The feeling returns to my limbs with agonising slowness—pins and needles giving way to dull, throbbing circulation. Sebastian has loosely tied my wrists to the arms of an antique chair, ‘a precaution’ he called it, as if this entire situation isn’t five thousand shades of fucked up. The restraints are silken cords, carefully padded where they touch my skin. His planning and consideration make things infinitely more terrifying.
I scan the lighthouse’s main floor, searching once again for potential weapons, exits, anything that might help. It’s a circular room. There’s one main door. A spiral staircase leading up. The windows are too small to climb through. There’s a kitchen area with knives visible on a magnetic strip, tantalisingly out of reach.
‘You have such beautiful hair,’ Sebastian murmurs from his position behind me. I’m doing my best to block out the fact he’s drawing a silver-handled brush through my long blonde strands with disturbing gentleness. ‘I used to watch you brushing it before bed. You always do exactly one hundred strokes.’
My stomach turns. How many nights has he watched me through my bedroom window? How did I never notice? How did it never even occur to me that my stalker was my highly intelligent, ridiculously affluent, socially awkward stepbrother? My father even bragged about his diving qualification. I could kick myself for not paying more attention.
‘That’s better,’ he says, placing the brush on a nearby table. ‘Now let’s get this muck off your face. You don’t need make up, Avery. I prefer you in your natural state.’
My stomach churns as he kneels before me brandishing a cotton pad soaked in cleanser. He reaches for my cheek. I jerk my head away, but his other hand grips my chin firmly.
‘Fighting me is futile,’ he insists, methodically removing my makeup. ‘Everything I’ve done has been in service of a greater purpose—our future together.’
His touch makes my skin crawl, but I force myself to remain still. Antagonising him seems unwise until I have a plan. The restraints aren’t tight—he clearly wants me compliant, not uncomfortable. If I can gain his trust, maybe he’ll loosen them further.
‘Hungry?’ He moves to the kitchen area, returning with a bowl of mint chocolate chip ice cream—my favourite flavour. Another detail he shouldn’t know. ‘You need to keep your strength up for later.’
The implication in those words sends a fresh wave of horror over my spine. I press my lips together as he tries to feed me a spoonful, turning my head away.
‘Avery,’ he sighs, disappointed. ‘Don’t be difficult. We both know it’s your favourite.’
‘What do you want from me, Sebastian?’ I finally ask, my voice steadier than I feel.
He sets the bowl aside, cupping my face with both hands. ‘Everything. I want everything you gave to him. And so much more.’
The reference to Killian sends a fresh wave of panic through me. Is he alive? Did he survive the drug?
‘You gave yourself to him so easily,’ Sebastian continues, his fingers tightening slightly. ‘You will give yourself to me. I’ll cleanse you of every one of his touches until you can’t remember any of them. I’ll eradicate him from your memories. It’ll be like he never existed.’
‘Even if you keep me here for a hundred years, I’ll never forget him.’ Rage replaces the panic in a hot burst of fury. ‘Killian is a better man than you’ll ever be,’ I snap.
His face darkens. ‘He’s an uneducated thug. A murderer. A man who destroys everything he touches.’
‘I love him, and he loves me.’ The words are both a declaration and a weapon. ‘And I loved every moment he touched me.’
Sebastian’s hand strikes the arm of the chair, inches from my bound wrist. His silver irises burn with fury. ‘Don’t say that! He’s loved you for weeks. I’ve loved you for years.’ For the first time, his carefully controlled façade cracks. ‘You barely know him. You don’t know what he’s done.’
‘I know everything.’ I lean forward as much as the restraints allow. ‘And I know I will never, ever give myself to you.’
‘You will give yourself to me, or die. The choice is yours.’ His expression shifts from rage to something almost pitying. ‘You truly believe he loves you? Do you have any idea what he did to the last woman he claimed to love?’
‘What do you know about it?’ My curiosity piques despite the situation.
‘Did he tell you how she died—Sarah, that is.’ He prowls around the chair, circling me like a shark. ‘Did he tell you who killed her?’
My stomach bottoms out. The accusation in his tone is obvious. He thinks Killian killed the only other woman he’d been in love with.
But he’s wrong.
Killian would never do that. I know what he’s capable of and it’s not that.
Before he can continue, the door explodes inward with a deafening crash.
Killian stands in the doorway, his face a mask of cold fury unlike anything I’ve ever seen. Behind him, Sterling, Walsh, Mason, Lynch, and Donovan fan out, weapons raised—six guns trained unwaveringly on Sebastian.
Thank fuck.
‘Don’t shoot,’ the words are out of my mouth before I can stop them. As deranged as my stepbrother is, I don’t wish to witness his demise, and I don’t wish to wear his blood, literally and figuratively.
Confusion darts through Killian’s eyes, but he holds his fire. I scan him from head to toe, searching for any sign of injury, but he’s fine. And I’m going to be fine now he’s here.
‘You’re surrounded. There are fifteen more armed soldiers outside.’
Sweet relief floods my bloodstream.
Sebastian has no way out.
It’s over.
He freezes, genuine shock spreading across his features. ‘Impossible,’ he whispers almost to himself. ‘This place doesn’t exist on paper. No one knows—’
His eyes narrow to slits and drop to my wrist, to the Cartier watch Killian gave me this morning. Understanding dawns, followed by something like admiration. ‘The watch. Of course. A tracking device disguised as a Christmas gift.’ He laughs bitterly. ‘In my excitement at being reunited with Avery, I missed that. Clever, Beckett. Very clever.’
‘Get away from her.’ Killian’s voice is low and cold.
Sebastian doesn’t move, his stance relaxed despite the six weapons aimed at him. ‘Quite the cavalry you’ve brought,’ he observes coolly. ‘Though I expected nothing less from a man with your particular… background.’
His right hand drifts casually toward his pocket, the movement so natural it almost goes unnoticed.
‘Hands where I can see them,’ Killian orders, taking a careful step forward, gun steady.
In one fluid motion, Sebastian’s hand emerges from his pocket. Light catches on polished steel—a tactical folding knife. The blade flicks open with a soft, menacing click. Before anyone can react, he’s behind my chair, the knife positioned precisely against my carotid artery.
Why didn’t I let Killian shoot the bastard when he had the chance?
Fuck. Adrenaline courses through my bloodstream. My eyelids close. I can’t watch. I can barely breathe.
You will give yourself to me or die.
Killian freezes mid-step, horror flashing across his face. Six guns remain trained on Sebastian, but no one fires—not with the knife’s edge pressing against my skin.
I silently will Killian to fire at Sebastian. There’s no way he’s going to let me live, so Killian has to at least try to take him out, before he snaps and slices me open anyway.
‘How’s Thomson?’ Sebastian goads.
Killian’s nostrils flare. ‘He’ll live. Which is more than I can say for you.’
The knife presses slightly harder, not enough to break skin but enough to make me acutely aware of my mortality. The armed men at the door shift imperceptibly, weapons steady, gazes calculating angles and risks. The tension in the room is unbearable. Six fingers on six triggers, Killian’s gaze never leaves Sebastian.
Sebastian’s lips curve into a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. ‘You know, Avery and I were just having a little chat before you so rudely interrupted us,’ his tone is calm and conversational. ‘About Sarah, actually.’
A muscle ticks in Killian’s jaw. ‘Don’t.’
‘I believe in informed consent, Beckett,’ Sebastian replies smoothly. ‘Avery should have all the relevant information before making life-altering decisions. Such as, for instance, whether the man she trusts with her safety has a history of executing women he claims to love.’
No.
It can’t be right.
But the horror in in Killian’s expression confirms it is.
Bile rises in my chest.
I get a flashback of the department store in San Francisco. Specifically of the way he grabbed that man’s wrist. The way that in a single split second, he transformed into someone lethal–someone I didn’t recognise.
‘Tell her, Beckett.’ Sebastian’s voice is cool like steel. ‘Tell her how the last woman you loved ended up. Tell her how you put a bullet in her head without hesitation.’
There has to be an explanation.
There has to be.
Otherwise, I don’t know the man I’m in love with at all.
The world seems to stop. I look at Killian, searching his face. His expression is stone, but his eyes—his eyes are full of a pain so raw it takes my breath away.
The memory of that day in the department store continues to play out in my head. He cups my chin, angling my face to meet his stare. ‘Never be scared of me, baby. I’d kill for you. I’d die for you. But I’d never ever hurt you.’
I believed him then.
And I believe him now.
There is an explanation.
But in order for him to get the chance to give it to me, he has to end this now. End Sebastian. I was foolish to think there was any other option.
‘Cat got your tongue?’ Sebastian taunts.
Killian’s focus shifts back to me. To the blade on my neck, then back to meet my silent stare. His eyes convey one question.
Can I kill him now?
I give the subtlest of nods, then all hell breaks loose.
