Isla popped another onion-flavored ring into her mouth and crunched down. Crumbs flitted onto her jeans as she perched on the kitchen counter. In the shadows of the kitchen, the sunset lit the sky on fire as ripples of atmospheric blaze mirrored Lake Worth Creek and reminded her of Jules.
Henry found an end-of-the-road ranch, secluded and in the heart of San Isabel National Forest. A stream snaked through the meadow and spruce trees. Even Isla found herself not wanting to leave. It was the longest Jules had been in one location, and she’d grown fond of the Colorado lifestyle. Henry taught her to hunt as well.
At eleven years old, Jules wanted to know more about her family and when she could come out of hiding. Isla explained during their last visit that people wanted to harm the Pierce family and that it wasn’t safe for her to join them in Florida quite yet. Jules never disrespected her, but irritation lurked beneath the surface. Isla understood. Jules was supervised at all times, and her education was completed at home with the one person Isla entrusted her precious daughter to, Henry Walker. The only common denominator between him and his father, Ronan, was their last name. It was a name forced onto Isla by her grandmother.
Growing up in the Walker house equated to brutality. Though Ronan claimed her best interests, she knew better. Isla slipped into the dark. Strength surfaced in the black rivers of her mind.
After the death of her parents, Isla — enrolled as a freshman at Saint Agatha’s — endured lashings and sexual abuse when home from school. Bathing in holy water wasn’t enough to wash away Ronan’s touch. She needed God. She needed Michael to swoop down from the heavens and release her.
Neither came. Isla was on her own.
Henry was Ronan’s son from his first marriage. A survivor of his father’s abusive hand, Henry began his college life cross-country but came back to check on Isla. She begged him to take her with him, but he was frightened of the oil tycoon. He was the heir to the Walker throne, and Henry wasn’t about to leave the money behind with all that he had endured.
To onlookers, being a Walker meant privilege and financial comfort. No one suspected the deeply twisted roots beneath Walker Plantation. There was idle chatter over the years, but the moment another famous family splashed their drama in public, the Walkers faded into the background.
Her life there was long ago, yet it felt new and raw, just like the gashes she’d hidden from the world as a teenager. Isla ran her fingers over the back of her shoulder. Some scars never go away no matter how much you cover them up, but she had concealed them from Reed. He wasn’t stupid; he was aware of Ronan Walker’s temper and eccentric behavior. Reed never pushed her, not even when her grandmother discovered their marriage and wrote Isla a letter four Christmases ago.
Isla,
I am unsure how you managed to keep your nuptials secret from me. I assume your father-in-law had something to do with that. Whatever tales you told or will tell your new husband, we’ll deny. The Walker name is respected, and I will not allow your sinful mouth to drag Ronan through the muck and mud.
You’re like your irresponsible mother, and like what happened to her, you are no longer our problem since you are no longer a Walker.
Isla had tossed the creased paper into the fireplace and watched it burn. As tears blurred her vision, Reed had stepped beside her and took her hand in his. It was their second time exchanging any affection. The first was during their wedding when Reed cupped her face and gently kissed her. Isla told herself it was a show for the families in attendance, but it had meant more.
Her lips faintly lifted as she remembered what his mouth felt like against hers. The bones of the house creaked. Isla stilled and looked towards the back door. Her skin twinged. After a tick of the clock, nothing happened. She twisted her wedding band around her finger. Perhaps Reed wasn’t returning. Isla kicked him over the edge and down onto the jagged shore. She never denied the affair Reed accused her of after finding receipts in her purse, a careless mistake on her part, but she hadn’t admitted to it either.
Isla was cruel. She wanted him to hurt and to feel every bit of the loss and anger she experienced. Reed wasn’t at fault. He didn’t deserve Isla’s rage, but he was the convenient choice, an easy target.
She hopped off the counter and tossed the empty snack bag into the trash. Her mind was fuzzy. She’d hit a wall and needed sleep, but Martin’s threats worried her. Isla wanted to track him from sunrise to sundown. At the moment, she would have to rely on the parasitic gadget she planted inside of his penthouse hideout. Once the link locked onto Martin’s cell phone or laptop, he’d travel home with the bug. Like a flea, it would seek out and attach to all his electronics, giving Isla all the access she needed.
Isla crossed the kitchen into the living room and climbed the staircase.
The white elements of the bedroom and black tile wall refracted the low moonlight as it beamed through the curtains. Without undressing, she collapsed onto the plush bed and moaned.
Isla slept, but Ronan haunted her dreams. Again.