Page 35 of Under the Lies

If Sayer’s a curious kitten, I’m a lion on the prowl—stalking their prey.

“Let’s go.” I pull her in step with me as we walk into the gambling hall, not giving her a choice in the matter.

Once people see us tonight it’ll spread like brushfire, one I fully intend to stroke.

I spy Reeve with two of our bouncers sitting in a booth on the opposite end of the room. I make a beeline for them, ignoring the whispers that follow me as I do.

At this point, the whispers are nothing but static noise.

Glancing to my side, Sayer walks with her chin pointed down and her blonde hair fanning across her face. She’s trying to hide.

My teeth grind and I’m not entirely sure why. All I know is that I don’t like her acting like this. Like she’s meant to be invisible.

I let go of her hand when we make it to the table. Reeve gives me a look as I guide Sayer into the booth, my hand on the small of her back. I slide in after her.

Our patron sits directly in front of me, Dr. Rochester, plastic surgeon to the socialites. I don’t focus on him. Not yet. Instead my attention is on my friend.

“You lose your shirt?” I stare at Reeve who’s wearing nothing but a pinstriped blazer and a few corded necklaces over his bare chest, which is covered in splatters of paint and—I squint to double check, and yep—bite marks.

“Ruined, actually.” He sighs, adjusting the top hat on his head. “Such a shame really. One of my favorite shirts destroyed over a lackluster fucking.”

Mr. Rochester shifts in his seat while Sayer coughs beside me.

I grin.

Reeve winks, running his hand down his chest. “See anything you like?”

I roll my eyes. “Yes, Reeve. After all this time, here and now, is when I am finally succumbing to my desire for you.” My voice in monotone.

He chuckles, turning to Sayer. “What about you, Baby Brooks?”

Sayer doesn’t say anything as she stares, wide eyes and blushing cheeks.

“Enough,” I growl.

Reeve stares at me for a beat too long before nodding.

Sayer scoots closer to me so her thigh is pressed against mine.

I focus on Dr. Rochester. “So. Charlie. I hear there’s a problem with you not paying what you owe.”

The man in question shakes his head before I’m even finished. “I don’t owe anything. As I was telling your friend—”

Reeve coughs. “Business partner.”

Dr. Rochester cuts Reeve a dry look. “Business partner,” he amends, “that I don’t owe—”

“Charlie.” My elbows press into the table. “Do you take me for an idiot?”

His eyes widen. “What? Of course not—”

“Of course you don’t.” I nod, leaning forward. “So why are you trying to play me the fool?”

“I’m not.” If possible his eyes go wider.

“Oh, but you are.” My voice drops. “You owe us a quarter of a million dollars, Charlie. And that’s not including the late fees.”

Reeve leans in, mock whispering, “You don’t want to see what we do to people who don’t pay their late fees.”

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