Page 8 of Tell Me No Lies

“She wants to file for divorce, but his parents are watching her like a hawk.” Myra’s voice is quiet as she offers up her first contribution. “She has to be careful or she’ll never get her girls out.”

I glance at Simon, before turning back to Lydia. “What’s the plan?”

“We’re going to go get them.” She chews her lower lip, looking a little uncertain as her eyes dart from me to Piper. “Remember our initial plan when we went to get Myra?”

I go still, eyes dragging to the wall across from me. Piper wiggles one finger at me in a little wave. “Hey, husband.”

"LYDIA THINKS WE can just jump now that Myra’s friends got the last passport they were waiting on.” Christian now fills the chair behind his desk. Lydia, Piper, and Myra filed out a few minutes ago, leaving us to make plans for an upcoming show at The Cellar. I doubt we make it that far. “I don’t know how to tell them we can’t just roll up and take seven people." He blows out a breath. “Two, maybe. Not seven.”

Orchestrating the rescue of a group of women from the small town in Arkansas where Christian, Lydia, and Myra grew up has turned out to be a much larger undertaking than any of us expected. Not only do we have to find a time and a place to get them out, but we discovered the place they plan to go is in Canada. That means we also have to make sure the whole group will be able to cross the border, including the little girls.

Christian and I offered them jobs and help finding places to stay here in Memphis, but they want to put as much distance between themselves and the men who've ruled their lives as possible. I can’t blame them, but it makes everything a hell of a lot more difficult.

As do the passports.

"They need to keep all their documents somewhere safe. If anyone sees them—"

Christian shakes his head, cutting me off. "We've got a contact in the next town over who’s picking them up tomorrow and mailing everything here to my place so no one has to worry about someone seeing them and figuring out what's going on."

I snort, wishing I wasn't still bitter after all these years. "Great. Then we only have five hundred other fucking things to worry about going wrong while we wait." The waiting is the part that kills me. Always has.

Always will.

Waiting leaves time for shit to go sideways. Gives minds time to change. And while I’m all for these women being able to make their own choices, I can’t pretend I don’t have an opinion on the ones they should make.

"I know it's hard, but we're not just dealing with adults on this one." Christian holds my gaze, stare unwavering as his voice lowers even further. "We’re dealing with kids this time. We’ve got to take extra precautions."

I rake one hand through my hair, trying to find it in me to chill the fuck out. "I fucking hate this."

Christian nods, his face filled with an amount of empathy only someone who knows where I’m coming from could offer. "I know, but we’ve got to make sure we can get those girls across the border. If we can't—"

"I already know what happens if we can't." I tip back what's left of the gin and tonic in my glass, not even bothering to roll it around my mouth to enjoy the bite of juniper. Tonight I'm more interested in letting the alcohol sink its teeth into me. I need it to temper the anger I can never seem to shake.

Christian’s gaze follows my movement, pausing on the drink I downed in only a few swallows. "Think you can handle Piper?"

I almost laugh, because handling Piper isn’t what I’m worried about. She seems to be doing just fucking fine. Outside of the occasional glare she shot my way, she barely even seemed to notice my existence.

Which is complete bullshit, considering she came on my cock three times a few hours ago.

"Whatever it takes to get them out." My already dark mood turns black and I stand from my spot on the couch next to Simon. "I'll see you later. Let me know if you hear anything else."

Christian smirks at me, making a show of looking at his watch. "It is almost your bedtime, isn't it?"

I give him the finger instead of responding, carrying my tumbler to the kitchen and racking it in the dishwasher before silently slipping out the back door and into the night. My house is directly next door to Christian’s, our yards connected, so I cut across the small expanse of grass and take the steps leading into my own back door two at a time.

There's no missing the difference between his home and mine as I step in the door. Even if you had your eyes closed, you would still feel the shift. Christian’s place feels warm and inviting. Comfortable and homey. My house feels empty. Silent. Cold and almost sterile. It would be jarring if I wasn’t so used to it.

After dropping my keys onto the hunk of plywood serving as a counter, I kick off my boots. The floors might not be finished in any civilized sort of way, but I keep them clean. That goes for the rest of the place too. I know it’s shitty by most people’s standards, but this is the nicest place I've ever lived. Maybe that's why I haven't pushed to finish it. Sometimes it's easier to stick with what you know.

Or maybe it's just what I deserve. Maybe everyone else around me is getting what I want because they've earned it. Proved they deserve it. And I haven't.

Today sure as hell makes it seem like that's a reasonable possibility.

I open the fridge, pulling out another beer as I make my way to the front of the large building I bought back when I thought everything was changing for the better. When I was sure the things I'd wanted my whole life were within my reach.

Yet here I sit. As alone as I've ever been.

I'm halfway up the stairs when someone knocks on my front door. I pause because the only people who come here use the back. Even if Christian or Simon did decide to use the front, they both know when I go to bed and that there’ll be hell to pay if they fuck with my schedule.

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