Page 14 of On Edge

That’s what I’ve become, the perfect bargaining chip for theExecutioner—that’s what they’re calling Severin in the papers, and not because he acquires companies by bleeding them dry. The latest article from The Executive Review is burned into my brain as though it was written in acid…

Troy Severin’s reputation precedes him: calculating in negotiations, cold-blooded in execution, and utterly unforgiving in the boardroom (and everywhere else). An obsessive-compulsive when it comes to eliminating inefficiencies, his colleagues whisper that working for Severin means never making the same mistake twice. There is no second chance…

And then there are other rumors, darker ones that aren’t quoted in magazines; prison time, mafia connections, business rivals who mysteriously vanish, that he’s a goddam cannibal…

I press my hand to my stomach.

That last one always gets me. Especially as Nell came to this island and never left. And now I’m here too, sleeping in a room that smells of fresh lavender and bleach.

Like someone tried very, very hard to clean up.

4

SAGE

Despite Mrs Oakley’s warning, I go exploring. What else is there to do?

If I’m going to figure out what happened to my sister, I need to understand the house that swallowed her whole. There are so many places here to stash a body, not to mention the island is littered with mudslides, crumbling banks, and hidden sinkholes.

Laine taught me that there’s always evidence to be found. I just have to know how to look, and where. But if the house felt imposing last night, in daylight, it feels worse….

Hollow. Abandoned.

The deeper I go, the more the house closes in. The air is stale, thick with dust and forgotten things. Cold, exposed stone seems to whisper. Elegant staircases feel warped by time. Ugly portraits watch with eyes that follow you around the room. Every locked door I rattle, every step I take on dubiously stained floors sends unease slithering through my bones.

Only a handful of rooms show signs of life: the kitchen with an overstocked pantry; a faded green sitting room with a vast U-shaped sofa, a huge flatscreen TV, and all the latest newspapersscattered over a stained coffee table; a pink boot room filled with hunting jackets and muddy boots of various sizes that reeks of wet dog; a long dining hall where peeling plum wallpaper curls like dead skin around vast mullioned windows, and a dark-paneled billiard room with leather armchairs, a cabinet of expensive liquor, and a snooker table gathering dust beneath its cover.

The rest are shrouded in sheets, sealed behind warped doors, or locked. The entire east wing is locked off, too, sealed like a wound no one dares reopen.

I’m tempted to explore further, but my stomach is having a field day with its rumbling. I make a note to come back once I’ve gotten my suitcase and had some food.

“Is this what you’re looking for?”

I very nearly jump out of my skin.

Whipping around, I see a man with a shock of red hair and a ginger beard, blocking the narrow corridor. As I take in camouflage gear, muddy boots, and a rifle slung across his shoulder, he eyes me like I’m not supposed to be here.

“You must be…Mr. Mundel?”

“And you must be Sage Lovett.”

“Yes, that’s me.”

He gives me a dirty look. “His latest obsession.”

Obsession? Does he mean Severin? But I can’t ask, and the way Mundel’s eyes run over me makes my skin crawl; it’s like being stroked with sandpaper.

I don’t think I like Mr. Mundel.

He raises both brows. “Well? Do you want this or not?” I look down and see my vanity case in his hands.

It’s dripping wet.

“Oh…my bag. Thank you. I was starting to think it was lost forever.” I try not to snatch it out of his hands when he offers itto me. The leather is water-stained and soaked through. Inside, everything is damp, but luckily not my phone in its case.

“I found it floating in the lake.”

“Oh…right. Any sign of a suitcase? It’s navy, with a broken zip?”