Page 14 of The Lies We Believe

The salty smell of bacon saturated the air that I was trying to breathe to remain calm. Calm? What was that? I shook my hands out, like that would stop them from shaking as adrenaline spiked through me. Sweat beaded along my hairline and dripped down the back of my neck. The bright screen flashed like it was mocking me, like it knew I didn’t know what I was doing. My fingers trembled as I scrolled through the listings, and my palms grew slick. Pants, jeans, joggers, slacks, khakis. Sneakers, boots, high tops, chucks. Socks—black, white, sports, striped, dots, colored, plain. Hoodies—zipped or pull on, sweaters, cardigans, jackets. Tees, henleys, wife beaters, shirts.

So much choice, and that didn’t even include the bedding options—sheets, blankets, throws, cushions. Why did peopleneed so much stuff? With my heart pounding and blood whooshing in my ears, I clicked on a few things, the basket filling up at an alarming rate. All I could see was dollar signs spotting my vision, while guilt and fear coiled inside me. Would Bane be upset that I’d selected so much? Had I picked the wrong things?

Being under Dahlia’s control was easy. Simple. She provided us with what we needed. If we had to dress a certain way, the clothes appeared for the appointment before disappearing again after. We were only permitted two changes of clothes that were our own. Most of it was hand-me-downs or leftovers from previous boys that had left. Even though we all knew “leaving” stood for something completely different.

Once I’d chosen clothing and bedding, I moved onto shower stuff. Razors, antiperspirant, cologne, soap, shower gel, loofahs, shampoos, and skincare. What scent did I like? Sweet, woodsy, manly, strong and lasting, or light and fragrant? It hit me then that I didn’t know who I was or what I liked. I’d never had the chance or opportunity to become my own person. I was molded into who people wanted me to be. Beaten down and shoved into a box. Controlled and forced to do things that no one would want to do willingly. I had to remember what I was. I couldn’t let Bane’s current kindness blind me to the truth. I was a hole. A body to be used.

I was nothing.

Forcing in a deep breath, I filtered through a barrage of memories of my childhood; the good, the bad, and the ugly, trying to prise out moments of happiness or scents I’d clung to that brought a modicum of warmth to the wasteland that was my soul to find out what I liked. The trouble with my line of work was that most scents made me want to bleach my nostrils and have my head examined. Every one was associated with despicable acts some john performed on me, or by the guards Dahlia employed who thought it was a great idea to sample thegoods they protected. A hysterical laugh breached my lips as my brain latched on to that thought. Protect. They weren’t keeping us safe; they were controlling and cruel, selfish and self serving. If they had a bad day, they kicked and fucked the shit out of us, whether or not we were willing.

They preferred it when we weren’t.

Consent was a word people bandied around like it was a right. Since the day I was born, I’d had no rights or autonomy over my wellbeing or body. Others used me for their gain. First, it was foster carers looking for a quick buck to line their pockets and an innocent child to sink into. Then it was the drunks, the men in denial who drank themselves stupid at bars and couldn’t bear to fuck their wives because they wanted “a sweet young piece of ass to ruin.”

Later, at my lowest moment, starving and freezing in a back alley, came Dahlia. I’d been on the street for close to eighteen months by then and was on my last legs as the first frosts of winter coated the damp doorway I huddled in. I hadn’t slept more than a couple of hours a night for months, thanks to fearing for my life, and hadn’t eaten in nearly a week.

“Hello there, little guy.” I blinked through the haziness in my vision to see an elegant lady looking down at me. Her dark hair was pulled back from her face, but a few soft strands framed her dark brown eyes. Blood-red lips curved in a soft smile as she lowered herself to my level. “Are you cold?” she asked softly, slowly extending her gloved hand towards me. Her thick fur coat shimmered as the icy wind whipped between the buildings. I could only imagine how warm she felt wrapped up in its softness while I sat there in stained wet jeans and a moldy jacket I’d pulled out of the dumpster outside the department store a few streets over.

I sneered at her as she patted my head like I was a lost puppy, hating the world and loathing her for showing me anounce of empathy. I was freezing, my lips were numb, and my teeth chattered, but I clenched my jaw and refused to answer her.

“How about you come with me, hmm? I’ll get you some clean, dry clothes and something to eat. I just want to help you out.” Her minty breath fogged the air around us.

My eyes narrowed. No one ever did anything for nothing. But I couldn’t find my voice, so instead, I wrapped my arms around me tighter and shrunk against the cold steel door behind me. Maybe if I ignored her, she’d go away. Even the volunteers that helped the homeless and vagrants on the street didn’t stay this long. They dropped off food parcels and boxes of clothes, then left before the fights and bloodbaths ensued.

“Come now.” Her gloved hand latched on to my arm and pulled. “Come on. Come with me. Let’s get a hot meal in you and find you somewhere to sleep. I’ve got a pot roast on with mashed potatoes, and I might even have some chocolate cake left…” Her words filled my head with heavenly images, making my empty stomach ache. It had been so long. So, so long.

Tears pricked the backs of my eyes, and I sniffed back the snot running down my nose. I shouldn’t do this. I didn’t know her, but I was so desperate for food and warmth that the lessons I’d learned during my time on the streets vanished, leaving me vulnerable and exposed. My better judgment abandoned me, and I could feel myself caving, craving everything she’d said.

“What do you say?” She gave me a forceful tug and pulled me to my feet, my sneakers squelching in the puddle. “Here, let me look at you.” She cupped my face, turning my head from side to side before lifting my chin and stroking my neck. “You’re a pretty boy, aren’t you? Half starved and frozen to the bone, but those eyes—they’re my meal ticket. So, shall we go get yousomething to eat? Who knows, I might even find you a job so you can earn your keep.”

I wish I knew then what I did now. I’d have screamed and kicked, spit and slapped and bitten her to get away. Dahlia was the devil, disguised as an angel, and she knew exactly how to manipulate me to get what she wanted. She did exactly what she said—fed me, cleaned me up, and gave me somewhere warm to sleep. She gave me a new beginning, and before I knew it, I owed her for everything she’d done for me.

“It’ll only be this one time, River. My friend Jason is all alone and needs a little comfort.” Her red lips lifted as she smiled, her voice saccharine and sweet. “You’ll look after him, won’t you? Keep him company while I go out, yes? I’ll take it off the bill you’ve racked up over the last couple of months living here, eating my food and using my water and electricity.”

That was the beginning of the end. She caught me in her web, and I had no way out. Jason wasn’t a friend—he was a john, and my first. He turned into a regular until I got too big for his tastes, as he preferred them little, when they couldn’t fight back. Fragile. Broken. Sweet. Innocent. I was his kryptonite, and he was the monster I could never escape.

“River? Are you done?”

CHAPTER 7

BANE

Ifinished plating up the eggs and bacon, stuck a couple of slices of buttered toast on the plates, and refilled the coffee cups. River seemed to like it on the stronger side. At least, I thought he did. He’d drunk the last one I made, and I was sure, with time, I’d be able to figure out what he actually liked. At the moment, he was compliant and going with the flow. He might have looked tough with his narrowed eyes and pinched lips, but he couldn’t hide just how scared he was. I caught a moment when he thought I wasn’t watching, and I saw the tremors that ran through him. How he flinched at every sound and hunched his shoulders up. He had a habit of picking the broken skin around his left thumb, an automatic gesture he probably wasn’t aware of. How his ruined bottom lip scabbed and bled almost constantly.

In my line of work, you saw everything. Nothing surprised me these days. Horrified, yes. I was exposed to the darkest, most depraved parts of humanity the average person could ignore and pretend didn’t exist. But I saw it day in and day out. The training we’d received at the academy had been invaluable. We learned to show empathy but to never get invested. But everything with River was different. It might have been years since I’d lastseen him, but I knew him, had spent time with him, had a relationship with him, even if we were just kids.

Being emotionally involved with a case of this nature was dangerous, but even Bower couldn’t pry River from my cold, dead hands. He had ingrained himself in my memories. I felt his presence, his every breath. I didn’t know if I’d survive this, but there was a part of me that knew I had to take care of him, to protect him from the horrors he’d lived through, the ones that had broken and molded him into the shell he was today. Whatever it took to help him, I would do.

With everything placed neatly on a tray, I headed through to the living room. I thought about eating at the breakfast bar or at the table, but River seemed to enjoy being wrapped up in the blankets I’d put on him last night. I wanted him to feel safe and comfortable, so we could just eat on the couch. Anything to help make it easier for him to acclimate to what his life would be like now. I knew I’d have questions to answer from Bower, although since agreeing to me having River here, I could see the cogs turning in his mind. My exposure was too great. He knew I was emotionally invested in him, and that was a weakness for both the case and the team, but the two of us were the best shot we had of cracking this case wide open.

“River, are you done?” I asked as I set the tray on the table and put his plate and cup out for him. “River?” The soft taps of the keys and the click of the mouse had stopped by the time I was plating up.

The hair on my arms stood on end as his breathing hitched. My heart froze, and my gut clenched as a wave of icy fear washed over me. When I glanced over my shoulder, River sat frozen, tears tracking down his pale cheeks, his eyes unfocused as if lost in memories. I grabbed the laptop off his lap, shoved it under the table, and kneeled at his feet, placing my hands on his knees.

“River? Can you hear me?” I gently increased the pressure on his knees, hoping it would snap him out of whatever he was trapped in, but nothing. “River?” I waved my hand in front of his eyes, hoping to trigger a response, a reflex, anything, but it was as if he was gone.

My heart sank. This was the second time in less than twenty-four hours that I’d lost him. I inhaled and exhaled in a steady rhythm, trying to calm myself down so I didn’t startle or accidentally hurt him. I was stronger than most. Montoya liked to joke that I didn’t know my own strength, especially in a heightened emotional state. That edge of fear was enough to grant me the clarity I needed.

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