Page 43 of Theirs to Ruin

A howling, masculine scream pierced the night, and I turned in its direction.

Kage had fallen to his knees in front of Ava’s lifeless body.

"No... Ava!" he cried out, his voice laced with anguish as he cradled his sister’s limp form. "Please, God, no!"

The devastating echo of Kage's cries sliced through my heart. My pain was all-consuming, but it was nothing compared to his. Like Ty had done, he began administering CPR to Ava.

“Kage,” I called out, my voice weak.

I wanted to go to him. Cradle him in my arms. Tell him how hard I had tried to save her.

Strong fingers turned my face, sheltering me from the sight of Kage and Ava. The concern in Dante’s piercing blue eyes anchored me before the dizzying sensation from earlier intensified. Again, I fought the urge to close my eyes. I just wanted to sleep…

“I can’t get a signal. Ethan, go back to campus then call 911. Hurry!”

Every muscle in my body ached as I resisted unconsciousness. But then I heard a higher-pitched scream and Bianca’s voice.

“Cami! Oh my God, Camille. Let me thorough. Get out of my fucking way!”

“She’s alive, Bianca.”

At Dante’s words, Bianca burst into tears.

And I promptly passed out.

Chapter 18

Kage

The room at the morgue was oppressively still, with only the sharp smell of disinfectants attempting to mask the stench of mortality. Every breath felt heavy, the scent clinging to the back of my throat, a constant reminder of my inescapable reality. My heart ached at the sight before me. Ava, my baby sister, once so full of life and fiery spirit, now lay motionless on the steel table.

Off to one side, near the entrance, two of our family's bodyguards stood motionless, their hands never straying far from the concealed weapons beneath their jackets.

My mother stood beside Ava’s body, her long fingers trembling as they brushed over Ava’s cold and stiff hand. Ma’s lips moved as she whispered a prayer, or perhaps words of comfort to herself, the sorrow in her voice echoing a heartbreak only a mother could know.

“I shouldn't have let her attend that damned school,” she said, her voice thick with both grief and guilt. The lilting undertones of her Irish accent, which she normally masked witha practiced refinement, now lay bare, emphasizing the rawness of her emotions. “Not after those monsters took her...”

My stepfather, Seamus, drew my mother into his arms. His rough-hewn features were softened with what I’d always felt was a genuine love for her. He held her close, as if trying to shield her from the cold reality that lay before them. “This isn't on you, Moira,” he rumbled.

The weight of his stare shifted to me. When I cocked a brow, he immediately looked away.

Since my father's passing when I was twelve, the New York Irish mob had been run by an acting boss. I’d granted Seamus that role when I turned eighteen because my mother loved him, because he was smart and ruthless, and because I’d wanted my freedom and to at least finish college before I had to take over. His position wasn’t one of earned respect or lineage. And while he played the role of the patriarch, he knew all too well that at any moment, I could reclaim what was rightfully mine.

He also knew that I would.

Across the room, my younger brother Callum seemed smaller than he should have given he was almost six feet tall. His dark hair, normally slicked back to emulate the older men in our family, was now disheveled, as if he'd repeatedly run his fingers through it.

“What are we going to do abouther?” Callum said.

I stiffened, knowing immediately who he meant.

All three of them were convinced that Camille had killed Ava.

I wasn’t.

Camille was many things—conflicted, troubled even, but a cold-blooded murderer?

I’d already tried telling myself that my inability to believe it was bullshit. A product of the fact that I wanted to fuck her. But whether I wanted to be with Camille or not wasn’t in question. I didn’t think she could hurt my sister.

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