Beware the Wicked Heir

by Mara McQueen

  But he didn’t move. He didn’t abandon her. He stood by her side, as steadfast as Olivia could have only prayed for.

  Milo’s movements subsided. His eyes no longer twitched. Olivia rolled up her sleeves in anticipation.

  He finally went limp. None of his body parts moved—not even his chest.

  Mustering up the remnants of her resolve, Olivia gently moved him onto his side. She paid attention to his hands, getting them out of the way and extended his legs as far as they would go. The confined space made her struggles that much more daunting. Milo needed CPR.

  “I’ll open his mouth,” Kieran’s voice, deeper than usual, filled the space. He gently placed his hands on Milo’s temple and jaw, keeping him still. “Ever done this before?”

  “No.”

  Kieran dislodged Milo’s rigid jaw, prying his mouth open. Olivia hoped he wouldn’t dislocate it. She wedged the back of her hand inside it to keep it from closing. Milo’s teeth dug into her flesh, pressing into her bones—Olivia was sure they would snap.

  She flexed her aching fingers. Some of the grime near his mouth mixed in with his saliva and coated her skin. She tried clasping Milo’s tongue to pull it into a normal position—it blocked his airway. The longer he went without oxygen, the more damage to his brain. Olivia grimaced as his tongue slipped from her grasp again.

  “Almost there,” Kieran said. "You've got this."

  Using both of her hands, she gripped Milo's tongue, lodged in the back of his throat. Placing it in the normal position, she extricated her fingers, a prayer on the tip of her tongue.

  Milo still wasn’t breathing.

  Kieran quickly placed his palms against his torso. He pressed down, a focused look of determination on his face.

  “Come on. Come on, you fucker. You still have a shit ton of listings to steal right from under me. Breathe!” Olivia said through gritted teeth, waiting, hoping for his chest to rise.

  When that didn’t happen, she opened his mouth again and pressed her lips against his, blowing air into his lungs. She raised herself up and spit out the bits of dirty blood on her tongue. Kieran started compressing again, a thin sheen of sweat glistening on his forehead.

  They worked together for what felt like infinity. The seconds seemed endless.

  Just as Olivia was going mad with hopelessness, Milo’s first breath echoed in the stuffy space. Olivia shuddered a breath of relief.

  Kieran rose swiftly, dragging Milo’s body with him. “Let’s go. The sooner we get out of this, the sooner this poor sod can sue me for cracking his ribs while trying to save his life.”

  When they finally reached the exit, tired, worried, and desperate, Olivia exchanged a last look with Kieran.

  His face was set in an impenetrable grimace. Olivia frowned right back, letting her face scream her pain, anguish, fright, and determination.

  For a second, a soul-crushing second, Kieran's face softened, reflecting all that rush of emotions right back.

  For better or worse, they were in this together.

  Kieran nodded and opened the portrait hole silently, gun raised.

  Nobody waited for them on the other side. The room was deserted.

  Bolton Manor was dead silent.

  Flash Of Terror

  Quiet. Too quiet.

  No sound of Addie’s shrill laughter, Bertha’s coughs, or Martin blundering his way through the darkness.

  The only noise lost between Kieran and Olivia was Milo’s heavy breathing, as they looked around, eyes wide and suspicious.

  “Maybe they didn’t run into the house,” Olivia whispered.

  “Maybe,” Kieran said, but his tone said more than that word ever could—he doubted they would be so lucky.

  They walked down the corridor, Kieran keeping his gun raised.

  Nobody.

  Olivia hoped everyone had just gone to bed, but deep down she knew the reality was much grimmer. All the hairs on her body stood on end. The strange silence said more than a knife-wielding madman ever could.

  Kieran stopped abruptly just as they passed the stairs. “Wait.”

  Olivia heard it too. Hushed words. Rushed sentences. Spilling out from one of the rooms. The key was still in the hole—on the outside.

  Kieran nodded at Olivia and shrugged Milo off him, down on the ground. He approached the door, the muscles in his back tensing with every step. His hold on his gun tightened. His arms flexed, ready to pounce.

  For the first time in an hour, Olivia felt safe. Kieran would take care of whoever had been dumb and vicious enough to attack Milo and infiltrate Bolton Manor. She was sure of it.

  Carefully, Kieran turned the key, not making a sound. The voices didn’t stop. Clenching his jaw, he burst into the room, gun raised.

  “Kieran! Thank God!” Martin shouted.

  Olivia cringed.

  More harsh whispers floated from the room before Kieran emerged, face set in a grim scowl. “Bloody idiot.”

  He picked Milo up unceremoniously and walked back inside, Olivia right behind him. Martin and Sarah stood huddled together. She was dressed in an oversized yellow bathrobe, and he was sporting a pair of too-tight beige boxers with tiny little reindeer playing soccer on them.

  Kieran laid Milo down on the sofa, raising his legs in a comfortable position.

  “Where were you?” Sarah whispered, rushing to Milo’s side. Her eyes watered at the sight. “What happened?”

  “Where’s Nan?” Kieran asked harshly.

  “We don’t know where any of the others are,” Martin said, wringing his chubby fingers. “We heard a commotion and rushed down here in our—” His eyes shifted around the room as his cheeks turned scarlet red. “—unmentionables, and started looking around. As soon as we stepped into this room, someone locked the door behind us. We shouted out, but nobody came.”

  “We were so worried. It’s good to see you two are alright,” Sarah said.

  Kieran nodded, but it was clear his mind was elsewhere. “Take care of Underwood.”

  He turned on his heel, heading for the door. He stopped in front of Olivia, his steely gaze softening. “Call the police.”

  “I can do that, I can do that,” Martin said eagerly. Bless his heart, he even raised his hand as if answering a teacher’s question.

  “I’m coming with you,” Olivia whispered with a courage she didn’t feel. When Kieran opened his mouth to protest, she went on, “You really want to have this conversation again?”

  She was not leaving him alone, whatever they had to face.

  Kieran clenched his jaw and exhaled loudly. “If we get out of this alive, I’m going to make it my life mission to exasperate you every single day until we die.”

  “We have a deal then,” she said and carefully followed him back into the hallway.

  Her mind went into overdrive, trying to make sense of the preposterous situation. What was going on and who was behind it?

  Clearly, it was someone who’d been—maybe even stayed—in the house. So far, only five people seemed innocent.

  She took one more suspect off the list when they found Bertha’s slumped body next to a wall. Olivia kneeled next to her, wrinkling her nose at the powerful alcohol smell coming off Bertha in waves, and checked her pulse. Slow, but it was there. She was alive, with no wounds or bruises.

  She cast a worried look at Kieran. Confusion and fear bounced between them until he prowled up ahead. His brow furrowed, betraying his worry. Four more people to go, only two of which would do something like this.

  If Addie and Darryl had laid a finger on Mrs. Bolton, Kieran wouldn’t be the only one bent on revenge. Olivia had some very disturbing and uncharacteristically violent plans for the pair.

  They dashed forward as silently as possible, checking each room as they passed. Nobody jumped out at them—but Mrs. Bolton was nowhere to be found.

  But what awaited in the dining room crumpled every suspicion she’d had since coming to Bolton Manor.

  Slumped in their chairs, Add
ie and Darryl had been left tied next to the table. Addie had a large gag over her face, wet with her tears and mascara. When she spotted Olivia and Kieran, she screamed against the gag, jerking. Darryl was out cold.

  Kieran placed a finger to his lips. Addie froze on the spot. He grasped a knife from the table and cut their bindings in two quick swipes. Addie rushed to Darryl’s side, hoisting the large man’s face up with the strength of will alone.

  Olivia stared at the sight before her. If—if those two were attacked...

  “Emma,” she and Kieran said at the same time.

  “She—she has...it looks like a taser gun, but it's much more powerful,” Addie whispered, fresh tears mixing in with her mascara down her cheek. “It brought down Darryl. I thought she killed him.”

  An unnerving focus slashed Kieran’s features. He was out the door before Addie finished talking.

  “Make sure you call the cops,” Olivia whispered, finding her voice again. “And take care of Bertha. She’s right outside.”

  Olivia ran after Kieran, making as little noise as possible. She found him walking next to the wall, bent over like a tiger ready to attack. He stalked down the corridor, head moving slow, taking in his surroundings.

  Every few steps, the old floor failed them and creaked, no matter how cautious they were. Olivia gulped, her baton held so tightly, it was almost part of her hand now.

  They neared the last rooms on the corridor, most of them open. A large mirror hung on the opposite wall. Olivia swore she saw a flash in it.

  “I hear you,” Emma’s voice broke the silence. It came from the open room right in front of the mirror.

  Before Olivia could blink, Kieran shoved her back and ran straight for the doorway, gun raised. A flash of terror crossed his eyes.

  “Step away from Nan. Now.”

  Bloody Rain

  “Where's your friend?” Emma’s voice cut the stillness which had descended upon the manor, her tone curt and foreboding.

  Gone was the mousy girl who haunted hallways and Mrs. Bolton’s shadow. She sounded sinister.

  “You live with the delusion that I’d ever tell you?” Kieran said, matching Emma’s newfound intensity with his own.

  “You left her and that idiot in the boathouse, didn’t you? Can’t say I’m that surprised.”

  “Step away from Nan.”

  Olivia felt a pain in her chest, radiating toward her shaky limbs. The sliver of a reflection in the tarnished mirror was mostly covered by Kieran’s rigid back. She didn’t see Emma or Mrs. Bolton.

  “So that you can shoot me? Yeah, I’m falling for that.”

  “What did you do to her?” Kieran asked, the urgency behind the question clawing at Olivia. God, she hoped Mrs. Bolton was alright.

  “Same as I’ve been doing for the past year and three months—cleaning up my former colleague’s mess,” Emma went on in that same unnerving tone. She sounded so detached and clinical, as if talking about the weather. “You should thank him for having a bit more time with your grandmother, Bolton. He was supposed to deal with her swiftly. Alas, here I am.”

  “If you wanted her dead, why go through all the trouble of coming here?”

  “Come now, Bolton, don’t let your feelings get in the way of your logic. You know how these things work, especially nowadays.” Emma let out a mirthless laugh. “Why kill someone and turn them into a martyr? Have some crazy conspiracy theories appear online? Or have her loyal colleagues pick up the investigation where she left off? No, no, nobody wants that. But if you discredit someone by, say, messing with their mind? Then all your problems are solved.”

  “What did you drug her with?” Kieran’s deadly voice sent chills down Olivia’s spine.

  “What we’ve been doing is a bit more high tech than that, but sure, call it what you want.”

  “I’ll pay you whatever you want,” Kieran said. “Name your price, and walk away.”

  Olivia grasped her baton tighter. She struggled to not move, afraid the floor might creak under her trembling feet.

  Emma exhaled loudly, the puff of air gnashing against Olivia’s ear. For an irrational second, Olivia felt Emma’s cold breath against the back of her neck. She shook her shoulders. “Oh, but you’ve been so generous until now. You think more money is going to sway me to your side?”

  “Up until an hour ago, I had no idea I was housing a psychopath. Excuse me for my lack of knowledge regarding your exact motivation. But whatever it is, I’ll give it to you.”

  “You should have convinced your grandmother to retire and stop chasing after people who can crush her. Wouldn’t it have been easier on everyone if she’d just taken up crocheting instead of trying to ruin multi-billion companies?”

  “I know who runs that oil company. I can destroy him.”

  “Please.” Emma scoffed. “He’s as much of a puppet as this fossil is right now. Think about it, Bolton. The person who sent me here managed to create such a foolproof background for me, not even you thought it was suspicious. That takes financial resources even your bank account can't cover. And he knows more dangerous people than you. He can crush you like a bug.”

  “Why hasn’t he until now?” Kieran took a step forward as the words passed his lips. Good, good. Keep the lunatic talking until he subdued her.

  “That was the plan, but you’re so damn agile. I convinced your grandmother to move in this crumbling dump hoping I’d get to stage a good enough accident not even your suspicious associates would investigate—they are a nosy bunch, aren’t they?—but the closest I got was that idiot almost falling to her death. Not exactly the most creative idea on my part, but nobody would’ve questioned it, would they?”

  Olivia gripped her baton tighter. She hoped Kieran would finish this Emma soon.

  “So you took your anger out on Underwood?” Kieran took another cautious step.

  “No, the moron discovered what I was doing, he had to go. But then I wanted to know how he found out—I did not plan on making the same mistake twice—but he stubbornly refused to tell me anything. Then I thought I could maybe frame you for what would’ve happened to him. I hadn’t decided if I wanted you to go insane, too, so I had to torture him a bit more, make it look like you really lost your marbles. I was keeping my options open, you see. If I managed to either kill you or discredit you enough that nobody would listen to you, I would’ve received a fantastic assignment after this one. I’ve always wanted to topple a country’s government.”

  Mrs. Bolton’s wheelchair moved slightly, the grating sound of hard rubber against old wood breaking the sudden silence. Olivia craned her neck to get a better look at their reflection. Nothing, Kieran's back still covered her view.

  Mrs. Bolton still hadn’t said a word. Olivia prayed she was alright.

  “Emma,” Kieran said, and Olivia could hear the terror in his voice. “Put down the taser.”

  Olivia’s heart clenched. Taking a gamble, she took a hesitant step in the room’s direction. Mercifully, the floor didn’t make a sound. With the shift, the angle in the mirror changed. She saw Emma looming over Mrs. Bolton, who was slumped in her chair, eyes closed, Emma’s taser at her jugular.

  “You first. Drop your gun.”

  The ringing in Olivia’s ear overwhelmed everything around her. If Kieran listened, they were all going to hell. Starting with Emma.

  Olivia narrowed her eyes and counted down her heartbeats, a single chant dominating her mind.

  Don’t do it. Don’t do it. Don’t do it.

  Kieran didn’t move an inch.

  “I’ve quite enjoyed talking to you. You never did have time for us servants, did you? Always in that study of yours, investigating.” Emma rolled her eyes. “Strange that you’re suddenly so interested.”

  Kieran gripped the gun until his knuckles turned white.

  “Stranger still that I went along with it, no? Some would even become suspicious, wouldn’t you say?" Emma went on. "Maybe they’d start realizing I was biding my time until the last dose
I have your grandmother would get really, really dangerous and force you, the devoted grandson, to make a hasty decision.”

  Kieran cocked his finger on the trigger.

  “Nu-uh.” Emma pressed the taser harder into Mrs. Bolton’s neck. “You use that coward’s weapon on me, and she dies. We wait around some more, she dies. You don’t give me your gun right this second, she dies. Either way, things are not looking good for you, are they? Give me your gun, and I might consider throwing you the antidote on my way out.”

  Don’t. Don’t. Please don’t.

  Kieran spread his arms wide and crouched slowly, in front of the doorway.

  But he wasn’t stupid. One good shove and he’d be able to slide the gun in Olivia’s direction.

  Olivia took another excruciatingly slow step toward him.

  “Over to me,” Emma said.

  Shit.

  “You’re sick.” Kieran slid the gun as instructed, putting as little force in it as he could.

  “Honestly? You’re being childish right now?” Emma rolled her eyes again and headed for the gun.

  Big mistake.

  As soon as she was far enough away from Mrs. Bolton, Kieran attacked. He stretched his lean body to the extreme and caught her hand.

  But Emma was ready. Her taser came dangerously close to his face. He pushed her off him, throwing her off balance right into the gun. As Emma righted herself, she kicked the weapon away.

  Olivia ran out of her hiding place and darted into the room, eyes zooming around for the gun.

  Kieran didn’t allow Emma to go after Olivia. He lodged his hands into her shoulders and whirled her around, trying to incapacitate her. But Emma was inhumanly fast.

  She kicked herself off the floor, and whirled around him, charging at him with the taser again. Her and Kieran clashed in a hurricane of quick movements, ducking, kicking, and vaulting over each other until they turned into blurs.

  Olivia finally saw the gun on the other side of the room and darted straight for it.

  Next thing she knew, Emma had been catapulted across the room. At the last second, she grabbed hold of the chandelier, and dropped down, her back hitting Mrs. Bolton’s wheelchair.