Page 11 of Twisted Truths

“Then I guess your dad shouldn’t make promises he can’t keep.” She arches an eyebrow.

She’s not wrong, and we both know it.

“Give us some more time to come up with the money.” I hate the pleading note to my voice.

She appraises me, and her legs drop from the desk to the floor as she straightens in her seat. “Us? Rumor has it you left the family business.”

I don’t know how she knows that—whether my brother or dad alluded to it—but it doesn’t matter. She probably knows everything about us. You don’t get to where she is without properly sizing up your competition.

“I find myself back in. At least until this matter is resolved.”

She nods knowingly, as though there’s something I’m not saying but don’t need to because she knows me so well. Even though this is our first face-to-face.

“Why not leave your father to face the consequences of his own actions?”

“He’s my father,” I say. Plus, you’ve made it clear that Bastion and I will be collateral damage. But I don’t add that.

“Loyalty. I like that. I could use that…” She lets the unspoken invitation hang between us.

I shake my head and fist my hands. “Not interested.”

“Are you sure?” She gives me the once-over. “I could use someone like you. Young, beautiful, beguiling. Men never give us women the wide berth we deserve, do they? They constantly underestimate us. How do you think I got where I am?”

“The way I hear it, you betrayed your mentor, killed him, and then filled the void.” The words fly out of my mouth before I can stop them. I stiffen in my seat, waiting for her reaction. For all I know, she has a gun under that desk, and for insulting her, she’ll put a bullet in my head.

To my relief, she laughs. “Oh, I definitely like you. Maybe I should wipe your dad’s slate clean in exchange for having you come work for me.”

My stomach lurches. “Not happening. Now will you give us more time to come up with the money or not?”

She stands from her chair and places her palms on the desk, leaning closer to me. The façade of an amused villain is gone. Now she looks like a sociopath. There’s zero emotion in her eyes. “Not a chance. A deal is a deal, and a debt is a debt. You have three months to get me my money or face the consequences.”

My jaw hardens, and I force myself to hold in the panic wrapping around my throat like barbed wire. I stand from the chair. “Fine. You’ll have your money.”

Though I have no idea how.

“How are you going to come up with that kind of money?” Her head tilts, and the movement looks so animalistic that I suppress a shiver.

“That’s not for you to worry about.”

She grins and her eyes dart to the necklace around my neck—the one thing my mother left me before she took off. My hand flies up to cover it.

“That looks like it might be worth something. Why not hand it over? I’ll put it toward what your father owes me.”

I shake my head. “No way.”

Her grin intensifies, and I realize that I’ve made the mistake of letting her know that this necklace means something to me. That it’s not some costume piece, but it holds sentimental meaning. Sometimes I question why, given that I barely even remember my mother.

Uma holds her hand out between us. “Hand it over.”

My fist tightens around the gold locket. “I said I’ll get you your money. We still have three months.”

“Consider it collateral. If you give me the money you owe me, you get it back.”

We stare at each other for at least a minute, and it’s clear she won’t back down. Anger boils my blood because she’s only doing this to make me suffer, to see me squirm. Not because she really wants the necklace.

Jaw tight, I unclasp the necklace and hand it over. My stomach sinks when it drops into her waiting palm. I turn and walk to the door.

When my hand is on the handle, she says, “And don’t even think of trying to bolt. I’ll find you.”

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