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“Dramatic much?” he tsks.
I launch toward the table, picking up a bread knife and holding it out toward him.
“What are you going to do with that, saw me to death? The tip is blunt,” he mocks.
“Then it will hurt more going in, won’t it?” I retort, taking a step closer. I refuse to show him fear. He has no power over me.
He dabs his mouth with a napkin and leans back in the chair Colt occupied yesterday. Where are they? Did they set me up? No.
“It came to me after you left my club last night.” He tilts his head, studying me. Reaching into his pocket, he pulls a photo free. “You look like her. You’re prettier, but the resemblance is there,” he torments, pushing the picture across the table.
Thunderclouds fill my head. Pain stabs into me at the image of my sister lying naked, her chest open and bloody.
“You monster,” I yell, lunging toward him with the knife. Grabbing my wrist, he spins it up to my back and slams me facedown on the table, the impact sending pain exploding over my cheek.
His body covers mine, overpowering me in strength and stature.
“You’re feistier than she was,” he taunts.
Footfalls sound on the stairs, and I’m released abruptly. He re-claims his seat just as Colt enters the room.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” he growls, coming to my side. “You okay?” He inspects me.
I’m a little winded, so just nod my head once.
“Did he touch you?” His hand strokes down my cheek, leaving a sting in its wake.
Holding up his hands, his father shrugs. “She came at me with a knife. I disarmed her, that’s all.”
“I will fucking kill you,” Colt snaps, moving me behind him. Rage stiffens his posture, fire alight in his eyes.
“Over what?” his father roars, swiping plates to the floor. “Another little island slut! Haven’t those people taken enough from me?”
“What the hell is going on?” Cash announces his entrance, his hair ruffled and beautiful face indented in sleep lines.
“Dad was just being his delightful self, letting his true colors show. I knew you were still fucking bitter over Mom. Is that why you killed Clara? To get back at them?”
“Careful, son. Guilty men shouldn’t be so quick to walk others to the gallows,” he sneers, retaking his seat.
“What the fuck does that mean?” Cash asks, coming farther into the room, his eyes flicking to the mess all over the floor.
Such a waste.
“Nothing. He’s just trying to play games, as usual,” Colt defends, his arm outstretched, shielding me.
“Do you know where Mom is?” Cash asks him, which seems to throw him off guard. He straightens, steepling his hands on the table.
“Why do you keep bringing up that traitorous whore? Thinking I’m still bitter over her. It’s been two fucking decades since she made her choice. Why would I care where she is?”
“Tell me why you killed my sister then. Was it so bad that she loved your son?” I spit with disgust, clinging to Colt so I don’t lose my footing.
“Which son?” he sneers, narrowing his eyes on me.
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Cash snaps at him, hands on hips.
“Why don’t you ask Colt.” He looks between his sons.
“You’re not answering the question,” I grind out.
“Because I don’t have to answer to you, little girl. I was proven innocent in your sister’s murder.”
“Then how did you get that photo?” I almost sob, but the anger keeps the tears at bay.
“What photo?” Cash and Colt ask in unison. I point to the image on the table.
Cash almost collapses when he sees it, a horrible sound tearing out of him.
“Press got the images and was going to sell them, so I bought them,” their father defends himself, swiping a piece of fruit away from his arm.
“Why?” Colt asks.
“Because if the public saw them, it would have damaged my case. No one can forget seeing that.”
“If it wasn’t you, who was it?” Cash manages to get himself together to ask the burning question.
“Maybe you’re looking at him every time you see your reflection.”
“Riddles? Really?”
“Get the hell out,” Colt barks, making me jump.
“I was going anyway. Good luck, sweetheart. Let’s hope that pretty face doesn’t end up on the front page of the newspaper.”
Eighteen
Cash
It’s been four days since my father showed up with his riddles of bullshit. I asked Colt if he knew what the hell he was talking about, but he just got angry and said he was having all the locks changed, then fired the security guards and cooks for allowing him access.
Mona has been quiet and withdrawn, the bruise covering the entire left side of her face a constant reminder that we failed to keep her safe. Colt’s mood has been dark, quietly raging, the atmosphere thick with an unsettled disposition.
“How about we watch a movie?” I ask. Mona looks up from the book she’s reading.
