Page 35 of Brutal Truths

This room is much nicer. Not just because there aren’t decaying bodies inside—though that helps—but because it’s been remodeled.

The walls are painted a deep, rich blue. A false calmness settles over the space. The rich indigo, making me pause.

Tension hangs in the air, telling a very different story that the room wants me to believe. It crackles beneath the surface. A subtle reminder that this room holds its own set of rules and dangers. A dark, unpleasant energy lingers, refusing to be ignored.

I push to my feet, steadying myself before crossing to the heavy curtains. Yanking them back, I close my eyes at the fading light outside.

The day has slipped into night, and I still don’t know why I’m here or what Rurik wants.

It’s infuriating. With each second that ticks, my anger grows. I just want to get out of here. I need answers, and I won’t get those here.

I settle into the window seat, pressing my head against the cool glass, taking in the view.

The property stretches on for miles. Trees of various sizes cover the grounds. Their tiny, bright green leaves are just sprouting, offering a clear view through the branches.

From here, the stone wall looks to be at least ten feet tall, making it a solid barrier. Razor wire lines the top, an odd addition unless you’re up to no good. It’s been rebuilt. Even in the dusk, I can identify the old from the new. The razor wire above is newer. It shines, untouched by the weather.

Beyond the wall, fields open into pasture. A dozen cows graze on the hay left for them, living their lives the same way I imagine they’ve always done.

Must be nice.

And here I am, trapped inside this hell, hoping for an opening to present itself so I can escape.

In the corner of the yard, an old oak tree catches my eye—gnarled, strong, climbable, impossible to miss.

I’ve climbed a few like it before. Antonio always yelled at me to get down before I hurt myself. Not Larkin. She’d encourage me to climb higher while sharing the story about the night they escaped a game of cat and mouse during their wedding reception. They’d climbed a large oak tree to escape their friends. It’s a memory that has me wishing I could go back in time.

This one, much like the one I recall, has a branch that extends beyond the wall. Climbing it wouldn’t be easy in my condition, but I could do it.

It’s the drop on the other side that worries me more.

But risks are part of the game when you’re trying to escape. If I get the chance, I’m taking it.

As the sun sinks below the horizon, painting the sky in streaks of fire, I sit here, the weight of the document I read heavy on my mind.

It could all be a lie. A fraudulent document. Forged signatures. Altered dates. A carefully crafted distraction meant to turn me against those he clearly has a beef with.

Until I can confirm the truth with those I trust, his words fall on deaf ears.

I wish I’d had time to gather the folder before the woman dragged me out of that shithole. While sitting here, I could’ve gone through the rest and figured out what the hell it all meant.

Not that it would stick. My head’s pounding. The injury, the drugs—they’re working against me, blurring everything just enough to make it difficult to focus.

I push to my feet, needing to use the restroom. Pain spikes through my head with every step, the room sways just enough to throw me off balance.

This isn’t just a headache. It’s a concussion. A serious one that requires medical attention.

I need a scan. A full evaluation. Without one, I’m only guessing. And guessing wrong could make this worse.

Once I’m done in the bathroom, I make my way slowly to the large bed. The frame has hooks attached to both the foot and headboards.

My gaze lingers there, not liking what that implies.

Instinct kicks in. My fingers find my sore wrist, rubbing over the raw skin where the ropes bit in.

I’m beyond tired. It’s been one hell of a day. Sleeping isn’t ideal, but it is necessary if I want my body to heal.

So, I set the alarm clock on the side table to wake me in a couple of hours. Enough time to rest. Not enough to make things worse. When I wake, I’ll reevaluate my condition.