Page 100 of Cruel Lies

I needed her fear, her anxiety, her suffering, like I needed air to breathe.

It was the only thing I knew. The only way I could make her feel what I felt every day without her.

My thumb slipped between her lips and found her tongue, smearing the last of my spend on her tastebuds. She’d dream of me, and wake up unsatisfied and strung-out, needing something she couldn’t have. Because she’d taken it away from herself.

I hoped she remembered the taste of me. I needed her to.

No matter what the outcome, I needed her to know I was still here. Still watching. She’d never be alone.

Not even if she wanted to be.

Never again.

FORTY-TWO

ANGEL

Nash came homewith the sunrise, stumbling through the door smelling like a booze distillery, his hair a hot mess, and his pants undone. Briefly, I wondered if he’d gone out and gotten a blowie from some whore at a strip club, and then I wondered if there was a body out there somewhere I needed to dispose of.

But I didn’t care enough to ask him. He was obviously too soused to give me straight answers, so I let him wander through the house, taking solace when the sound of his door closing echoed through the common area. Rowan was still gone, doing a side job to cover the dues and rent for the Guild. It was just me and the drunk here, which wasn’t normally such a good thing.

Ironically, it worked fantastically in my favor, as he would spend the next eight or so hours, maybe more, sleeping off the hangover from hell. Who knew how much liquor he had running through his veins? Which meant I would be able to slip in and out without a million awkward unanswered questions.

Maybe.

Hopefully.

Or maybe if he started asking too many questions, I could just stab him with a kitchen knife.

Both options were equally viable in my mind.

I threw a black jacket over my white button-up and black jeans, determined to blend in as best as I could. In seconds, it felt like I was out the door, slipping on my helmet, revving the engine of my bike as I burned rubber and fled the parking garage like a bat out of hell in broad daylight.

Roads in Port Wylde weren’t abandoned in the daytime, but they were noticeably slower-moving, andholy fuck, where did all these cops come from?

I had to be careful. The last thing I needed was a speeding ticket. I was likely to go off the deep end if a single person fucking stopped me right now.

I had places to be.A man to see.

A man who was getting too damn close to a woman I cared far too much for.

I pulled up to the curb of a stately apartment complex, obviously far better than a man could afford on a mechanic’s salary. Briefly, I wondered what he was doing on the side, and then shook it off. It wasn’t my fucking business. I didn’t give two actual shits how he could afford all this.

I just knew that he was close to Harper. Too close.

And I couldn’t have that.

I didn’t want her, but he wasn’t allowed to want her, either. And I intended to let him know just that.

Man to man.

Rationally.

I kicked the leg of the bike down and tipped it slightly sideways, not bothering to lock the wheel. I knew damn well it wasn’t going anywhere—in this neighborhood, the residents all had fancier toys than me.

Imitation marble flooring gave the illusion of luxury without the ridiculous cost. Staircase rails of shiny chrome, crown molding, and etched mailboxes at the entrance all pointed to a higher state of living. Had to keep up with the neighborhood aesthetic.

I found his last name on box 5D and started the long walk to the fifth floor, up a staircase with no cameras.

---