Her chest went ablaze.
No.
If she was next in line for a bullet to the head that evening, so be it.
She didn’t care.
Because if her son was dead, she wanted to be wherever he was. The kindest heart she’d ever known. She knew he was in heaven.
And she wanted to be with him.
So when her eyes flew up to the white stone balcony—to the second level of the Blackwater estate—almost instinctively, and she caught sight of Lincoln Hill standing behind the white stone railing with a gun trained on her head, her heart didn’t stop. She didn’t scream or run for her life. She didn’t shed a single tear. As their green eyes locked across the sprawling yard, she swallowed the lump in her throat and raised her chin high, staring down the barrel of the silencer screwed onto the gun. The gun cradled in a hand so steady, so solid, she’d never guess that hand had already pulled the trigger, nine times. Taken nine lives.
Celeste lifted her chin higher and waited for Linc to make it ten.
He primed his finger on the trigger, lips curled down, eyes shrinking into stormy slits.
Celeste’s breathing grew labored, her bosom rising and falling rapidly as the blaze in his eyes nearly reached across the space between them and swallowed her up in flames too.
A long moment passed, and then he lowered the gun.
Celeste’s mouth fell open, her eyes widening up at him.
He held her gaze, his upturned nostrils flaring like a lion ready to pounce, and then he turned, his eyes still locked hers, burning into their corners before he stepped back into the house and disappeared from sight.
Celeste watched him disappear, too stunned to move, the horrified screams of the dinner guests still sounding, albeit weakly, from the distance.
——
“Oh my God,” Veda breathed, her eyes expanding, larger every second they studied the TV screen before her. With every word the newscasters spoke through the screen, her stomach went little sicker. “Oh my God.”
As if the blonde newscaster could hear the shredded tone of Veda’s voice and see her stunned eyes, she nodded, her voice ebbing deeper. “If you’re just joining us for this breaking news story, a lone gunman—still at large—has opened fire at the Blackwater Estate, about half an hour ago, killing nine people. The island’s youngest mayor, Matthew Russo, is confirmed dead, along with Pierce Kincaid, David Blackwater, Eugene Masterson, Brock Nailer, Liam O’Dair…”
As the newscaster listed the names of the confirmed deceased, Veda’s eyes flew to the wall next to the TV stand, where Linc’s suitcase was still missing.
“I want names,” Linc said, meeting her eyes. “I want all ten names.”
Veda’s gaze shot back to the TV, her knees nearly buckling under her as she recalled the night she’d given Linc the names of all ten of her attackers, her breathing growing more frantic with each name the newscaster listed.
Names she’d known would be burned into Linc’s brain the moment she spoke them out loud.
Names she’d known he’d never forget.
Even if weeks went by.
——
The halls of Shadow Rock Hospital were always quietest in the dead of night.
And that night was no exception.
Save for the visitors slumped across chairs in the waiting room who didn’t even throw him a passing glance as he entered, Linc went unnoticed. Even the nurses’ station in the lobby was abandoned, as well as the dark hallways that led to the patient rooms. For that, he was thankful.
Because as he entered the trauma ward—followed by Todd Lockwood’s hospital room—and saw Todd lying in the hospital bed, Linc knew he’d need privacy now more than ever.
As Linc moved deeper into the hospital room, Todd’s blue eyes shifted to him and widened. Linc came to a stop at the side of the bed, took hold of the bars, and tilted his head. At the sight of Todd, wide awake, Linc recalled the distress in Veda’s eyes when she’d gotten the phone call from Coco the day before, telling her that Todd was stabilizing. The terror on her face at the thought of Todd naming Coco for his attack.
Drawing in a breath, Linc nodded his head up softly. “Who did this to you?”
If it was possible, Todd’s eyes expanded even wider, and he said, “Go-go.”
His words were slurred, but Linc understood, raising his eyebrows. “Coco?”
“Go-go Largood,” Todd garbled. “Go-go Largood.”
Linc nodded as Todd began repeating Coco’s name, as best he could, over and over.
As Todd gurgled and babbled on, Linc’s eyes fell to the breathing tube taped to his larynx. To the ventilator the tube was connected to. The machine that was breathing for Todd since he couldn’t do it on his own. The machine was hard at work—sending a sharp whoosh of air floating through the room every few seconds—keeping the roach alive.
Without another word or even a sideways glance at Todd, Linc left the bed.
He unplugged the chord to Todd’s vital machine, ensuring a flat line wouldn’t ring out.
Then he took hold of the ventilator plug and tore that out of the wall too, bringing the rhythmic whooshes of air that had been permeating the room to an immediate halt.
Todd watched him do this, his chest rising as the air left his lungs. Unable to breathe or even move his arms and legs, Todd began flailing in the bed like a fish who’d been ripped from the ocean, just as panicked, desperate, and cold-blooded as the animal itself as the last wisps of life petered out of him.
Linc turned away just as Todd began to cry out, noting that even his screams sounded garbled. He moved to the door on a calm foot and closed it behind him without looking back, drowning out Todd’s pleas for help, knowing they would be his last.
Ten down.
Part Two
1
Ten Months Later
Even as Christmas Day loomed, sharp rays of sunlight still blasted through the tall, curve-topped window at the far corner of the office. Seventy-degree heat radiated off the powerful rays that illuminated the space—promising another California Christmas that would be anything but white—serving as a direct contrast to the muted colors the office had been decorated in. From the wall-to-wall bookcases, the beige three-seater couch, the lone gray sitting-chair across from it, and the boring oak coffee table that sat in between them with a chess board showcased in the middle, the space had been built to be unassuming. The dull colors, as well as the flickering candles that had been strategically placed all over it, emanating the subtle scent of vanilla and lavender, were meant to relax whoever entered the room.
But there weren’t enough Yankee Candles in existence to ease Veda’s heart. To stop the constant swing of her leg from where she had one crossed over the other in her burgundy t-shirt dress. Not even the sugary sweetness of the watermelon lollipop trapped between her pursed lips was enough to get her endorphins going. Her eyes traveled to the Christmas reef hanging off the back of the door, along the strings of colorful lights that hung from the corners of the ceiling and down to the small silver tree that had been perched on a nook behind the desk in the far corner of the room. But not even the promise of holiday cheer was enough to uplift her.
She adjusted her dress over her pudgy stomach with a sigh before her eyes narrowed to the side table on her left. Reaching over the arm of the couch, she took hold of the cool, smooth metal chain hanging down from the lamp on the side table, which had been wrapped in glittery red tinsel. She tugged the chain, causing the soft yellow light to die out. She tugged it again, flipping the light back on, grew bored, and moved her touch to the box of tissues that sat in front of the lamp. She tugged at the dry tissue paper jutting out of it but didn’t pull it from the box.
She hadn’t pulled one from the box in weeks.
“I just…” Gage’s deep voice floated in from where he sat next to Veda on the old, tattered brown couch, shifting his weight against what she assumed were the same sharp springs stabbing her in the ass at that moment. The foa
m in the couch had seen better days, and the springs jutted through at various angles, surely mere seconds from punching through and making a tear in Gage’s gray slacks. He leaned forward on his knees, biceps pulsing in his white button-down shirt as he held his hands out, motioning to the gray sitting-chair on the other side of the coffee table. “I can’t… wrap my head around it. No matter how hard I try, I just can’t understand.” He sliced his hands into his hair and let his eyes slam closed for a moment while he drew a deep breath. Then his head shot back up, brown eyes soaked in amazement. “Since the day I was born… I was lied to. I was lied to about who my mother really is and where she really came from. I was lied to about the fact that my grandfather was also my… my birth father. As if that isn’t terrible enough, for my entire life, I’ve had a brother that I never knew about. God only knows how many other siblings I may have scattered all over the country since the sheer depth of my family’s depravity has proven to know no bounds. For my entire life, I’ve been led to believe that my—” he made finger quotes—“ ‘Father’ was a legitimate businessman, running a successful cruise line when he was really a white-collar criminal running a multi-billion dollar sex trafficking operation that spanned thirty different countries. And my own mother became a victim of that very operation after Pierce sold her to him, all for a seat on the board at Blackwater Cruises. I just—” Gage chuckled and hid his head in his hands, unable to finish.
Veda raised her eyebrows as silence dominated the room, swirling the lollipop under her tongue, keeping her eyes lowered as she rotated the oval halo engagement ring gleaming up at her from her ring finger, her black-and-white Converse sneaker bopping in the air.
Gage’s feet were restless too, his camel colored suede loafers bouncing against the beige carpet as he rebounded and lifted his head from his hands. His voice came again, calmer than it had been a moment before. “I always knew it was strange that he married her when she was a pre-teen. I always knew, at the core, that it was fucked up… but I believed them when they said they were in love. I believed every lie. I just don’t understand… how. How? How could she look me in the eye and lie to me about this for so many years?” Gage took another heaving breath before looking up at the lone gray sitting-chair across the room.
Dr. Ginger Marshall nodded from her seat in that lone gray chair—her own legs crossed in a knee length navy skirt and loose navy sweater. Her dull brown hair was pulled into a French twist, illuminating a face that was lined in her middle age. A pair of rectangular glasses sat at the very tip of her pointed nose, connected to a beaded chain that swung down and rested on both her shoulders.
Dr. Marshall gave Gage another moment to speak, and when he didn’t, she moved her blue eyes to Gage’s left. “Celeste…? Do you hear what Gage is saying?”
Celeste, sitting on the opposite end of the couch, leaning one elbow on the arm with the bridge of her nose trapped between two fingers, shut her green eyes tight. She shook her head softly. Her svelte legs were crossed away from Gage. A huff left her thin lips, which were painted bright red, the color screaming out against the tight, strapless white lace dress she’d chosen to wear that afternoon. The dress hugged her slim, willowy figure and showcased her long legs. Legs that seemed to go on forever before finally coming to a stop at the strappy silver sandals at her feet. Even as she leaned on the arm of the couch, her spine somehow remained stark straight.
With a deep breath, Celeste stopped pinching her nose, crossed her arms over her heaving bosom and opened her eyes. Her green orbs narrowed to their corners, toward Gage, but she didn’t look at him.
“Yes,” Celeste finally whispered, voice strained.
Dr. Marshall nodded at Celeste’s confirmation that she heard what Gage was saying, pushing further. “And what is Gage saying?”
Celeste rolled her eyes softly. “He’s clearly saying that I’m a terrible mother, who’s failed him completely and has made heinous choices that are utterly unforgivable—”
“Mother, that’s not what I said—”
“Gage?” Dr. Marshall jumped in just as Gage shot his eyes to Celeste—who was still avoiding his stare—with a deep cringe growing across his reddened face. Dr. Marshall waited for Gage’s eyes to meet hers. “It’s Celeste’s turn to speak now. Remember what we talked about? How everyone’s voice is important?”
Gage nearly incinerated Dr. Marshall with the heated look he threw her, but instead of spewing the argument that was clearly on the tip of his tongue, he crossed his arms and collapsed back onto the couch, staring forward.
Veda’s eyebrows remained raised high, her own eyes trained straight ahead, avoiding contact with everyone in the room, still playing her ring around her finger.
“Celeste.” Dr. Marshall shifted her attention to Celeste. “Let’s be fair to Gage by not putting words in his mouth. Now… What is Gage saying to you?”
A lump moved down Celeste’s throat. “He’s saying he feels betrayed.”
Gage snuck another look at Celeste, eyes softer, but didn’t speak.
Dr. Marshall nodded. “And how does that make you feel, Celeste?”
A frown took over Celeste’s face as she tried to fight the tears filling her eyes, her watery orbs shooting towards the ceiling, voice strained as she answered, “Dreadful.”
Dr. Marshall nodded.
Celeste sucked in a breath. “But I only did what I had to do to protect him. All I could ever think about, all I could ever breathe was protecting my baby. And protecting him meant him never finding out the truth about his father and grandfather. Never finding out about the dark side of their business. His being unaware was the only thing that kept him alive because I knew his heart was too pure to ever walk alongside either of them. I knew he would go straight to the police if he ever learned the truth, and going to the police would’ve meant his death. If his father hadn’t been gunned down out of nowhere, please believe me, he would’ve killed Gage—”
“Mother, you didn’t have the right—”
“Gage,” Dr. Marshall’s voice fluttered in, full of warning.
Gage hissed out a sharp laugh and buried his face in his hands again.
Celeste watched him do this, her eyes shredded before she looked back to the doctor. “He believes I was so against him. But it was always the complete opposite. I was never against him. I was always on his side. Every lie I told was to protect him. Every action I took. Even the actions that led him to believe I was against his relationship with Veda. He believes I was against it simply because I didn’t want him to be happy. That I didn’t think she was good enough for him. But that was never true.” Celeste leaned forward and looked past Gage, who still had his face hidden in his hands, meeting eyes with Veda. “Veda, you must believe me, that was never true. I was only such a monster to you because I knew David would eventually punish Gage for not marrying Scarlett. For disobeying his express orders. It was never about you, my darling.”
“Veda,” Dr. Marshall looked at Veda. “Are you hearing Celeste?”
Veda held Celeste’s eyes while removing the sucker from her mouth, her voice coming softly. “Yes.”
“And what is she saying?”
“She’s saying she’s sorry,” Veda spoke gently. “And I forgive her.”
“Thank you,” Celeste whispered.
Veda nodded, popping the Blow Pop back between her lips before hesitantly meeting Dr. Marshall’s eyes.
Celeste moved her eyes back to Gage, who was now shaking his head in his hands, clearly nowhere near as eager to forgive.
Celeste leaned back on the arm of the couch with a pout, snatching a piece of tissue from the box sitting on her side table as well.
A tight smile crossed Dr. Marshall’s face.
“I guess it’s harder for some people to see the forest through the trees,” Celeste spat, dabbing her eyes. “I guess it’s harder for some people to see the incredible damage that can be done to a young girl who gets sold to a savage that locks her inside a room with no windows
or doors for months on end—when she’s forced into a marriage with a mentally, emotionally, and physically abusive man… all thanks to her own father. A man who was just as physically, mentally, and emotionally abusive as the monster she’d been forced to marry. The monster he pawned her off on when he got too bored with her. When she got too old for him…”
Gage pulled his head from his hands and clenched them into fists, pressing them against his downturned lips as his knees bopped.
Celeste sniffled, her voice shaking more every minute. “I guess it’s harder for some people to see that anyone can be broken beyond repair in the face of incredible fear. Driven to lie, cheat, and steal to keep that fear at bay.” She sniffled, pulling the tissue away from her eyes and seeing it soaked with black mascara before letting her hands fall into her lap. “I had the unfortunate luck of being born the daughter of a penniless, deranged, incestuous maniac who found his big break in a rural town, selling disadvantaged girls—including his own daughter—for profit. Selling his own daughter to a millionaire in exchange for a spot at his budding cruise line with the promise of taking his trafficking operation worldwide. It was a promise he fulfilled with great pleasure, and there wasn’t a single flutter in his heart for the thousands of people he destroyed along the way. So no matter how angry you are at me, Gage,” Celeste said, looking at him. “No matter how betrayed you feel, and no matter how difficult you’re going to find it to forgive me… I don’t regret lying to you because it’s the reason you’re still breathing right now and he isn’t. I’m happy he’s dead. I’m happy they’re dead. All the animals who’ve poisoned that cruise line and this entire island with their sexual perversions for decades. I’m happy the FBI has put that miserable cruise line out of business, and I’m happy its failure means thousands of children will never know the nightmare that I knew. Not on this island anyway.”
Rouse (Revenge Book 7) Page 19
