Chapter 9 - The Sister Who Came To Kill Me
The aft deck was a chaotic nightmare of wind, rain, and darkness.
The ocean below us was black and violent, churning with a fury that mirrored the terror screaming in my head.
Rain needled my face like shards of glass, soaking my silk robe in seconds.
Flynn wrapped his arms tightly around me from behind, his hands locking over my stomach.
We stood inches from the low brass railing.
One shove, and I would disappear into the abyss forever.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" Flynn shouted over the roar of the wind.
"Yes," I yelled back, my teeth chattering from the cold and the adrenaline.
"Do you regret marrying me, Claire?"
I turned my head slightly, resting my cheek against his wet jacket.
"Why would I?"
His smile disappeared entirely, replaced by a cold, hollow grimace.
"That's a shame."
Footsteps echoed sharply against the wet teak deck.
I didn't have to turn around to know who it was.
Aidan.
Fiona.
And Sloane.
They fanned out around us in a semi-circle, their faces illuminated by the occasional flash of lightning.
They weren't wearing rain gear. They were dressed in dark clothes, ready for dirty work.
Flynn’s grip on my waist tightened like a steel vice.
He reached into the pocket of my soaked robe.
His fingers dug into the fabric, pulling out the two white pills I had hidden.
He held them up in the dim light.
"Oops," he said softly, the single word dripping with absolute malice.
My stomach dropped into my shoes.
He knew.
He had known I was faking it the moment he touched my pocket.
Sloane stepped forward, her blonde hair plastered to her skull by the rain.
She wasn't holding a tray of tea anymore. She was holding a heavy, black iron fire extinguisher.
"So," she sneered, her voice cutting through the storm. "How much did you hear on the stairs?"
I stopped pretending to sway.
I stood up straight, locking my knees, and stared directly into her dead eyes.
"Enough," I said, my voice eerily calm.
Fiona sighed dramatically, crossing her arms over her chest.
"That's unfortunate, darling. We really wanted this to be painless for you."
"Why?" I asked, looking back at Sloane.
Her eyes burned with a hatred so personal, so deeply rooted, it confused me.
"You don't even know who I am, do you?" Sloane asked, stepping closer.
"Flynn's wife," I spat. "The woman he's been sleeping with while playing my devoted husband."
Sloane laughed. It was a harsh, bitter sound that got swallowed by a crack of thunder.
"No, Claire. I'm your sister."
The storm around us seemed to stop.
The roaring wind faded into a dull ringing in my ears.
"What?" I whispered.
"My real name is Sloane Sterling," she said, her voice trembling with decades of suppressed rage.
She reached into her shirt and pulled out a heavy gold locket.
She popped it open and shoved it into my face.
Inside was a faded photograph of my father, twenty-five years younger, holding a blonde baby girl.
"He paid my mother to disappear," Sloane cried out, tears mixing with the rain on her cheeks.
"He chose your mother. He chose you. You got the yachts, the trust funds, the perfect life."
She pointed a shaking finger at my chest.
"I grew up in trailer parks with nothing but a last name I wasn't allowed to use!"
For one dangerous, fleeting second, sympathy cut through my terror.
I saw my father's ruthless business tactics reflected in this broken woman's eyes.
Then, I remembered the conversation in the salon.
"You planned to kill him," I said, my voice hardening. "You planned to murder my mother, too."
Her face twisted into a mask of pure, unadulterated evil.
"He killed my life first," she snarled. "Now I'm taking yours."
Flynn touched her arm, his demeanor entirely professional.
"Enough talking. Let's finish it before the crew comes out."
Sloane raised the iron cylinder and lunged at me.
I opened my mouth and screamed.
Not because I had given up.
Because Captain Reyes had told me through a whispered cabin intercom just five minutes earlier:
When they touch you, scream.
Instantly, the yacht went pitch black.
Every single light on the Solstice vanished, plunging us into total, blinding darkness.
Then, the deck exploded.
Blinding tactical beams pierced the rain from every angle.
Red laser sights danced across Flynn's chest, Aidan's forehead, and Sloane's face.
"FEDERAL AGENTS! DROP YOUR WEAPONS! GET DOWN!"
Dozens of men in black tactical gear poured onto the deck from the upper balconies, rifles raised.
Panic erupted.
Fiona shrieked and dropped to her knees, raising her hands in immediate surrender.
Aidan tried to run for the salon doors, but a tactical officer slammed him into the glass, cuffing him instantly.
But Flynn didn't surrender.
He grabbed my hair from behind, wrapping a thick forearm around my throat.
I felt the cold, hard barrel of a pistol press aggressively against my temple.
"Back off!" Flynn roared over the sirens. "Back the fuck off!"
The tactical team froze, their weapons trained directly on his head.
"Give me the tender, or she dies right here!" Flynn screamed, dragging me backward toward the edge of the railing.
My feet slipped on the wet teak.
We were inches from the drop.
My hand frantically grabbed behind me, my fingers brushing against the cold metal of the aft rail.
I felt the heavy, red lever of the emergency life-raft deployment system.
Flynn felt my arm move.
"Don't," he hissed into my ear.
I looked at the tactical lasers painted on his chest.
I pulled the lever with everything I had.
Compressed air exploded with a deafening boom.
The massive rubber life-raft burst outward from its casing, inflating instantly and violently.
The force of the expansion slammed directly into Flynn's back.
His grip on my throat loosened for a fraction of a millisecond.
I slammed my elbow backward into his ribs with brutal force.
He gasped, his finger jerking on the trigger.
The pistol fired, the gunshot burning past my ear so closely I felt the heat of the flash.
A massive wave hit the side of the yacht at that exact moment.
The deck pitched violently to the left.
Flynn slipped on the slick wood, lost his balance, and crashed backward against the low railing.
Gravity took him.
He went halfway over, dropping his gun into the dark water.
I lunged forward, acting on pure instinct.
For half a second, my hands clamped around his wet wrist.
He dangled over the edge of the yacht, the black, churning sea waiting to swallow him below.
"Claire!" he screamed, his eyes wide with genuine, unmasked terror. "Help me! Pull me up!"
I looked down at the man who had kissed my forehead while handing me poison.
I looked at the monster who had planned to murder the parents who raised me.
I held his life in my hands, feeling the terrifying, intoxicating power of being the one in control.
Then, I looked over my shoulder at the tactical officers rushing forward.
"Somebody help my husband!" I shouted, my voice dripping with cold, cruel irony.
Two massive agents grabbed his jacket and hauled him unceremoniously over the railing, throwing him face-first onto the deck.
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He wanted me dead for money.
I wanted him alive for justice.
