnecessary.

  “Thanks.” He laughed and kissed the top of her head.

  Olivia reached out to touch his arm, trailing her fingers on the ink. The spiraling vines coiled around words in languages she couldn’t decode, each of them cocooned in a tight circle of winding lines. Beautiful.

  She pressed down on one of the words, caressing the skin. “What does this one mean?”

  “That,” he said and retracted his arm, “is a conversation for a sunny day.”

  Olivia clucked her tongue—out of all the things to be secretive about. Then again, maybe it had a much deeper significance, beyond her grasp.

  �
�Fine,” she said and flipped her hair over her shoulder.

  Kieran turned back to his letter, which reminded Olivia of the glorious stack of books within arm’s reach.

  She pulled the covers, her leg stubbornly tangled in them. “Mind if I turn on the lights?”

  “I don’t. I’ll actually be amazed if you manage to do it. The storm cut off our electricity, again, but you can sure try and fix the generator. I spent a whole hour on the bloody thing and got nowhere. Then Martin came along and stammered something about injectors, poor sod. Thought he was helping me—”

  “Shit.” And her phone battery was dead again. She plopped onto the bed, covering her eyes with the heels of her palms. “My boss is going to kill me.”

  “Come now,” Kieran said and the bed shifted, “your boss will be thrilled you landed the manor. Is it so bad you’re cut off for less than twenty-four hours?”

  Olivia sighed. “No, it’s not. I just—wanted to tell Maria. Give her a heads up and make sure Milo doesn’t muck it up. Though I suppose going in on Monday and giving the news in person will do.”

  “That’s the spirit.” Kieran returned to his reading while Olivia fidgeted around in the bed, trying to find a comfortable position. “I hope you don’t mind, I also brought your things in here. I thought you wouldn’t want to go back and forth all the time.”

  No, she didn’t. But she also didn’t want him making these decisions for her.

  “Thanks. I could’ve brought them myself, you know.”

  "Why are you so against people helping you out?"

  "Why are you so keen on helping everyone?"

  They locked eyes, lips parted as if both ached to say more, to share the burden. To uncover each other's weaknesses and help stitch them back up. In the end, neither of them did.