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“How?” Ry asked, his voice sounding like he’d swallowed broken glass.
I dared a look at him, and I couldn’t bite back the sob that wrenched from my very soul. Tears streamed down his cheeks, his face pale under the salty tracks. Both Tristan and Flynn had their arms around his waist, but they were no longer holding him back. They were holding him up, much like Ezra was doing to me.
“How did he lose his foot?” he persisted.
“I had it amputated,” she replied as if the answer was obvious.
“Before we left the Coast. I gave him a little something in his drink and he went to sleep. I had a… friend on board, and he took care of it for me together with sinking the yacht after we’d gotten off.”
She did it.
She cut his foot off for no apparent fucking reason. "Why?” I whispered, my voice catching in my throat. I curled into myself, her words striking me like physical blows. “Why would you do that? What did he ever do to you?”
I blinked in disbelief, sure my ears were playing tricks on me. Was she serious?
“Then they wanted it back,” she huffed incredulously. “That wasn’t going to happen.”
“So, you took it. You made it look like you were investing the money and siphoned it into international accounts instead,” Tristan accused.
She smiled at him, the kind of expression a snake might make. “Yes, professor.” Her smile turned to a glare. “Yes, I know who you are. You’re a stubborn fuck too. Normal people back off after receiving one death threat.” She set her glass on the table and carelessly flicked her long hair over her shoulder before tapping her chin with long red nails. “Where were we? Oh yes, the accounts. I transferred the money, and then I covered my tracks.” She sat on the other couch, stretching out until she was comfortable.
My gut twisted, bile rushing up my throat. I sat like that too, spread out and acting like queen of the fucking world.
“Hiring the liquidator with a connection to my assistant CFO, his credit card, the accident… I orchestrated all of it.”
“Then you just hopped on a plane and left?”
She shrugged. Fucking shrugged like it was no big deal. Like she hadn’t abandoned her husband and daughter, her parents, in a giant fuck you to them, fucked over countless families, and disappeared, leaving us thinking she and my brother were dead.
“We went to Moreton Island, hopped on a charter flight to Cairns, changed our looks, and used fake passports to get out of the country without the authorities”—she gestured with a sneer to Ezra—“knowing a thing.”
“What happened to Asher?” I gritted out.
“It’s better now that he’s gone,” she sighed happily.
Rage exploded in my chest, and I saw red. She didn’t deserve him, not one single piece of his existence or memory from his time on this earth. I fought against Ezra’s one-armed grip, trying to get closer so I could claw the bitch’s eyes out.
“He complained so much,” she continued unperturbed, gesturing to Ry, who’d gone as still as stone. “He missed him, and you, and your father.”
“You killed him?” Ry whispered, my heart shattering into a million pieces at the anguish in his voice. Ezra tightened his arms around me, catching my weight and holding me up as my legs gave out, all the fury draining from me in a gush.
“How could you?” I asked. Tears sprang to my eyes, my chest tightening and my breathing shallowing out.
“I didn’t kill him,” she scoffed, like the concept was ridiculous. But I didn’t put anything past her. She was fucking insane. She waved her hand, dismissing my concerns, and my gut twisted. “He fell.” She rolled her eyes, and I didn’t recognize the roar that came from me. “His balance wasn’t what it had been before he had to lose his foot—”
“How?” Ry asked, his voice sounding like he’d swallowed broken glass.
I dared a look at him, and I couldn’t bite back the sob that wrenched from my very soul. Tears streamed down his cheeks, his face pale under the salty tracks. Both Tristan and Flynn had their arms around his waist, but they were no longer holding him back. They were holding him up, much like Ezra was doing to me.
“How did he lose his foot?” he persisted.
“I had it amputated,” she replied as if the answer was obvious.
“Before we left the Coast. I gave him a little something in his drink and he went to sleep. I had a… friend on board, and he took care of it for me together with sinking the yacht after we’d gotten off.”
She did it.
She cut his foot off for no apparent fucking reason. "Why?” I whispered, my voice catching in my throat. I curled into myself, her words striking me like physical blows. “Why would you do that? What did he ever do to you?”
