Page 115 of Brutal Truths

Drake stands there for a few moments before moving further into the bathroom. I can’t see what he’s doing. I’m not sure I want to. When he returns, I shrink back, pressing myself deeper into the closet until I hit the wall behind me. Something falls with a dull thud, and panic surges through me.

I squeeze my eyes shut, certain he’s heard, convinced he’ll come for me next.

But he doesn’t.

The bedroom door shuts with a soft click. The sound shatters the spell, and a tiny whimper escapes before I can hold it back.

I can’t stay here. I have to find Isabel and get her to the gallery.

Forcing myself to push past the fear, I bravely step out of the closet.

I keep my eyes fixed ahead, refusing to look toward the bathroom. I can’t. Not now. There’s nothing I can do for him, and seeing my husband lying dead on the floor will only make this harder.

Looking down, I freeze. A gun is lying on the floor only a few feet away. The one Drake used.

I can’t leave it here. It’s important. Needs to be stored in a safe place.

Retreating into the closet, I stop at the box Rico was supposed to put in our downstairs storage unit. I grab the first thing I see—a silk scarf. Then I go back to where the gun still rests and gently wrap the heavy item, pushing away thoughts of the red stains coating the metal.

I rise and quickly return to the gallery. My hands shake as I fiddle with the keys. The sound of footsteps behind me makes my heart race faster, louder, as if it might give me away. The door opens just in time, and I rush inside.

I need to hide this in a spot they won’t discover it before I return with my Izzy.

Crossing to the far wall where the family portraits hang, I find what I’m looking for. When the panel on the floor pops, I flip it open and struggle to remember the combination. The numbers blur. My mind stutters. For a moment, I’m afraid I won’t remember.

But then it comes back to me, and after the fourth attempt, the lock clicks open. The door is heavy, but not impossible to lift. I shift a few folders and slide the gun between them. With a click, I shut the safe, slide the floor panel back into its spot, and exhale.

My head aches, a dull, heavy pressure that has me closing my eyes and uttering up a pray that it passes soon.

The gallery door clicks.

When I look up, two men are standing there.

“Who are you?” My feet are unsteady as I stand, my body swaying as I fight to stay upright. “Get out. You don’t belong here.”

The room tilts. I’m dizzy. So dizzy.

“Shit! How’d she get in here?” The younger man asks.

“I thought you said she was in her room?” The older one snaps.

“She was.” The younger one steps farther inside, then stops abruptly. “Where the fuck did the rest of the art go?”

The older man walks up to me, grabs me by the arms and gives me a good, solid shake. “What did you do?”

“You can’t have my art,” I tell him as he releases me. “I won’t let you steal it.”

He stomps around the gallery as if that will give him the answers. But he won’t find them.

While he’s acting a fool, I see my chance and make a run for the door. I get it open when something strikes the back of my head.

Pain explodes. The world lurches, tilting violently as I fall, the ground rushing to meet me as everything fades.

Chapter 35

Isabel

The longer she talks, the harder it becomes to sit here and take it in. Not just for me, but for everyone. Silence settles over the car when she stops, heavy enough that even the sound of breathing feels intrusive.