Page 51 of Heist in Paradise

“Please,” he whispered to me. “P-Please d-don’t let them kill me.”

I held up the guestbook. “Explain this to me, and I’ll consider it.” I was lying. I knew there was nothing I could do to stop Jax or Madoc. The evidence of their unleashed brutality was staring me in the face. I couldn’t tell which damage belonged to Madoc and which to Jax—they obviously tag-teamed it. Took turns.

The thought made my insides woosh again. Down girl. Jesus.

Between hiccup and sobs, the broken man explained how guests signed the book on arrival to the island, and how they pricked their fingers and pressed it to their names, ensuring their silence if they ever tried to speak out. When I asked rather reluctantly why their silence was so important, he broke down until he was near incoherent, and only Madoc’s looming presence made him talk.

I listened in hollow silence at the girls he scouted on behalf of his bosses, the way he’d drug them and smuggle them onto the island, the month-long orgies, the disposal once they were done. “W-We don’t k-kill them,” he sobbed, like that made it better somehow. “T-they get paid, and some even agree to come back.”

“Because you break them,” I said in a hollow whisper. “You make them forget. You brainwash them.”

“No,” he denied vehemently.

I stepped back, my jaw clenched so tight that I tasted metal. A hungry, vicious anger swirled in my gut. I wanted to break him. I wanted to hurt him, tear him apart, rip him limb from limb. I saw it vividly, and it didn’t scare me, not like I thought it should.

Was this how Ryle felt when he bludgeoned his father to death? My face tilted up, finding him. He was standing by Callum, his arms folded, his face dark. My gaze slipped to each of them, even Zola, who was tucked into Nate’s side as he swayed on his feet. I knew they understood, and I was suddenly grateful they were here. I skimmed over Madoc, who was always watching, and looked at Jax, my heart thumping wildly.

“You can kill him now.”

Jax searched my face, then grinned. “I’ll get right on that.”

“Not yet,” Madoc said. “It’s just getting interesting.”

What more was there? I swallowed dryly, not sure if I could handle it. Jax nodded at Callum, who stepped forward and easily hefted the bloodied man to his feet. His nudity shocked me, his bits and bobbles hanging out, his chest streaked with blood and thighs stained with—

My nose wrinkled, and I turned into Jax’s chest. “Gross.”

His hand settled on my lower back.

“No more delays,” he said, his voice hardening, making my insides flutter. “Show us what’s behind the wall.”

“P-Please.”

Jax gestured to Madoc, who gave the naked man a small mocking wave, my knife clutched between his fingers. I made an affronted sound, and Madoc’s mouth hitched in an evil smile. The asshole.

“Either you do what we want, or green eyes over here will happily cut off your dick and balls.”

Happily being the key word, judging by the manic gleam in Madoc’s eyes. I searched the walls, wondering what the hell could be behind them. Was it some kind of secret wing? A bat cave?

The man quivered as he was frog-marched over to the wine wall. Callum loosened one arm just enough so that the man could reach out and twist one bottle like a doorknob in disguise. There was a great shudder, a long groan like a sealed crypt being opened after many decades, and the whole wall swung forward.

I stumbled over eagerly, nearly tripping over my own feet. A damp, rank smell infiltrated the space. I froze as the wall kept opening, revealing a wide-arched entrance.

“Oh my god.” My breath caught in my chest.

OLIVIA

Behind the wall was a tunnel.

It was wide, with a low ceiling, and the walls sloped, exposing rock as if it had been drilled directly through the earth. It smelled like the sea, like fish guts and rust, like rot and misery. Naked bulbs hung from the ceiling and trailed off into darkness. I knew without a doubt that this was the sordid underbelly of the pristine mansion, the real place encased in the fake one.

I wasn’t aware that I was moving until a hand wrapped around my upper arm and tugged me back. “I want to go,” I heard myself whine breathlessly. I didn’t think it was a lie, but my heart was pounding like I was about to jump off a cliff.

“Hang on,” Jax said. My anger sparked like flint against rock, my eyes catching his heatedly.

But then he lifted his gun and pointed it directly at our naked tour guide. My mouth clamped shut, my protest drying up. Jax had that look again, the undercurrent of violence that made his eyes wide and his finger twitch on the trigger.

“What am I looking at here, Kane?”