Page 81 of Twisted Truths

“Come work for me, and I’ll wipe your dad’s debt clean.”

My mouth drops open. “Is that what this is all about? Is that why you showed up here?”

“Think of what we could accomplish together. I’ve been watching you for years, Ariana. You’re very talented. Innocent enough for people to never suspect you, but devious enough to get the job done.”

I drop my hands to my sides and step toward her. “I already told you. I’m not interested in living the life of a criminal anymore. Once you’re paid off, I’m done.”

Her laugh sends ripples of discomfort up my spine. “You’re never going to get that debt paid off. The clock is ticking, and time is running out. Especially now that you’ll no longer steal from your lover.”

My lips press together into a thin line.

“Yes, that’s right,” she says. “I figured it out. I had my suspicions before I got here, but once I saw you and Obsidian together, it cemented it for me. The reason why your brother had been empty-handed the past couple of weeks.”

Fuck this bitch. “You never said how you even found out where I was.”

Another smirk. “We beat the information of your father and brother.”

My stomach drops like dead weight. “Are they okay?”

“Of course they are. I wouldn’t kill them—yet. They’re too easy to use as motivation for you.”

“Leave them alone!”

She shrugs. “Sure. All you have to do is agree to come work for me.”

I step forward. “I’m never going to work for you. What don’t you understand about that? My conscience is not for sale.”

“Just your cunt is?” She arches an eyebrow. “Is that why you spread your legs for your billionaire boss?”

I hate the way she’s cheapening what Obsidian and I share—or shared. God, I’m not sure I’ll survive this heartbreak if Obsidian doesn’t forgive me.

“You need to leave. I’m not going to come work for you, and we will get that loan paid off in time.”

“Are you sure about that, Ariana? Every choice has consequences. You might not like the consequences of this one.”

I stab a finger in her direction. “I’m sure that I’m never going to work for someone like you. I’d rather die first.”

Her head tilts. “That can be arranged.”

The first fission of real fear ripples through my body. I attempt to call her bluff. “You’re not going to kill me here. In this house.”

One corner of her lips tilts up in a sadistic smile. “Maybe I will. Maybe I’ll say you shot yourself after losing the love of your life.” When I blanch, she laughs. “Oh, yes, sweetie, it’s written all over your face. Either you confessed out of guilt, or he found out somehow. In your deep sorrow and regret, you shot yourself. Once you’re out of the picture, maybe I can have my turn with him.”

She licks her lips, and the thought of that mouth being anywhere near Obsidian fuels a rage so powerful that I feel as though I could whirl into my own tornado. I charge at her with a scream, but she’s ready for me and sends me flying to the side into a piece of furniture. The air is knocked from my lungs, and I gasp, clutching my throat.

Uma picks me up by the hair and drags me over to the desk and chair set against one wall. I try to fight her off, but it’s nearly impossible when I struggle to breathe. My panic rises the longer I can’t get a deep breath, but eventually I’m able to inhale a small amount.

She gets me in the chair, and man, she came prepared. I kick and scream, flailing as she ties one of my hands to the armrest. I fight against her, kicking with my legs and reaching out with my one free hand. My nails rake down her face and snag on her necklace—my mother’s necklace. It snaps and pearls scatter, pinging around the floor around my feet.

She groans a frustrated sigh and yanks my other hand down. She’s stronger than me, and she ties to the other armrest.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

I will not die like this. I can’t. I still have to make everything better with Obsidian. I have to let him know I love him. If he thinks I killed myself, he’ll never be able to live with the guilt.

Uma pulls a gun from the back waistband of her pants and aims it at me. “God, I want to fuck you up, but I can’t if I want everyone to believe you killed yourself. Having your face full of fresh bruises would be hard to explain.”

I try to stand, but the wooden chair is too heavy. A scream rips from my throat at the pain in my ribs. Attempting to work my hands free, I wiggle them around, biting the inside of my mouth until I taste copper.

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