Page 89 of Betray Me
“The island’s been quiet,” Luna points out, but I can see the same desperate determination in her expression that drives all of us now. “No activity that we can detect from here. But that doesn’t mean it’s empty.”
We’re tired of running, tired of looking over our shoulders, tired of letting faceless enemies control our lives from the shadows. If answers exist anywhere, they’re on that island. In the archives, we never had time to properly search, in the hiddenspaces beneath the university buildings, in the remnants of whatever conspiracy took Janet Wilson’s life.
“There might be another option.” Erik nods toward the far end of the harbor, where a different class of boat bobs at anchor. Sleek, fast, and distinctly private. “I’ve been asking around. Carefully. There’s an old fisherman who’s looking to sell—needs the money more than the boat.”
I follow his gaze to a weathered thirty-footer that looks sturdy enough to handle rough seas. Not elegant, but functional. The kind of vessel that could get us across twenty miles of increasingly choppy water if someone knew how to operate it.
“Either of you know how to pilot a boat?” I ask, though I suspect I already know the answer.
Max and Erik exchange a look—the kind of loaded communication that passes between people who’ve been planning contingencies. “I spent summers on my uncle’s yacht in Miami,” Max says. “Erik’s got experience with smaller craft from his Coast Guard training.”
“Coast Guard?” Luna’s eyebrow arches with surprise.
“Before I was sent to Shark Bay. Two years of weekend duty after I fucked up my father’s meeting with the president’s aide.” Erik’s jaw tightens with familiar determination. “It’s been a while, but some things you don’t forget.”
“How much?” I ask, already thinking about my grandmother’s inheritance. The twenty-three million dollars that represents decades of her fighting back against the network that created us all.
“Seventy-five thousand. Cash. And he walks away clean—no questions, no paperwork, no memory of who bought it.”
Seventy-five thousand dollars. A year ago, that sum would’ve been impossible. Now, with my grandmother’s inheritance, it’s a significant expense but not a breaking point. The money that was supposed to buy my freedom might instead fund my return to the place where this nightmare began.
While Erik handles the transaction, Luna pulls me aside near the harbor’s edge, her voice low against the building wind. “Belle, there’s something I’ve been wondering.”
“I know, me too. We were sent to Shark Bay for a reason.”
Luna nods, the confirmation hitting us like a physical blow.
“Luna, when your parents decided to send you there after the Alex situation, who made the final school selection?”
Luna’s face goes pale. “The family’s academic advisor. But the decision went through several levels of approval, including consultation with what they called ‘network educational liaisons.’”
“And my placement there was presented as a strategic opportunity to monitor promising heirs from other families.” I finish the thought, seeing the same horrible understanding dawn in her eyes. “We weren’t sent to Shark Bay despite the dangers lurking there. We were sent there because of them.”
Erik returns, keys jingling in his weathered hand. “It’s done. The boat’s ours, along with rain gear and life vests the previous owner threw in. He’s already walking away—cash in pocket, conscience clear.”
“When do we leave?” I ask.
“Now. The storm’s moving faster than predicted, and we want to reach the island before the worst of it hits.” Erik’s eyes meet mine, and I see my own determination reflected there. “Belle, you understand that once we get on that boat, there’s no backing out. Whatever’s waiting for us at Shark Bay—”
“I know.” The words come out steadier than I feel. “But running hasn’t worked. Hiding hasn’t worked. The only way to end this is to face it.”
We gather our few possessions and walk toward our newly acquired vessel. The boat looks even more weathered up close, but the hull appears sound, and the engine turns over with a reassuring rumble when Erik tests the ignition.
As we board, I run my hand along the interior railing, feeling for any irregularities in the wood. My fingers find it almost immediately—carved so small and discreet that it would be invisible unless you were specifically looking.
The same serpent wrapped around a crown that’s followed us like a curse.
They know. Whatever forces have been orchestrating this dance from the shadows, they know about our desperation, our need to return to the island. Even this boat, purchased from what seemed like a random fisherman, bears their mark.
I should warn the others. Should point out this evidence that nothing we encounter is truly random. But looking at Luna’s determined expression, at Erik’s protective stance, at Max’s unwavering support, I realize it doesn’t matter.
We’re done running. Done reacting. Done letting invisible hands guide our choices.
If they want us on Shark Bay Island, if they’ve arranged for us to return to the scene of our mutual creation, then let’s give them exactly what they’re expecting.
Just not in the way they planned.
“Everyone ready?” Max calls from the helm, his hands already familiarizing themselves with the controls.
