Page 12

Flint

One second you’re having hate-sex with your ex in a foggy maze, and the next you’re staring at a dead body and a blood-soaked girl who’s shaking so hard her teeth are chattering. Life on this fucked-up island never gets boring.

“We need to move,” I say, trying to remain calm. Panic’s contagious, and right now, one panicking person is already one too many.

Damiano’s kneeling next to Briar, careful not to touch her. Smart. After what just happened, unexpected contact would send her spiraling.

“Can you walk?” he asks her.

She nods, but when she tries to stand, her legs fold beneath her. Instinctively, I reach out to catch her, but Damiano moves faster, slipping his arm around her waist.

“I’ve got you,” he says, gentler than I’ve ever heard from him. It stirs something in my chest I don’t want to examine too closely.

Liam’s body sprawls on the gravel, blood still seeping from the wound in his neck, though the spurting has stopped. The stake glints in the dim light filtering through the fog. That’s evidence we can’t leave behind.

“We need to get her out of here,” I say to Damiano. “Not through the house. Too many people.”

He nods, understanding immediately. “The eastern path through the forest. It connects to the harbor road.”

“My place is closest,” I say. “The shipping container.” I turn to Briar, who’s staring blankly at Liam’s body. “Hey.” I step into her line of sight, blocking her view. “Look at me, not him.”

Her eyes are glassy, unfocused. Shock. I’ve seen it before on the fishing boats after accidents. “We’re going to my place. It’s safe. No one will look for you there.”

She blinks, trying to process. “But the party...”

“Damiano will handle it,” I say, looking at him. “Right?”

He hesitates, glancing between Briar and me, then at the body. “I’ll tell everyone she got a migraine and went to bed. Send them home. Then come back for... this.”

“Can you manage alone?” I ask.

A shadow crosses his face. “I know what I’m doing.” His voice is flat, emotionless—professional almost, like this isn’t his first cleanup job.

It’s not reassuring, exactly, but it’s what we need right now.

“Take this.” I slip off my leather jacket and hand it to Damiano. “Cover her with it. Hide the blood.”

He wraps it around Briar’s shoulders, and it swallows her small frame, making her look even more fragile.

“The eastern fence has a loose section,” I tell him. “Behind the old elm that got hit by lightning last year. You can get through there without being seen from the house.”

He raises an eyebrow. “How do you know that?”

“I’ve been checking the perimeter of these fancy estates for years,” I admit. “Old habits. Rich people always have the best shit to steal, and I like knowing all the entry points.”

“Of course you do.” He shakes his head, but without real judgment.

“Meet us at my place when you’re done here,” I say. “You remember where it is?”

He narrows his eyes and clenches his jaw. “I remember.”

Right. The last time he was there, things didn’t end well between us. Another memory best left buried for now.

“Go,” he says. “I’ll handle this.”

I turn to Briar, who’s leaning heavily against him. “ I’m going to take your other side, okay? We need to move fast.”

She nods, still dazed but at least responsive. I slip my arm around her waist, opposite Damiano’s, and she flinches before forcing herself to relax.

“Ready?” I ask.

She takes a shuddering breath. “Ready.”

We guide her through the maze, Damiano leading with the confidence of someone who helped build the damn thing. Every turn looks the same to me, but he never hesitates. The moonlight occasionally breaks through the fog, illuminating the path ahead in brief, silver flashes.

Briar stumbles more than once, her strength clearly fading. The next time she nearly goes down, I decide.

“This isn’t working,” I say, stopping. “I’m going to carry you.”

She stiffens. “I can walk.”

“Maybe, but not fast enough.” I meet her eyes directly. “I’m not him. I’m not going to hurt you. But we need to move, and you’re about to collapse.”

She holds my gaze for a long moment, then gives a small nod.

“I’ll lift you on three,” I say. “One, two, three.”

I scoop her up as gently as I can, one arm under her knees, the other supporting her back. She weighs almost nothing, light as driftwood. Her body is rigid at first, but as we start moving again, she gradually relaxes, her head eventually resting against my shoulder.

She’s ice cold. Even through my jacket and her clothes, I can feel it. Her skin has that bluish tint around the edges, like someone who’s been in the water too long.

“Is she always this cold?” I ask Damiano quietly.

“I can hear you,” Briar says, muffled against my shoulder. “And yes, I’m always this cold. Poor circulation. Part of the autoimmune package deal.”

I glance down, surprised to hear her speak with strength. There’s a touch of irritation in her tone despite her obvious exhaustion.

“Sorry,” I say. “Didn’t think you were still with us.”

“Just because I’m not talking doesn’t mean I’m not here.” She shifts slightly in my arms. “And I don’t need you two discussing me like I’m some fragile damsel who needs rescuing. I can handle myself.”

Damiano catches my eye, the corner of his mouth quirking up slightly. Good. She still has some fight in her.

When we reach the edge of the property, Damiano guides us to the section of fence I told him about. Sure enough, several planks are loose, creating a gap just wide enough to slip through.

“I’ll go back now,” he says, his eyes lingering on Briar. “Make sure everyone leaves. Then deal with... the rest. ”

“Be careful,” I say, surprising myself with how much I mean it.

He gives me a look, somewhere between annoyance and something softer. “Yeah.”

Before going, he reaches out, briefly touching Briar’s shoulder. “You’re going to be okay,” he tells her. “We won’t let anything happen to you.”

She doesn’t respond, but her eyes follow him as he turns and disappears back into the fog.

The forest path is narrow and dark, barely visible in the misty moonlight. I’ve walked it a hundred times, though, even drunk out of my mind, so my feet know the way. Briar shivers continuously in my arms, small tremors that seem to start deep inside her.

“Almost there,” I tell her, though my place is still a good ten minutes away. “Just hang on.”

She nods against my shoulder. “I killed him,” she whispers, the first words she’s spoken since we left the maze.

“Yeah, you did.” No point in sugarcoating it. “And he had it coming.”

“I didn’t mean to.”

“I know.” I adjust my grip, pulling her closer to share what warmth I can. “But if you hadn’t, he would have killed you. Or worse.”

“There’s something worse than death?” Her question is distant, almost dreamy.

“Living with what he would have done to you,” I say. “Trust me, you made the right choice. ”

We walk in silence for a while, the only sounds our breathing and the occasional snap of twigs beneath my boots. The fog thins as we get closer to the eastern cliffs, where my container home sits overlooking the water.

“Why are you helping me?” she asks. “You don’t even know me.”

I could give her some bullshit answer about basic human decency, but she deserves better than that. “I knew Liam Bastian. He was a piece of shit who hurt people for fun. Got away with it because his brother protects him.” I pause. “Protected him.”

“His brother?”

“Viktor Bastian. Head of security at The Vault. Mean motherfucker with connections all over the island.” I step over a fallen log, careful not to jostle her. “When he finds out Liam’s missing, there’ll be questions.”

“Will he come after me?”

“Not if he can’t connect you to it.” I glance down at her. “That’s why we’re cleaning this up. Making it disappear.”

“I’m sorry I dragged you into this.”

I snort. “You didn’t drag me anywhere. I stepped in willingly. So did Damiano.”

My place comes into view as we round the last bend in the path.

It’s not much—an old shipping container I bought for next to nothing and converted into a living space.

Painted black with a corrugated metal roof I added to keep out the constant rain.

Solar panels provide enough power for the basics.

It’s perched right at the edge of the cliff, giving me the best view on the island and ensuring no neighbors.

“Home sweet home,” I say, shifting her weight to get my key from my pocket.

Inside, it’s sparse but clean. One big room with different areas for sleeping, eating, and living.

The back wall is all windows, salvaged from a demolition site in Seattle, looking out over the cliff to the water below.

A wood stove in the corner provides heat, and a small kitchenette with a propane stove occupies one end.

I set Briar down carefully on the couch—a massive leather thing I found abandoned by the side of the road and restored. She sinks into it, still shivering, clutching my jacket around her.

“First things first,” I say, moving to the wood stove. “We need to get you warm.”

I stack kindling and logs inside, lighting them with a long match. The fire catches quickly, crackling to life. Next, I fill a kettle and set it on the propane stove.

“I’m going to get you something clean to wear,” I tell her. “Those clothes need to be burned.”

She looks down at herself, as if just now noticing the blood that covers her. It’s everywhere—soaked through her clothes, crusted in her hair, dried in flaking patterns across her neck and jawline. Even her fingernails are rimmed with dark crescents of Liam’s blood.

“Oh,” she says, the single syllable heavy with realization.

I’m not much better off. Carrying her has transferred a good portion of the blood to my clothes and skin. Rust-colored smears across my arms, damp patches on my shirt where her body pressed against mine.