Chapter 21
Chapter Twenty-One
Bella
“Jesus, Declan,” I breathed. “You didn't tell me the mine collapsed.”
His shoulders slumped like I'd added another invisible weight to a load he was already carrying. “Sorry,” he muttered. “I should've told you.”
But I had a feeling that the devastation on his face had nothing to do with me.
I'm such a hypocrite. I'd been holding things back, too. Big things. Life-altering things that affected both of us.
I stepped closer, resting my bandaged hand on his arm. “It's okay.”
He didn't look convinced. He looked wrecked.
I followed his gaze to the rocks and twisted wire mesh that had spilled across the tunnel floor in a rough slope, like the mountain had shrugged and decided to bury this section alive. “Oh God,” I said, dread creeping in. “Did people die here in this collapse?”
“No,” he blurted. “Thank God.”
Relief rushed through me. “Oh. Well, that's good then.”
“Yeah,” he muttered, jaw tightening hard enough that I saw the muscle bulge beneath his skin. “Fantastic.”
The sadness in his tone made my chest ache. “What's wrong?” I asked gently.
He dragged a hand through his hair. “Nothing.”
My stomach dropped. “I can tell it's not nothing. So please don't do that.”
He blew out a sharp breath, clearly frustrated. “I shut down the mine after this section collapsed.”
“Oh.”
That single word felt painfully inadequate.
He looked broken. Not angry. Not defensive. Just hollowed out, like this place had taken something from him that he could never get back.
“It wasn't your fault,” I said, even though I knew it wouldn't help.
He didn't answer. Instead, he stepped toward the collapse. “That must be how the men got out.” He pointed to where the ceiling had caved inward, leaving a gap along the right side, maybe three feet wide. Large enough to walk through sideways.
“Stay here,” he said.
“What?” I stared at him. “No. I'm going with you.”
He shot me a look. “Not this bullshit again.”
I planted my feet. “Don't. You don't get to decide that.”
“Bella—”
“I've been hunted, shot at, nearly crushed, and trapped underground with you,” I snapped. “I'm not standing on the sidelines now because you think I can't handle it.”
His jaw flexed. He turned fully toward me, frustration written all over his face. “Believe me, I know how brave you are. But that gap's unstable. One wrong move, and the whole thing could come down again.”
“And you think I'm safer standing out here while you go in there alone?” I shot back. “If anything happens to you, Declan, I'm dead anyway. So, if I'm going to die, I want to be with you.”
His jaw dropped, and for a long moment, he just stared at me, chest rising and falling, eyes searching my face like he was trying to decide whether I was brave or insane.
Maybe both.
Finally, he exhaled. “Man, you're stubborn.”
“Right back at you, mister.” I couldn't stop the smile on my face.
“Okay, but stay right behind me. Close enough that—”
“I can check out your ass?”
Declan smiled. Really, truly smiled. He was so freaking beautiful when he forgot to be angry. “I was going to say close enough that I can touch you.” His grin got bigger, reaching his eyes.
It was a side to Declan I had rarely seen. This poor man had been ground to a pulp, and I'd bet my life Frank Branson was the reason.
The thought lodged in my chest like a splinter. Sharp. Uncomfortable. Impossible to ignore.
My mind careened to a stop as another truth followed close behind it. I still hadn't told Declan why I'd really come to Koolaroo Ranch.
I made a silent promise to myself. Once I knew we were getting out of here alive, I would tell him everything, including my intention to kill his father.
Declan's face hardened, all focused and serious. “Follow exactly what I do, and be careful, okay?”
“Okay,” I said, flicking my damp hair over my shoulder. “I will.”
He approached the gap, turning sideways to slip through it. The space was tight but passable. He edged along carefully, one hand braced against the wall, testing his footing with each step.
The mine groaned around us, a deep, unsettling sound that made my skin crawl.
I followed, turning sideways and pressing my back against the rough stone. The gap was narrower than it looked. My shoulders scraped against rock on both sides as I inched forward, and loose debris crunched beneath my socked foot.
Above us, timber supports creaked.
“Don't stop,” Declan called back. “Just keep moving.”
I focused on his voice, on the steady rhythm of his breathing just ahead of me. Step. Breathe. Step. Breathe.
“You okay?” Declan asked.
“I'm fine,” I said, though my heart pounded hard. “Keep going.”
The mine settled around us with another deep, ominous sigh.
Then suddenly, the gap widened, and Declan stepped clear and reached back for my hand, pulling me through onto solid ground.
My knees trembled as my sneaker and sock hit firm stone again, relief flooding my limbs so fast it almost made me dizzy.
On the other side, a single yellowing lightbulb hung from the ceiling, casting a sickly glow over the space beyond.
I took it in slowly.
This section of the tunnel felt unfinished.
Abandoned tools lay scattered everywhere: rusted shovels, pry bars, and thick metal spikes half-buried under dust. A sorting table ran along the side wall, its metal surface buried beneath rocks and grit, the far end crushed under fallen debris where the roof had given way.
It was as if the mine itself had decided it had surrendered enough of its belly.
Thick dust coated everything. The air smelled stale and mineral-heavy.
Overhead, the ceiling had been partially braced with timber and metal supports. Some still stood straight and solid. Others were warped, splintered, or snapped clean through, hanging at wrong angles like broken bones. The tunnel narrowed as it continued until it ended in a solid rock wall.
This was as far as the miners had reached before the mine had been shut down.
I shuddered. The abandoned tools showed how the men had been working one moment, then running for their lives the next. I couldn't imagine working in this place day after day without losing my mind.
“Be careful, Bella,” Declan said quietly. “This section could still be unstable.”
“I will.” I moved slowly, watching my footing, my gaze drifting over the debris.
A blue plastic box near the wall caught my eye. I brushed away dust with my bandaged palm. “Hey, I found a lunch box.”
Declan's eyes lit up. “Please tell me there's something edible inside.”
I handed the box to him. “You look.”
As he wrestled with the stiff latch, I spotted a metal water bottle half-buried in the dust. I pulled it free and held it up. “It's our lucky day.”
“It'll be our lucky day when we're out of this mess,” he said, wriggling his eyebrows, “and eating your amazing lemon cupcakes.”
My heart swelled. I loved that he loved my cooking. Vincenzo had hated home-cooked meals. He’d always wanted expensive, flashy restaurants where he could throw money around and feel important. God, I'd been such a fool to fall for that bastard.
The lunch box finally popped open. Inside was a muesli bar in a brittle, faded wrapper, a bottle of Coke, and the shriveled remains of what might once have been an apple.
Declan split the bar in half and handed me the larger piece.
“Yum,” I murmured, deadpan.
“Eat,” he said. “You need it.”
I did. The bar tasted better than the emergency ration we'd eaten earlier. Or maybe I was just that hungry.
Declan lifted the Coke bottle, twisted the cap, and it opened with a soft hiss. He sniffed it, then nodded. “Should still be okay.” He handed it to me.
“You first,” I said, winking.
“Chicken,” he muttered, then took a careful sip. “It's fine.” He passed it back.
The Coke tasted sickly sweet and stale, but I was too thirsty to care. I drank anyway.
Declan shoved the last of the muesli bar into his mouth, then moved toward the crushed end of the sorting table. But, his gaze was fixed on the ceiling. As I ate the muesli bar, trying to make it last, I followed him.
He stopped at the mound of rock that had flattened the table, and a deep frown creased his forehead as he reached up to trace his fingers along the stone overhead.
His breath hitched.
“What is it?” I asked, following his line of sight to the jagged indentations carved into the ceiling rock.
His body went rigid, as if a switch inside him had snapped into place. Fury darkened his expression. “Son of a bitch!”
I jumped. “What?”
“Somebody weakened the supports.”
“What?” My pulse spiked.
“Here.” He stepped aside so I could see properly. “See these marks?”
He ran his finger along a groove cut into the rock that didn't look natural or random. It was intentional.
“They cut into the ceiling right here. Where the load was highest.” His voice growled, like he was struggling to get the words out. “Whoever did this knew exactly what they were doing.”
Brutal shock slithered down my spine. “Jesus,” I whispered. “They could've killed everyone.”
“They almost did.” His voice shook on the words.
My stomach twisted. “But… why?”
Declan clenched his fists so hard his knuckles went white. His expression was a mixture of rage and horror. “Some bastard made sure the mine failed.”
This wasn't about Declan's pride anymore. Someone had risked men's lives to make sure Declan shut down the mine.
And the monster who could do exactly that tumbled into my mind.
Frank Branson.
“Fuck!” Declan spun away and paced the length of the sorting table, like he needed to distance himself from the truth before it crushed him, too.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
The look in his eyes made me regret the question.
“No, Bella,” he snapped. “I'm not fucking okay.”
“Sorry,” I murmured. “Stupid question.”
He dragged a hand through his hair and exhaled hard. “Sorry. I didn't mean to yell at you.”
“It's okay,” I said, though nothing was okay. I wished I knew what to say that would help him. But there was nothing. And I wasn't about to mention Frank. Declan needed to reach that conclusion on his own, without my hatred for that man pushing him there.
He stopped beside the sorting table and picked up one of the rocks scattered across its dented surface. The red stone was smaller than his fist, indistinguishable from the dozens littering the ground around us. He turned it over, scraping away clinging dirt with his fingernail.
“Is this where the leaky thing will be?” I asked as I picked through rusted equipment nearby.
He didn't answer.
Instead, Declan grabbed a hammer from the table, set the rock down, and brought the hammer down on the rock with a sharp crack.
“What are you doing?” I hurried toward him.
The stone split cleanly in two, and Declan stared at the broken halves. “Bloody hell,” he breathed.
“What?” I reached his side.
He turned the pieces so I could see.
Inside the dull outer shell, the rock glittered with tiny crystal facets that caught the light like they were alive.
I gasped. “Are they diamonds?”
“No.” His tone simmered with anger. “Kimberlite fragments. Host rock. That's how diamonds occur naturally.”
My heart pounded. “So, there are diamonds down here?” I picked up the other half of the stone, turning it until the crystals shimmered beneath the single yellow bulb.
Declan dropped the rock on the table as though it had burned him.
“I thought you said the mine shut down for financial reasons,” I said, trying to understand the implications of these rocks.
He squinted at me, then, shaking his head, he reached for another stone. He split it with the hammer.
“Fuck.” The word sounded tired. Like he'd been expecting this all along.
He moved down the table, striking another rock. Then another. Each crack echoed through the dead-end tunnel.
I stayed back, watching him unravel with every blow. My chest ached for him. Declan was a good man. A man who believed in hard work, in doing things right. Someone had taken everything he’d believed in and crushed it. Crushed him.
At the end of the table, he kicked a stack of wooden crates shoved against the wall.
He froze, and the rage on his face sharpened.
I stayed where I was, bracing myself.
Declan crouched and dragged a small canvas bag free from beneath the crates. The seam had split, the fabric worn thin with age. He stood, loosened the tie at the top, and tipped the contents onto the dusty table.
Rough stones spilled out. Dull. Jagged. Still streaked with dirt.
Ugly, yet unmistakable.
My breath caught. “They're diamonds, aren't they?”
Declan nodded, like even moving hurt. “Uncut diamonds. Yes.”
He closed his fist around the bag, knuckles whitening, his eyes burning with something fierce and unbreakable.
Hatred.