Page 11 of Bad Bishop

Crimson Key was an island tucked between Florida and the Bahamas. An independent jurisdiction that belonged to my family.The Devil’s Playground, as the rich called it.

It consisted of our mansion, a few hotels of award-winning grandeur, golf courses, and casinos. Trusted friends of the familyhad snowbird properties here, but it was Ferrante turf through and through.

Tropic humidity licked at my skin. I felt suffocated—by the heat, my dress, and most of all, my family.

I glared behind my shoulder at the arched windows of the ballroom. Usually, when music started playing, I retired to an adjoining empty room, laid on the floor, and closed my eyes. The bass reverberating against my spine mimicked the tempo of the music. It was the closest I could get to listening to it. Right now, though, I didn’t want to lie still.

Wrenching my heels off, I stomped barefoot past the Roman balustraded pool and the densely planted cypresses framing the estate, farther down, toward the thick woods enveloping the back of the property. I kicked the dirt with a huff as I left the pickleball court and pool house behind me, putting more space between the wedding and me. At the end of the vast expanse of tropical trees was a strip of pearly-white sand kissing the Atlantic Ocean. It was my secret spot. A place I often visited on the island when no one was paying attention.

I didn’t care that I was soiling my dress with dirt and mud. Didn’t care that Papa was going to be furious. That Mama was going to be worried. I wanted to lick my wounds privately.

Ten minutes later, I reached the end of the woods. I fell down to my knees, the cold grains of sand digging into my fine bones, and stared at the blackened ocean, biting my lower lip. I grabbed a handful of smooth rocks, tossing them out to the ocean.

Never would I hear the sound of waves crashing on the shore.

Skip. Skip. Skip.

Never would I waltz to live band music.

Skip. Skip. Skip.

Never would I sing along to a familiar tune.

Skip. Skip. Skip.

Never would I kiss a stranger’s mouth, warm and soft and alive, feel their pulse beneath my palm, or whisper secrets into a lover’s ear.

The last rock sank into the water without skipping.

An angry roar ripped from my throat. Broken, desperate, yet I couldn’t even hear it.

Behind my back, there was a castle, and dancing, and lights, andlife.

There were plans, hopes, and dreams.

There were people with agency over their own decisions.

Suddenly, a hand clasped my mouth from behind. I gasped, my eyes flaring in horror. An arm wrapped around my throat forcefully, dragging me backward. It was so unexpected, it took me a second before I dug my toes into the sand, bucking, fighting the intrusion.

Somebody followed me here.

And that person knew we were far enough not to be seen or heard.

Panic flooded my system and kicked my instincts into high gear. Whoever held me was male, strong and in a frenzy.

I bit the hand that clasped my mouth, sinking my teeth into his flesh until the metallic taste of blood detonated in my mouth. My attacker jerked, tumbling down to the sand and taking me with him. I fell against his torso, his forearm still pressing hard against my throat. Pressure filled my ears. I fought and kicked and clawed, thrashing and roaring, a wild thing; his fists came down on my face, my neck, blow after blow, making my ears ring. My fingernails punctured his skin, digging so deep they broke and splintered. Something long and thick swelled against my butt. It promised pain and punishment and made the blood freeze inside my veins.

No. No way. I won’t let it happen.

I writhed like a reptile, twisted sharply. I managed to bite his arm, sinking my teeth into his skin until it split, and managed to break free.

Air. I was finally able to welcome it into my searing lungs. I took a greedy gulp of it.

Looking back was a luxury my time constraint couldn’t afford. Instead, I army crawled across the sand, desperately blinking away the stinging blood from my eyes. My crown of roses fell to the sand. In the dark, I could see that the flowers weren’t white anymore. They were dark red. Drenched in my own blood.

My breath rattled in my lungs like a coin in an empty tin.

Breathe.