I cursed every breath they took.
Every breath Galloway would never take.
Every breath Conner would never have.
They left me.
He left me.
I’m alone.
And that was when I snapped.
These animals were hurting my children—the only people I had left in the world.
I didn’t care how they came to be on our island. I didn’t care if they were here to rescue us or how they’d found us.
I don’t care.
I don’t care.
I don’t care!
They’re dead.
All I cared about was protecting my family.
Galloway had left me.
He’d made me choose.
He’d given me no choice.
I wouldn’t let anyone else make decisions for me.
No more.
No way.
Not with my family.
“Let. Go. Of. My. Children.” I took a step forward. “Now!”
My grief snarled into a nasty, nasty thing, wanting to lash out and maul. I wanted blood. I wanted pain. I wanted to hurt and hurt and hurt until the hurting stopped inside. Until I could breathe without wanting to die. Until I could exist without him by my side.
The men flinched but didn’t obey.
So I did the only logical thing.
I lost it.
I lost myself to tears and fears.
I charged.
I hit.
I struck.
I bit.
I screamed.
I hurt them.
I fought them.
I destroyed them for taking what was mine.
And through it all, I was no longer a wife or mother.
I was a monster.
Chapter Sixty-Two
...............................................
E S T E L L E
......
“ONE DAY, YOU’RE going to be a big fancy singer, and I’m going to be the one scrubbing your back in an overfilled bubble bath.”
I threw my sour lolly at my sister, Gail. “Wrong. You’ll be scrubbing my back in a spa on some cruise sailing the Tahitian sea.”
Madeline giggled. “You’re both wrong. You’ll be scrubbing my back as I’ll be the manager of said success and skim all your royalties for my own.”
I rolled my eyes at my seventeen-year-old friend.
As an only child, Madi didn’t have a bestie like I did with Gail. We’d met on the first day of primary school, and I’d adopted her. Gail (who was two years older) adopted her, too.
If there was mischief to be had, we were the ones to meddle in it.
“You’re all morons.” I laughed. “I won’t be the one singing; I’ll be the one writing for others. I’m terrified of microphones and crowds...remember?”
Madi slung her arm over me, staring at our reflection as we added the finishing touches to our makeup. We were heading to a party to celebrate the end of school. She’d made me swear I would attend back in middle school, seeing as I never went to social functions.
“You and me, Stelly. We’ll show ‘em.”
Gail joined our duo, making our matching yellow dresses a triple golden glow. “All for one and one for all. I love you crazy peeps.”
...
TEARS ROLLED DOWN my cheeks, tickling my throat, wrenching me from the dream.
It’d been so long since I’d dreamt of my sister. Almost as if my mind blocked such painful memories because she’d died far too young.
So why now?
Why did death cling to me like the stench of decay?
Galloway.
The moment his name popped into my head, images of his smile, his touch, his laugh, his kiss...all spindled in my head, crushing me harder and harder into the supple mattress.
I rolled over, hugging the white pillow, sobbing my heart and soul into its starched perfection.
I didn’t know how long I cried.
I didn’t care how long I drowned in tears.
I would sail away on them, unmoored and unnoticed, until I met Galloway in another life.
However, I couldn’t let go.
I couldn’t be so selfish.
Pippa.
Coco.
They need me.
The men.
They had them. They’d hurt my babies.
Cannon firing memories shot me upright; my fists raised, searching the room for the men who’d hurt my family.
Where were they?
Where were my daughters?
Adrenaline crashed through my blood like rogue waves, searching for my victims.
But no one was there.
Was it a nightmare?
Not real?
Sniffing back tears, I blinked, expecting to see the bright glare of virginal sunshine, hear the soft hish hish of the tide, and fall in love with (just like I did every morning) the images of my family arguing and laughing by the cheery fire pit.
Only...
None of that existed.
Not anymore.
I was in a room.
A room!
I hadn’t been in a room for three and a half years.
I was in a bed.
With sheets.
And pillows.
And creamy cotton blankets.
There was a television and curtains and wallpaper and light switches. A painting hung on the wall mocking me with delicate seahorses and anemones swaying in a non-existent current.
Instead of being relieved at finally, finally being found, all I focused on was how?
Where am I?
Who are they?
Where are Pippa and Coco?
How had this happened without my knowledge?
Throwing myself out of bed, I plucked at the white nightgown covering my salty, skinny body. My ragged bleached hair looked almost as colourless as the gown. A strange after-taste burned my tongue, and a small Band-Aid covered a puncture wound inside my elbow.