Page 53 of Tell Me No Lies

I understand. I did the same thing years ago. Maybe not for the exact same reason, but one that is shockingly close.

I know what it's like to desperately need to get away. To be willing to leave it all behind. And I don't want to make them wait.

I don't want to wait either. I'm ready to get the fuck out here too.

So I look from the women in front of me back to Lucy. “I have a plan.”

I list out what I need them to do and when I need them to do it. When I'm sure they understand, I raise one hand to my mouth and rest the other one on my belly. I try to fake a retching sound, but my stomach is a little funny this morning, and I'm afraid forcing it might actually lead to an all-too-real reaction. So I jump up from my chair, gripping my face and my stomach as I rush from the room, hoping my act is believable, and no one will connect the dots.

At least not until we’re far away from here.

Once I'm out of the room, I release my face and stomach, looking up and down the hall. I don't see what I’m seeking, so I hurry away from the small conference room and the auditorium beyond it, hoping I don't have to search the whole fucking building but willing to do it if I have to. I scan the walls in front of me and peek down every corridor I pass. After five minutes of searching, I'm starting to get frustrated.

I reach a swinging door with a small window at the top. Peeking through the window into the laundry room on the other side, I notice all the machines are running, but the place is deserted. I push open the door to get a better look. There has to be a fire alarm in here, right? Lint is a fucking fire hazard and a half. I can't imagine—

My eyes lock onto the alarm, and I let out a relieved breath. I go straight for it, but only make it two steps before a voice behind me stops me in my tracks.

“I think you're lost, little lady.”

Little lady. I roll my eyes since he can’t see my face.

I recognize the voice, but outside of him thinking he’s some sort of fucking cowboy, I can't quite put my finger on why it’s bothering me.

I spin to face him, barely remembering at the last minute to hunch my shoulders and tuck my chin. Rick, the asshole from the elevator group, stands there in all of his judgmental glory, blocking my exit. “I was looking for a washcloth. Someone's not feeling good in our room, and I wanted to get them a cold compress.” I wish I could pat myself on the back, because that was fucking genius and it came out of nowhere. I’m a way better actress than I th—

In a flash he’s on me, pushing me across the room until my back slams into the wall. “You don't have to lie. I know the truth. I've seen the way you look at me.” He starts grabbing me, squeezing my boobs in a completely unskilled way as he tries to smash his mouth onto mine. I turn my head with a grimace, grossed out as he grinds his wiener against me.

“What is wrong with you?” I put both hands at the center of his chest and shove, managing to get him to back up a couple steps. That's all I need. Enough room to get my back away from the wall so I can—

My hand meets the back of my skirt and my stomach drops.

I fucking forgot my self-defense screwdriver. Got all distracted by Tate’s mouth between my thighs and forgot to twist it in my thong before we walked out of the room. “Goddammit.”

The air gets shoved out of my lungs on a grunt as his body slams into mine again. “You've got a filthy mouth too, don't you, slut?” One hand grabs the lower half of my face as the other yanks on my skirt, trying to work it up. “Maybe you should show me what else that mouth does.”

Is he serious? “You are at a Jesus convention.” I try to wiggle my face free. “What is God going to think hearing you talk like this?”

“God's gonna know it's not my fault, it's yours.” He sticks his tongue out of his mouth and tries to push it between my lips. I seal them together tightly, so all he manages to do is sort of lick around under my nose. The minor upset in my stomach flares to life at the grossness of it, and I come really close to gagging, but I swallow it down. I don't want to risk actually having his stale, coffee scented spit in my mouth.

He continues fighting with the copious fabric of my skirt. “You knew the way you kept coming into the room last night would tempt me. You knew what you were doing because you wanted this to happen.”

For the love of—

And I thought drunk barflies were bad. This guy is on a whole different level. Definitely deserving of a stun gun to the scrotum. Or a screwdriver to the sternum.

But neither of those are options available to me right now, and the tangle of skirt around my legs doesn’t allow enough movement to swing a knee, so I'm gonna have to get creative.

I turn my head away as he comes back at me with his tongue, cringing as it slides over my cheek in the direction of my ear. Luckily, the laundry room has plenty of fun items to work with, and face licker here is stupid enough to think I won't use them.

I stretch, reaching toward the shelf beside me, straining against his hold to get as good of a view as I can of what I'm grabbing. I'm not sure how much damage spray starch will do, but I can't imagine it feels too great to the old eyeball.

The second my fingers close around the can, I whip it up between us, using the metal cylinder like a battering ram against his temple. I know it won't do more than stun him, but that's all I need. Just a little bit of surprise to give me some time. The sound of metal against cranium makes me smile and sends Rick stumbling back.

His eyes fly open and his face contorts into an ugly mask of rage. “You fucking bit—”

I raise the can between us and unleash the contents right into those open, angry eyeballs, releasing enough of the liquid to make sure they’ll be nice and crisp.

“I'm a bitch. Yes, I know.” I roll my eyes again as his hands go to his face, fingers digging into his skin as he starts to scream. “But you’re a heathen, and I hope one day you get everything you deserve. Because a little bit of spray starch to the eyeballs doesn't even come close.”

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