Page 11 of When Lies Unfold

“I told you I wouldn’t.”

He leans in, bringing his face closer to mine. Why would the universe bestow thick, long eyelashes on a man like him?

His next words dust over my lips with his minty breath, his tone gravelly. “See, now…I don’t have much faith when it comes to people’s promises.”

As I peer into his dark eyes, a shiver travels down my spine…but it’s not entirely out of fear. It’s partly a foreign sensation I haven’t experienced in years.

It’s also wholly unwelcome—especially pertaining to this man.

“You can have faith in mine.”

His voice drops even lower. “Yeah?”

Held captive by his gaze, I nod. “Yes.”

A beat passes before he murmurs, “What’s the last thing you sewed?”

What? I blink up at him, unsure of the abrupt change of topic. His random question is anything but; I know this inherently. He’s not the kind of man who does anything without a specific purpose.

“A button.”

His jaw works while I maintain eye contact, refusing to give him any reason to doubt me. “Why butterflies?”

If I thought his sewing inquiry threw me off, that’s nothing compared to this one. He’s questioning my tattoos now?

“Why not?”

He’s instantly in my face, the tips of our noses a breath away from touching. His eyes flash with the promise of violence. “Seems you got a serious problem with answerin’ simple questions.”

I refuse to back down and give in to his intimidation tactics. “Or I just don’t appreciate being interrogated after a long night of work.”

His features harden even further, the demand evident in his clipped tone. “Answer the question. Why butterflies?”

My brows rise in disbelief, my tone matching it. “You’re asking about my tattoos?” Gesturing with a tip of my chin toward the exposed ink along his throat, I counter, “You should know tattoos tend to be personal.” I hold his gaze steadfast, my tone resolute. “It’s not something I share.”

Ohhh, he doesn’t like my answer—or lack thereof. Not one bit. That much is evident when the brackets framing his mouth deepen even further. It’s a pity, too, because his mouth is quite nice.

Too bad it’s connected to an asshole criminal.

Voice like steel, his tone holds an authoritative bite. “I don’t trust you, Miss Arias. Not one bit. And I don’t leave loose ends. But there’s somethin’ about you I can’t quite put my finger on.”

He leans back, assessing me critically. “A part of me wants to believe you don’t wanna be involved in this shit you wound up in. That you’ve got no intention of runnin’ your mouth.”

“Because I don’t.” I supply this quickly—truthfully. “I want nothing to do with any of this.” My following words emerge as sharp barbs. “I don’t go around murdering innocent people.”

A harsh, derisive sound rips from his throat while his features grow stormy. “You think Rafa was innocent?”

Though deceptively calm, his words are veiled in pure menace. “He would’ve fucked you like a goddamn animal if he’d found you in that house.” After he lets that taunt hang between us for a long moment, his voice drops even lower as he dips his face closer to mine. “And the more you resisted, the more he’d get off on it.”

Terrifying images flicker in my mind, and he seems to pick up on it. “Yeah…don’t be thinkin’ some savior died tonight.” That perceptive gaze narrows, boring into mine with unyielding intensity. “Ain’t nobody gonna miss that fucker.”

I hitch my chin higher, resisting the temptation to break eye contact. “I just want to pretend this night never happened. So, rest assured, I have no intention of telling anyone about it.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes.” My response is heavy with exasperation. “Look, I’m exhausted. That was an enormous home I just cleaned by myself. It’s late, and I have to be up early to clean at least a handful of homes tomorrow. So, if you don’t mind, I need to shower and get some sleep.”

A slow, cunning smirk forms on his lips. I wonder if this is the final vision his victims see before they meet their demise.

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