Page 1 of Under the Lies

“To my Sayer! For moving back home to be closer to me so I’d miss her less!” my best friend, Brin, shouts over the pounding music in the club. She shoves a tall, skinny shot glass in my limp hand.

“And not at all because I came back to finish grad school,” I add dryly.

Among other things…

“Grad school, smad school.” Brin waves away my words, not seeing the lackluster shine in my eyes. She can’t, not when she’s well on her way to drunktown.

Clinking our glasses together, she tosses hers back and her delicate face pinches in a grimace. “Gah!”

I follow suit, wincing from the burn and chase it with my watered down soda. God, shots. Of all the ways to consume alcohol, shots, by far, are my least favorite.

Taking the empty glass from my hand, Brin drops it on a nearby, occupied table, ignoring the nasty and confused looks from the people sitting there, before pulling me into a bone-crushing hug. “I’m so glad you’re back!”

I can hear it. The excitement and the happiness and the love in her voice. Brin’s thankful I’m home.

My arms wrap tight around her and my eyes close in relief. It’s been a long time since I’ve been hugged by a friend. So long tears prick my eyes as I whisper with words too low to be heard, “Me, too.”

It’s a half-lie bitter on my tongue.

We break apart and I study our surroundings. Call it growing up with a paranoid granddad but it’s ingrained in me to always be aware of where I am. Unfortunately for me, that currently happens to be the last place I ever wanted to visit in this forsaken city.

Heathen’s Hell.

A den of debauchery. A place for sinners and dealers.

I mean, they even have cages.

Metal and ornate and structured like birdcages, they dangle from the ceiling with men and women in elaborate masks dancing in them. My gaze keeps straying up, unable to look away.

It honestly might be the safest place to look. At least when I stare at them, I don’t find myself looking between the sea of people on the crowded dance floor or around the lounge where Brin and I are loitering.

I keep telling myself I’m not looking for him, convincing myself that my heart isn’t skipping at the sight of every tall man with broad shoulders and dirty blonde hair that my gaze locks on.

I’m trying to pretend I don’t care if I see him when that’s the only reason why I came here.

Even if I don’t talk to him, I have to see him.

Noah Kincaid.

My tormentor, my first crush. My devil.

His name haunts the streets of this city, half the buildings are plastered with it, but it’s not just his money that makes people stand at attention, it’s the way he holds himself. With authority and arrogance, like he’s better than you and wants to make sure you know it.

He’s the unofficial ruler, this city is his kingdom and I’m on the hunt for his throne.

Merely out of curiosity. To see if my memories of him match up or if he’s evolved into something worse.

At least, that’s what I’ve been telling myself since we walked in here.

My fluttering stomach says otherwise. I ignore it.

Brin grabs my shoulders, giving me a shake. “Get out of your head, Say. Let’s go dance!”

I let her pull me to the dance floor. There was a time where I would’ve been the one pulling Brin, and just like the hug that feels like a different time. I used to love dancing, I used to love a lot of things, but like so many things that have brought me joy, it’s on pause and I don’t know if I’ll ever hit play again.

But I try. As my body sways and thrusts to the beat, I dig down deep into myself where a light once shone. I dig and dig and dig only to find cold, vicious darkness.

I stop moving. Dancing no longer holds an appeal.

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