Page 160 of Risky Passion

White foam bubbled from Beatrice’s mouth, spilling over her bottom lip as her body jerked across the floor.

“She’s poisoned herself,” Whitney said, crouching beside her. “There’s nothing we can do.”

“Jesus Christ,” I growled, throwing my hands out in fury. “How the hell did this happen?”

“She took cyanide,” Whitney muttered, standing and stepping back. “Look, her lips are turning red. And the faint smell of almonds on her breath. She must’ve had a pill.”

“Do something!” Tory shouted, her voice rising in desperation as she shook Beatrice’s shoulder.

“There’s nothing we can do. It’s lethal. Almost instant.” Whitney shook his head.

“Son of a bitch.” I knelt beside Beatrice, anger and helplessness clawing at my chest. Her breathing was shallow, her skin cold beneath my hand. “What the fuck, Beatrice?”

Her eyes flickered open, glassy and distant, like she was already halfway gone. A sick, hollow smile curved her lips.

“No!” I grabbed her shoulders, trying to shake her back to life. “No, damn it! Don’t you die!”

Her body convulsed one final time before she flopped onto the floor. Still.

We all fell silent as the weight of her death crashed over us like a tsunami.

Whitney crouched beside her, pressing two fingers to her neck. He shook his head and sat back on his heels. “She’s gone.”

“Jesus. I can’t believe that happened.” Tory let out a strangled cry as she stared at Beatrice’s lifeless body.

I sat back on my haunches. My chest felt like it had been split open and hollowed out. “Fuck.” The word slipped out, raw and guttural.

I shot to my feet and marched across the deck to the far edge. Gripping the railing so tightly my knuckles bulged, I leaned forward and roared toward the empty beach. “Fuck!”

The sound tore through the stillness, but it didn’t make me feel any better.

Behind me, no one spoke. The only sounds were my own ragged breathing and the faint creak of the shack’s wooden floorboards as everyone moved.

I turned around. Beatrice’s lifeless form lay still, unnervingly serene. Somehow, in death, she looked peaceful, like it had granted her the freedom she’d never found in life.

And that just made it worse.

“Jaxson. Talk to me.” Aria’s voice crackled faintly through the speaker of my phone, which I’d dropped between the two bodies.

Fucking hell. We look like amateurs.

I snatched up the phone and pressed it to my ear. “Aria. Beatrice just killed herself.”

My voice was flat, hollow.

“What the hell?” Aria’s voice exploded through the speaker.

I didn’t answer. What could I say? There were no words to make sense of what just happened.

Beatrice was gone.

And with her death, she probably took a ton of secrets.

Like the names of criminal bastards who deserved to be punished.

Now we may never find out who they are.

CHAPTER 37

---