Page 13 of Twisted Truths

“I scared you? She should scare you. You should never have gone there!”

My dad is an easy-going guy and hardly ever gets mad. When I brought home a D in math my sophomore year of high school because I was more into partying and following Tommy Benson around than I was in my classes, he didn’t bat an eye. Then again, he never was a believer in traditional education. The only time he ever really gets pissed at Bastion or me is when we mess up a scam. Then he acts as if it’s the end of the world, ranting and raving.

I look at him over my shoulder. “What did you expect me to do? Have you seen Bastion?” It’s his fault Bast looks like a piñata after a six-year-old’s birthday party.

“You’re the one who wanted out, Ariana.”

I lurch up from the chair to face him, hands fisted at my sides. “Yeah, but now you’ve forced me back in. I’m not just going to let her kill you. What the hell were you thinking getting involved with her in the first place?”

He lifts his chin, looking down his nose at me. “I was thinking about one last big payday, and I could get out of this shit. That maybe you’d be proud of me if I did. That we’d all be free from this life.”

My shoulders sag. It’s possible he believes what he’s saying, but I know it for what it is—a lie. Whether to himself or to me to make me feel more guilty than I already do, I don’t know. My entire life, my dad has been chasing the next big payday, and he’s never found it.

“You should have never gotten into bed with her. You know it. Look at the position we’re all in now.”

“You just worry about yourself, Ari, like you have been doing. Bast and I have been managing just fine on our own these past six months.”

My lips press into a thin line. “I’d beg to differ.”

He scowls and stomps over to the fridge, grabbing a beer. At least it’s nine o’clock at night and not nine in the morning. He twists the beer cap off and tosses it in the sink. “It’s not your problem to worry about.”

Rolling my eyes, I walk over and pluck the cap from the stainless steel and open the cupboard door under the sink, tossing it in the garbage can.

“You’ve made it my problem. Don’t worry, I’ll fix it.” I walk back over to the kitchen table and pick up my laptop, then head to my bedroom.

“How’re you gonna come up with that money?” my dad says.

“I’m going to go get myself a job with a billionaire,” I mumble.

It was no easy feat, but I did it.

After an interview with HR, a skills test, and an interview with one very intense Asher Voss, CEO of Voss Enterprises, I am now the assistant of Obsidian Voss. Why he didn’t interview me himself since I’ll be assisting him, I have no idea.

The only thing I was really nervous about was the background check. I don’t know why. Neither my dad, nor my brother or I have a record. We’ve never been caught or charged for any of the scams we ran—it was one of the tenets of our upbringing. Never attract the attention of the authorities. If we ever thought we may have, we’d haul ass out of town and set up shop somewhere else under a different name.

When I saw the job opening on the Voss Enterprises website and how well my qualifications lined up with what they were looking for, I knew this was my in. The best part is that as a part of the job, I’ll be living at the Voss family home, which undoubtedly means access to all kinds of expensive things I can steal and sell. And not for a little money. A lot of money. Billionaires don’t have two-dollar tchotchkes adorning their mansions.

I don’t feel good about going back to the life of a thief, but it’s necessary to save my family and myself. Besides, billionaires? They probably won’t even notice anything is missing.

I’m booked in a first-class seat, and a driver picks me up from the airport to drive me to the Voss family estate. My stomach feels like a witch’s cauldron, bubbling with nerves the longer I’m snug in the leather seat of the fancy car.

The driver doesn’t speak, so I don’t say anything to him. I sit silently in the back seat and watch the city streets turn into country roads until we stop in front of a large set of iron gates.

This must be it. My hand falls to my stomach.

The driver punches in a code, and the gates slowly ease open. We drive down a winding road with large, old trees on either side. Eventually, the trees stop, and I get my first glimpse of my new home.

Holy shit.

The place is enormous. Bigger than enormous. Unfathomably big. I didn’t even know houses like this existed outside of movies.

Even more than that, this place looks as if it’s been pulled out of a Dracula novel or something. There are a couple of stone gargoyles on the top of the building. The dark stone sucks in the sunlight, and the large towers at each end of the massive building give it an old-world castle feel.

The driver stops in front of the enormous front door with stained glass above it and gets out of the car. I use the moment alone to take a deep breath and slowly blow it out.

Before I’m prepared, he opens the car door and helps me out. I’m not used to the humidity in the south, and I’ve been covered in a thin layer of perspiration since landing. All my clothes cling to my body like a second skin.

“Your bags will be brought to your room. I believe Marcel, the house manager, is waiting for you inside. He’ll direct you where to go,” he says.

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