Drew Starkey Imagines

Dead Calm Pt 2

The words sat heavy in your chest, an iron weight pressing against your ribs.

Tannyhill.

Rafe's home. Your home.

The place where you had spent countless nights wrapped in his arms, where you had laughed, fought, made up. And now? Now, it was somehow tangled up in a murder—a secret someone had been willing to kill for.

Rafe's grip on your waist tightened, his body coiled with tension. "What do you mean Tannyhill?"

The man at the bar glanced around, lowering his voice. "I don't know the details. But Derrick was digging. Something about old land deals, money that shouldn't be there." He exhaled sharply. "And now he's dead."

Your stomach twisted.

Rafe stepped closer, his voice low, dangerous. "Who else knows?"

The man hesitated. "No one. At least, no one who's talking."

A chill ran down your spine.

Because if Derrick had been killed for asking questions... what would happen to you if you started asking them too?

Rafe must have been thinking the same thing, because his arm tightened protectively around you. His voice was steady when he said, "You're gonna forget we had this conversation."

The man gave him a long look before nodding once. Then he turned, disappearing into the crowd.

Rafe exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. "Shit."

You swallowed hard. "We need to tell the others."

He didn't argue.

Because for once, Rafe Cameron didn't want to fight the Pogues.

He wanted answers.

⸻

Thirty minutes later, you were all gathered at the Château, the five of you plus Rafe huddled around a lantern-lit table. The night was thick with humidity, the air buzzing with the sound of cicadas and the distant crash of waves.

John B leaned forward, brows furrowed. "So let me get this straight. This guy—Derrick—was digging into some old land deals, and whatever he found got him killed?"

Rafe nodded. "That's what it sounds like."

Pope frowned. "But what kind of land deals?"

Rafe shook his head. "I don't know. But if it involves Tannyhill, that means it involves my dad."

The words lingered between you, unspoken but understood.

Ward Cameron wasn't just a businessman. He was ruthless. If there was something to be covered up, he would have done it without hesitation.

Kiara's arms were crossed, skepticism written all over her face. "And you're just now finding out about this?"

Rafe's jaw tightened. "You think I had something to do with this?"

She didn't answer.

You jumped in before Rafe could snap. "It doesn't matter. What matters is finding out why Derrick was killed."

JJ smirked. "Which means it's time for some breaking and entering."

Rafe rolled his eyes. "You're an idiot."

JJ grinned. "But I'm a useful idiot."

John B sighed. "He's not wrong."

⸻

Tannyhill. Midnight.

The estate was eerily silent as you crept through the halls, the old wood creaking beneath your feet. The air smelled of salt and aged mahogany, the familiar scent doing little to calm your nerves.

Rafe moved ahead of you, leading the way toward his father's office. The Pogues followed, their footsteps careful, quiet.

You reached the door.

Rafe didn't hesitate. He pulled a key from his pocket, fitting it into the lock with practiced ease. The door swung open with a faint click, revealing the dimly lit office.

Mahogany shelves lined the walls, filled with books and framed photographs. The massive desk sat at the center, papers neatly stacked beside a glass of half-finished bourbon.

JJ let out a low whistle. "Fancy."

You ignored him, moving toward the desk. "We need to find something. Anything that connects Ward to Derrick."

Pope was already rifling through a filing cabinet. "I'm on it."

The next few minutes were filled with the quiet rustling of paper, the occasional creak of floorboards.

Then—

"Got something," Pope whispered.

You hurried over, peering over his shoulder as he pulled out an old folder.

Inside were property deeds.

Names. Dates. Numbers that didn't add up.

And at the bottom of the stack—

Derrick Wyatt's name.

A pit formed in your stomach.

"He knew something," John B murmured.

JJ's eyes darkened. "And someone made sure he couldn't talk."

Rafe was silent, his gaze locked onto the papers, his hands curled into fists.

Then, suddenly—

A noise.

A floorboard creaking outside the office.

Your breath caught.

Rafe moved first, shoving the folder into your hands. "Go. Now."

You didn't argue.

The five of you moved quickly, slipping out through the side door just as the main hall light flicked on.

You didn't stop running until you were back at the Château, the papers spread out before you, the reality sinking in.

Derrick had been killed because of this. Because of something tied to Tannyhill, to the Camerons, to Ward.

And now, you had the proof.

Rafe exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. "We're in deep."

You met his gaze. "Then we need to go deeper."

Because whoever had done this?

They weren't done yet.