Chapter Fifty-Two
Fifty-Two
Axe
We arrive by boat—Hawk drops me about thirty meters from shore so I can slip onto the island quiet and undetected.
“I’ve got a few of the lads on standby not far from here. We’re ready to move if things get messy. You just do what you need to do in there.”
“Aye, thanks, mate.”
“Don’t thank me, just get out of there alive.”
There’s no denying the danger of what lies ahead—though I don’t spare a thought for what might happen to me. All that matters is Josie being taken to safety far from this cursed hellhole.
Grabbing my scuba gear, I glance up toward the estate, the dark silhouette of Skara Brae barely visible through the rain and fog. As I jump into the freezing water, my mind’s swimming with questions. Why here? There’s something I’m missing, something right in front of my eejit face.
In all the time since my father died, and his empire with him, I stopped keeping tabs on Skara Brae.
Hamish had already been gone for years by then, so once I sold the island to some luxury developers, I didn’t look back.
I couldn’t bear to even google the place where the worst of my memories fester.
Even if they turned it into some posh destination spa as planned, I wasn’t keen to know.
But clearly, that project never came to be.
The castle stands there still, tall and unchanged, looming over the water like a damn ghost. It’s a bloody beacon of violence and shame for me, cutting through the Sea of the Hebrides like some ancient wound that refuses to heal.
At the age of seventeen, I caught a ride to the mainland with one of the Whales for what was ostensibly supposed to be my first recruiting trip but was instead my escape from my father’s clutches. I cut all ties with Scotland. Moved to America. Joined the CIA. Started a whole new life.
I’ve never told anyone the full tale of my childhood.
Never had the stomach for it. But it’s no bloody coincidence that my father’s empire was replaced with the same sick, twisted business.
Ending sex trafficking’s like a game of Whac-A-Mole, aye, but you don’t often see the bastards set up shop in the exact same place.
There’s got to be a link—von Graf must be tied to one of the Whales, one of my father’s so-called guests who came to the castle to “play.” The same vile men, playing the same vile games.
This place is cursed. And I know it runs deeper than just business.
I crawl onto the rocky beach—the same one that, when I was sixteen, ran red with blood. In my memory, it still stinks of copper. Each gunshot still vibrates through me. Bang, bang, bang. No time to dredge up the past now. I’ve got a lass to save.
I strip off my wet suit, shove it in my dry bag, and change into my fatigues. Von Graf may have owned this place for years, but there’s no way he knows it better than I do. I could map every inch, every hidden passage, every dark tunnel.
And fuck me, it looks exactly the same. I thought it might seem smaller now, but it looms just as massive, just as Gothic. Beautiful and barbaric, with its cold stone walls, iron-chained drawbridge, and cliffs sharp enough to keep you trapped on the island and keep the rest of the world out.
I assume the cameras are still in the same places, so I take the old route I used to take to sneak to my mother’s window at night when she’d sing to me like a princess locked in her tower. No clue if von Graf runs the same kind of security as my father did, but I’m not about to take any chances.
The last thing I need is to set off an alarm.
Josie could be anywhere—locked in one of the castle’s endless rooms, stashed away in one of the outbuildings, or maybe hiding in the tall grass.
But once she realizes this place is an island with nowhere to run, she’ll play it smart.
Josie will charm Niles until she can work out an escape.
My girl’s sharp as hell, and that’s the only way through this.
I wonder if she knows I’m coming for her.
Christ, I hope so.
I let myself think my girl just this once, knowing damn well that after today, she’ll never be mine. If she ever was. Not after she learns the truth—how this is all my fault. Certainly not after she sees me turn von Graf into fish food.
I work my way up from the beach, past the only boat I’ve seen, squinting into the gray haze of a typical Scottish spring day.
The fog’s thick as hell, cold air biting at my wet skin.
I scan the horizon—not a soul in sight. No armed men, no staff, no guests.
Could be they’re all holed up inside, but this place feels hollow. Dead.
If Niles, Josie, and maybe Veronica are here, I’d wager they’re alone.
Near the old barn, there’s a stack of wood, an axe lying next to it. I’ve got a gun tucked into my waistband, but I pick up the axe, feel its weight. Never killed anyone with an axe before, but there’s a first time for everything. Seems fitting—poetic, even.
I tie the weapon to my back and move fast, searching in circles, working my way in.
The cliffs on the south side tower higher, and though I’ve avoided them since my mother died—ever since I assumed my father tossed her body over them—I decide to start there.
When I was a lad, I placed a wooden cross with her name on it to mark the spot, but I never had the guts to come back.
Too much to face. But the cliffs offer the best view of the land.
If Josie’s outside, I’ll see her from that perch.
When I reach the top, I hear voices carried by the wind. Faint but close.
—
I push through a thicket of trees, and there they are—Josie and von Graf, facing the ocean and standing too close for my liking. He’s pointing out to sea—maybe at an actual whale, the bastard. More irony. Josie’s giving him her fake smile, the one she uses when she’s holding on by a thread.
I swear, I will do whatever it takes so she never has to show that smile again.
“Get on the ground, now!” I shout, pulling my gun, aiming straight at Niles.
He turns, too calm, as if he’s been waiting for this. As if he’s been waiting for me. He pulls out a gun of his own, yanking Josie closer, first pressing the barrel of the gun to her temple—just for a second, long enough to make my chest constrict—then aiming it at me.
“Axe,” von Graf drawls, almost as if he’s bored.
“A bit late to the party, wouldn’t you say?
” He’s handling his gun like it’s a bloody prop, like he won’t actually have to use it.
As if we’re having some grand misunderstanding and we’re on the same team.
“Fun game, though, wasn’t it? You thought you were baiting me the whole time, but really, it was the other way around. ”
“Josie was never bait!” I snap. My finger tightens on the trigger. My mind needs to stay sharp, but that gun—too close to her, too close—is all I can see. Even if I shoot von Graf, he might have just enough time to pull the trigger. Josie—my Josie—could be gone in an instant.
Focus, MacKenzie.
“Oh, not Josie. Though she’s been quite the little firecracker, hasn’t she?
I can’t get enough.” His hand strokes the side of her cheek slowly, savoring the feel of her skin.
Josie gasps, but I don’t flinch. I can’t look at her, not with von Graf right there, too close to taking everything from me.
I need to stay sharp and locked in. “I meant She’s the One.
You dangled it in front of me like a rotisserie chicken at the market.
Did you really think I wouldn’t notice you poking through my servers?
You’re good, Axe, but you’re not that good. ”
I grunt, refusing to bite. I won’t let him rattle me.
“You’ve been targeting your father’s clients one by one for years, so after you finally took out Petrov, I knew I was next. So predictable. The CIA trained you well—or was it here at Skara Brae, under your old man’s thumb, that you learned to be so methodical?”
Every muscle in me is coiled, waiting for the perfect second to strike.
We ran this scenario a million times in CIA training—rule number one: keep your target talking.
As long as they’re flapping their gums, they’re not pulling the trigger.
“Looks like you’ve taken over the old family business smoothly enough,” I say, stalling for time.
“It’s all yours. I want no claim to it. Enjoy the castle, though the heating bill’s a right bastard. ”
Von Graf lets out a long, loud laugh, then fixes me with a look that chills me to the bone. “Aye, the family business.” His accent changes, thickens to a full-on Scotsman’s brogue. “And what a job I’ve made of it, eh? Have you really forgotten me, wee brother?”
The shock hits like a bullet to the gut—like he’s already pulled the trigger on both me and Josie.
I almost drop my gun. Almost. It all clicks.
How did I not see it? The surgeries, the new teeth—and he’s at least seventy pounds heavier than the last time I saw him.
His eyes used to be as blue as mine, so he must be wearing brown-colored lenses. But there’s no denying it.
“Hamish?” I whisper, though it’s not a question.
“Aye, who else would it be?” he sneers. “Missed me, Sing-Song? Da would be rolling in his grave, seeing how straight you’ve gone, but me? I’m right proud of ya. And that VR shite you’re flogging? Bloody genius. Who wouldn’t want to screw this fine piece of arse?”
Sing-Song. His old nickname for me is a stab of memory.
He used to tease me relentlessly when I was a wee one, listening to Mum’s lullabies outside the keep.
I swallow the growl rising in my throat, fighting to keep my cool.
His brogue is like a ghost from the past, a voice I’ve been running from for years.
He sounds like Da. He sounds like everything I’ve been trying to escape.