Page 44 of The Bitter Truth

He steps around Boaz, focusing on the woman strapped to an old wooden chair. Thick black cables are wrapped tightly around the upper half of her body and several strips of duct tape are around her mouth, but they don’t hide the freshly developed bruises around her eye and bridge of her nose. There are no tears in her dark-brown eyes, only pure rage. Shavonne grimaces at him, breathing raggedly through her nostrils, her dark, curly hair unkempt.

Dominic takes a look around the cabin. It’s just as he remembers when he was young, only dustier and creakier now. Wooden walls and flooring, dark counters, a stove he’s sure doesn’t work, along with a rusted white fridge. The door in the kitchen leads to what used to be a backyard but is now crowded with tall grass and trees. Both are small and vacant. A fireplace is off to his right, next to a dusty plaid green sofa. There are two bedrooms in the back of the house, one of which belonged to him.

This cabin used to belong to his mother. Then she managed to kill herself when Dominic was seventeen, and the state handed the house over to his uncle Ben. She had a will, apparently, and wanted all of her assets given to his uncle (her only other relative), so that once Dominic was of age, he could assume the assets. She didn’t have much, just the cabin and an old Buick that he used when he went to college. She had no money saved, nothing of substantial use. Dominic thinks about that sometimes—how his mother created a will just to fulfill the duty of hanging herself in her bedroom. The mind is a powerful thing, but hey, at least she considered her son before doing the deed.

He found her the day she committed suicide, a tipped over chair beneath her dangling feet, her neck bent at an odd angle through an extension cord. He remembers the dress she wore too—a pink one with red flowers. She also had a full face of makeup. It was like she’d made a day of it—prepared herself for her own demise.

He can still remember his uncle Ben going at him about being better than his mother. Uncle Ben may have been a country old man, but he knew the way to live. He had money, and he’d worked his ass off for it, but he couldn’t take care of Dominic forever. Uncle Ben had his own kids, his own life. He kept him around, just before Dominic ran off to Duke University. To this day, Dominic still can’t believe he landed a scholarship there. But being smart and rich was better than being stupid and broke. He wasn’t athletic by any means, so that meant he had to use his brains.

He would not let his mother’s death define him . . . but look at him now. Back in his childhood cabin, facing a woman who has caused him mounting paranoia. He supposes this is worse than being like his mother, because at least she’d only hurt herself physically, and no one else.

Dominic grabs a chair from the table in the corner and brings it in front of Shavonne. He sits as Boaz remains standing by the door. His eyes are on Shavonne’s, and he sighs as he says, “It didn’t have to be this way.”

She scowls.

“Boaz, can you take the tape off?”

Boaz grunts, moving through the cabin and digging into his pocket. He snatches out a pocketknife, flips it open, and reveals a sharp blade. Panic surfaces in Shavonne’s eyes as she watches Boaz approach her with it. He wedges a finger beneath the tight tape and slices at an opening. The tape comes off and Shavonne pants as she says, “You’re an idiot.”

“Shavonne, tell me where Brynn is,” Dominic orders, ignoring her rude remark.

“I’m not telling you a damn thing. Like I said,” she breathes. “You won’t get away with what you did. Now you’ve kidnapped me. You’re so stupid.”

He hates that word. Stupid. He’s not stupid. He’s smart and excels at everything he does. The word angers him so much that he rises from his chair and grips her face in his hand. The pads of his fingers dig into her flesh and she whimpers, only a bit, but matches his stare.

“Tell. Me. Where. She. Is,” he growls.

Shavonne’s right eye twitches. “How did you like the tea?”

He frowns, faltering a bit. “What?”

“The tea I gave to your wife. I bet the hallucinations were horrible for you. LSD does that to a person. I bet it’s still in your blood stream.” She sneers and he shoves her face away, nearly knocking her backwards in the chair.

LSD? What the hell is she talking about? Is that why he was seeing things? Why the sky was purple? Why he was so damn paranoid of every single person? She drugged him without him even realizing it. As if she senses the panic brewing in him, she giggles. Fucking giggles, like some child who just pulled a cute little prank.

His breaths come out raggedly as he turns to pick up his chair and launch it across the room. Boaz takes a step back, eyeing Dominic as he fumes, pacing the cabin and dragging a hand over his head.

“This is on you!” Dominic snaps, pointing a finger at Boaz. “You said she was dead! You said it was fine! What the hell am I paying you all this money for when it was never handled?”

“I’m not the one who threw a fit and nearly killed that woman!” Boaz booms. “I came to help you out. I did what I was supposed to. She was buried alive—there was no surviving it! This woman is clearly lying!”

“See! You lied! You said she was dead before you buried her!”

Shavonne’s laugh catches Dominic off guard and he whirls around, glaring at her.

“Loyalty is powerful, Dominic Baker,” she says in a breathy voice.

“What the hell are you talking about?” he hisses.

“I was there that night when you helped put her body in the truck. I saw everything.”

“How?” Dominic croaks, the blood draining from his face.

She laughs again and it grates his nerves. “You may think you buried her—that she’s dead and you left her behind—but she’s not. She still breathes. And she will find me. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.” She stares at him with wild eyes. Boaz shifts on his feet. “You hear that, Baker? That’s the sound of your time running out.”

FORTY-ONE

JOLENE

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