Page 3 of Wicked Truths
My body is frigid, like my blood is freezing over. And my eyes won’t open. The darkness calls loudly for me now, taking me to it.
I’m scared.
I’m suffocating on my own blood.
I can’t move.
A hand touches my neck. It’s soft and warm, but it feels too late.
I try to open my eyelids but they stay closed as I lie there in silence, the footsteps faint in my ears.
There are no stars...no sound...nothing.
Only the darkness kisses me goodnight.
1
Amara
Three weeks earlier
The water cradles melike a second skin as I float with my arms outstretched and on my back in the infinity pool. Beyond the glass fence, the Pacific Ocean stretches, endless and blue. The sun glints like diamonds on the water.
My earbuds are in, but no music plays. Instead, I listen to the argument drifting down from the terrace above.
“It’s the best offer you're going to get, Helena.” Dom’s voice carries that edge of finality. “Two million. Take it and walk away.”
“Two million?” Her laugh is brittle. “I deserve twenty-five, minimum. For what I’ve put up with being with you.”
A splash of water rolls over my face as I adjust my position. The sun burns hot overhead, but a chill runs through me at my mother’s response.
“Put up with?” The ice in Dom’s tone could freeze hell over. “The vacations? Credit cards? Staff waiting on you, hand and foot?”
“I’m taking you to court. My lawyer says—”
“By all means.” Dom’s laugh holds no humor. “Though you might want to ask that lawyer what rights you have.”
The water suddenly feels cold against my skin. I close my eyes, knowing what’s coming.
“What are you talking about?” Mother’s voice rises. “We’re married!”
“Are we? Show me the marriage certificate.”
“We had a ceremony—”
I float in the pool, the water lapping at my ears as I listen to the argument above. Another argument. I just wish she would take the money and take us from here. But soon I’ll have enough money of my own.
“A blessing. Nothing legal. Nothing is binding.” Each word drops like a stone. “Check the records if you don’t believe me.”
The silence stretches, broken only by the lap of water against the pool’s edge.
Then comes the sound of breaking glass - probably another of Dom’s crystal tumblers meeting its end against a wall.
Helena is good at that.
Her heels click rapid-fire across the terrace, followed by the slam of the French doors.
Minutes after the silence finally falls, I hear the heavy tread of Dom’s footsteps as he approaches the edge of the pool. I watch him from behind my sunglasses, sinking into one of the lounge chairs, a glass of bourbon in his hand.
