Fourth a Lie (GODDESS ISLES Book 4)

by Pepper Winters

  The twine imprisoning me to the harpoon gun, shot by some hired mercenary, jerked me to a stop. Twisting, I reached down and fisted the rope, searching for a way to rid myself of the harpoon as three divers launched themselves from the shallows thanks to the cruising hungry sharks.

  The diver holding the gun attached to me had a hole in his wetsuit and a trickle of blood down the back of his calf.

  Yanking the rope, I jerked the harpoon out of his hands, making him slam to a stop, pinning his gaze on me.

  Tearing out a hunting knife from a sheath around his thigh, he advanced on me.

  Pain flared in his gaze. Panic a debilitating emotion.

  I was above all that.

  I felt nothing.

  Heard nothing.

  Saw nothing but rage.

  Throwing myself at him, I whacked the coral against his temple, cracking his mask and most likely his skull, sending him plummeting to the sand.

  Two other divers rushed toward me, their harpoons thrown away in the shark attacks, their hands fumbling for blades.

  It only took a single heartbeat before I crushed the windpipe of one with a well struck punch and plunged the blade of the other into his heart.

  Three bodies in the shallows, more blood dripping into the sea.

  White water appeared in the darkness as the small sharks turned into a frenzy.

  Breathing hard, I glanced at the horizon, seeking Drake’s boat.

  Shit.

  He was so much closer than he’d been before.

  No longer barely noticeable, his black craft sped toward my shore and beached itself in a heavy wake. My guards immediately added more firepower, shooting and surrounding the boat. Some aimed at the hull and the men hiding within while others aimed at the engines to create an explosion.

  Only...it was pointless.

  Drake proved once again he had no respect for life.

  A machine gun spritzed my shores, mowing down my men, a blanket of bullets all firing faster than their fingers could squeeze the triggers on their semi-automatics.

  Forty guards.

  Reduced down to nothing.

  Fuck!

  I stumbled as the throb in my leg amplified. My gaze drank in the carnage, my golden sand turning black in the moonlight with blood.

  Cal.

  Where the fuck is Cal?

  A rush of bile burned my throat as I found him. Flat on his back, his black shirt torn apart, blood all over his chest.

  His eyes closed.

  FUCK!

  Grabbing the harpoon gun so I didn’t drag it behind me, I ran.

  I ran with a goddamn spear in my leg the second the machine gun stopped reaping death and bellowed, “Still a fucking coward, Drake. Too much of a pussy to do the dirty work yourself!”

  I dropped to Cal’s side, my hands shaking as I searched for a pulse.

  Thud-thud.

  Thud...thud.

  Weak and fading, but there.

  Hold on, my friend.

  Drake appeared in the boat, laughing under his breath. Smoke from his gun curled into the sky, hazing him as if he’d stepped from a crack in the underworld. “Well, that was easy.” He pouted. “I’m rather disappointed.”

  Standing, smearing Cal’s blood with my own, I grabbed a discarded gun from a dead guard and fired.

  I fired again.

  And again.

  I emptied the entire fucking clip, wishing each bullet lodged firmly into my brother’s brain.

  When I had no more ammo and the sky rang with noise and reeked with gunpowder, he stood up in the boat again.

  With a sneer, he plucked at the small graze I’d given him. A simple cut on his side.

  My aim fucking sucked.

  “Always were a loser when it came to guns, baby brother. Should’ve come to the shooting range with me and dear ole Dad instead of hanging out with your mangy rescues.”

  I threw the useless weapon to the side and yanked a knife from a guard’s leg scabbard. I advanced on him as he pressed a hand against his side and leaped awkwardly from his boat.

  His feet were in my ocean, walking up my sand, infecting my paradise with his motherfucking filth.

  No.

  I didn’t care that his mercenaries leaped off the boat to surround us. I didn’t care that I would die. All I cared about was killing him.

  Over and fucking over again.

  “Hey, Drake.” I ran full tilt, harpoon in one hand and knife in the other. I ignored all weakness and the stickiness of blood and roundhouse-kicked him in the chest. “Surprise, motherfucker.”

  I shoved him straight off his feet.

  He sprawled in a jarring jumble in the sand.

  That was all I needed.

  I fell on him with a rain of fists. I stabbed him, lodging the blade into his shoulder, making him scream.

  I struck his face, his body.

  I used both hands at once.

  “Fuck!” He rolled beneath my onslaught, trying to get far enough away to collect his breath and retaliate.

  I wouldn’t let that happen.

  “Time to die, Drake.” I kept hitting. My knuckles crunched. My wrists threatened to snap. My blows ranged from feral to ferocious, growing sloppy and savage.

  I forgot about the knife sticking in his flesh. I needed to feel him die. Needed brunt force to break him rather than a knife to slaughter.

  He gave up trying to run.

  Twisting to face me, he struck my jaw, making my teeth rattle and blood geyser in my mouth from biting my tongue.

  “Fuck you!” he snarled and struck me again, thinking he could win. “Someone get him off me!”

  Hands reached for me. Punches rained on my back.

  But I had the upper hand.

  I had the power of hate. The corrosive fury of being weak. I hated that he’d gotten this far in one piece. I despised that my life refused to change tracks, preferring instead to hit the rewind and repeat button, forever making me the loser and him the gloating asshole.

  Not today.

  Today, I would take his life and—

  “Stop.” Metal bit the back of my head, digging past my hair and into my scalp. “Get off him unless you want your brain splattered all over your fucking beach.”

  I glanced behind me while I continued strangling Drake.

  I’d won.

  I had his life in my palm.

  My teeth clenched as I weighed up the likelihood of killing him before I had the same fate.

  My leg pumped fresh blood, making my mind skip with light-headedness.

  No.

  I shook my head, refusing to allow my body to ruin this for me.

  I squeezed tighter.

  I ripped the knife from Drake’s shoulder and held it against his throat. “Shoot me and I kill him.”

  The mercenary paused, assessing the situation.

  “Get him the fuck off me!” Drake tried to push me off, making me see nothing but red.

  I dug the knife against his neck and slammed my fist into his nose, making blood gush and a garbled grunt spill from his lips.

  “I said stop.” The gun dug deeper into my skull.

  Four other men pressed their weapons against my head.

  Drake choked and squirmed beneath me.

  I balanced on the edge of committing worthwhile suicide just so I could continue murdering my brother.

  But...even with a knife, I couldn’t be guaranteed he’d die.

  I wouldn’t have the satisfaction of seeing his lifeless eyes.

  It would be my lifeless eyes.

  My end.

  My loss.

  With bared teeth, I pushed to my feet, blinked back the heavy throb in my leg and spun. My arm lashed out, knocking into one of the guy’s wrists and sending a gun smashing to the sand. A second later, I punched him in the throat, making him gag for air. “I don’t take orders very well.”

  My vision went black for a second.

  I shook my head and stepped away from Drake, throw
ing a punch at the remaining men surrounding me.

  I stumbled.

  My heart galloped with adrenaline, mixing with the sedative of losing too much blood.

  Shit.

  I struck again, making contact with a man I couldn’t see.

  I tripped as a wash of heaviness made gravity twenty times stronger.

  No!

  Stay awake, goddammit.

  Shaking my head again, I bent and scooped up the gun I’d removed from the first mercenary. Nausea clawed my stomach, sickness made the world swim.

  I pinched the bridge of my nose, doing my best to stay conscious.

  How much blood had I lost?

  “Drop the gun.”

  Gritting my teeth against the creeping greyness, I gave him the finger and aimed at my brother.

  A rat-tat-tat volley of bullets made me jolt as a guy on the boat sprayed the sand by my feet. “He said drop the fucking gun!”

  I fired instead.

  I swayed and tripped and pressed the trigger in the general direction of my cunt of a brother.

  The kickback sent me falling to my ass.

  The sand embraced me.

  My teeth rattled.

  Darkness hovered on the edge of my vision.

  Six men surrounded me, all with guns aimed at my every body part, their tension feeding into mine and helping me stay awake.

  My leg looked like fucking mincemeat.

  A strange kind of spaghetti of muscle and blood.

  More nausea clawed up my throat, making me sweat and shiver all at once.

  The men surrounding me swam in a blur. I licked my lips, tasting sand and salt. “Whatever he’s paying you, I’ll quadruple it.” I struggled to breathe as my leg continued to drain me of everything. “Kill Drake and leave, and I’ll give you whatever you goddamn want.”

  Drake climbed gingerly to his feet, rubbing at his bleeding nose, favouring his stabbed shoulder. “They can’t be swayed, Sullivan.” He sniffed loudly and spat a large glob of blood right by my bare feet. “They don’t want money. They want this.” He waved his hand at my island. “They want what you’ve created here. They want a goddess for themselves. They want their dicks sucked. They want ultimate fucking power.”

  He stumbled toward me, hissing, “I’m going to take it all, and unlike you...I’m going to share.”

  Hissing hate ran through me. “My islands are not for sale.”

  “I don’t remember offering you a price.”

  “You think you can take my business by force?” I smirked and tapped my temple with a wobbly hand. “It’s all up here, cunt. The programming. The cypher. The way Euphoria works. The recipe for elixir.” I shrugged. “You can’t have a damn thing because I fucking refuse to give it to you.”

  “Oh, you will. I’ll trade you. Eleanor Grace for everything.”

  I grinned. “She’s gone. You couldn’t shoot her down. You’re too late.”

  “I’ll find her. I know her name. The world is an open book these days.” He smiled and rubbed his mouth with the back of his hand, spreading more blood. “I already have her parents’ names and addresses. I’ll just make myself at home here, we’ll have a family reunion while she flies to her folks, then I’ll arrange for her transportation back here. When she arrives, we’ll have ourselves a little chat and see how firm you are on the idea of business over pleasure.”

  I flinched as another wash of sickness made me sway.

  Fuck!

  “And you call yourself a man.” He clucked his tongue. “Can’t shoot. Don’t eat meat. Have to buy whores to sleep with you. And think just by sending your girl away that I can’t hurt her. You’re an embarrassment, Sullivan.”

  My heart galloped, oozing more blood from me to the beach. Terror I’d never felt before crippled me at the thought of Eleanor being tortured and raped by my sibling.

  I wanted to launch at him.

  I wanted to tear him into shreds.

  But my own body imprisoned me.

  My own blood forsook me and soaked into the sand instead. Balling my hands, I snarled, “Yet for all my downfalls, you still wish you were me. The older brother envious of the younger.”

  I screamed as he kicked me in the leg, his boot catching on the spear, sheer fucking agony bellowing through me. “Not jealous. Just owed what’s rightfully mine.”

  I gasped and groaned, writhing with uncontrollable pain.

  Fuck, I’d been blind all over again.

  I’d given Eleanor access to my credit card so I could track her whereabouts.

  If I could do that...of course others could. She would never be safe until Drake was dead.

  I hadn’t learned a fucking thing.

  It was my fault she was in danger.

  My fault all my rescues had died.

  My fault that Cal was barely breathing.

  My fault that my beach was decorated with the bodies of my guards.

  My fucking fault for everything.

  Drake clucked his tongue again. His forehead shined fake-perfect, his eyes unable to fully squint with intimidation.

  It’d been a few years since we’d seen each other, and instead of letting nature weather him, he’d turned to pharmaceuticals to reverse the hints of aging.

  “You know...” I coughed as my pain levels crept to all-consuming. “Injecting your face with botulinum toxin might do my job for me.” I attempted to stand. To grab him, kill him. “You’ll die wrinkle free, Drake, but you’ll still fucking die.”

  I wobbled and fell sideways, cursing my failing body, eyeing up the pool of blood beneath me.

  “What’s the matter, little brother? Feeling woozy?” He grinned and kicked my leg again, crunching the harpoon against my thigh bone.

  “Motherfucker!” I jack-knifed up and shoved him away.

  He snickered, his own injuries making him trip. “I can take that out of you. I could be nice like that. However, the hooked end will mean I’ll rip off most of your leg...but you don’t need to walk anymore, do you, Sully? All I need is that genius brain of yours.”

  He ducked to his haunches beside me, his hands locking around the spear. “By the way, this look is good on you.”

  I went to punch him in the jaw. His mercenaries pre-empted my strike by pressing the muzzles of their guns against my head.

  I would pass out if he touched that spear again.

  I would vomit and choke and die.

  Forcing myself to speak through clenched teeth, I snarled, “What look? A gutted pig?”

  “The ‘bleeding out like a slaughtered cow’ look.” He jerked the spear, making me pass out for a second.

  Nothingness.

  Then back on the beach.

  He chuckled. “Thought you’d gone then, brother.” He let the spear go, dragging his finger through the congealing blood beneath me. “Wonder how many litres you’ve lost. How many can a human lose before they die?”

  I shivered, suffering a stabbing pain in my belly and thickening greyness over my vision. “Piss off, Drake.”

  “Nah, not yet. Not until I’ve fucked that sweet girl of yours, you’ve watched me slice her into pieces, and then given over every worldly possession you own.”

  My heart kicked me into blackness again.

  Gone.

  Then back, blinking into colour, narrowing my eyes on my greatest enemy. “Who told you?”

  Drake grinned. “What little spy told me about Euphoria and elixir?” He touched his swollen nose, wincing. “That’s a secret.”

  “No secrets between brothers...” It was a struggle to work my tongue. The urge to slur and slip through words became harder and harder to ignore.

  I’m dying.

  The thought popped into my head with terrifying conviction.

  My body felt wrong.

  Cold.

  Distant.

  A shell I could no longer operate.

  I clawed my way back into comprehension. I couldn’t die. Not until Drake was shark food.

  Eleanor.<
br />
  Fuck, Eleanor.

  I’m so, so sorry.

  My eyelids turned heavy.

  I forced them wider.

  I looked at the sky, and a flutter of emerald caught my attention.

  Ah, shit.

  My heart rate increased, keeping me alive but ensuring I died faster.

  Two green parrots zipped from above, dive-bombing Drake.

  No!

  Pika squeaked and attacked Drake’s head, his little talons outstretched, sharp enough to scratch above his eye.

  Drake ducked, throwing his hands up. “What the—?”

  Pika fluttered around me, cawing instructions for me to sit up and give him somewhere to land.

  “Leave, you damn bird!” I swatted my hand as he tried to perch on me, fighting the final wash of light-headedness. He puffed up like a menacing cotton ball; his black eyes filled with fury. “Go!”

  Skittles circled both Drake and me, shredding the air with an ear-piercing squawk.

  Mercenaries tried to catch her with outstretched fingers.

  Drake eyed my caiques with the same malicious glee that he’d worn when he’d hurt Pongo.

  I turned ice fucking cold.

  “Well, well.” He sneered. “You have more pets other than Eleanor.”

  “Hibiscus, Pika. Now.”

  The flowers he favoured were by Nirvana. Far enough away to keep him protected, hidden by tall, thick trees and safe from whatever would happen to me. “Skittles, fuck off!”

  Pika squeaked, darting around my head, so stupidly unaware that Drake prepared to pounce on him.

  “Pika!” I waved my arms, creating air eddies, giving up the last of my energy to scare away my feathered friend. “Go!”

  “Sully!” he chirped. “Lazy. Lazy!”

  I glowered at Drake as he crouched, coiled and cruel. I knew his intentions. He watched Pika as if he could snatch the parrot from the sky and wring his tiny neck.

  My heart hammered, I flickered between darkness and awake.

  “Go, Pika! For fuck’s sake, go!”

  He chirped again, his little face full of concern. I’d dealt with so many animals in my time and all had a high level of intelligence, but birds...they were different.

  They knew things.

  They understood what wasn’t said and could read a situation that might seem friendly but was filled with violence.

  Pika had called me lazy because he saw me lying down and knew just how close I was to death.