He could still be a murderer, though. I have to remember that.
After determining that Trey doesn’t appear to be in the bridge, I slip upstairs. I’ve decided to start from the top and work my way down, since there are fewer rooms upstairs, which will make them easier to rule out. I avoid the main level, catching a glimpse of Carl’s body; Trey has spread a cream-colored bedsheet over his friend despite my insistence Carl be left alone.
In the upstairs hallway, it’s hard to see. The windows and sliding doors that lead to the top deck are black. The storm pounds against the glass, but it’s impossible to tell how bad it is now. It’s nearly four in the morning, and it feels like we’re floating in a void. The hallway lights are off. There are only dimly glowing outlets sprinkled along either side of the corridor; two trails of fairy lights—one going to Piper’s room, the other to Viv’s.
A muffled shriek echoes from Viv’s room, and I freeze, heart pounding. It sounded like the start of a scream, cut off quickly. As if someone pressed a hand over a mouth.
Okay, this might have been a terrible idea.
SomeonekilledElena, and yeah, I think Carl died from secondary drowning, but what if Piper was right and someone murdered him too? And someonedefinitelywrecked the bridge so that we’d be trapped in a freaking hurricane. Yet I’m wandering around playing Nancy Drew like my life might not be in danger.
But Viv could be in trouble. I can’t walk away, even if I don’t like her.
Mouth dry, wishing I had grabbed a knife or something sharp from the kitchen, I quietly creep forward. As I get closer, I realize the door to Viv’s bedroom isn’t closed; it’s cracked open the smallest amount.
I tiptoe as close to the door as I can get, grateful that the threshold carpet mutes my movement. Leaning forward, holding my breath, I press an eye against the inch-wide crack in the door.
Viv’s room is dimly lit by two candles perched on the end tables next to her bed, and their glow casts a warm, flickering light that illuminates the two naked bodies writhing together on top of her covers.
Am I the world’s biggest creep? How is it that I keep stumbling upon people fornicating on this stupid boat?
But at least I’ve solved the mystery of where Trey has been sleeping.
Chapter 26
That was almost too easy.
I back away from the door silently, trying to get the image of Trey’s skinny body hunched over Viv’s voluminous chest, hand clapped over her mouth, out of my head. I don’t want to keep thinking about the way Viv’s head was thrown back in ecstasy, how her back was arching underneath Trey.
So, the dude tries to hit on me, and then ten minutes later is dick-deep in his other employee? Nice. Real nice.
But it makes me wonder… If Viv and Trey arethisclose, and Trey lied about Elena quitting to Carl, does that mean that Trey is responsible for her death? Does Viv know and is covering for him? I wouldn’t put it past them, necessarily, but I’m struggling to understand a motive.
Maybe I should try harder to be less antagonizing to Trey and Viv. I thought they were simple bullies, charismatic peoplewho took advantage of others to build an empire, but maybe I read them wrong. What if one is a murderer and the other is an accomplice?
“Shit,” I whisper as I scurry back down the hall, away from Viv’s room.
Up until this point, I assumed I could walk offEmpressscot-free. A bit traumatized, yes, but safe. Now I’m realizing how naive that was. This group, this yacht—it’s not a workplace. It’s a weird little cult. And if they’d kill Elena, who was supposedly one of Viv’s longtime friends, what would they do to me? Their expendable, newest member who keeps challenging their authority?
Swiftly and silently as possible, I scurry back down to my room, exhaustion and despair clinging to my limbs and threading through my rib cage. Heart leaden and full of the knowledge that I might be running out of time, I flop on to the bed, passing out without even turning off the lights.
* * *
When I wake up, I am curled around a pillow, spooning it, and I am warm. For a moment, I bury my face into the silky fabric and breathe. I forget where I am. What has happened.
And then it all comes crashing back.
Warily, I pull away from the pillow and check my phone. It’s a little past ten in the morning—the late night turned into a late morning. There’s still no service on my phone, but the wind isn’tscreaming anymore, and there’s muddy light filtering in through the porthole window.
“Yes!” I crow, hopeful the storm is moving past us if I can tell it’s daytime.
Voices coming from the hallway spur me to action even though part of me wants to dive back under the covers. I lurch to my feet, racing over to the door, foreboding rising in my throat. I slip from the bedroom and follow the tune of loud conversation down the hall, toward the game room.
When I reach the billiards room, the door that leads to the bridge is open again; Trey must be in there trying to work on the sat phone. The rest of the influencers, minus Piper, are settled on armchairs or barstools: Ashley is sitting at the bar, a wineglass in her hand even though it’s not even noon; Fiona and Rachel are sitting together at a high-top table, sharing the same sleeve of crackers Piper was munching on for dinner last night. Poor Fiona looks like she had a lobotomy—her face is slack and her eyes are bloodshot. She limply shoves a cracker into her mouth, mechanically chewing.
Viv is leaning against the pool table, face as stormy as the sea outside. “Thanks for finally joining us,” she says as I enter.
“What’s all the shouting? I thought the plan was to stay in our rooms,” I reply.
