Page 129 of Painted Truths

“Okay, so what my guy has been able to dig up is this... Hastings is currently twenty-eight years old. He went off the grid in his late teens into his early twenties and in those years, he popped up here and there for some petty crimes. Breaking and entering. Carjacking. You know, small shit that kept him in the wild, but fed a very blatant drug addiction.”

Glancing at Alex, I can see he’s gone as pale as a sheet, but upon catching my gaze, he stiffens his shoulders and nods briskly before returning his full attention to Jesse.

“He eventually began staying at St Fintan's, a homeless shelter for which Miss Parker was a volunteer, before being sponsored by one Lauren DeMarco.”

One phone call to Martha confirmed that Hastings is indeed a paid staff member on the books for my company, and his home address was given as my childhood home. He must have been living here with Lauren for the last couple of years while also being her driver.

We've reached the outskirts of the property and have been suited up like the team with bulletproof vests over our casual wear, when Jesse’s number two, Billie, steps forward.

“Okay, guys, when we get the nod, we move as one. Elite will take up the front with your three sticking firmly on our six. If anyone decides to be a damn hero and break out of formation, I will shoot you myself.”

Jesse nods proudly as she returns to his side before being momentarily distracted by his earpiece.

“That’s the go-ahead. Let’s move.”

Our party of seven slowly closes the distance as a unit until a woman's scream rips through the stillness of the countryside, followed by a gunshot.

Before anyone can say or do anything, I've taken off across the wide-open gravel driveway and thrown open the front door, Jesse and Billie right on my heels.

The sight before us is of complete and utter carnage. Dressed head to toe in white, which only makes the blood staining the marble floor underneath her body more shocking, the bane of my existence is staring lifelessly at the vaulted ceiling, a single gunshot wound right in the middle of her forehead.

Without coherent thought, I whirl around to intercept my brother, loathe to have this visual be the last image he has of his mother, regardless of my personal feelings towards her, but I'm too late.

Moving as though in slow motion, his face falls like a house of cards when he registers the sight before him. The other two members of Elite pull Nate and Alex backward as I follow willingly while Jesse and Billie scout the house for signs of Lauren's killer, presumably Hastings.

"Alex, I—"

He holds his hand up, palm facing me, and instantly I stop speaking. His face is harsher than I've ever seen it, and it's as though I can see his walls, identical to the ones I spent years erecting, have been thrown up at speed.

"Ri, let's just get everyone home safe and sound, okay? This can wait."

Putting up a wall in the face of devastation is something I'm somewhat of a professional at, and knowing that this is what he needs, I give it to him, dropping it.

For now, at least.

Billie appears on the steps leading to the front door on silent feet, gesturing for the remaining members of Elite to join herself and Jesse inside, having cleared the downstairs.

"Jesse said one of you three knows how to shoot a handgun?"

Bulls’ question in his deep Texan accent has Nate stepping forward. "Here, the safety is on, but let's hope you won't need to turn it off."

Then he disappears inside after the rest of his team.

Nate and I remain by the entryway, watching as the foursome ascend the massive staircase onto the landing, splitting into two teams of two, with Jesse and Billie turning right, and Bull and Joel going left.

Alex has taken to pacing along the side of the mansion, hands buried in his pockets and his brows firmly drawn together. The tension within our trio is almost intolerable.

We are on the verge of throwing caution to the wind and following them up the stairs when several minutes of radio silence have passed, but two things happen in perfect synchronicity, thrusting us into motion.

Jesse appears at the top of the staircase, holding my little sister, her arms wrapped loosely around his neck. Her face is much paler than her normal olive complexion, standing out even more so with the mass of long dark hair clouding her petite features and a steady stream of bright red blood from a gash across her forehead.

I'm about to move toward them, assuming Billie has my girl, when a strangled scream from somewhere to the rear of the mansion pierces the air.

And my heart.

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

Olivia