Chapter 18
18
Cecely
A scream somewhere in the house rips me from sleep. I jerk upright, hand pressed to my chest, my heartbeat thundering in my ears. For a second, my brain struggles to catch up. Did I really hear that? Then it happens again. A sound that’s raw, terrified, real.
The covers are off in an instant. I’m moving fast, my feet hitting the cold floor as I cross the room. Thank god I slept in clothes last night. The door flies open, the hallway stretching before me in both directions. Nothing. No movement. No voices. Just silence. Then another sound.
Not a scream this time. A whimper. Close. I move, my steps quick but controlled. The hallway darkens as I turn a corner, leading me toward a row of doors. Each one closed. Each one hiding something. I slow, heart hammering. I hold my breath, listening.
There.
The faintest hitch of breath. A muffled, choked noise. I stop in front of a single door. The wood is cold beneath my palm. Slowly, I try the knob.
The door creaks open. And a young girl stares back at me. Tears carve tracks down her face, her lips trembling. She’s young. Too young. Fifteen, maybe. Her dark hair is matted, strands clinging to her damp cheeks like she hasn’t seen a brush in weeks. The clothes drown her, hanging loose over her small, malnourished frame.
My heart tightens. This is wrong. So fucking wrong.
“Hey. Are you okay?”
She shakes her head violently, muttering something…a language I don’t recognize. Her voice is wet and desperate. And I don’t understand a damn word. My pulse kicks up. How the hell am I supposed to help her if I don’t even know what she’s saying?
“I’m sorry. I don’t understand.”
“She said she wants to go home.”
An unfamiliar voice.
I spin.
Another girl of the same age, same clothes, same haunted look. She stands just beyond the threshold, hovering like a ghost.
“I’ve told her that there is no home,” she continues, voice flat, resigned, in a thick accent that I still can’t place. “All we have is Agnes and this new home.”
An icy chill snakes down my spine.
I focus on her. “You understand her?”
She dips her head. “Yes. We are from the same town.”
“Where are you from?”
Her gaze flicks down the hallway, like she’s checking for watchful eyes. I step back, motioning for her to come inside. She hesitates and then crosses into the room. I shut the door softly. For a moment, I just look at them. These two girls. Terrified. Alone. Hidden away.
I swallow hard. “Where?”
Her fingers twist together. “I am from Mary. It’s in Turkmenistan.”
My mind spins, trying to pin the location on a map in my head, coming up empty.
“What’s your name?”
“Leyla. And she is Polina.”
I nod, keeping my voice steady. “How long have you been here, Leyla?”
She thinks, brows knitting together.
“A while.”
She lifts her wrists. Scarred. Healed, but barely.
My stomach plummets.
“Did Claudius do this?” I ask, my voice low.
For the first time, Leyla flinches. And I brace myself for whatever answer is about to come next.
“Mr. Irons is the one who saved me from the man who did this.” Leyla’s chin lifts, defiant. “He bought me and Polina, saving us.”
My stomach twists.
“Bought you?” The words taste like poison on my tongue.
She doesn’t flinch.
“Leyla, you know what he did is wrong.”
She shrugs. Like it doesn’t matter. Like it changes nothing.
“Maybe.” She tilts her head toward Polina, who is still quietly crying. “But at least here, I don’t have to worry about who will hurt me next.”
Her voice is steady, resolved. She looks at Polina again, something sharp flashing in her eyes.
“She cries for a home where we were rounded up and sold.”
A slow chill creeps down my spine.
“I tell her we’re safe, but she doesn’t understand.”
I swallow, my thoughts racing. This girl—this fifteen-year-old girl—she’s not grateful. She’s not brainwashed. She’s practical. Hardened. She’s seen too much to believe in anything but survival.
“Don’t you want to go home?” My voice softens. “To your family?”
She doesn’t hesitate. Doesn’t blink.
“No.”
Her voice is final. Like it’s already been decided. Like nothing I say will change it.
“This is my home now.”
And the worst part? I think she believes it. A terrible thought hits me. Claudius is involved in trafficking. What if he plans to do something to me? To sell me… and the baby he has no idea about?
I keep my voice calm, though everything inside me is raging. “Tell Polina that she’s safe. That I will find a way for us out of here.”
Leyla’s eyebrow lifts, curiosity flickering for just a second before she turns, speaking rapidly to Polina in their language. The words don’t soothe her. Polina still sniffles, still looks like a caged bird with clipped wings. But it’s all I can offer her.
For now.
I inhale slowly, meeting Leyla’s gaze once more.
“Tell her I’m just down the hall. The room with the big door. If she gets scared, she can come to me.” I pause. “You can come, too, Leyla.”
She huffs, arms crossing over her thin frame. “I do not want to risk angering Agnes.”
The name alone makes my jaw tighten.
“But,” she adds, almost reluctantly, “I will tell the crybaby what you said.”
Her words are sharp, but her voice isn’t cruel. More… resigned. She thinks Polina is weak. That hope is a luxury they can’t afford. But me? I’m about to prove her wrong. Because Agnes may run this house. But she doesn’t own me. And she sure as hell doesn’t own them.
“I should get back to my room.”
Leyla barely acknowledges me, dipping her head as she drifts to the window. But then she makes a sound. It’s a small huff in the back of her throat. Something between intrigue and knowing.
“Mr. Irons is in the cemetery.”
My stomach tightens. I cross the room, standing next to her, peering out into the blazing sunlight. Sure enough, it’s Claudius. His large frame is shadowed against the morning glare, standing still, a dark silhouette beside the solitary tombstone. I watch, my pulse picking up.
“Does he go out there a lot?”
Leyla doesn’t look at me. “All the time. When he’s here.”
Something about the way she says it makes my skin prickle. I wait for her to go on.
“Agnes usually brings him in when it gets dark.” Her fingers grip the window frame. Like she’s remembering something that’s wrong. “She says she doesn’t like it when he talks to ghosts.”
A slow chill curls down my spine, and I exhale softly. But I don’t move. Because now, I can’t shake the feeling that Claudius isn’t out there alone. That maybe, just maybe, Gabriel is still listening.
“Does anyone ever join him?”
“Only Agnes.”
I hum under my breath, turning away from the window. I have questions. And only Claudius can answer them. I move quietly, slipping out of the room, my footsteps soft against the cold floor. This is risky. I don’t know where the cameras are, but I know they exist. I can’t see them. But I can feel them. Watching. Waiting.
I stop by my room, grabbing a pair of sandals, and then I head downstairs. In the living room, I pause. Agnes is nowhere in sight. I don’t hesitate. I cross the room, heading straight for the French doors that lead outside. Slowly—so slowly—I push it open, stepping outside. The moment the morning air hits my skin, I breathe. Deep, cleansing. Like I’ve been starving for this. Sunlight spills over me, warming the places I didn’t even realize had gone cold. God. It feels like forever since I’ve been outside.
I glance over my shoulder, back at the house. Back at the prison. How many women are still in there? Do they ever get to feel this? The thought settles like a stone in my chest.
And then I move. Toward the cemetery. Toward Claudius. Toward the truth.
As I approach, I spot two men coming from the opposite direction.
Both carry shovels. Both wear coveralls.
Grave diggers.
A slow chill runs down my spine as I come to a stop next to Claudius. His posture is rigid, his gaze fixed on the tombstone.
“Who are they?”
He doesn’t look at me. “They’re here to dig up my brother’s remains.”
My lips part. “What?”
“You heard me.” His voice is calm, too calm, considering what he’s saying. Then he shifts, glancing at me from the corner of his eye. “You brought up a good question when you asked if his remains were tested. This will answer the question once and for all of who lies in this grave.”
I swallow hard. The air feels too thick.
“And if it’s not him?”
His eyes find mine. Dark and unwavering.
“Then I know the person I’m hunting is my twin.”
My throat goes dry. I moisten my lips, pushing past the lump of dread forming in my gut.
“And if it is him?”
His jaw tightens.
“That’s a bit more difficult.”
He finally tears his gaze from me, staring back at the headstone.
“If Gabriel’s body lies here, then that means someone has gone to extremes to take over his life.” His voice dips into something low and lethal. “Either way, someone is going to pay.”
The men reach us. They stop, waiting. One of them dips his head.
“Good morning, Mr. Irons.”
Claudius doesn’t hesitate. “Morning. I hope your journey was smooth.”
The man nods. “It was.”
But it won’t be soon. Not when they start digging. Not when they pull up the past. Because whatever lies beneath that soil, well, it’s going to change everything.
Claudius watches the grave diggers shove their shovels into the dirt. Metal scrapes against the hardened ground. A sharp, jarring sound that feels too final.
“How long will this take?” he asks, voice low.
The older man glances up at the cloudless sky, then back at Claudius.
“Ground’s tough. Haven’t had a good, soaking rain.” He shifts his grip on the handle. “A few hours, tops.”
Claudius nods and turns, moving away from the impending excavation. My gaze follows him as he stops beneath a tree just outside the fence. The tree doesn’t match the others on the island. It shouldn’t be here.
Its ashen-gray bark looks burned, but it’s untouched. Its leaves blaze in fiery shades of red-orange, even though it’s not fall. Something about it unsettles me. Like it was planted for Gabriel. Like it belongs to him.
“What kind of tree is this?” I ask, stepping closer.
“Vermillion Ash.” Claudius’ lips curve. It’s not quite a smile, but something farther away. “Gabriel wanted to buy the island because of it.”
I blink. “I’ve never heard of it before.”
Claudius turns his back on the men digging, facing the tree instead.
“It was never meant to survive here.” His fingers brush the bark, reverent yet distant. “Legend says if you cut it, it bleeds molten sap that hardens into obsidian glass.”
A shiver ripples down my spine.
“Obsidian,” I murmur. “The crystal girlie inside me is intrigued.”
His brows lift.
“Oh? Didn’t peg you as the type.”
“To what? Believe in a higher power?” I pause. “Obsidian is a protective stone. It absorbs and shields against negative energy. Did you know that?”
“I didn’t.”
I hum, watching the way his jaw tightens slightly.
“But you have to be careful with it,” I add. “It can bring up a lot of past traumas.”
A breeze stirs the fiery leaves overhead.
“Maybe that’s what I need.” He exhales, the weight of something heavier than words pressing against him. “It’s starting to feel like I haven’t been dealing with things as well as I thought.”
It’s admirable that he can admit that.
The tension shifts, the space between us quiet but charged. I take my chance.
“Will you tell me about the girls in the house?”
It’s risky. He might tell me to go to hell. Or worse. He might tell me to go back inside.
“What do you want to know?”
I don’t hesitate. “Did you buy them?”
A muscle in his jaw flexes. “Some. Some are purchases Gabriel made.”
A slow chill wraps around my spine.
“Why?” My voice is sharp. Demanding. “Why would you do that?”
He watches me.
“What do you know about trafficking?”
I scoff. “That it’s wrong!”
“Clearly. What else?”
I shake my head, unsure of what answer he’s fishing for.
His voice lowers. “Innocent women are ripped from their homes. From their lives.”
Each word feels like a dagger to the gut.
“They are often tortured and worse before being sent to an auction.”
My hands curl into fists. I don’t want to hear this. But I need to.
“If they’re lucky, they are bought by someone who plans to kill them quickly. That doesn’t happen often.” He steps closer. “Most are sold to monsters who only want to hurt them in every way imaginable.”
His gaze pins me in place.
“And then they die.”
Bile burns the back of my throat. My breath is shaky when I speak.
“You’re not making a very sound case for yourself.”
A small, humorless smile tugs at his lips. “Give me a moment.”
He tilts his head slightly, as if considering me.
“My brother got into the game because he loved holding power over women.”
The air around us thickens. I can feel the next words coming. And I already hate them.
“More than that, he enjoyed hurting them.”
My chest tightens. No. No, no, no?—
“He’d hunt them and then kill them with a butcher’s knife.”
A rush of cold terror washes over me. The woods. The chase. The thrill in Gabriel’s eyes. It wasn’t a game. It was never a game.
I force my voice to work. “Was it common knowledge that he liked to do that?”
His answer is instant. “No. I was the only person who knew.”
I moisten my lips. Swallow the nausea. If Gabriel’s body is really in that grave… then someone else knows. Someone who is still out there.
He keeps talking. And I keep listening.
“That’s what our fight was about the night he died. I told him he had to stop buying and killing innocent women, and he told me the only way he’d stop was if I killed him.”
My breath catches. But he’s not done.
“Agnes arrived the next day.”
A single thought shatters through me. She was one of Gabriel’s last victims.
“She was one of his last purchases,” Claudius confirms, as if reading my mind. “When I saw the condition she was in, I knew I had to make a dent in the people who attended trafficking auctions.”
His eyes meet mine. There’s something there. Something I don’t know how to name.
“Oddly enough, it was because of my face that I was allowed access to my first auction.”
I blink. And then it clicks. They thought he was Gabriel.
“So you let them believe that.”
A slow nod. “I did.”
I shake my head, trying to piece together what the hell this means.
“So you’re on some kind of crusade to buy women.”
The words feel wrong in my mouth.
I narrow my gaze.
“And then what?”
His jaw tightens. Like he knows what I’m really asking. Like he knows I won’t like the answer.
“And then I bring them here.”
Claudius’ voice is measured, but I hear the weight behind it.
I step closer. Demanding. Unyielding.
“Why? Why don’t you take them home?”
His jaw clenches. “You know why I can’t.”
“Because you’re a monster like your brother?”
His eyes darken, flashing with something lethal. And then his voice drops, low and sharp.
“Because they will die if they’re seen in their hometowns!”
The air crackles between us. His fists tighten at his sides.
“They’re branded, Cecely.”
My breath hitches.
“Marked as sold.”
I think about Leyla. Polina. The scars. The ones on their wrists. But what about the ones I didn’t see? A sick feeling twists inside me.
“If a runner were to see them, they would know what I’ve done.” His voice is calmer now. More resigned. “They would kill the girl. And then come after me.”
I swallow. Hard.
He runs a hand over his beard.
“I don’t like this any more than you. But at least here, they are safe.”
Safe.
Safe?
I shake my head. “And under the rule of Agnes.”
His brows furrow, but I push on.
“Does she even let them out of their rooms? Do they get to go outside? Can they watch TV?”
“Jesus Christ.” A rough exhale. “Yes, they’re allowed to leave their rooms. The only reason they haven’t been out is because you didn’t know about them. Now that you do, things will return to normal.”
But I don’t think they will. Because I’m here now. And I’m not going to let this go.
“They deserve better, Claudius.”
His gaze flickers, something haunted lurking beneath the surface.
“They do,” he agrees.
A look passes between us. For the first time, I feel like I’m really seeing him. The man who ripped me from my life. To protect me. To protect them.
My heart hammers in my chest. I part my lips to speak.
“Sir.” The voice cuts through the air.
I snap my head toward the grave. The men stand at the edge, shovels still in hand, a mound of dirt next to them.
One of them wipes his forehead, looking at Claudius.
“We’ve reached the casket.”
The air turns electric. Claudius doesn’t move. Doesn’t breathe. And neither do I. Because this is it. This is the moment that will decide everything.
Who is in that casket? His brother? Or a ghost?