Page 2 of The Forbidden Secret

“I don’t care,” I replied, shaking my head. “I don’tcare.”

She sealed her lips, and I buried my face in my hands. Not even a fleck of color remained on them. Not a hint of paint. Not even a small remnant of charcoal. An empty silence filled my head as I considered what I had to leave behind the day my father dragged me into a transport van with no explanation or show of empathy.

“They are coming for you soon.”

I stood and walked to the other side of the cell, hands raised above my head as I forced myself to take a deep breath. I wouldn’t let them take me. I had too much to lose and too many people relying on my safety.

My Uncle Mauro’s self-defense lessons flashed through my mind, and I knew what I had to do as I paced back and forth, trying not to make eye contact with the dozen women who stared at me with sad, remorseful glances.

They looked at me as if I was already dead.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.

The metal of the cell door swung open, and two guards marched inside, reaching for me. I shrugged off their touches and followed without any struggle, which seemed to appease them as they walked toward the exit of the building.

I had felt the breeze outside when the door at the end of the hallway opened, though I hadn’t seen it.

I just had to reach that door, look around, and run.

The man to my left spoke to the other casually, using a tone that suggested he felt anything but threatened. I walked with hunched shoulders to show the lack of threat I posed, and itseemed to work as I kept my eyes down and followed them into the crisp night air.

Night.

For the first time in a while, fresh air tickled my nostrils, and the haze of the night sky filled my vision, polluted by the city light around us but still more beautiful than I had imagined.

Would I be able to express the emotions of this moment in a painting once I escaped? Would the sadness and hopelessness convey itself if I managed to fully encompass this still life? Or would I paint a glimmer of hope with the colors and vibrancy?

I exhaled and surveyed my surroundings, including the minivan that sat about twenty yards ahead of me, the lights on and illuminating the pot-hole-covered parking lot in front of the van.

It was now or never.

If they got me in the van, I would not stand a chance. But here—the city swarming with people around me even at this late hour—there was an opportunity. I took three more steps before steeling my resolve and turning toward the first guard.

He glanced over at me, his expression showing a lack of concern that proved I had done my job well. I reached toward him and pulled his gun from his holster without a second thought. I had never killed before and had never expected my artist’s hands to do something so brutal and merciless, but what choice was there?

If I were to be trapped under the thumb of this Clide man, I would be leaving too many people behind. If I let them do this, more people than just me would suffer.

The cherub face of a three-month-old baby girl flashed behind my eyes—a little girl who relied on me for income and safety. She needed a mother, and I had been absent for too long already. I had been paving the way for a safe life, and I had come so damn close.

I wouldn’t let that safety dissolve. She deserved the world, and I would give it to her.

I turned the gun on him and removed the safety, not allowing myself to hesitate before pulling the trigger.

I watched the shock in his eyes as the gun exploded, and he fell backward. The terror and surprise resembled the look I had seen in the eyes of a dozen girls before they were whisked away from the cells, so I felt no remorse for him as the second guard’s arms wrapped around me. One of them pinned me to him, and the other grabbed my wrist in a bruising grip that had the gun clattering to the ground.

I bent my knees for more leverage as he pulled me backward, and I slammed my heel into his shin, eliciting a hiss of pain from him. I reached for his gun, too, but he had seen my intentions and shifted away too quickly. He reached for me, grabbing a fistful of my hair as rage filled his eyes.

The pain of the grip had me reaching up and grabbing his hand to loosen the pressure, but he dragged me back toward the van.

I screamed.

The guard cursed again and pulled me closer to him, covering my mouth with his sweaty palm. I opened my mouth and bit down hard enough that I tasted blood. As he tried pulling away, I continued biting until he had released my hair, and I toppled to the ground.

I gave myself no time to adjust as I scrambled to my feet and took off sprinting, ignoring the small rocks that tore at the bottom of my feet. I stumbled over what felt like a shard of glass, but I kept going.

The door to the van slid open, and I didn’t bother looking over my shoulder as I heard it rev and take off after me. If I could find somewhere to turn and hide—somewhere a person would see me—I could escape and be home free. I could go and get my daughter and…

Andwhat?

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