Page 75 of Brutal Truths

“She’s fast,” he mutters, wrapping his arms around Merial to hold her in place. “Look, honey. You go that way, we all die. So, we’re going this way. I’ll walk you out. Keep you safe.”

Ten minutes later, I’m cutting the last wire from Jen. Not done yet. I still have to pick the handcuffs and get us the fuck out of here.

I rip the duct tape covering her mouth so she can speak. That’s when there’s a sharp pop. An acrid smell of sulfur almost immediately fills the air.

“Is that what I think it is?” Jen asks, her eyes widening.

Fuck.

As soon as one hand is free, I don’t bother with the other. I lift her, throwing her over my shoulder, and run.

We burst outside to find the others sitting on the ground. Slumped. Silent.

Their postures and downcast expressions speak volumes about the stressful day we’ve all had.

“Get up!” I yell as I keep moving, running straight into the tall grass. “It’s gonna blow!”

Three steps into the field, the earth erupts beneath us. The explosion tears through the air, sending a downpour of debris raining around us.

The force and heat slams me into the ground. I twist, and instinctively use my body to shield Jen.

I feel it. The impact hits hard. Pain flashes at the back of my head.

Then darkness.

Chapter 22

Isabel

I must’ve fallen asleep.

The letter is still open next to me, the ink etched into the page like it’s burned there. I can’t look away from my mother’s handwriting. My pillow is damp beneath my cheek, a cold testament to the silent tears that fell as I drifted into sleep.

Her written words hurt. Every time I read them, it’s like getting struck by a lightning bolt, leaving me raw and exposed. Everything I’ve ever wanted to know is right in front of me.

A truth I never saw coming. A scandalous one at that. Until now I was blind to it, because it had been hidden from me—but not everyone.

Those I trust most knew. For years. And they said nothing. Kept me in the dark.

That hurts more than anything else.

I understand why they kept quiet when I was younger, but as I got older, someone should’ve told me. This letter was mine. The last one my mother wrote to explain everything in her own words. Because she’s the only one who could. It was her story to tell, her choices that shaped the path my life took.

I’m angry.

At whom, I’m not really sure.

Everyone, I guess.

I don’t understand why it had to be such a big secret. Who the hell is my biological father? Is he really that big of a threat to me?

As I sit up, I wipe my face with the sleeve of Misty’s borrowed sweatshirt. Everything I’ve worn since arriving has been hers. The pants are a little short on me, but the rest fits well enough. I’m not complaining. Getting out of my filthy scrubs was a relief.

The letter trembles slightly in my hand as I focus on the last section. The answer is here. It has to be. The truth about my father, hidden in her message.

I know the portrait well. I’ve sat in front of it more times than I can count, talking to her like she could hear me. Studied every detail, right down to how many freckles she had on her nose—seven.

The shamrock brooch. That has to be the clue she’s giving me. It always felt wrong and out of place.