Page 62 of The Bitter Truth

He shakes the memories away as Jolene enters his childhood bedroom. But it’s when he’s inside the room that he realizes it isn’t just Shavonne and Brynn waiting. They’re tied and bound to the chairs, heads hanging and clearly unconscious. But there’s another man here and Jolene stands in the corner with her arms folded as he charges toward Dominic and tackles him to the ground.

SIXTY-THREE

JOLENE

It doesn’t take long for Ricardo to capture Dominic, take the guns, and knock him out. After all, that’s Ricardo’s forte. It’s why he and Daphne travel so much, and why she can’t talk much about his job. It’s also why sometimes she disappears without so much as a heads up.

Ricardo was born and raised in Colombia. He does private work for a cartel and moved to the states to become an international hitman for the Colombian cartel, so to speak. He doesn’t like to refer to himself as a hitman. He likes to think of it as handling dangerous business and being paid under the table for it. When Daphne first told me what Ricardo was, it sounded unreal—like a chapter out of Ozark. I literally laughed in her face by how ridiculous it sounded. In my world, things like that didn’t exist. But they are real. Sure, we have the fictionalized TV shows and movies about mafias and cartels, but no one ever thinks a member of those would be so close to home.

If someone steps out of line, Ricardo handles it by making them disappear. And by doing so, he’s paid hundreds of thousands of dollars. In a way, he’s just like Boaz. Tonight, Ricardo will make Boaz’s body disappear for a few hours, right after he ties my husband up. I had to offer him a lot of money to do this for me. It’s one thing handling random low lives involved with a cartel, but it’s another to deal with a governor. But he takes care of Dominic with ease, each action a well-performed habit. Dominic is out cold, and Ricardo grunts as he lugs Dominic’s body up.

“Where to?” asks Ricardo.

“Kitchen table.”

He drags Dominic out of the room with a few bumps, thumps, and some clattering. I glance at Brynn and Shavonne. They’re out cold. Ricardo chloroformed them because he didn’t want them seeing his face.

This was not part of the original plan, but Brynn’s plan was so stupid. I’m sorry, but it was. She had this whole idea of getting Shavonne taken by Dominic so she could have a reason to “come out of hiding” and shoot him. She wanted this poetic sort of justice, but it only would’ve led to holes, and I couldn’t have that. If Dominic was going down, he had to really go down. He had to be the blame and no one else. I didn’t want him to have any outs when it came to this night, so my plan took form.

I leave the room to find Ricardo has situated Dominic on a chair at the table and is now walking out of the cabin. He returns several minutes later with a wide, flat wagon that looks like it could be used at a coroner’s office. He stands over Boaz’s body that he dragged in after dealing with Brynn and Shavonne. With Dominic’s gun, Ricardo shoots Boaz’s corpse in the head.

I flinch at the sound.

Ricardo manages to pick Boaz’s body up with a grunt, drape it over the wagon, and haul it toward the door.

“Police will ask about the blood,” Ricardo murmurs.

“Yeah. Like I told you, once they find out it belongs to someone outside of this cabin, there’ll be no denying what Dominic did. They’ll think Dominic murdered Boaz to try and keep his past quiet then hid his body a few miles from here. I’ll make sure Shavonne and Brynn attest to this. They saw Dominic and Boaz arguing before Dominic shot Boaz outside the cabin. Boaz managed to run into the cabin for his own weapon but didn’t make it far because he was shot again.”

There are streaks of Boaz’s blood near the back door. Some of the streaks have been altered by Ricardo to look like Boaz was dragged away from the living room, not into it. It’ll look like Dominic tried to drag Boaz’s body out of the house. I would feel sorry for Boaz, but I don’t. It’s because of him that all of this has happened. Then again, I suppose I should’ve thanked him first because he spared me this worthless marriage.

Every detail has to make sense and it has to add up. And as far as the unregistered gun, Ricardo has wiped the prints off. I’ll say it was another gun of Dominic’s so the bullets in Boaz’s body align with our story. It must be clear that my husband is the threat.

Ricardo asks, “You sure you have everything else handled?”

I nod. “I do.”

He stares at me a beat with dark eyes. “Alright. I’ll let Daph know what went down when I get home. Give me about thirty minutes before you make the call.”

“Okay. Thank you, Ricardo. This means a lot. Oh—and before you go, I need another favor.”

I tell him what I need, and even behind his ski mask, I see his brows incline. “Are you sure?” he asks.

I nod, then brace myself for the impact.

Ricardo’s throat bobs and for a hitman, it’s sweet that he worries about hurting me. Daphne is so lucky. I bet he has his downfalls, but they can’t be any worse than Dominic’s, and at least Ricardo is honest with his wife. He was honest with her about what he did for a living from the beginning. Daphne was never supposed to tell me about her husband’s lifestyle, but she managed to let it slip out a year ago. She was overwhelmed with traveling so much, and I kept pushing her to tell me what was going on. She was always so vague, always away from home, and I could never figure out what all the cameras around their house were for, or what kind of job Ricardo had to be making so much money to travel. Daphne said he did something with accounting, but an accountant wasn’t getting paid the amount of money it would cost to live the luxurious lifestyle they had. I thought the cameras were so he could watch Daphne, and that perhaps he was a little psychotic, but quickly realized the cameras were so he could watch out for anyone coming after him.

When Daphne let it slip out, it was ridiculous to hear, but it made sense. Ricardo wasn’t very pleased to know that I knew, but after a while, he stopped caring. I suppose, he figured I had no proof, plus I had Daphne to back me up. I’d never tell a soul, but I would use him for my own personal gain if necessary.

I ball my hands into tight fists as Ricardo reels his elbow back. His gloved fist flies forward and slams into my face. I cry out and fall to the ground. Ricardo bends down but I tell him, “Kick me! In the ribs!”

“Jolene, that’s—”

“Do it,” I pant, still holding my face.

He does, and his boot slams hard into my ribcage. I cry out again, crumpling over as my rib throbs. “That’s . . . that’s good,” I whimper. And despite the white-hot pain in my rib and my bleeding nose, I stand when Ricardo offers me a hand.

“I’m going now, Jo,” he murmurs.

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