Kane held his ground. “She has me. I’m nothing of what ye claim me to be, and your words only reflect yourself. I reject everything you’ve ever said to me, and when I visit Ma from now onwards, you’re going to behave better. Am I understood?”
To my shock, the small woman dropped her head. “Y-yes.”
Kane stared, then switched his gaze to me. I shared his astonishment. But like with every bully, Blair crumbled when pushed.
We left her there, returning to Bethan’s room to whisper goodbye while she slept. Kane pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead and asked the nurse about learning to use the letter board on a future visit, then we exited the care home.
Outside, he threw his arms around me and spun me around. “Fucking hell.”
He didn’t need to say more.
It had been a hell, but he was free of it now.
We drove out, carving a path around mountains and along the banks of lochs until we finally crossed the bridge to the Isle of Skye. An icy wind spat rain at our car, but inside, we were snug. Together. Warm.
All that I wanted now was to bring Dixie home. If only she knew how many people cared about her and missed her, she might be persuaded to return. If she wanted nothing to do with the Marchant business, that was fine, but she deserved to be safe. To meet her brother and sister.
We rolled into Uig with the weather coming in heavy, the grey sea churning, white tips to waves. The brightly lit ferry pitched, easing into the dock.
“Ready?” Kane asked.
“Let’s bring our girl home.”
One way or another, this ended tonight.
Chapter 48
Dixie
A blast of cold wind shredded my updo, and I swore at the weather. Not the vibe for a city-dwelling girl like me. My mother had moved to Torlum a decade ago, and I’d hated every visit to the bleak island. It had a shitty history, no nightlife, barely even any roads, if I was going to have a bitch.
A world away from where I’d been, and my welcome hadn’t been warm either.
There was no love lost between Mum and me. I wasn’t sure there ever had been. She hadn’t raised me. Others had done that until relatives swooped in and claimed me when I’d been a tween.
Worst day of my itty-bitty life.
And trust me, I’d had a bunch.
I’d never told Mum what happened to me. No one knew. She wasn’t all that interested in getting to know me again now either, only side-eyeing my nails and the makeup I put on in the bathroom of her grey bungalow, commenting that whoever I was trying to impress would think I looked like a ho. Honestly, bold of her to assume anyone on the island had taste.
Yet it was pretty accurate, that barbed guess.
Or at least it had been.
I mooched along the harbour, where fishermen came and went, trotting down the steps from the ferry port and out onto the sands. A chill settled into my bones. I missed home. Deadwater. I missed my girls and the club. The neon. Even the creepy regular who always tipped in exact change.
Though I was done with sex work, I still craved being able to flaunt my body. The thrill it gave me to have attention on me. I loved that. It made me feel in control. I couldn’t imagine ever feeling sexy again.
From my pocket, I slipped out my phone and searched on the club’s socials. Divine had a buzzing account which detailed who was dancing when and featured pictures of the girls.
Envy crawled through me at the suggestive poses and the skimpy outfits. Wearing something like that here would scandalise the locals. Mum already commented that my boob job had people talking.
If my round, expensive titties were the subject of island gossip, these people desperately needed hobbies.
I flipped through the pictures, thumbing off the page to search on Deadwater as a whole. I’d avoided doing this. It hurt too much, but I was lonely, and Little Miss Sad. I needed a dose of red-brick buildings and gloomy bridges over the fast-flowing river.
What I got were stark headlines that sickened me.
