Page 25 of Brutal Truths

Picking up the hairbrush, I move slowly, working it through the knots in my hair. It tugs more than I like, sending sharp sparks of pain through my scalp. But I push through until it’s manageable.

Setting it back down, I take a second, steadying myself.

Bloody hell. This sucks bollocks.

Once I feel marginally better, I pat my palms against the pocket of my scrubs, knowing I usually keep a handful of hair ties inside. I’m not wrong. There’s a lump in my left pocket, and I shove my hand inside and drag one free. Then, very carefully, gather my hair into a loose ponytail.

Even that is almost too much, making me dizzy and unbalanced.

But I don’t stop. I can’t.

Flipping the faucet on next, the pipes moan in protest. It sputters at first, uneven and hesitant, like it’s been sitting too long before finally giving into a slow, steady stream of water.

An odd odor follows. Metallic. Stale.

It drags up memories of the properties my family owns in Hermosa Islas, those that sit unused for months at a time. It always took about a day for the water to clear, for that smell to disappear.

I stare at the stream, and it puts a sour taste in my mouth.

No one has lived here for a while. From the looks of it, it’s been ages. Meaning, it’s the last place anyone would think to look for me.

Fuck.

Needing to do what I can to feel better, I wash my face first, using only my hands and soap. No towels or washcloths have been laid out for me, so I let the water drip dry. The warmth helps clear my thoughts and gives me a false refreshing feeling.

The right side requires careful attention. It’s a slow process. The slightest touch is enough to send a sharp wave of pain through my cheek, my stomach roiling in response.

I breathe through it and keep going. Not about to stop until all the blood is gone.

Now, to brush my teeth.

This won’t be easy, but it’ll get rid of that dry, nasty film coating my mouth. Taking my time, careful of my jaw as I brush. Not that it helps. My arms grow heavy; even this is taking more out of me than it should.

Once that’s done, I grab a paper cup and fill it with water, rinsing my mouth before spitting it into the sink. Red-stained water disappears down the drain.

Pressing my tongue against my teeth, I test them. A few are loose, which explains the blood. Great.

At least my mouth is minty fresh now.

Knowing I need to be careful drinking water that could be contaminated, I stick to a small cupful. Only one. If that stays down and doesn’t make me sick, I’ll drink more again in an hour.

Before walking out of the bathroom, I take one last look at my reflection and groan.

It’s an improvement. Not by much.

As the fog in my head continues to lift, reality hits hard. I’m on the verge of tears as I consider what Aiden would say if he saw me right now.

“You’d better hope he doesn’t find me first,” I say to no one. “Because I’m starting to think he might be more dangerous than Gabby… and that’s saying something.”

No longer wanting to look at myself, I flip off the light and head back for the bed. I’m wiped out. I need to lie down. Rest.

The bedroom door swing opens before I make it halfway, startling me. The three men who brought me here step inside, their bodies filling the doorway.

My heart slams against my chest, instinct screaming. Fight-or-flight.

There’s nowhere to run. So, I square my shoulders and prepare to put up one hell of a fight.

Marty turns to look at me, and I catch something I hadn’t earlier—his tattooed arms on full display beneath a dark t-shirt.