Page 47 of Malevolent Hearts
He thinks he can bait me, does he? Let him try. I’m Beibhinn Devereux, and I don’t break—I burn. And right now, I’m about to blaze through this twisted charade like wildfire does dry bush. I stalk closer, my boots crunching on the gravel like the ticking of a bomb. Lucas’s words are a riddle wrapped in a sneer, but the puzzle pieces don’t fit—Cadden wouldn’t… couldn’t. Not after everything. Could he?
“You’re lying,” I spit out, the words tasting like betrayal. My mind races, images of Cadden flashing like lightning—a caress turned explosive, his hands that once held me now marred by guilt and soot. Would he seek comfort so soon, while Liam’s laughter is still a ghostly echo in my head?
“Maybe I am… but maybe I’m not.” Lucas tilts his head, a predator baiting its trap, and gestures towards the lighthouse with a jerk of his chin. “Only one way to find out.” It’s a dare, pure and simple, and he knows I can’t resist. He’s always known. From that very first summer, Lucas never liked me, and the feeling was, and still is, mutual.
Could I stomach the truth, whatever twisted form it takes? Or is this just another game, another chance for him to plunge the knife deeper into my already bleeding soul?
“Fuck you, Lucas,” I snarl, but even as I say it, my feet betray me, carrying me towards the looming structure that stands sentinel over my and Cadden’s dark history. With each step, the heat of my anger fans higher, a blaze that won’t be quenched until I uncover the lies—or face the devastating reality.
Without another word, I stride past him, refusing to give him the satisfaction. My fury is a living thing, hungry and relentless, as I storm towards the lighthouse. The door puts up no resistance when I shove it open, meeting the spiralling staircase that rises before me like a coil of stone. My boots echo off the walls, a drumbeat that matches the erratic rhythm of my heart. I climb, fuelled by a cocktail of grief and adrenaline.
Finally, I reach the threshold of the library, but before I can mount the ladder to the loft, Cadden’s voice stops me cold—my name on his lips, a moan that sounds like a plea. It pierces through me, sharp and unexpected.
“Beibhinn…” His voice is a frayed thread, unravelling the remnants of a bond I thought unbreakable. Does he dream of me, even as he betrays me? Or is this some eerie echo, a mockery of what we once were?
For an instant, I am frozen, caught between the instinct to flee and the need to confront. But the moment passes, and the rage within me roars back to life, consuming any trace of doubt. I need to do this, face whatever reality awaits me. I owe it to myself, and to the love that bloomed in the darkest of places and withered in the light of tragedy.
Gritting my teeth, I prepare to scale the final ascent, the ladder to a truth I’m not sure I want to witness. Because whether it’s closure or damnation that waits at the top, I won’t cower from it. It’s not in my nature.
My hands tremble, each rung of the ladder an icy bar against my fever-hot palms. With every step upward, my fury builds like a storm surge. I climb, propelled by a force more potent than gravity—vengeance.
The loft materialises before me, and in it, a blonde woman, her lips locked around Cadden’s cock as if she could suck the soul right out of him. The sight sears into my retinas, a brand marking the end of everything. Anger boils within me, a cauldron of hate frothing over with each heartbeat.
Cadden remains oblivious to my presence—his head arched back in illicit pleasure, eyes veiled by lashes thick with sin. His hand is in the girl’s hair, fingers entwined in the tresses, claiming her as his own.
“Beibhinn,” he breathes. The sound of my name on his lips is sacrilege. “Fucking hell, I’m gonna come.”
I stand rooted, the spectre of the show etches itself into my memory. In this moment, I am Medea, I am Kali; I am every scorned woman who has walked the earth, and my wrath knows no bounds. But beneath the inferno of rage, there is an ache, a hollow void where love used to live. Grief and loss are the silent undertow pulling me under, even as anger keeps me afloat.
Lucas’s smug taunts echo in my mind, a cruel chorus to this grotesque opera. How could I have been so blind? How could I have thought that any semblance of good lay within the ranks of the syndicate—a world where darkness reigns and hearts are traded like chips on a poker table?
With each laboured breath, I steel myself, ready to unleash the storm inside me. This ends now. It ends with the destruction of everything we’ve built and burned.
I will emerge from these ashes, not as the girl who loved a boy blindly, but as the woman who avenged fiercely. And when the last ember burns out, so will the version of Beibhinn who believed in fairy tales.
My vision tints red, the world around me blurring into nothing more than a backdrop to the treachery unfurling before my eyes. Wrath propels me forward, feet pounding against the wooden floor like the drums of war. My teeth grind together in a silent snarl as I witness the blonde’s head bobbing obscenely, her lips wrapped around what I once claimed as mine.
“Stop,” I hiss. With each step, my temper builds, hot and wild, until I’m upon them—a feral creature hell-bent on retribution.
I seize the blonde’s hair, my fingers curling into the white strands with a ferocity that matches the scream clawing its way up my throat. I shove her head down, forcing her closer to Cadden’s pleasure, making her choke on the very sin that has shattered my world.
“Beibhinn?” Cadden gasps, and only then does he catch sight of me—real me, not the illusion of ecstasy that dances on his deluded lips. Confusion etches his features, contorting the lines of pleasure into a mask. “Why… why are there two of you?”
His words strike me, a perverse mockery of the intimacy we once shared. His voice, thick with desire, now feels like the vilest poison. With one swift motion, I yank the imposter away from him, tearing her off like a leech feasting on stolen blood. She stumbles, surprise painting her face as she skids across the floor, a discarded plaything in this twisted game.
“Only one Beibhinn,” I spit out, my rage a living thing between us. There’s no room for tears, no space for the ache that hollows out my chest.
Everything spins as I stand over the crumpled form at my feet. The taste of bile is thick on my tongue as recognition sears through me like a branding iron.
“Meila.” Of course. Her name is a curse that spills from my lips, venomous and vile. “You fucking bitch.”
She recoils, scrambling to regain her footing, her eyes wide with shock and something darker—fear, perhaps, or the realisation she’s awakened a storm no amount of sweet-talking can soothe. There’s a wildness in her gaze, a mirror to the savagery that tears at my insides.
Our dance is brutal, primal; we are two lionesses locked in combat, our bodies instruments of wrath. My fingers entwine in her blonde locks, yanking hard enough to draw a strangled cry from her throat. My knuckles connect with the soft flesh of her cheek, the satisfying crack harmonising with the cacophony of my pounding heart.
“Beibhinn, stop!” she pleads, but her words are drowned out by the roar of blood in my eardrums. This isn’t a plea for mercy—it’s the lament of a cornered animal, desperate and defeated.
“Never,” I growl. There’s no room for reason here, no space for forgiveness. Only the relentless drive to reclaim the power she’s tried to strip away.