Montana Falls (Red Diamonds #5)

Chapter Twenty Four

M aggie was dead.

A single bullet to her heart three days ago.

Bled out on the same stage as her bastard brother, before the men in her life that had failed her hid away in their house, pretending to mourn and grieve and be in agony.

Beau had turned Diamond Grove and all the cities near it into a bloodbath. Any gangster that didn’t wear Red Diamonds ink had been slaughtered, or in the case of a Cherry Hill gang called The Reapers, had been absorbed in the Red Diamonds, purely because Beau was friends with their leader.

The cities ran red, and Beau had no mercy with his violence and vengeance, regardless of the fact he was healing from wounds himself.

It was the only time I’d ever agreed with a Montana. The only time I’d ever respected the actions of one of them.

Other than Maggie.

Now she was gone, and I was forced to watch her wake unfold like some twisted play, every single movement, every sob, every fake condolence digging into my skin like nails. I stood at the edge of it all, clutching my glass of whiskey like it was the only thing keeping me upright. My head was spinning—too much alcohol, too many emotions, too much of everything. The air around me felt thick and suffocating, filled with the murmur of voices, the clinking of glasses, and the ever-present scent of roses. God, I hated roses. I hated every single thing about this damn day.

They were all pretending. Every single one of them. Grieving like they knew her, like they had any right to mourn her. She was mine . She was my friend, my responsibility, my failure.

She was mine to kill and hurt and keep forever in any way I wanted her.

I took another long, burning sip, the alcohol scorching down my throat, but it wasn’t enough to drown the rage bubbling inside me. It never was. But I kept drinking anyway, hoping that maybe this time it would dull the pain, make it all go away. Make everything just stop for a second and keep the cursed woman’s voice silent in my brain.

But it didn’t. It never did.

I stayed on the outskirts of the crowd filling the Montana mansion, watching with narrowed eyes as they cried and hugged and pretended to care. Useless. All of them. Not one of them had been there for Maggie when she needed them. Not one of them had seen what I’d seen, felt what I’d felt. She was gone because of them, because of me, because of everyone who should’ve done something but didn’t.

Price, Kody, and Logan were pointless. Worthless. They would die first. They would die screaming.

As much as the cursed woman didn’t want Lincoln to die to, I had no choice anymore… he’d failed Maggie too, and now he would die the same way as his father.

Misha wouldn’t die. Not yet. He’d tried to help. He’d reached Maggie first, sobbing as he tried to stem the blood pouring from her body with nothing more than his hands.

He’d been the one to tell me and those waiting by me that she was dead not even an hour later, after doctors had rushed her into surgery and taken her away from me once more.

Misha had then sat down next to me, in a hospital room full of dozens of people, and offered me some tissues to wipe the tears from my eyes.

I felt the anger rising again now, hot and sharp, but I shoved it down, swallowing it with another gulp of whiskey. My grip on the glass tightened, my knuckles white, but I didn’t let go. I couldn’t. If I let go, I’d lose it. Completely.

Leave, Cassie. It’s not too late to leave and stop this – you don’t have to carry on .

There was a lull in the noise, a quiet moment when the crowd thinned out, people drifting away to talk in hushed voices. Now. This was my chance. The only chance I needed before things ended.

So I could say goodbye before I joined Maggie forever the way I should have decades ago, when I lost her the first time.

I slipped away, moving through the shadows like a ghost, unnoticed, unseen. My heart pounded in my chest, every step feeling heavier, more urgent. I didn’t know what I was doing, didn’t have a plan beyond pain and hellfire that was well deserved. But I had to see her. I had to see Maggie. One last time.

I would go to hell with her beside me, even if she was a corpse.

The hallway leading to the emptied lounge where the coffin was felt endless, the sound of my heels clicking against the polished floor echoing in my head. Too loud, too harsh.

Please Cassie. Think of Misha. He won’t want this – he won’t like it …

My pulse raced, matching the rhythm of my steps, faster and faster, until I reached the door and the cursed woman shut up. I hesitated for a moment, hand on the doorknob, the cold metal biting into my skin. My breath hitched, and I swallowed hard, forcing myself to turn the handle, to step inside.

Maggie was in here, and I had to see her. I had to say goodbye.

The room was dimly lit, quiet, and it felt like stepping into a tomb. Which, I supposed, was exactly what it was. The coffin sat in the center of the floor, draped in roses and baby’s breath, white candles flickering softly around it. It looked… peaceful. Wrong.

I took a shaky step forward; the whiskey sloshing in my glass as my hand trembled. My head was spinning, the alcohol mixing with the grief and the rage, making it hard to think, hard to breathe. But I couldn’t stop. I couldn’t leave. Not yet.

She deserved for me to say goodbye. To whisper a prayer and hope to see her one day again, perhaps with the same luck that had brought her back to me the first time she died.

My eyes locked on the deep oak coffin, my heart pounding louder in my ears. I hadn’t been able to look at it during the service earlier, hadn’t been able to bring myself to face the reality of what was inside. But now, alone in this room, with nothing but the silence and the weight of the truth pressing down on me, I couldn’t look away.

Maggie was in there. My Maggie.

I stumbled forward, the world tilting slightly as I reached the coffin, my hand brushing against the smooth wood. It was cold. Too cold. Everything about this was wrong. She wasn’t supposed to be in there. She wasn’t supposed to be gone. The others should have been dead. Everyone else, just not her.

Not again.

With tears burning in my eyes, I set the glass down on the table beside me, my hands shaking so badly I almost knocked it over, before I reached for the lid.

I had to see her. I had to just say my goodbye and have one last look at her face.

I had to. Needed to.

My fingers fumbled against the edges of the lid, my heart racing, hands slick with anger and despair I would never shake. The lid was heavier than I expected, but I managed to lift it slowly, the soft creak of the wood sending a shiver down my spine as the entire world felt like it crashed and burned around me.

Maggie .

My breath caught in my throat as I stared down at her, my vision blurring, my pulse pounding in my ears. She wore a simple dress made of white lace, a pair of white crystal high heels on her feet, a decadent crown nestled in her silver hair.

She was perfect. Ethereal almost.

And she was holding a gun in her hand, aiming it at me as she opened her pretty blue eyes, that were burning with the heat of a thousand suns.

“Retta,” Maggie’s voice was a hoarse whisper, but it was undeniably her. Alive . And calling me by the false woman’s name. “Don’t move.”