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But if this was an important message or package for him, I couldn’t exactly ignore it when I was home.
Sighing, I opened the door.
But instead of a greeting, something was shoved at me, and the man walked away before I got a chance to say or ask anything.
It wasn’t until he looked back at me before heading away that I recognized him.
Shit.
Shitshitshitshit.
I rushed back inside, locking the door, and looking down at the envelope with shaky hands.
Stomach twisting so that nausea had no choice but to start rising up, I flipped it over, and pulled open the flap.
Reaching inside, I felt the glossy sides of what had to be pictures.
Oh, God.
Of what?
I wanted to throw them away without looking. To burn them in the fireplace. To shred them to a million pieces in Emilio’s office.
But I would be doing no one, least of all myself, a favor by avoiding this. There was no avoiding this. Renzo could and would find me whenever he wanted to. He’d sent me here, after all.
Taking a steadying breath, I pulled out the pictures.
Just two of them.
The one on top was a familiar one, from a different angle than I’d experienced it, though.
Drunk Emilio and myself, him pushing me against the door, his lips on mine, his arm holding up my knee so he could press against me, show me how much he wanted me.
Oh, God.
He knew.
He knew and there was no way he wasn’t absolutely pissed.
Somehow knowing what was on the next picture, I flipped to it with shaky hands.
And there he was.
My brother.
Beaten and bloody.
Tears sprang to my eyes as I flipped over the picture.
I want it today. No more fucking excuses.
A whimper escaped me as I walked numbly through the house, putting the image of my brother and the threat through the shredder.
But I couldn’t quite seem to do the same with the picture of Emilio and I.
I wanted that.
It would probably be the only thing I would have to show myself that this actually happened, that I had the attention of a man like him, that I had begun to love him.
Blinking back the tears, I tucked the picture into my purse by the door.
Then, in a sort of daze, I found myself walking upstairs to put on some clothes, then went back into Emilio’s office.
There was no more searching, no playing around.
Not anymore.
Not when my brother was being beaten.
I knew where I needed to look.
So I pulled out the briefcase.
I found some of the spray air and something blunt to hit the lock with once I froze it.
And then I was in.
My heart was hammering so hard in my ears that it drowned out everything else. Including my own thoughts as I opened up the briefcase.
And inside I found… wads of cash. Fifties and hundreds. Thousands and thousands of emergency cash. Passports and legal documents. Some in his real name, some in aliases.
The deed to the house.
Car and home insurance paperwork.
Some old photographs he had tucked away for safekeeping.
Then, finally, almost at the bottom of it all… the paperwork that Renzo needed. The ones he wanted badly enough to plant me here.
My fingers were shaking so hard that all the words swam on the page as I looked at it.
This was it.
What Renzo needed.
The piece of paper that was going to change everything.
The whole reason I was in this house.
And once I had it, once I got it to him, that was it. It was over.
I couldn’t stay.
My heart ached at the very thought of leaving, but there was no way I could continue on like nothing happened after this betrayal.
What I had done so far was bad enough.
There was no recovering from this.
And I was going to hurt him.
That was the worst part.
This man who had been nothing but good and kind and generous to me.
The one who I’d gotten to watch lighten up and become happier.
What would happen now?
Would the darkness come back? The heaviness? Because of me?
Tears flooded my eyes, pouring over before I had a chance to try to rein them in. Before I knew it, they were cascading off my jaw, dropping in wet blobs onto the paper.
I was so distracted. By my adrenaline. By my grief.
That I missed it.
All of it.
The front door opening and closing.
The whistle.
The steps down the hallway.
If he called my name.
Then there he was.
In the doorway.
“Avery, what the fuck?”
If there was any doubt about my guilt, the way I jolted and dropped the paper, then backed away was all the proof he needed.
Even through my swimming eyes, I could see the shock, the disbelief, the slow understanding, then the crushing disappointment.
My heart shattered in my chest.
“Avery…” he said, taking a few steps inside, toward me.
I didn’t think.
I didn’t even grab the paper I needed.
I just flew past him.
Out of the room, down the hall, barely pausing to grab my purse on the table, then out of the front door.
