Page 5 of Bitter Truth
“Then should I call the DA? Tell him you’ve changed your mind?”
“No.”
“Are you serious?”
“Completely. Jake—”
Releasing me, he crosses his arms. Shakes his head, jaw tense, nostrils flaring as he glares a hole into the wall. A spark of outrage lights inside my belly. Does he think I’m being difficult on purpose? That I somehow enjoy this?
“Don’t you think that if there was something I could do to make this all go away that I would?” My voice rises as I step away, beyond his reach. Shooting a glance toward the door, afraid of being overheard, I force myself to take a breath and speak calmer. “It’s too late for that.”
I rub my temples, trying to ease the throbbing that’s taken root. “You’re not seeing the big picture. Theyknow I don’t need to testify to seal their convictions. They don’t care. That’s not what this is about.”
“Then what is it about? Tell me, Cassie. I’m trying to understand.”
Turning my back, I take a moment to compose myself so I’m not screaming when I say, “Revenge.”
He curses. The couch creaks as he takes a seat. Risking a peek behind me, I find him cradling his head in his hands, fingers threaded through his dark hair.
“Let’s leave,” he says, without looking up.
“We can’t do that.”
“But we could.”
“The animals—”
“We could find a chunk of land somewhere, open a new sanctuary. Pay someone to take care of them until we get settled, then send for them.”
“But this is home,” I say quietly. Swallowing hard, I add, “And even if it wasn’t, leaving might not solve anything. I don’t want to have to look over my shoulder for the rest of my life, worrying about them finding us.”
“Then what do you suggest? That I just stand by and wait until the inevitable day comes when someone makes the shot? When you’re the target?” His face is red, eyes moist as he looks up at me. “I can’t do that. I won’t.”
I hate seeing him like this. Hate feeling like it’s my fault, when it’s not. It isn’t his, either. We were just children when this was all set in motion.
Crossing to him, I take a seat on the arm of the couch beside him. Try to muster a smile, though I fail, as I cup his face in my hands.
“I’m not asking you to.”
Wrapping an arm around me, he scoops me from my perch onto his lap. As I settle against him, I do my best to forget about the danger and the chaos, trying to focusonly on the here and now—the way my heart feels like it’s turning cartwheels when he holds me, the faint scent of soap still clinging to his skin, how, even now, when it seems like danger is lurking around every corner, I long to lose myself in him.
“I’m going to think of something. Find a way to fix this. We’re going to take our lives back,” I say. “I promise.”
I hope that it’s true. But if it’s not? Then I pray that I’ve at least found a way to keep him safe when it turns out I’m wrong.
CHAPTER 4
My heart pounds like a heavy metal drummer. My skin feels like it’s shrunk, tightening uncomfortably over sinew and bones. The acrid taste of anxiety coats the back of my tongue, the icy fingers of fear wriggling like worms over the back of my neck.
I draw deep breaths, struggling to compose myself. I need to calm down. Relax. Nothing bad is going to happen, and even if it were, having a panic attack will accomplish nothing other than damaging my pride. I can do this. I know I can.
And yet, I pause on the threshold before stepping completely outside, my fingers holding onto the open door with an iron grip, as if it’s tethering me to safety. Even though it’s morning, it’s so early that it’s still dark out, long shadows holding court until the sun rises to chase them away. A thick blanket of fog hovers low over the ground.
Anything could be hiding behind that misty vapor. Anyone. It’s not a comforting thought.
I peer around, searching the gloom for signs of life. Listen closely, though the silence is eerily complete. Wait for the telltale prickle of eyes on my skin. But there’s nothing. Just me feeling like a chicken as I stand here, working up my nerve to enter my own yard.
“Everything okay?”
