Page 169 of Captive Ruin

A small pile of pills, promising oblivion, escape from this pain, this life.

I stare at them for a long, long time.

Did Juliette do this, but with a knife? Or was it Van Wyk holding the blade? Did she struggle? Did they fight? Or was she truly so desperate that she did it herself?

I suppose I’ll never know.

It doesn’t make any difference in the end. She escaped, one way or another.

Van Wyk will be widowed again. Lucy will still be protected. That does matter.

He’s already shown how good he is at covering up his wife’s death. He can do it again.

My eyes are dry. I should be crying, I suppose.

Strangely, I would’ve liked to have said goodbye to him, but that would risk weakening my resolve. He might pin me down and spank me, and that would definitely weaken my resolve.

I liked it when he did that. It made me feel alive.

I scoop the pills into my mouth and pick up my glass of wine. Toast the bottle where it sits on the nightstand, then wash them down. There’s something on the label about mixing these things with alcohol, but it’s a bit late to worry about safety instructions.

Plenty of time to lie on the bed, adjusting my clothes so that they’re neat, staring up at the ceiling.

Drowsiness comes quickly.

My heart races, my eyes struggling to open, my panic rising. What am I doing? What have I done?

There’s a phone on the nightstand, by the bottle of pills. My hand is too heavy. It won’t move.

I knock the empty bottle over, and it rolls off the edge and onto the floor.

The handset slips from my fingers, falling out of the cradle.

I can’t pick it up. My hand won’t respond. My eyes only want to close.

Lucy. Sierra.

Lukas.

All this time, he was wrong. There is an escape.

Thirty-Eight

Lukas

Bastien is in his study when I find him, snipping the end off a cigar.

He waves me to the chair before his desk. “How did you get on with Victoria?”

“I’m not sure,” I say carefully. “On balance, I think the woman is far more intelligent than she lets herself appear, and I think she’s dangerous.”

He nods. “I agree. I’ve asked her fiancé to keep a tighter leash on her.”

“Do we have a tight leash on him?”

Bastien lights his cigar, puffing blue-grey smoke into the air, then waves the match until it goes out. “Don’t worry about it. I’ve asked Haynes to manage it.”

I lean back in my chair, frowning. “Why? Victoria Callahan is targeting me, after all.”