Water and cement walls surrounded Ellis’s strip of balmy paradise. Guards checked the perimeter, guns in hand. His palace blocked the sunset. Where Isla had been recuperating was one of three heavily secured guesthouses on the property.
Ellis wiped the corner of his mouth as he inquired about the hotel shootout. “What did Kata say?”
Isla choked on her bite of shrimp. She covered her mouth and coughed as the pepper burned on its way down. With a big drink of water, she cleared her throat. “That she knew Reed, and that they shared common interests. He instructed her to follow me, keep me out of trouble.”
“Interesting.”
“You believed her?” Reed piped up.
Isla dropped her fork onto the plate. “Joe riled me up . . .”
Reed threw his napkin down and pointed to his chin. “I know. Does my sister know who you’re screwing behind my back?”
“Quiet,” Ellis said and waved his plate away.
A server cleared his space and darted toward the house. Isla, near vomiting, looked to Ellis for help.
Shame had an element of immensity. The area, which left a person numb and unable to recognize all the deceptions, was to be bared.
Ellis nodded at her. He made the decision for her. It was time to tell Reed everything.
“This reminds me of a dinner I shared with you and Carys some years back. I saw fire in your eyes, determined to destroy all who crossed you. Do you feel the same?” he asked.
“I do, and I will destroy those who threaten the family.”
“What family?”
“My family. It isn’t always about blood; it’s about loyalty and trust. It’s about sacrifice.”
“What would you sacrifice in return for family?”
“Myself.”
“Enough, Father,” Reed said, glaring down the table.
Tears flooded her eyes as she looked at her husband. “It’s not. I’ve hurt you for far too long. I’m not who you think I am. You don’t know me. You love a lie.”
Ellis reached for Isla’s arm and pulled it toward him. His fingers traced Isla’s veins; he stopped midway, right at a pale scar. Two freckles positioned above the contour mark. Ellis pointed to the scar, and first looked to Reed, then to her. Isla was consumed with her torture.
Disgrace. Distrust. Repulsion.
“Tell him the story, Isla. Tell your husband what happened.”
Ellis’s touch and fatherly tone entranced her. The memory slipped from her lips.
“It was raining. Ronan was told by a chaperone that I had sex with a boy at our school’s winter social in the girl’s locker room. I didn’t. He was enraged and demanded I prove my virginity.” Isla’s voice quivered. She squeezed her eyes shut, reliving the violation, his calloused palms scraping along her skin. “I begged him to stop.”
“Did he?” Ellis said.
“No. I was punished.”
“With what?”
“He removed his belt and ripped my dress off, told me to grab the end of the bed.” Isla paused and took a breath. She couldn’t look at Reed, frightened to see his grotesque expression. Isla continued to stare at the scar on her arm. “I screamed at him, but that made him angrier. He hoisted his arm back, whipped it forward. The leather snapped in the air. He did it again. I turned, and the belt hit my arm. It was the perfect angle to break the skin.”
“What did you do?” Ellis asked.
“I cried.”
“Did he continue?”
“Yes.”
“How many times?”
“Ten.”
Isla trembled. Murderous thoughts mixed with huge strain inside her. She waited to hear Reed’s chair push away from the table, his footsteps fading. Instead, Isla felt Reed’s hand slip into hers under the table. With small strokes, he soothed her humiliation. She didn’t turn to him as she released a stuttered breath. His touch was what she wanted. It was what she needed.
Ellis continued. “Why did he do this to you?”
“He wanted to break me.”
“For who?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did he apologize?”
“No.”
“Did he do it again?”
“Yes.”
Ellis released her arm, disconnecting the pull he had on Isla. He rose, smoothed out his jacket, and moved behind Isla’s chair. Reed squeezed her hand.
“Who saved Isla?” Ellis said.
“Carys and—”
“No.” He leaned down. “You saved you. You, no one else. Remember that, my dear. To survive is to sacrifice. We all sacrifice. We all give a piece of flesh to the devil.”
Ellis walked to the back of his chair, fingers wrapped around the impressed wood. He ticked his head to Erik, who waved to two men at the top of the stairs. A minute later, being dragged down the stairs by his arms, was Ronan. Isla fixed her gaze on him, unable to breathe.
Static. Cold. Stiff.
Her life before Walker Plantation was decimated by a hit and run. The driver never slowed. Her mom and dad were run down outside the movie theater. Both struck. Both died at the scene. Isla had hacked the police department’s database and clicked through their evidence photos—her parents, mangled, bloody, and left to die in the street.
She was placed in the care of her maternal grandmother and her second husband. Isla relocated near Hillsborough Bay in Tampa, Ronan’s family home since the mid-1800s. Demons came alive at night and stalked Isla while she slept, and eventually while she was wide awake.
Bruised and bloodied, a gaunt Ronan was shoved down in the chair across from her. Isla hadn’t seen him since her escape. With jagged features and coarse, white hair, people spoke of him like he was a fictitious villain, but he was real. No heart. No soul. Ronan’s evil was laced with scripture and false shame preaching of a dominant bloodline. Isla’s pulse quickened the longer she stared at him. Under the influence of her rage, she wanted to launch across the table and rip his throat out.
“Ronan, you’re late. Dinner has ended, but I have had the pleasure of talking to your granddaughter.”
He flinched his head. “My — my granddaughter?” Ronan fumbled over his reply. His head wavered. Red saliva fell from the corner of his mouth. He leaned to the side but caught himself. His glassy gaze landed on Isla.
“Isla is lovely, do you not believe so?” Ellis asked. Ronan didn’t respond. “I have tolerated much over the years. I’ve allowed Isla to carry on with her plan, but no more. What you did to my daughter-in-law is sickening, and I’ve moved along her plan. Ask your wife.” Ellis moved closer to Ronan. “Oh, you can’t. She’s dead.”
“I did nothing.” His speech woozy. “I did nothing wrong.”
Ellis ignored Ronan. “You sicken me. The mighty Ronan Walker is nothing but a child-molesting bastard. You have nothing. A brain tumor, is it? If you believe God will save you, guide you back into power, and cure you of your disease. Trust me; God wants nothing to do with you.”
Ronan looked up. Dread sobering his mind. Ronan was on trial, and Ellis was judge, jury, and executioner.
“You killed Martha?”
Ellis sneered. “She sold you out, Ronan. Hiding out in Atlanta, admitting she was privy to your abuse. Isla is a Pierce, not a Walker. She’s my strongest associate. I’m proud to call her family, as is my son. Are you regretting what you’ve done yet?”
Reed demanded answers from Ellis, but Isla couldn’t focus on their discussion. She couldn’t take her eyes off Ronan. Years had passed since she’d seen him. She planned to destroy him last so she could savor his demise, but there he sat, still with a hint of smugness.
Isla stood. “You tried to kill my soul, but you didn’t. I didn’t let you. The crimes you committed will be answered for, but not in this world. My daughter will never know the horrid acts she was conceived from.” Tears covered her eyes. “I’ve tried for years to understand your hatred, what made you believe what you did to me was okay.” Ronan’s focus was distracted. He squinted and scowled, but she continued. “I wanted answers. I wanted to know why, but, you know, it doesn’t matter. It takes a weak man to do what he did to a child because he knew she was stronger than him. You stole my innocence, but a beautiful little girl restored it — a girl you’ll never destroy with your sickness or abuse. I refuse to waste another breath on you.” Her voice was raw, and she shivered at her words.
Erik pulled a gun out from inside his jacket and laid it in the center of the table, within Isla’s grasp.
“Ronan, you don’t deserve to live,” Ellis said. “You deserve to rot in hell with your wife.”
“God will forgive me.”
Ellis pounded his fist on the table. Silverware clanked, glasses shook. “The devil will claim you.”
“My soul is clean.”
“Your soul is far from clean.”
“Isla,” Ronan said, “you are damned, just as your mother and father were. All your children will be the devil’s servants. Abigail knew of her sins, and she knew the consequences.”
“Don’t ever speak my mother’s name. You know nothing about them.”
“I know she and your father were an embarrassment to Martha and the entire family. We did what was called upon us to do.”
Truth struck her chest, cutting into the core of Isla. “You killed them. That’s why the driver was never found. You hired someone to kill my parents.” Isla slammed her palms down onto the table. “Who? Tell me who killed them.”
“But if the wicked turn away from all the sins that they have committed, keep all my regulations, and act justly and responsibly, they will surely live and not die,” Ronan quoted from scripture.
Isla was fed up with his biblical recitals. It was sick how he hid behind religion.
The blurred rims of her vision moved and darkened. She reached for the gun, holding her stare on Ronan. The space where the gun had laid was empty. A bullet exploded next to her and tore through Ronan’s forehead. Isla jerked back and covered her ears, but she didn’t look away. His head whiplashed; blood spurted out the back. The sky drained of light, and her depravities washed away in the gore of the scene.
Reed lowered the gun.
Ellis motioned to Erik.
Ronan slanted.
Isla grinned.