Page 95 of Sighs By the Sea

My hands can barely grip the steering wheel, they’re shaking so much. The traffic thickens, red taillights stretching out in front of me like a river of molten lava. I dart into the bus lane, the urgency propelling me forward, uncaring of the rules I’m breaking.

Every second feels like an eternity. The sun is gone, the city lights glowing low and romantic, but the beauty is lost on me. My focus is singular—reach the boathouse, save Maggie.

Finally, the exit comes up, and I swerve off the freeway. Seconds later, I pull up to the curb, my car screeching to a halt. The boathouse looms in front of me, its windows dark. It looks abandoned, but I know better. I can practically feel Maggie’s presence, almost smell her citrus scent.

I step out of the car, my body tensed, ready for whatever I might face. She’s inside. That’s all that matters. Whatever is between me and her, I’ll deal with it.

I’m prepared to confront Don, the brother who has betrayed me so deeply. So much pain in my life, all caused by him.

The door is locked, but I find the spare key above the doorframe and turn it as quietly as possible. It creaks open, and I step inside. Everything is dark and quiet. I creep down the tile hall, every sense heightened. I’m in Don’s territory now, playing a game by his rules.

I know the risks, the danger I’m putting myself in. But none of that matters. I need to get to her—that’s it. That’s all I can think about now.

Maggie

Don waits for the garage door to close completely before getting out. I brace myself for what’s to come. True to form, Don grabs me roughly by the hair and yanks me out of the car. He’s muttering to himself, a stream of self-congratulatory remarks about the genius of his plan. My head throbs from his grip, but my spirit remains unbroken. Fueled by anger and defiance, I yell, “You’re so fucking stupid! They’ll find me in minutes. You should run while you can.”

Don laughs, a cold, merciless sound. “Nice try. I know how long the police take. Protocols and warrants. No one knows we’re here.”

He grabs some duct tape from the counter and shoves me down. When he reaches for my wrist, I yank it away, but his response is immediate—a hard slap across the cheek.

I gasp, but my eyes are still full of fire. “You’ll pay for that,” I say.

He chuckles again. “Yeah, I bet.” He starts wrapping my wrists with the tape, the loud stretch of sticky fabric grating on my ears.

Once he’s done, he grabs a beer from the fridge like he’s about to watch a game on TV. He jumps up and sits on the counter, eyeing me with a smug expression. “You aren’t going to ask why we’re here?”

“As if I don’t know. You want his life insurance money to pay off the funds you stole from the Chernog.”

His face remains stoic, but I catch a slight twitch—he’s pissed. “Suze talked, huh? Figures. She’s such a disease.”

I don’t miss a beat. “She could be carrying your daughter. I saw the baby on the ultrasound. Surprisingly free of the devil’s mark.”

His grip on the beer bottle tightens. If it were a can, it would’ve been crushed. “Not mine. I always wrapped my shit. Axe fessed up. Fucking junkies, both of them. Kid will be a junkie too.”

My face flushes, the sting of the slap still throbbing. “You fed her drugs! You made her that way!”

He laughs. “Honey, I’d think a cop would know better. You can’t force someone to be an addict. She wanted it—all of it.” He licks his lips, and I know we aren’t only talking about drugs. His gaze grows unfocused as he gets lost in his twisted memories.

As Don’s attention drifts, I hear the faint creak of a door. Don seems oblivious, but I see a shadow move an instant before he does. It’s Grayson. Though I haven’t seen him yet, I already know.

My heart leaps into my throat. He’s come for me, and his face is full of fury.

“The fuck?” Don yells, jumping off the counter. But Grayson doesn’t respond. He charges forward and tackles Don with such force that they smash into a wall, denting the drywall. The two men fall to the ground, locked in a fierce struggle.

I fight against the duct tape binding my arms. My heart pounds as I make my way into the kitchen, desperately searching for something to cut the tape. I find a knife and awkwardly grab it behind my back.

Grayson isn’t a fighter. I know that deep in my soul, and he’ll need my help to take on Don.

My entire body shakes as I try to cut the tape. In my frantic efforts, I slice into my own arm. Pain shoots through me, but I finally free myself, blood dripping from my arm.

Back in the living room, the scene is chaotic. Don is straddling Grayson, his fists raining down on him.

“You dirty fucking traitor!” Don bellows with each blow. “You destroyed our lives, filthy fucking rat.”

I don’t hesitate. I launch myself onto Don’s back, wrapping my arm around his neck with every ounce of strength I have. Locking my hand under my own elbow, I squeeze on Don’s throat. My arms tremble with the effort as Don’s punches begin to slow. When they do, Grayson’s head lolls to the side before he lazily reaches up and grabs Don’s wrists.

Strangled sounds come from Don’s throat, but I feel his body start to loosen. He’s close.

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