A scream cracks through my chest, and I squirm and tug at my arms to get loose. “Somebody! Somebody, help me!”
In the pause, Boyd raises the dirt-filled shovel on a grunt and tosses it onto the mound. “Scream as much as you want. No one can hear you out here.”
Another scream tears out of me, louder than before. And another. I scream for what feels like minutes, until my voice is hoarse and a cough sputters in my throat.
“Told you. No one can hear you.”
Still caught up in a spell, I turn into the ground, gasping for a breath. “Why … are you … doing this?”
He jabs the shovel into the earth and, with his shirtsleeves rolled up, wipes his arm across his forehead. “Tell me, Isa. Do you know anything about politics?” he asks, striding toward the trunk of his car. Popping it open, he peers inside for a moment, and swings his gaze toward me, as if he expects me to answer.
Instead, I remain silent.
“It’s the most intense game I’ve ever played in my life. A dirty match between you and the public. Every move dictates whether you ultimately win, or lose, and there is no room for error, because let’s face it, people are fucking unforgiving pricks.” He reaches into the trunk and hauls the private investigator up onto the edge of it. The sight of his lifeless, glassy eyes staring back at me, while half his body hangs out of the trunk, sends a wave of nausea to my stomach. Boyd rolls his body over the side, and it topples to the dirt below. “When your mother told me about you all those years ago, I was on a winning streak. Perhaps the best years of my life, if I’m being honest.” Hooking his arms beneath the investigator, he drags him toward the awaiting hole he’s dug.
Behind my back, I curl my fingers over the rope, my fingertips in search of the knot to loosen.
Dropping him alongside the shallow grave, Boyd remains bent, hands on his thighs, as if to catch his breath. “Finding out she was pregnant was like someone knocking me out of the game. This town would never forgive the beloved teacher and coach and future mayor who fucked his student and knocked her up.”
“Maybe you should’ve thought of that before you put your dirty hands on her.”
Chuckling, he kneels down and shoves at the investigator, pushing him into the hole. “I’ve always had a thing for young pussy. Tight, pink, sometimes bare. It’s always been my kryptonite. The one vice I couldn’t give up, if I tried.” He nabs the shovel from beside him, while a cramp settles in my fingers as I scrape my nails over the too-tight knot of my binds. “I remember the first time I cornered her in the locker room. It was after practice. She always waited to change until after the other girls left.” Lifting the dirt from the mound beside him, he drops it onto the private investigator’s body. “Being more developed, she was always ... self-conscious. With good … reason.” His voice is broken by the toil, as he buries his victim. “Her tits … looked like implants … so perfect.”
“You’re sick. And fucking disgusting!”
Pausing, he straightens and smiles back at me. “Am I? Seems your beau likes young pussy, as well. He’s not much younger than I was, in fact.”
He also wasn’t my teacher and coach, and I’m not sixteen years old, but I don’t bother to argue with this crazy asshole.
“Not that I blame him …” Shovel piled high with dirt, he grunts as he dumps the last bit into the hole. “If you weren’t my daughter, I’d be all over that tight little ass of yours, too.”
The thought of that sends bile up my throat, and I have to press my lips together to keep from throwing up.
Eyes on the grave, I breathe hard through my nose to calm the hysteria itching to break free. “What do you plan to do with me?”
He tosses the shovel towards the woods and rubs his hands together. “You’re my ticket to power. Ironic, isn’t it? The daughter who nearly ruined my career is the only one who can save it now.”
“How?”
“When you’re knocked out of the political arena, and the fickle crowd shuns you, the only thing that can put you back in the game is money and power. At the moment? I have neither.” Setting his hands on his hips, he inhales and exhales deeply, glancing around. “This used to be my domain. My kingdom. And now it isn’t. But with the right connections, and power in my corner, I can own this whole fucking state. And Lucian Blackthorne, for that matter.”
“What does this have to do with me?”
“I happen to know someone who will be very interested in meeting you.”
My heart hammers inside my chest when he stares back at me wearing that evil politician’s smile he’s perfected. “Who?”
“Doesn’t matter. You wouldn’t know him. But he’s perhaps the only man your little boyfriend wouldn’t dare cross.” As he strides toward me, I kick myself back in a laughable attempt to get away from him. He kneels to the ground beside me, and when he reaches out to touch my hair, I crane my neck away, my whole body trembling with rage and fear. “I understand a number of these men enjoy young pussy as much as I do. Once they’re finished poking and prodding you, I’m certain they’ll have a number of unorthodox tests to run.” Hand stroking my head, he grips a handful of hair in his fist and gives a hard yank, sending hot streaks of pain across my scalp. “They’ll test your tolerance for pain like you’re a fucking guinea pig in a blender.”
“He’ll find you.” My voice chokes on the tears that I won’t give him the satisfaction of seeing. “Lucian will kill you.”
“Lucian bows to The Collective. If I prove to be of interest to them, then my life becomes far more valuable than yours.”
According to Giulia, Lucian never subscribed to the ideologies of Schadenfreude, but he funds them, just the same. What if Boyd is right?
What if Lucian’s loyalties are stronger than his feelings for me?
Chapter 62
Lucian
The engine roars down the highway as I feed it more gas. The dot on the tracker app appears to have stopped in some remote part of the island. A wooded area with cabins that the locals like to rent out on occasion.
So much for trusting the private investigator.
I should’ve known his interests would be selfish. I asked him to contact me if anything seemed sketchy, but the gumshoe in him must’ve looked at it as an opportunity to take out one of the bad guys singlehandedly.
A few miles behind me, Makaio follows in the Bentley, struggling to keep up. My adrenaline is through the roof, and if I happen to get my hands around Boyd’s throat, I might just snap it by accident.
An ache throbs inside my skull, casting a flash of white light behind my eyes, and I shake it off, rubbing my temple with the heel of my hand.
Not now.
It’d make sense that I’d get hit with a migraine, though, because God has a morbid sense of humor, and what better time to have my vision go blurry than when I’m cruising at one-hundred-fifty miles per hour?
Through the haze and white fog, I concentrate on the solid yellow line that separates me from oncoming traffic.
Another zap of electricity strikes my skull.
One one-thousand, two one-thousand, three one-thousand, four one-thousand.