All Chapters of MY BESTFRIEND’S BROTHER, MY RUIN: Chapter 61 - Chapter 70

"Open the door, you prick! I’m not here to admire the masonry."Rafferty kicked the reinforced steel of the heavy door, the sound echoing down the sterile, white-tiled hallway like a gunshot. The guard, a thick-necked man with a face like a slab of raw beef, didn't even flinch. He just slid the key into the lock, the mechanism grinding with a heavy, final clack."You got ten minutes, Mr. Sterling. Keep your distance. He’s been... agitated.""Agitated? Is that what we’re calling it now?" Rafferty pushed past him into the small, windowless room. The smell hit him immediately—a mix of industrial bleach, stale sweat, and the faint, copper tang of old blood. It was a tomb for the living.In the center of the room, Ignatius sat on a bolted-down chair. He was strapped into a heavy canvas straitjacket, his arms crossed over his chest and buckled tight behind his back. But his posture was all wrong. He wasn't slumped like a broken man. He sat tall, chin tilted up, looking for all the world lik

"You’re talkative today, Elias. Usually, you just grunt and point at the whiskey."Rafferty wiped a smear of blue paint from his thumb onto his stained apron. The wood of the bar top was cool, scarred by decades of spilled spirits and salt air. He leaned his weight on his elbows. His voice came out as a low, gravelly rasp, a sound earned from months of shouting into Atlantic gales and long stretches of silence."The weather's clearing. My throat finally stopped feeling like I swallowed a bag of glass," Rafferty said. He slid a glass toward the man sitting on the corner stool. "And you're paying for the privilege of hearing me, aren't you?"The traveler, a guy in a faded hiking jacket with a camera bag slung over his shoulder, let out a dry whistle. "Damn. That’s a voice for the radio, man. Or a campfire. You look like you’ve been out here since the island rose from the sea.""Close enough. Two years of salt and solitude. It does things to the vocal cords."Rafferty reached for a bottl

"Pass the salt, Ignatius. It’s right there by your hand. Don’t just stare at it like it’s a loaded gun."Rafferty didn’t look up from his plate. He sliced into the sea bass, the skin crackling under the blade. The steam hit his face, smelling of lemon and butter. Across the table, Ignatius sat perfectly still. The man who had terrorized his dreams for years looked smaller in the dim light of the cottage. His expensive suit was wrinkled. There was dirt under his fingernails."You’re remarkably calm for a man whose house has been invaded," Ignatius said. His voice was a low rasp, scraping against the quiet of the room. He pushed the salt shaker across the wood. It skidded, stopping an inch from Rafferty’s wine glass."Invaded? You bought the island, remember? Technically, I’m the squatter." Rafferty took a bite, chewing slowly. He swallowed. "Besides, I’m tired, Ignatius. Running is for people who still think there’s a place where you don’t exist. I stopped believing in fairy tales two

"Hey! Turn that engine off and put your hands where I can see them, or my guys will open fire before you hit the sand!"Rafferty stood on the jagged edge of the pier, his voice cutting through the roar of the surf. The sleek black speedboat cut its thrusters, drifting toward the dock with a low, dying whine. It didn't have the markings of his security team. It looked like something built for a quick getaway in a high-stakes heist."Raffy? Raffy, it’s me! For the love of God, don't shoot!"A man stumbled onto the deck, hands high, nearly tripping over a coil of rope. He looked like a wreck. His designer shirt was stained with salt and grease, hanging open to reveal a chest slick with sweat. His hair, usually slicked back with expensive pomade, was a tangled bird's nest."Julian?" Rafferty’s grip on the radio tightened. He signaled the snipers on the ridge to hold, though he didn't lower his own guard. "What the hell are you doing here? This island is a dead zone. You’re not supposed to

"Get in the cellar. Now!"Rafferty shoved Julian toward the floor hatch, the wind screaming through the gaps in the cottage walls. Rain hammered the roof like a rain of lead. Outside, the Atlantic was a churning throat of black water and white foam."The boat! My boat's going to get smashed!" Julian scrambled down the wooden ladder, his voice cracking."Shut the fuck up about the boat!" Rafferty slammed the hatch shut behind them.The air in the cellar smelled of damp earth, old potatoes, and stale sweat. One lantern flickered on a crate, casting long, jagged shadows against the stone walls. Ignatius was already there, tucked into the corner, his knees pulled to his chest. The iron crowbar lay beside him. He looked small. The flickering light caught the silver of his scar, making it look like a fresh wound."Power's out," Ignatius rasped. His voice was barely a thread."No shit." Rafferty sat on a sack of grain across from him. He didn't look at Julian, who was curled in the opposite