Page 21 of Cruel Lies

NINE

ROWAN

Someone once toldme you never really learn to appreciate things until they’re gone. I nevertruly appreciated that statement until now.

I’d lost a lot tonight. I lost the trust my brothers had in me, and I’d done nothing to gain it back or prevent them from pulling away. I lost the control I so carefully kept a hand on at all times. I lost the fucking girl I thought I’d never see again.

And now, I was losing my damn mind.

Things were complicated at best, with the contract on her head and the feelings involved between us. Because deny it though they might, I knew damn well there was something in both Nash and Angel that reacted to her just as much as I had. Otherwise, Nash wouldn’t be sitting in the Torino in front of her house. Angel wouldn’t be in the office pacing the floor. And I wouldn’t be out here in the commons, listening to Lilly St. Clair and Detective Douchebag play verbal chess with each other.

"So you’re trying to tell me there’s been no activity in the past three days from anyone in your guild, Lilly? Now, why don’t I believe that?"

St. Clair leaned forward in her chair, her nails like talons as they curled around the edge of her armrest and dug into the leather. "Maybe because you’ve always been sure you were gonna catch me in a crime,Detective,"she spat back, not missing a beat. "You know as well as I do that my people, should they be doing things they’re not supposed to, are more than smart enough not to get caught."

The detective stood, his eyes narrowed as he pulled his phone out to check a message. "That’s debatable, but you know best, Lilly. I won’t bother you any longer tonight. Just keep an eye on" —he consulted his phone again, scrunched up his nose, and turned back to her— "the ones who ride the dirtbikes. They’ve been getting careless, and I found a piece of their latest target—sorry,victim—in the middle of Manston Park."

Lilly’s eyes lit up in the way she had about herwhen she was pleased with something particularly gruesome. "Oh? A piece, you say? I don’t suppose you want to tell mewhich pieceit was, would you, detective?"

The cop scowled at her eagerness, no doubt disgusted with her excitement and intrigue. "Not a chance, St. Clair. Just keep your people in line, and we won’t have to have these sorts of late-night visits."

"Oh, but Detective McCoy, I rather enjoy our little late-night meetings. They do break up the monotony of housing and handling this rowdy bunch."

The detective glared at her one last time before heading for the front door. "I’m sure they do." He threw her one last glance, something that confused the fuck out of me, before he closed the door behind himself.

The gaze had been full of longing and regret.

It was like looking into a fucking mirror.

St. Clair caught sight of me out of the corner of her eye and grinned, making me wonder for the millionth time if the woman really was stable or if she was just really damn good at hiding her particular brand of crazy. She seemed too comfortable and at home in a house full of borderline mental cases.

"You got somewhere to be, Bossy?" she sassed, using the nickname she’d given me when I joined the Guild. "Or maybe something to do other than eavesdrop on mine and my ex-husband’s conversations?"

If it were possible to choke on air, I’d just done it. My lungs burned as I gasped for air, shaking my head like a dog who’d just been presented with its own reflection for the first time.

"I’m sorry, did you say ex-husband?"There was no way. No fucking way she used to be married to that fucking cop?—

"Yes, Detective McCoy and I were married once. A long, long time ago. But that’s ancient history and not really anyone’s business." She shot me a wink, with that mocking grin I’d seen herturn on her victims before she carved them to pieces. "You can keep a secret, right?"

"Who would I tell?" I mocked, throwing my hands wide. "Not like I’m winning any popularity contests right now."

She cocked her head to the side and crooked a finger my way. "With that smooth sun-kissed skin of yours and those adorable locs, who would be able to hate that pretty face?" When I didn't rise to the occasion, she sobered. "Why don’t we talk in my soundproof office? You look like you could use a friend."

I’d never counted Lilly St. Clair as a friend, more of a boss-slash-overlord who I paid rent to. But since my brothers had abandoned me in anger, and I had no other people in my corner, maybe it would be good to talk through some aspects of this with an outside source.

The inside of Lilly’s office never felt like an actual office. Decorated in a very kitschy manner, none of her furniture matched, and all of it looked well-loved and older than dirt. Hell, Dracula himself might’ve sat in her desk chair once upon a time, it seemed so old Victorian-esque.

I opted for a wingback with several patches on the upholstery, sinking into the soft cushion like a weary traveler.

St. Clair smiled at me from her little mini wet bar, shaking a glass with ice in the bottom. "Drink?"

I usually didn’t drink liquor. That was one of the quickest ways to lose control, to dull your senses with alcohol. But it’d been a hard day. And I needed to relax.

"One won’t hurt me."

She poured two fingers of an obnoxiously expensive brandy in separate glasses, handing me one as she made her way to her throne. "So. What’s got you so off-kilter?"

I brought the glass to my mouth, sniffing the sharp liquor with a wince. "How could you tell?"

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