Page 78 of Montana Falls
All of that was enough to keep the guilt away from me, for allowing my uncle to think I was dead for three whole days. It was enough to make me forget that my boys had been grieving me, too. Even if it was just for a few hours until I’d got to Miguel’s in secret, and was sure Retta genuinely thought I was dead.
A random corpse I’d sourced from Miguel had been put in my place in the hospital, wheeled out in a black bag. Doctors had been paid off heftily, after they’d stitched me up and given me painkillers I wouldn’t take until I was safe. Raya had been the one who confirmed my identity, just liked I’d asked her to with a single twenty second phone call, before she’d left a bag of things in the morgue for me to take.
A gun. Phone. Clothes. Cash.
For the first time in my life, I’d caught a bus. A bus for over two hours, after a twenty minute walk from the hospital. I’d sat on it, a hoody and cap on, face hidden by a mask over my mouth and nose. I’d cried silently about the pain in my shoulder and in my boys.
I’d cried harder when the news reports started coming in, of the violence starting in my city.
Fires. Beatings. Murders in their dozens. Diamond Grove, Hendrix City, Cherry Hill. Even more places beyond that would come.
My uncle lay waste to everything he could get his hands on and as much as it broke my heart to know I’d caused such pain in him; I was only grateful that my thoughts about his reaction were right.
The best way to fake my death had been to let those I loved think it was real. It was the only way I could be sure – the only way I didn’t take a risk I couldn’t afford. And it had worked. It had worked for the hours I’d been in Miguel’s with just him, as he checked over my stitches, made me some soup, and promised me that things would be okay in the end, and if they weren’t okay, then it wasn’t the end.
Then he’d gone to keep an eye on Beau for me. To make sure my uncle didn’t do something entirely irreversible, and he’d left me waiting for the only ones I couldn’t leave for days on end, thinking I was dead.
All the stress and pain was enough to make me deathly patient now, as I lay inside my own coffin for hours on end, still and barely breathing as I waited for my stalker to show her face, as I knew she would.
The scent of wood and flowers surrounded me, cloying and oppressive almost. I could hear the murmur of voices outside, distant, fading as the wake continued in my home. It had beenhours of waiting, hours of lying there, hoping, praying that this insane plan would work.
Hours of waiting for Retta to show up and say the goodbye I knew she would feel owed.
Retta.
It still hurt to think of her name, to think of the woman who had been family, who had raised Lincoln and Misha like they were her whole world. Had taken in the other men I loved and cared for them too. But I knew. I confirmed it. Three days was all it took before I had seen enough evidence to prove John hadn’t been lying, from the plethora of it that Darius had been hunting for and provided, the second Widow had texted him as he was kidnapped by her.
John had told Lincoln that he would miss Lincoln’s mother because she was his sister and he had not been lying.
She’d been born Cassie O’Malley and her father had sold her to Charles Montana because he was a sadistic fucker. I had no idea how or why, but before Charles had died, Maggie had saved Cassie, and the little girl had been sent to distant O’Malley relatives in Ireland, never to be thought of again.
Cassie had grown up to fall in love with a classmate, fresh out of college, and have a daughter with the man. The same man she’d named her two sons after years later. A man who’d died after a gang shootout the Red Diamonds had started in a random restaurant that had long ago shut down.
A shoot out that my grandfather – or at least, Ford’s father – had been part of.
Cassie had lost her daughter that night, too. Eight months into the pregnancy and the stress of it all had made her miscarry and shatter entirely.
Just like that, the Montana’s had taken everything from her again, only this time she hadn’t let it slide and allow herself to be pushed into a dreary, gray place, unable to do a thing again.
Multiple personalities. Or dissociative identity disorder, as it was known by now. That’s what Cassie had. Why she could switch between roles and people with ease… because shewasdifferent people.
She’d been a different person when she’d inserted herself in Maggie’s life using a fake name, another fake story. They’d become friends and my aunt had no idea that the woman she’d invited into her home was the same one who would wind up putting a bullet in her head.
She’d been Retta when she’d inserted herself into Malone’s life, using him to keep her rapidly fraying connection to Maggie, after her death.
She’d learned how to use a rifle as a teenager, purely just for hunting. But had put those skills to good use as an adult, because she knew that physical fights were not her strength.
She’d worked for decades, planned for decades, all so she could put a bullet into Johnny Montana’s head and avenge her first husband, and herself even more.
Then she’d put one into Ford’s for the same fucking reasons.
Retta had travelled around the world and was often away from home because she worked for doctors without borders. In reality, Cassie had trained as a doctor. But apart from the odd role in a handful of different hospitals where she needed an alibi or medical supplies from, she’d never gone anywhere that I hadn’t been. It had all been a lie, paid for with the O’Malley fortunes her brother had gifted her.
Instead of raising her children, she’d been chasing me around the world. Terrifying me with creepy gifts and promises of a life with her I did not want.
She’d been in my home, had access to my company through her husband’s position on my board. She’d seen Price and I messing around on the phone, and had decided to take him outwith a bullet that I had saved him from. She’d seen me and Misha having sex and had… had done far worse.
She’d essentially killed Malone. Taken me. Hurt the others.
