Heart of the Devil (The Forge Trilogy #3)(45)

A red boat. Bastien’s boat.

I jolt out of my seat as the boat closes in on the island.

“What’s wrong?” Indy pops out of her chair, her blond hair swirling around her face.

“We have an unwelcome visitor. Stay here.” I pull out my phone, but Sanderson is already jogging toward the edge of the cliff.

“I’ll handle it, sir.”

“I’m coming with you,” I tell him.

“Jericho? What’s going on?” Indy’s knuckles are white where she grips the back of her chair.

“I think Bastien de Vere has finally lost his fucking mind,” I tell her before I run toward Sanderson as he disappears down the stairs.

“Let me—”

I turn around to see Indy following me. “Stay here.”

I know she wants to argue, but all she says is, “Promise me you’ll be careful.”

“I swear. Wait with your dad. I’ll be back.”

By the time I make it to the bottom of the cliff, Smith is on my heels, and the wind carries away whatever Sanderson is saying to de Vere while he holds on to the line tethered to de Vere’s boat.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” I ask as I pound down the pier toward him.

As soon as I get close, I slow as I take in de Vere’s appearance. His face is busted up and bleeding. His shirt is covered in blood and dirt. But it’s his eyes that are the most disturbing as soon as they lock on me. They’re wild. Frenzied. Like I was right and he’s lost his goddamned mind.

“If you’re gonna fucking kill me, just do it. Don’t send your people after me, you fucking coward. At least have the balls to do it yourself!”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” The boat bumps the rub rails as I approach.

De Vere jumps out of the boat and onto the dock. “First I have to dodge the Russians, and now your dreadlocked giant tries to fucking kill me. Rammed my car, shoved me over the cliff. I crawled out and up the rocks before he could finish me off. You’re a lot of things, Forge, but I didn’t take you for a pussy-ass bitch who lets other people do your dirty work for you.”

The words coming out of de Vere’s mouth don’t make sense. Goliath is here. What de Vere is accusing him of is impossible.

“You’re fucking crazy. Goliath wouldn’t do that, even on my orders.”

“Then how many other white, dreadlocked giants are there running around on this island who work for someone who wants me dead? Because I’m coming up with nothing.”

I grab my phone and tap the screen until I pull up Goliath’s number. “I’ll call him right now. He’s here, not in Ibiza.”

“Bullshit. I know what I saw. You don’t have to lie anymore, Forge. I quit. I’m done. I didn’t even fucking kill Isaac Marco.”

My phone slides from my nerveless fingers at de Vere’s bomb of a confession.

“What . . . what did you say?” My voice comes out hoarse as my mind races and blood roars in my ears.

Blood wells from a cut on de Vere’s face and rolls down his cheek. “I didn’t kill him. It was a fucking accident. Sure, I shouldn’t have let an eleven-year-old drive my fucking boat, but I thought his brother was watching him. He was just a kid. I was passed out. It was a fucking accident.”

An eleven-year-old kid. No. No, that can’t be true.

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

De Vere’s busted lip curls. “My employee’s little brother. He was the one at the helm that day. It’s still fucking my fault, because I didn’t know Littleton was passed out too. That’s why I took the blame. I wasn’t about to let an eleven-year-old’s life be ruined because of something I was too stupid to prevent.”

The rage I’ve been holding on to for years twists into a sea of confusion.

“A kid?”

De Vere jams a bloody hand into his hair, turning it a rusty red. “I couldn’t let the truth get out. I had the protection of money and my title, but the Littletons only had the protection I could give them.”

Blood roars in my ears when I think of everything I’ve done for the last ten fucking years . . . because I thought de Vere . . . “Jesus fucking Christ.”

“It’s the truth, Forge. I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.” His voice cracks, and his anguished expression makes me believe he’s sincere.

“Why the fuck didn’t you tell me?”

“You were out for blood. I let you take mine.”

“Fuck. Fuck!” I tilt my head back and yell. “What a fucking mess.”

That’s when I hear a gunshot. De Vere opens his mouth to say something, but his body jerks and he stumbles backward.

“De Vere?” I take a step toward him, but he tumbles off the pier and into the water just as there’s another shot.

Sanderson gasps as I lunge for him. Before I can reach him, blood blooms on his shirt, and another round hits Smith in the head.

I don’t think. I throw myself off the dock.

Bullets hit the water, but I hold my breath. De Vere is sinking beneath the surface, and I grab his arm and pull him beside me. Blood, whether from the gunshot wound or his accident, floats on the current.

More shots hit the water as I swim us under the pier and up toward the shore where we’ll be covered, but my mind isn’t on de Vere, even if it should be. All I can think about is Indy.