Page 12 of Cruel Lies

Fuck.

I didn’t think. I couldn’t, considering my brain was in panic mode, and every fight or flight instinct was on high alert. I didn’t even bother hiding that I knew they were after me. My feet flew, and I was off, heading down the neighboring street, praying that I didn’t end up in one of the dead-end alleys around here.

Running for my life with a knife in my hand wasn’t a smart decision, but there wasn’t time to weigh out the pros and cons, really. My life was on the line, and I had one chance to get away from these assholes before they caught up to me and ended my life.

I’d been hiding for seven years. The past year or two, I thought I’d finally been able to relax. I’d let my guard down, and now I was paying for it. My lungs burned as I gasped for air, sprinting down another alleyway into a mess of overflowing dumpsters and empty boxes that littered the street. Just when I thought I was safe, I turned the corner and ran headlong into a solid brick wall.

No escape. Dead end.

Shit.

There was a nearby fire escape that I couldn’t reach on foot, but if I climbed onto the dumpster nearby, I could make the jump and get away. But there wasn’t time. I’d heard the sound of footsteps following me for the last three turns now. They were right behind me, whoever they were. In a last-ditch effort to protect myself, my brain latched onto the idea of hiding in the pile of boxes, but I knew there was no point.

I had just enough time to make a single decision.

I wasn’t going down without a fight.

Swinging the blade up and in front of my face, I crouched slightly in a fighting stance and waited for my pursuers to catch up to me.

They’d better come prepared, because I wasn’t going to be an easy target.

FIVE

ROWAN

We planned this out perfectly.Every possibility had been considered, every contingencyplanned for, every single alternate route and knee-jerk reaction accounted for.

It wasn’t supposed to go wrong. Not a single hit in all our seven years working for the Guild had ever run off the rails like this.

Angel did his part, and with his recon, the three of us could easily corral the target to the dead end where she now waited, knife in hand like a warrior princess. I was just ready to slice off a lock of hair as the contract demanded and then turn her over to Nash for torment and eventual death.

The fear in her eyes as we rounded the corner and she realized death was imminent was beautiful. It was like the first drink of water on a hot summer day. Cool, refreshing, and oh-so satisfying. I relished the familiar rush of adrenaline as she brought that knife in front of her face and growled like a little, angry chihuahua, prepared to bite the ankle of the giant determined to bring her down.

I yanked the knife from her grip and tossed it to the side like it was nothing, gripping her tiny wrist in my big hand as I yanked her against me. She was a fighter, that was for sure, her hackles raised as she searched for any opportunity to flee my deadly embrace.

Her lithe body tucked itself against mine as she struggled, her back pressed tight to my front. She’d obviously taken self-defense courses, but those only worked when your assailant was afraid of pain. Her heel came down on my instep, and I merely growled in her ear, irate and not in the mood to play games with her.

"Those tactics don’t work on me, little girl," I snarled, gripping her swinging ponytail in one hand like a leash. I yanked her head back and dragged my nose up the side of her neck, relishing the scent of fear that clung to her, mingled with sweat and the faintest hint of her body wash under the thickmiasma of grease and motor oil. "You might as well give up. It’ll be quicker that way."

She stiffened in my embrace, all the fight draining from her as she tried another tactic—going limp. It might’ve worked better if she wasn’t a mere hundred and fifty pounds soaking wet. If she had some weight to go limp with, I might’ve struggled some.

Instead, I just hoisted her up around her waist, lifting her feet off the ground as Angel and Nash came around the corner, their sadistic, leering grins making them like twins. Angel strolled as if he didn’t have a care in the world, and hell, maybe he didn’t—with looks like that, I wouldn’t give a damn about anything around me. Nash's hair hung in his face like a curtain, shielding his scars from the world. He’d probably look more human and less deranged dog if he cut it, but it was his security blanket. Kept him safe behind a sheet of self-defense.

I brought my knife up to her throat, listening to the whimpers leaving her like a starving man at a buffet. I needed this, needed to know I was in control, that I was the one with the power.

She flinched away from me as I yanked her ponytail off to the side, preparing to cut off the lock of hair our client had requested as proof. She hadn’t said a word yet nor pleaded for her life, which was odd—typically, they’d be screaming for us to let them go.

Unluckily for them, when the sun went down in Port Wylde, not even the police could help them anymore. This town was as lawless as the Wild West, and in the dark, the Guild ran free, unhindered by rules and regulations and laws the ordinary citizens convinced themselves were for protection.

And she was ours.

Nothing could stop us now.

"She’s so pretty," Nash growled, inching closer with one hand on his knife and the other trying to rub away the erectionbuilding behind his pants. "Such a shame to scar her up, but it’ll be nice to listen to her scream, and to watch her bleed all over that pale white skin."

Most girls would have fainted at that declaration. Or pissed themselves. The occasional one with a bad heart might’ve had a heart attack on the spot.

Instead, this one laughed. The sound was vaguely familiar, in that unnerving way that happens when you know you’ve met someone before but can’t figure out where or when.

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