Page 1 of The Lies We Believe

PROLOGUE

Dreams were just that—a fallacy, an illusion. Something pretty that helped get you through your darkest moments. But they would never become real; they were just the lies we believed.

Don’t give up,my heart begged.

It’s too late,my brain said.

My bones ached, and my soul was tired. I just want to sleep…

I’ve got you,the world whispered as the wind ghosted over my skin.Be patient. Your time is coming.The darkest night is the one before the brightest dawn, and when the sun breaks, it will chase all your shadows away.

“Come back to me.”

CHAPTER 1

RIVER

Today could fuck off.

I’d taken four loads in my ass already, and I just wanted to shut the world out. I was raw, bruised, and bleeding, and I knew it was just the beginning of a long weekend. Cum seeped from my abused hole and trickled down my thighs, making my threadbare jeans stick to me. I was nothing but a toy to be used for the enjoyment of others.

It was a fate I accepted long ago, because I was powerless to change it.

I’d become a favorite with clients who frequented Black Dahlia’s services. I might have been twenty-five, but I looked eighteen, and nothing sold better than a youthful face that fed into an old man’s fantasy. There were some sick fucks in this world. It didn’t hurt that I never spoke either, so my clients were free to maintain whatever illusion they’d created in their fucked-up minds.

It wasn’t that I couldn’t speak, but that I chose not to. What was the point of having a voice if no one listened? It only led to pain and rejection. The only person I’d ever willingly spoken to was Bane, but after he left, I didn’t see the point anymore. I didn’t trust anyone enough to open myself up to them.

I’d taught myself to handle physical pain by shutting my mind off and drifting away to that special place where dreams came true and I lived another life—one where I was happy, wanted, and needed. I hoped for love too, but I wasn’t sure what that felt like. Was that even possible when I was this broken? The fantasy came crashing down the second I opened my eyes, and the real world came back with a vengeance.

I swore to myself fifteen years ago that I’d never allow myself to feel emotions. A broken heart was impossible to heal. The muscle still beat in my chest, but I prayed to a god I didn’t believe in that it would give out before I had to endure another year of this existence I called life.

I shook my head and ran my hand through my hair as if that would clear those dangerous thoughts from my mind. I was a mass of contradictions. I dreamed about a life I’d never live, hating the one I’d been forced into but was too afraid to run away from. The irony wasn’t lost on me; running away from my last foster home was what landed me here. I left because I was afraid I’d get raped or beaten to death without Bane there to protect me. Where I ended up turned out to be even worse. It happened daily. If I tried to run, I’d get shot down like Hen did two years ago.

My ears picked up at the sound of the shower shutting off. I couldn’t wait for my turn. Not that I’d be clean for very long—it was Friday after all, and weekends meant we didn’t get a break. I loathed the feeling of the denim pulling against my skin almost as much as I hated being covered in another man’s cum.

“It’s all yours, Riv,” Dale called and shuffled out of the tiny bathroom we all shared. “Do you need anything?”

I shook my head and winced at the pain lancing down my neck from the sharp movement. The rope burns around my throat were red and pulsing, my collar irritating them. I took a step toward the bathroom instead of saying anything. Dalesighed and grabbed my notebook and pen, forcefully shoving them in my hand. I stared at them, not really here, my mind wandering. The light that had been in his eyes faded, just like my silent words.

“You being honest with me, Riv?” I blinked up at him and gnawed on my bottom lip. Dale looked at me as if he could peel back the layers to find the truth in my soul and puffed out a weighted breath when he couldn’t. It grated on me like sandpaper across my skin. “Who was your last client?”

I rolled my bottom lip between my teeth, pulling off the cracked skin, and the metallic tang of blood coated my tongue. I shrugged instead of answering. My eyes dropped to my tattered old Vans with split soles. The right one leaked when it rained, and a prayer and peeling duct tape were the only things holding the left heel together.

Dale’s heavy gaze was suffocating. Tension thickened the air. He stepped closer to me, heat radiating off his body. The grip on my notebook tightened with every passing second. My knuckles bleached white as the skin pulled tightly around the prominent bones.

“Riv, talk to me,” he said softly, worry coating his words. “I can’t do much to help you, especially if you don’t talk.” His eyes tightened in exasperation.

My shoulders touched my ears as I retreated into myself. I didn’t want to tell him who I’d spent the day with. The johns that had booked me were feared more than any other client we serviced, and I bore their marks like a brand on my skin.

I sighed and scribbled down two words that invoked terror in all of us.

The Mitchells

That’s what we knew them as. They were regulars who often booked a few of us, but on the days they were feeling particularly cruel, they booked one of us and used our bodies until all we could taste was blood. The world faded away, and blackness became all we knew.

“Fuck!” His hands flew to his head, running them through his hair and pulling at the dark strands, drowning in helplessness. “Go get showered and get some rest. Fuck knows you’re going to need it.” The ominous tone of his last words should have piqued my interest, but it was already background noise.

The light flickered in the makeshift bathroom as I shut the door behind me and collapsed against it. The space was tiny, stunk of sewage, and had black mold climbing the walls. It had just enough room to fit a shower, a toilet, and a sink, and had barely enough room to hold a person. The floor was constantly under a film of filthy water, and someone had shattered the mirror over the sink with their fist long ago. If you looked close enough, you could see the rusty stain of old blood dripping down the wall behind it.

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