Chapter 36
Chapter Thirty-Six
Briar
It’s perversely sunny outside this morning, as if the world’s mocking the darkness of my inner world with its godawful brightness.
Thought you were king of the hill, did’ya?
No one’s gonna forget what I did. Not now, not ever. Might as well have served my time—maybe then people would have considered my debt to society paid in full.
We never did end up going to Addy’s house. It seemed so much easier to keep driving until I came to Marcus’s house. And then all I wanted was to go home and crash. I regret it now. I could have ended this last night. Settled the score.
But when I woke up this morning with a new text from Addy, and that unread text from my father, the culmination of the two messages broke the last restraint inside my mind.
I glare at the safe in my father’s study. It was hidden behind the painting that’s now leaning against the wall by my feet. This one’s just as bright and colorful as the other abstracts in the room, but it depicts a fantasy forest of some kind instead of the seemingly random Rocher inkblot shapes of the others.
Not the greatest hiding place for a safe, but I have a feeling my father didn’t really care much for the location of his safe compared to the security of his vault. Maybe he saw it as a second prize to anyone stupid enough to come in here and try to break into his vault.
This pin code I know. There’s a handgun, our passports, and a few stacks of notes inside the safe. I remember the first time Dad showed gave me the code and showed me how to open it. I went around thinking we were part of an international crime syndicate for weeks before my imagination found something new to latch onto.
I know how to load and shoot the gun, but I’ve never had to use it. To the best of my knowledge, neither has my father.
I ignore it now—it’s not what I came for.
I’m here for one thing only—Addison Green’s motherfucking blood money.
I close the safe and hoist up the painting. As I’m adjusting it to make sure it’s hanging straight, something catches my eye. I turn my head a little and stare at the demonic face of some kind of goblin hiding behind a tree just a few inches away from my nose. It’s looking straight at me, it’s eyes so realistic, there’s no mistaking the gleam of evil flickering inside.
I brush my hands on my ass as I step back, grimacing. I glance at the right-hand corner, at the name scrawled in the corner, but I’ll be fucked if I can make it out.
Christ, what a fucked-up painting. Once you’ve seen that evil little shit, it’s ruined.