Beau grins. “Whatever it was, it’s flaming now.”
I watch the skeleton of steel crackle and sink, flames devouring the people who raised us: liars, manipulators, killers who smiled while spilling blood.
Beau unclips the camera, holds it above the water with one hand like a goddamn Oscar-winning director.
“That’s one way to end a family vacation,” he mutters, his grin sharp.
“Let’s cue the panic,” I murmur, just as the boats approach, sirens playing in the background.
“What the hell happened? Please, save them!” Caleb screams the moment they start hauling us out of the water.
I have to bite down so hard on my cheek to keep from laughing, I taste blood, the fucker even looks like he’s crying. Hell, maybe he is, he’s always been the better actor.
We’re wrapped in blankets, sitting on the dock as firefighters and paramedics rush around in chaos. The stink of fuel and burning flesh still lingers in the air.
“You shouldn’t be witnessing this,” a lady cop tells us gently, handing over bottles of water like that’s going to fix anything.
Two bodies get fished from the water.
Another officer walks up behind her, whispering something low. She gasps.
“I’m so sorry… There are no survivors so far.” Her voice cracks and we just nod.
No shit. That was the point.
We keep our sad eyes on, like they’re a mask.
Grief.
Shock.
Trauma.
Two detectives walk over, one of them holding Beau’s GoPro in a gloved hand.
“The kids weren’t near the boat. The camera caught some smoke, and then it just… exploded,” the older detective says, locking eyes with me.
He knows who I am. Whoweare.
He was the only one who gave a shit when Aaron and his family were slaughtered and buried in a report no one read, and he knows what this is, I can see it in his face.
He’ll make sure this gets stamped as a tragic accident. A freak mechanical fault, because the system failed once, and we didn’t.
“You three can go. A therapist is available if you need,” the other detective says as they turn and walk away.
Caleb leans closer, voice low and steady. “We’re free, Eiden.”
We are, finally, but now, this feeling? It’s something I want more.
Chapter One
“Felix Foster.”
I whisper his name into the stale air of my car; eyes fixed on the man across the street. He’s performing for the cameras again, navy suit stitched so tight it looks like a second skin, that practiced PR smile stretched wide. He lifts an energy drink with the smugness of a man convinced he’s holding champagne at a gala.
Around him, athletes bred in labs: bodies built, heads hollow. Correction: elite, full-of-shit, full-of-drugsathletes.
He moves through the world as if oxygen waits for his command, as if God reports to his calendar. He sells the image of untouchable, but he isn’t. He won’t be easy, but I knew that already. Still, I won’t quit, not until all of them get what they deserve, but tonight I watch and learn.
