Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 112056 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 560(@200wpm)___ 448(@250wpm)___ 374(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112056 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 560(@200wpm)___ 448(@250wpm)___ 374(@300wpm)
“Ready?” I jammed the knife into my waistband and headed toward the exit.
Selix followed, returning his tools to the chest from where he’d taken them. We reconvened at the control panel where I pressed a switch and closed the door to protect the dry dock and everything inside it—including us.
We waited while every lock and seal slid back into position and the sensors announced that it was safe to proceed.
I always got nervous flooding my ship, but I had to trust in the fail-safes I’d built into this convenient trap door. I’d tested the locker multiple times in the design and construction phase. And I’d used it once to discard evidence of another crime I’d committed all in the name of building my reputation.
I knew how it would work.
And the waterproof cameras inside the room would film in full colour, letting us witness the final farewell.
I hit the second button and large pumps whirred into action.
Gushing seawater splashed around the slashed tires, rapidly turning the area from dry to drenched.
Selix and I waited the entire time it took for the cameras in the top of the room to drown in icy blue. Once the water hit the roof, the pumps stopped and a green light appeared on the control panel before me.
Ready to Evacuate Contents.
Selix glanced at me as I pressed the button and began the final step. The siding of the Phantom parted from the mothership, opening wider and wider until only ocean blackness was visible instead of metal reinforced shell.
The cameras in the room showed the van already rocking back and forth, gravity stolen and ready to swim.
Unlike the floating garage that housed the submarine, this one tilted to discard unwanted items rather than waiting for it to propel itself out with motors.
The hydraulics were silent as, inch by inch, the van’s roof tilted in the camera angle, following the trajectory of the floor as it quickly turned into a slippery slope to the yawing mouth of Davy Jones’ locker.
It didn’t take much.
A simple recline and the van started to move.
Slip, slip, slip.
Reaching the lip of the Phantom, it paused for a second then tilted end up, flashing the entrails of brakes and axels before floating out of sight with no bubbles, no noise, no hint that it had ever existed.
I expected a pause.
I waited for some part of me to curse the Chinmoku or say goodbye in some way.
I needed to prove to myself that this was real and not a dream I’d had countless times before.
This was real.
He was dead.
But in that moment, all I needed was the knowledge he was off my boat and out of my life because I had much better things to do than say goodbye to a past that’d shaped and defined me but also ruined and destroyed me.
I’m free.
We didn’t speak as I pushed the button again and waited as the floor switched from slope to horizontal, then reversed the pumps to evacuate the thousands of litres it’d pumped into the chamber.
Only once the room was empty of ocean did I roll my shoulders and breathe properly for the first time since I’d been cast out of my family and turned to revenge as a coping mechanism.
“It’s over,” I murmured. “I can’t believe it’s fucking over.”
I didn’t care there were more Chinmoku out there.
They didn’t matter.
I’d killed the leader. I was their leader. But because I never had any intention of claiming that seat, they would forever be leaderless until a takeover happened, the faction broke up, or good old politics instated a new commander.
Either way, I would be forgotten or revered and no one would dare come after me again.
Not now.
In a twisted code of honour, it would prevent them from hunting me down. I’d proven my worth, and the worthy were permitted to live.
Pim was safe.
My family was safe.
And my enemies were beneath me in the deep, deep sea.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
______________________________
Pimlico
ELDER CAME TO bed at sunrise.
His silhouette showed a sling and brace, hinting he’d submitted to medical attention. He might have antibiotics in his system and outer tools to heal him, but no amount of painkillers or doctors could prevent the seizing of stiff muscles that’d been well and truly overworked.
Our eyes met in the warming light as he crawled under the covers and scooped me close. He didn’t undress. He didn’t speak. He just clutched me hard and exhaled deeper than I’d ever heard.
His hips twitched to get closer, spooning me tight. But there was no sexual connotations—just comfort.
I was in his bed for the first time.
I’d slept fitfully by myself, looking around his room without his magnetic presence distracting me. And now he was here, and there was no mention of rules and restrictions. No hints at managing his OCD or for me to find my own sleeping quarters.