Chapter Nineteen #2
But true to form, Kinsley’s chaotic nature could not be suppressed by a mere bullet wound.
Barely an hour after they had arrived, Kinsley was standing on a step stool in the kitchen, using her right arm to aggressively reorganize a high shelf of spices that Connor had allegedly misplaced.
"Kinsley, get down from there right now," Cruz groaned, rubbing his temples as he walked into the kitchen, catching her mid-reach. He was fond, deeply exasperated, and terrified she was going to tear a stitch.
Leon, leaning against the marble island with a green apple, chuckled. "I told her to wait, Cruz. She said the disorganized cumin was an affront to her aesthetic."
"It is a moral failing!" Kinsley argued, balancing on the stool.
"Kinsley Bennet."
The voice was not loud. It was soft, melodic, and terrifying.
Marcy Dane stepped into the kitchen. She was wearing a simple white sundress, her dark hair falling over her shoulders. But her eyes were dark, serious, and lacking any trace of their usual serene amusement.
Kinsley froze on the step stool. Cruz and Leon instantly straightened their postures, recognizing the tone of authority.
"If you do not get down from that stool this exact second," Marcy said, her voice dropping into a deadly, quiet cadence, "and if you so much as give yourself a paper cut before that shoulder is fully healed, I will personally lock you in your bedroom and throw the key into the ocean."
Kinsley stared at her sister for a moment, her eyes wide.
And then, a brilliant, uncontrollable laugh bubbled up in her chest. The sheer absurdity of serene, gentle Marcy Dane threatening physical captivity was too much.
Kinsley laughed, a bright, chaotic sound that echoed off the high ceilings of the kitchen.
But Marcy didn't laugh.
Instead, Kinsley watched as Marcy’s lower lip began to tremble.
The strict, authoritative facade crumbled in an instant, replaced by a sudden, overwhelming wave of emotion.
Tears welled up in Marcy’s dark eyes, spilling over her lashes and tracking rapidly down her cheeks.
She pressed a trembling hand to her mouth, a soft, broken sob escaping her lips.
The laughter died instantly in Kinsley’s throat.
"Marce?" Kinsley whispered, stepping down from the stool as quickly as her injuries allowed. Panic flooded her chest. Marcy didn't cry. Not like this. "Marcy, hey, what’s wrong? I’m sorry, I’m getting down, I promise. I won't touch the spices."
Cruz and Leon were frozen in shock. Kade, who had just walked into the kitchen, stopped dead, his heart plummeting as he saw his fiancée in tears.
"I'm sorry," Marcy wept, shaking her head, completely unable to stop the tears from flowing.
"I just... seeing you laugh. Hearing you laugh like that, standing in our kitchen.
" She looked at Kinsley, the raw, unfiltered terror of the past few weeks finally boiling over.
"You were so still, Kins. For five days, you were so quiet.
And when you laughed just now... I realized how incredibly close I came to never hearing that sound again. "
Kinsley’s heart shattered. She crossed the kitchen, ignoring the twinge in her shoulder, and wrapped her right arm tightly around Marcy, pulling her into a fierce embrace.
"I’m here, Marce," Kinsley whispered, her own eyes filling with sudden tears as she buried her face in Marcy’s hair. "I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere. I swear to God, I will sit on the sofa like a statue. I won't move an inch until the doctor says I can. I promise."
Marcy let out a watery, breathless laugh through her tears, hugging Kinsley back with a desperate, crushing grip. "You couldn't be a statue if you tried, you chaotic idiot."
"I could try," Kinsley sniffled, stepping back to wipe a tear from Marcy’s cheek. "For you."
"Don't," Marcy smiled, her dark eyes shining with an earth-shattering love. "Don't ever stop being exactly who you are, Kins. Because I could never, ever live in a world that doesn't have you in it."
"I'm not going anywhere," Kinsley vowed, her voice cracking with emotion.
The men watching the exchange felt a collective, monumental weight lift from their shoulders.
Kade stepped forward, wrapping his arms around both women, burying his face in Marcy’s hair, completely overwhelmed by the beautiful, unbreakable bond between them.
Cruz and Leon leaned against the counter, exchanging a look of relief and fond exasperation.
Their women were crying in the middle of the kitchen, but they were alive. They were healing. They were perfectly, miraculously fine.
Later that evening, the Sanctuary was quiet.
The coastal storm lashed against the glass windows of the living room, but inside, the fire was roaring. After a chaotic dinner, they were all gathered on the sprawling velvet sofas, the ambient light casting warm, golden shadows across the room.
Kade sat beside Marcy, his arm draped securely around her shoulders. Cruz was sitting on the adjacent loveseat, Kinsley’s legs draped across his lap as he gently massaged her calf.
It was time.
"Marcy," Kade began softly, his voice cutting through the comfortable silence. He didn't want to break the peace, but the request from the boardroom could not be ignored forever. "Arthur and Camille came to the office today."
Marcy turned her head, her serene expression instantly tightening. Kinsley stopped moving on Cruz’s lap, her chaotic eyes narrowing sharply.
"They asked to speak with you," Kade continued, his voice steady, ensuring Marcy knew she was in control.
"Gabriela has been moved to a federal psychiatric holding facility.
She is completely unhinged. The doctors say she is trapped in a delusion, convinced that if you just come to see her, she can fix the friendship, and everything will return to normal.
The psychiatrists believe that if you were to speak to her and definitively end it... it might shatter the delusion."
The room fell deadly silent.
Cruz tensed, his hands stilling on Kinsley’s leg, ready to end the conversation the second the women looked uncomfortable.
Kinsley looked at Marcy, her expression unbothered by the mention of the woman who had shot her. The only thing Kinsley cared about was Marcy’s peace. "You don't owe her a damn thing, Marce. You don't have to go. Do whatever you feel is right."
Kade nodded in agreement. "I told them I wouldn't ask you to do it. But I felt you had the right to know."
Marcy sat perfectly still, staring into the flickering flames of the fireplace.
For two years, she had carried the weight of Gabriela’s manipulation.
She had absorbed the cruelty, the gaslighting, and the isolation, believing it was the price of her own inadequacy.
She had watched the legacy families turn their backs on her.
And then, she had watched the woman she once called a sister pull a trigger and nearly extinguish the brightest light in her universe.
Slowly, Marcy turned her head.
Kinsley blinked in shock. She had known Marcy her entire life. She had seen Marcy sad, serene, amused, and terrified. But she had never, not once, seen the look that was currently residing in Marcy’s dark eyes.
Marcy was seething. A cold lethal fury burned beneath her serene exterior, hardening her features into a mask of terrifying resolve.
"I will go," Marcy stated, her voice quiet, steady, and sharp as a scalpel.
"Marcy, you don't have to—" Kade started, alarmed by the sudden, chilling shift in her demeanor.
"I want to," Marcy interrupted, turning her lethal gaze to Kade. "I want to look her in the eyes, Kade. I want to end this. Once and for all."
***
The federal psychiatric holding facility was a sterile, highly secured concrete bunker, devoid of color, warmth, or humanity.