“I have no idea where I was going, okay?” She shoves her palms over her eyes. “Justaway.Away fromyou. All of you! Away from the Kings and you before you can lock me up again and use me just like the De Lucas.”
The unexpected punch in her words nails me right in the chest.
Away from the Kings and you before you can lock me up again and use me just like the De Lucas…
The way she said thatcuts like the blade hidden in my combat boots.
Away fromme. The monster.
That’s more than enough for her to flee.
Kiara’s right to try and get away from me. She’s right about everything. We might not be planning to make money off her the way the De Lucas did, but weareusing her to obtain information about our enemies.
I could dress it up and act like the De Lucas are worse.
But that would be pointless.
Especially since what I’m most pissed about isn’t losing out on intel, but the realization that her escape would have ended our time together.
If she’d gotten away, all that back-and-forth we shared earlier? That would have been over.
No goodbye. No nothing.
Just gone.
“Tell me about it.” I cast my eyes to the slowly darkening sky. “About your life there. With the De Lucas, I mean. How did you get tangled up with them in the first place?”
“I wasborn,” she sobs, swiping at her eyes. Before I can ask her what the hell that means, Kiara begins to talk. “You were close before when you said art forger but not one-hundred-percent accurate.” Her chest rises and falls. “I’m not a fake Libertas. I’m a real one.”
Of all the things I thought she might say, this was never even a contender. Who knew all I had to do to get Kiara to share her life story was chase her around the estate? “I’m sorry, could you repeat that?”
“I’m a Libertas.” She sniffs hard, pulling her knees up to her chest again. “They’ve been making money off my paintings since I was fifteen.”
How she can balance in that position on a tiny cement bench is beyond me.
A moment later, her words sink in.
“Fifteen?” My brain does some math and comes up with a missing integer. “How old are you now?”
“Twenty-four.”
I can’t stop myself from looking at her then. “The De Lucas have been selling your paintings for almost ten years?”
She nods.
My mother has been enamored with the work of Libertas since I was a kid. If KiaraisLibertas, how is it possible that Libertas’s work was around before she was born?
I rewind our conversation. She said she wasaLibertas, nottheLibertas.
A lightbulb shines in the back of my mind.
“You’re not the first Libertas, are you?”
“No.” Kiara avoids eye contact.
“Who was the first?”
Her chin dips lower. “My mom.”
