Chapter 30

Kate and Maddie lay in bed, their swollen bellies brushing against each other as they wondered when Pembroke would return. Maddie’s mind wandered, as it often did, to the fantasy she clung to—a happy family, with their Daddy as a loving father to their children.

“He’s not Daddy,” Kate murmured, her voice breaking the silence. “He’s a freak. Ugly, fat, hideous, evil. And he might never be coming back, hopefully not, anyway. In any case, we need to get off this island somehow.”

Maddie shifted, moving her head to her mother’s hip, her lips brushing against her inner thigh. “Mummy, we’re pregnant. We’re both about to give birth. Maybe he’ll change.”

Kate sighed, her fingers tracing the raised stripes of whip marks that now stretched across Maddie’s swollen belly. “Don’t fool yourself, baby. He’s not going to change. He’s a sadist. He is a pathetic pervert who likes to hurt us. That’s all he’s ever wanted.”

Maddie’s eyes softened, a flicker of doubt crossing her face. “I know, but ... he’s the only man I’ve ever known.” She paused, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Can I kiss you, Mummy? Can we have sex?”

Kate hesitated for a moment, then laughed softly. “Oh, alright, baby.” It was their only pleasure, after all. Pembroke loved watching his girls together, and in his absence, they found solace in each other.

Maddie leaned in, her lips meeting Kate’s in a tender kiss. Their fingers slipped between each other’s legs. Maddie moaned softly, her breath hitching as Kate’s familiar touch sent shivers through her body.

“You taste so different now, Mummy,” Maddie murmured. “Did you taste like this when you were pregnant with me?” She sucked her finger clean, her eyes wide with curiosity.

Kate giggled, shaking her head. “Maddie, that’s such a weird thing to ask.”

Maddie grinned, her hands moving to Kate’s breasts. “Well, it feels good to drink your milk again,” she said, tweaking her mother’s nipples. A thin stream of milk spurted out, splashing across Maddie’s face.

Both women burst into laughter. Kate reached for Maddie’s breasts, her fingers teasing the swollen nipples until milk sprayed out, eliciting another round of giggles. They playfully wrestled with each other’s tits, their laughter filling the room as milk dripped down their skin.

Eventually, their playfulness dissolved and their lips met again, their kisses deepening as their hands roamed over each other’s bodies. They made love slowly, tenderly, and forgot about Daddy and any world beyond the island.

“What the fuck do you mean I don’t have anything?” Pembroke’s voice echoed through the small examination room, in a mix of anger and panic.

The doctor, a composed woman in her late thirties, adjusted her glasses and gave him a stern look. She wore a crisp white coat over a short skirt and tights, her dark hair pulled into a neat bun. “Edward, please watch your language,” she said, her tone firm but not unkind. She had expected him to be thrilled with the news—his earlier diagnosis had been a mistake. He didn’t have cancer. In fact, he was in much better health than he had been three years ago.

But Pembroke wasn’t thrilled. He was horrified.

“I got a life insurance payout!” he moaned. “I thought I was gonna die! Now I don’t have anything. I’m in debt, I’ve got no job—what the hell am I supposed to do?”

Pembroke slumped in his chair, his mind racing. Of course, he couldn’t tell her the real reason he was panicking—the two pregnant sex slaves he’d been holding captive on his island, the money he’d blown on keeping them there, and the fact that he had no idea what to do next. Somehow, he doubted that would elicit much sympathy.

“Edward,” the doctor said gently, leaning forward slightly. “I think God has shone on you. Since your diagnosis, you’ve turned your life around. You’re much healthier now, and ... well, you’ve stayed out of trouble. You should be thankful!”

The doctor had seen his records—his history as a serial sex offender, the years he’d spent in and out of prison. But the last three years? Clean as a whistle. At least, on paper.

“Yeah, I guess God did shine on me,” he muttered, forcing a weary smile. “But all good things come to an end, don’t they?”

The doctor gave him a puzzled look but didn’t press further. “Well, I’d say this is a fresh start for you. Take it as an opportunity to rebuild your life.”

Pembroke nodded absently, his mind already elsewhere.

As he left the London hospital, he reflected on his position. He had no money, no plan, and two very pregnant captives waiting for him on an island he could no longer afford to maintain.

He went into a pub and mulled his options over his pint. He would have to get rid of Maddie and Kate. He’d always know he would probably have to kill them. Their only chance of survival would have been if he had suddenly keeled over on the island and even then their chance of survival were slim. The boat only worked on a combination he alone knew, and there were never any visitors.

Having believed death was imminent, he had resigned himself to be immortalised as an evil rapist and kidnapper once the bodies were eventually discovered, but now he was going to live, he needed a different ending to the girls’ lives. He would kill them humanely. No unnecessary suffering. He’d bundle them into the net with rocks, tow them out to sea, and let the depths swallow them whole. Then he’d clean the house, scrub away every trace of their existence, and put the property on the market. With the money from the sale, he could start over somewhere new, somewhere far away from the mess he’d made.

But there was one thing he couldn’t let go of: the footage. The photos, the videos, the countless hours of recordings he’d made of Maddie and Kate. He wanted the world to know they’d been alive, that they’d been held for years as his sex slaves. He wanted the sick minds of the internet to revel in their suffering, jerking off to the videos while the public reeled in shock. The thought of it thrilled him, a final act of defiance against a world that had always seen him as a monster.

He chuckled to himself, recalling his latest video—the two of them fingering and licking each other’s heavily pregnant bodies, their faces a mix of pleasure and despair. It would shock the country, no doubt. But he couldn’t release it yet. Not while he was still alive. For now, he had a threadbare reputation to protect.

He decided he needed to make a will. With no family left, he didn’t care who inherited the island. What mattered to him was ensuring that his collection of materials—the photos, videos, and recordings of the McAllisters—would be widely disseminated after his death. He wanted the world to see what he had done, to know the truth of what had happened to them.

With that grim purpose in mind, he finished his pint, and called the London law firm he’d used years ago to handle his mother’s will. It had been a long time since he’d last been in touch, but they would know how to make his final wishes official. He set up an appointment to see them the next day.

Gerry McAllister sat alone in his parents’ old house, staring at his reflection in the mirror. His face was swathed in bandages, the brutal scars from the prison stabbing hidden beneath layers of gauze. His once-handsome features were now ruined.