Page 37 of Dark Surrender

“Don’t you, hey, Iris me.”

“Is something wrong?”

“I dunno. Why don’t you tell me?”

“Is she dead?”

“Is who dead?” I test, knowing exactly who she’s referring to, but I need her to spell it out.

“You know who, Iris. Is the evil bitch dead?”

Yep, this is about Penelope. Dee dumped her carcass over the cliff. She is very much worm food, returning to the source of life.

I hook a hand on my hip and hiss, “Yes.”

Cell squeals, and I pull the phone away from my ear. “Ya! Praise the baby Jesus, that doesn’t exist! Hallelujah!”

Even though I shouldn’t be happy she’s happy, I smother a smile. We don’t have time for her positivity. “Cell. Knock it off,” I growl. “I almost killed him. Well, Dee almost did.”

She sobers. “Who?”

“Dark.”

“Whoopsie,” the bitch sings.

I stomp my foot on the rocks. “Cell!” There is no whoopsie about it.

“What? It was an accident. I promise. How was I supposed to know he’d take a job with her father? I put you onto Harold before Dark made that choice. It’s not my fault he got involved with those people. And if you ask me, he shouldn’t have done it in the first place. His loyalty is with us. Not that bitch. But he chose her, didn’t he? Who am I to play with fate, or destiny, or whatever it is that runs the powers at be … that be? Oh. You know what I mean.”

“Uh. Hm. Well, the powers that be have decided that once he’s able to walk again, he’s coming home, so you’d better find him a place to stay.” And that’s that. They can take care of him. He should be with his family.

Given Dark’s involvement with Harold and his marriage to Penelope, he can’t return to the city. He is gone. Dead but not dead. His old life no longer exists. He has to disappear, or there will be far too many questions and accusations for which he isn’t gonna have answers, no matter how good an actor he is. Before we, well, I, planned the kidnapping and hinted at wanting a weekend away at the Hamptons, I knew Harold’s wife would be in Europe. Whether or not she’s a good person matters little to me. She’s inheriting his money, and should she decide to keep his trafficking empire afloat, I’ll come back for her. But something tells me Mrs. Grant will find other things to invest her money in that don’t involve body parts and murder.

Cell gasps. “Iris. No.”

Listen, I get she doesn’t want Dark coming back, given her role in this mess, but she’s part of the problem.

“I’m hanging up now. Figure it out, Cell.”

Not giving this woman a chance to talk me out of it, I hang up. When she tries to call back, I turn off my phone and toss it onto the passenger seat of my car before making my way back to the hunting cabin, where Dark is currently doped up on drugs.

Dee’s sitting with him when I return.

“He’s a dick,” she hisses, rushing out of the room to leave me to deal with the high biker.

“Damn, you’re hot,” he slurs, blinking slowly as if he’s having a hard time focusing.

Ignoring Dark’s compliment, I sit on the stool and do a whole lot of nothing except think. For hours, he slips in and out of consciousness. I give him sips of water and small bites of food whenever he’s alert enough to swallow. The threadbare blanket and pillow Dee brought provide little comfort, but I can’t move him. Not yet. When he needs to use the restroom, I hold an empty water bottle down there so he can urinate into it. It’s all very clinical—a nurse and her patient.

One day blends into the next, and by the third, he’s developed a fever and can’t stop sweating. His teeth chatter uncontrollably as his body fights off an infection.

“What do we do?” Dee asks from the doorway as Dark writhes on the dirty floor, moaning.

That’s a damn good question. We’ve never done this before.

“I’ll be back.” Patting my sister on the shoulder, I leave her to keep an eye on him while I do the only thing that should work. Should, being the operative word.

Changing into a normal T-shirt and shorts, I put on one of my many wigs, brush it, apply a generous amount of deodorant since I haven’t showered in days, and return to my car.