He filled both glasses. “Like I said, your art show was proof—you were more fired up than you had been in years. And you were clearheaded. That was a dangerous combination.”

“David bought my picture. I saw it at his place.” My head spun and my vision blurred.

“They’re very compelling pieces, especially for him.”

“Did he drug me when I sold him the print?”

“Yes.”

Though I’d sensed David’s lies about my drinking, it felt good to hear I hadn’t. “I must have stumbled out of the bar and made it to my car.”

“Again, you’re a survivor.”

“He followed. He was there at the accident.”

“Yes.”

“He took my phone.”

He handed me the next shot glass. “For once, he was thinking ahead.”

I raised the glass to my lips, glanced into the liquid depths, and then downed the shot. The booze did what it always did after the first or second drink. It made me believe all things were possible. I poured another shot. “There’s ice in the refrigerator. My head is hurting. Can you get me some ice?”

He studied me a beat. “Of course.”

He crossed the kitchen, grabbed a dish towel hanging over the sink. Draping the terry cloth over his palm, he opened the freezer and filled it with ice. He carefully twisted the end, forming a loose ball of ice.

“I’m sorry,” he said, handing me the ice pack. “I don’t like to hurt people. I’m really a gentle soul. But blood is thicker than water. You sided with your family after Clare died and sold out Jo-Jo. Christ, your father sued her parents.”

I pressed the ice to my jaw, flinched as the cold touched the bruised skin. “It was a shitty thing.”

“So, you get it?”

“I do.” I downed the shot and licked my lips. Even though the booze promised I could do anything, I knew it lied. Soon, my mind would fog. But for now, I was calm but still in control. I had to make the best of this very fleeting sweet spot if I was going to get out of here alive. “Can I have more?”

“Of course.”

As he turned to get the bottle, I twisted the towel tightly around the ice. He looked up at me just as I swung the ice ball and struck him hard against the side of his head. He staggered as I reached for the bottle of tequila.

“No, no, no!” he shouted.

He reached for me as I gripped the bottle’s neck and swung it with my full weight behind it. Tequila sloshed over us both as the hard glass hit him on the side of the head, breaking into pieces that cut into his skin.