Page 90 of Betray Me
I meet his eyes, seeing that his resolve matches mine. Luna nods sharply, her jaw set with the same steel that helped her survive years of family exploitation. Erik’s expression carries the weight of someone who’s lost too much to back down now.
“Ready,” I say, and the word tastes like a promise.
The engine roars to life, and we pull away from the relative safety of Millfield’s harbor. Behind us, the storm continues building, dark clouds pregnant with rain and wind and electrical fury. Ahead, Shark Bay Island rises from the gray waters like something from a Gothic nightmare, its ancient towers and collegiate spires promising answers we might not survive discovering.
But as salt spray stings my face and the deck pitches beneath my feet, I feel something I haven’t experienced in months: anticipation instead of dread. Whatever’s waiting for us on that island—The Architect, the completion of plans that began with Janet Wilson’s murder, the final confrontation with forces that have shaped our entire lives—we’re going to meet it on our own terms.
The girl who survived by becoming her father’s perfect spy is gone. The woman taking her place has her grandmother’s intelligence network, her friends’ unwavering support, her grandmother’s twenty-three million dollar war chest, and absolutely nothing left to lose.
The storm can come. We’re ready for it.
And when we reach that island, we’re going to discover once and for all who’s been writing the script of our lives—and we’re going to burn that script to ash.
Chapter 32: Adrift
Now
The engine dies with a sound like a dying animal—a violent shudder that reverberates through the boat’s hull and straight into my bones. One moment, we’re cutting through the increasingly choppy waters toward Shark Bay Island, spray stinging our faces as we race against the approaching storm. The next, we’re drifting helplessly as silence engulfs us except for the ominous sound of waves slapping against our hull.
“What the hell?” Max yanks at the ignition, his knuckles white as he tries to coax life back into the engine. The motor turns over with a grinding wheeze before falling silent again. “Come on, come on—”
“Max.” Erik’s voice cuts through our collective panic, sharp with something that makes my blood turn to ice water. “Stop trying to start it.”
I follow Erik’s gaze to where he’s crouched near the engine housing, his hands already dark with what looks like oil. But as he holds his fingers up to the fading afternoon light, I see the truth that makes my stomach lurch.
It’s not oil. It’s gasoline.
“The fuel lines have been cut,” Erik says, his voice deadly calm in the way that means he’s fighting not to lose control. “Clean cuts, deliberate. Someone wanted us stranded out here.”
Luna scrambles toward the radio, her movements sharp with the same desperate efficiency I recognize from our Shark Bay days. Static crackles through the speaker as she adjusts dials and frequencies, searching for any sign of life from the outside world.
“Nothing,” she says after several minutes of trying every channel. “It’s completely dead.” She pulls the radio unit partially apart with practiced ease—when did Luna learn about electronics?—and her face goes pale. “The wiring’s been severed. Same as the engine.”
The implications crash over me like the waves that are growing larger with each passing minute. Despite this boat bearing their mark, it was purchased from what seemed like a random fisherman desperate for cash, and yet, it was a trap. Someone wanted us isolated, helpless, miles from shore as a storm builds on the horizon.
“The emergency beacon,” Max says, already moving toward the small orange device mounted near the helm. But I can see from his expression what he’s going to find before his hands confirm it.
“Disabled,” he says, holding up severed wires. “Jesus Christ, they thought of everything.”
The four of us stand in the center of the boat, looking at each other as the full weight of our situation settles around us like a net. We’re twenty miles from shore in a disabled vessel, with no way to call for help and a storm approaching that could turn these already rough seas deadly.
“How long before anyone realizes we’re missing?” Luna asks, but I can see in her eyes that she already knows the answer.
“No one knows we’re out here,” I admit, my voice barely audible over the wind that’s picking up with each passing minute. “We’ve been so careful about avoiding detection, staying off official channels—”
“That no one legitimate is tracking our movements,” Erik finishes grimly. “The ones who wanted us here are only people who know where we are.”
I think about the carved symbol I found on the boat’s railing, the mark I should have shared with the others the moment I discovered it. My silence might’ve doomed us all.
“I saw it,” I say suddenly, the words tumbling out in a rush. “When we first boarded, I found their symbol carved into the railing. I should’ve said something, should have warned you—”
“Belle.” Max’s hand finds mine, steady despite the way the deck pitches beneath our feet. “Even if you had, where else could we have gone? We were out of options.”
He’s right, but the guilt still sits like lead in my chest. How many times have I kept secrets, thinking I was protecting others when I was really just protecting myself from their potential reactions?
The first real wave crashes over our bow, sending icy water cascading across the deck. We scramble for handholds as the boat lurches sickeningly to one side, the horizon tilting at an angle that makes my inner ear scream warnings.
“Life vests,” Erik shouts over the growing wind. “Everyone get a life vest on. Now.”
