Page 38 of Twisted Lies

“Where are we going?” I ask him.

He shrugs his shoulders. “We’ll stop at the next place we see.”

“As long as we only talk.”

He frowns a little. “Agreed. We need to talk.”

We stop at a place called the Rusty Inn. I doubt anyone has ever slept here as we walk into a rundown bar and sit down at a sticky table. On the walls are mounted fish that were caught from the lake we passed by, though I’d be surprised if anything lives in that dingy lake now.

The one-page menu is already on the table. As expected, the inn serves fish, and I wonder if it came out of that gross lake. We both stick to the soup of the day and order a plate of fries to share. When Bryce tries to order a beer, he gets shot down for being underage. The waitress points at his school blazer. Bryce shrugs charmingly, and she walks off smiling as if they had just shared a joke.

I pull my hair behind my ears before settling my gaze on him. “What do you want, other than me?”

“Why shouldn’t I want you?” he asks.

“I’m not an experiment in slumming,” I reply coldly.

Bryce smirks, placing a napkin in his lap. “I find the best things when I go slumming. That’s how I found the Pit, driving around looking for something to do. And look at it now, a real money maker.”

I shake my head, thinking back on what Wyatt told me. “You’re using people for your own profit, but that comes naturally to you. You don’t even realize it.”

“Let me think if I can come up with another example,” he replies, “You using Justin to explain the books.”

“Why can’t I like Justin?” I ask, raising my voice in frustration.

Bryce lets out a short burst of laughter. “Justin? How could any woman with self-esteem like Justin?”

I’m not sure if I’m defending Justin or my taste in men. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Fine, I’ll pull apart the competition for you.” He’s silent as the waitress places our soup on the table and then continues. “Maybe you’re blinded by their charms, but I’m not. Justin’s father is a serious liability. But Justin is too attached to his family to make a decision for himself. When push comes to shove, he’ll always defer to daddy dearest. As for Wyatt, he’s broke. Or almost there.”

I scoff. “Being poor and broke isn’t the same.”

“Really?” Bryce eyes me as if I’m dense. “His mother wasn’t the woman they wanted for his father. They blame her for his death.”

I still my spoon in my soup. “I thought his father died in a car accident.”

“He did, but they blame her because she didn’t keep him home or die beside him. At any rate, she barely has any income. His uncle dipped into the family funds to cover some bad investments. Wyatt will have to earn a living. His mother tries to help…But what can she really do other than send him a few dollars in a greeting card?”

I sit quietly, amazed by how little sympathy he has for Wyatt. A guy he claims is his friend.

“And Pierce,” he says after tasting his soup.

“Pierce?” I lower my voice, though the ambient noise conceals our conversation. “I hate Pierce.”

“You love to hate Pierce.” He points at me with the spoon. “That doesn’t come from out of nowhere. I’ve seen the way the two of you stare at each other. You think it’s hate, but all I see is you two eye-fucking each other.”

He says eye-fucking a little too crisply. And I squirm a little. “That will never happen. I’d rather kick his face in than talk to him.”

“So you say.” Bryce shrugs his shoulders, smirking.

I gawk at him as he places the soup spoon against his mouth. Bryce truly believes his assessment of my relationship with Pierce. I can’t see the connection between us, except we both like to shout and our tempers are on a short fuse. But that’s no basis for building any kind of relationship, let alone a healthy one.

“He tried to attack me at the dance,” I argue.

Bryce shakes his head. “He wanted to humiliate you in front of me, so I would want you less.”

“That’s insane,” I scoff. “He tries to hurt me, but somehow it’s still about you.”

“He knows you’re not a slut, Astrid, but he tries to prove you are, so I’ll lose interest. He wants me to settle on Charlotte even though we all know you’re the prize, and it’ll be your choice.”

“My choice?” I ask, startled by the confession.

“Choose wisely, Astrid.” His eyes flash. “And that choice would be me.”

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