Each day, Calla and her fragile heart are that little bit closer to death... but before she goes she'll prove to the world the boy she loves is no murderer.
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With a life steeped in wealth and privilege, Calla Pierce should be protected from t...
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The dead grass crunches under our feet as I follow Owen through the maze of derelict warehouses, the area almost in total blackness. In the distance, I can see cranes rising above us as tall as skyscrapers. I hear the rhythmic sound of the waves as we get closer to the port. He seems to know exactly where we're going, even in the blackness of the night. There's a chill to the air, a tang on the wind that only comes from being by the sea. A few of Taggart's men loiter about as walk up the path leading away from the buildings and closer to the water.
I have never been here before. Glancing around, I can see across the water the parts of the port that are used - they're packed with shiny storage containers and large ships. But right now they're in darkness. This side of the port is abandoned - rusting and faded with neglect.
Owen's body is tense, his face an intimidating mask. As we walk towards the edge, I can see more men. They're loading boxes off a boat and into the warehouse. It's just as black here, lit by only a few lights coming from the boat and inside the warehouse. The moon reflects on the dark, oily water. They're moving quickly and quietly enough that I know whatever happening here is illegal on various levels.
The boat looks like some small leisure yacht. My stomach hardens at the sight of it. Once they've finished unloading, it will sail away and take Owen with it. Looking at it makes me tighten my grip on his hand. Taggart is standing before the boat, wearing a thick woollen coat, his hands gripping his collar, simply watching the dozens of men as they unload the boxes. The icy air is burning my cheeks. Steam billows before my lips. Owen stops sharply and turns to me, his eyes searching. Asking without words that I'm still OK. I nod weakly and then he leads me towards Taggart.
"Hey," Owen's voice is lower, gruffer than usual. I can hear something cautious in the tone. To an outsider, he might look calm, but I can feel the tension in his grip. Davey turns to him, smiling broadly at his son. Seeing them together is unnerving. The same hair, same intense eyes, similar build. Taggart moves forward. He slaps Owen on the back, pulling him away from me and into an awkward embrace.
"I'm sorry, boy." His voice is low, grit-rough, but I can hear the emotion carried in the three words. Owen flinches but pulls away as soon as he can. I can see the conflict on his face, though. He swallows hard. "I wasn't sure you were going to come."
"I'm here, aren't I?" He bites. But Davey doesn't look offended. He merely nods. "And I'm out of options."
"We'll get you out of here, away from Alex. I'm going to take care of you." Owen peers at him, his face fighting a sneer. I can see his jaw clench, his temper flaring. The tension between is thick, like the air before a storm.
"You better," I say, needing to cut the tension before Owen's fragile grip on his temper finally snaps. Taggart laughs, his bellow filling the empty space. Owen glances down at me. We need Taggart, and he might hate it but I can see in his eyes that he knows it. Taggart steps towards me looking down at me, his eyes filled lost in the past once more.
