Page 62 of Risky Passion (Wolf Security #5)

Jaxson

As Beatrice sipped the water, I pulled Onyx back, giving her the signal to stand down. Whisper was seated on the top step of the deck and when she extended her hand, Onyx padded over, leaning in for a head rub.

“You caught Beatrice? How?” Aria’s voice on the phone rose with a mix of shock and relief. “Where are you?”

“Stanage Bay,” I said. “It’s a tiny fishing village north of Risky Shores. She was holed up in a shack out in the middle of nowhere.”

I ran a hand through my hair, glancing at the others. Tory still sat beside Beatrice, calm and composed. The way Tory handled Beatrice was impressive.

If it had been me, Beatrice wouldn’t have gotten the same compassion. That bitch deserved nothing but cold, hard justice.

Whitney and Parker hovered near Alice’s body on the floor, flipping through the pages of Beatrice’s handwritten notes. Their expressions were twisted and unreadable. But I had a sinking feeling there were names in those pages we knew.

Just like Cooper and Eddie; cops I’d worked with and trusted.

It was strange, though, the way she’d written it all down. Like a final confession. A last message to the world.

Aria’s voice cut through my thoughts. “How did you find her? ”

My gaze flicked back to the notebook Parker and Whitney were reading. If Beatrice had planned to burn everything in that fire, why write those details down?

Was this part of her game? Was she still screwing with us, feeding us lies?

Had we just walked into her trap?

As I darted my attention to the beach, scanning for armed bastards intent on mowing us down, I dropped my free hand to the gun holstered at my side.

Hating what needed to be said, I cringed at my triplet and responded to Aria’s question, “Whitney put a tracking device on the body Beatrice took from the orphanage. Led us straight here.”

“What the fuck?” Anger flared in Aria’s tone. “Why am I only hearing about this now?”

I opened my mouth, trying to form a response that wouldn’t make Whitney look incompetent. But before I could answer, Beatrice gasped and her face washed pale. Too pale. Her lips gaped as if she struggled to breathe.

“Aria, I—” The words died in my throat when Beatrice’s eyes rolled back.

Something’s wrong.

The glass slipped from Beatrice’s fingers, shattering on the floor.

“Beatrice?” Tory lunged forward, grabbing Beatrice’s arm.

“Shit!” I dropped the phone, sprinting toward her. “Beatrice!”

Her body convulsed violently, rattling the chair. Tory and I caught her shoulders as she pitched forward, sliding to the ground like a rag doll.

“What’s happening?” Tory cried as she tried to steady Beatrice.

White foam bubbled from Beatrice’s mouth, spilling over her bottom lip as her body jerked across the floor.

“She’s poisoned herself,” Whitney said, crouching beside her. “There’s nothing we can do.”

“Jesus Christ,” I growled, throwing my hands out in fury. “How the hell did this happen?”

“She took cyanide,” Whitney muttered, standing and stepping back. “ Look, her lips are turning red. And the faint smell of almonds on her breath. She must’ve had a pill.”

“Do something!” Tory shouted, her voice rising in desperation as she shook Beatrice’s shoulder.

“There’s nothing we can do. It’s lethal. Almost instant.” Whitney shook his head.

“Son of a bitch.” I knelt beside Beatrice, anger and helplessness clawing at my chest. Her breathing was shallow, her skin cold beneath my hand. “What the fuck, Beatrice?”

Her eyes flickered open, glassy and distant, like she was already halfway gone. A sick, hollow smile curved her lips.

“No!” I grabbed her shoulders, trying to shake her back to life. “No, damn it! Don’t you die!”

Her body convulsed one final time before she flopped onto the floor. Still.

We all fell silent as the weight of her death crashed over us like a tsunami.

Whitney crouched beside her, pressing two fingers to her neck. He shook his head and sat back on his heels. “She’s gone.”

“Jesus. I can’t believe that happened.” Tory let out a strangled cry as she stared at Beatrice’s lifeless body.

I sat back on my haunches. My chest felt like it had been split open and hollowed out. “Fuck.” The word slipped out, raw and guttural.

I shot to my feet and marched across the deck to the far edge. Gripping the railing so tightly my knuckles bulged, I leaned forward and roared toward the empty beach. “Fuck!”

The sound tore through the stillness, but it didn’t make me feel any better.

Behind me, no one spoke. The only sounds were my own ragged breathing and the faint creak of the shack’s wooden floorboards as everyone moved.

I turned around. Beatrice’s lifeless form lay still, unnervingly serene. Somehow, in death, she looked peaceful, like it had granted her the freedom she’d never found in life.

And that just made it worse .

“Jaxson. Talk to me.” Aria’s voice crackled faintly through the speaker of my phone, which I’d dropped between the two bodies.

Fucking hell. We look like amateurs.

I snatched up the phone and pressed it to my ear. “Aria. Beatrice just killed herself.”

My voice was flat, hollow.

“What the hell?” Aria’s voice exploded through the speaker.

I didn’t answer. What could I say? There were no words to make sense of what just happened.

Beatrice was gone.

And with her death, she probably took a ton of secrets.

Like the names of criminal bastards who deserved to be punished.

Now we may never find out who they are.