Page 22 of Cruel Lies

The ice in her glass tinkled as she gestured it in my direction. "Oh, you know. I’m well acquainted with all you hooligans inthis place. I’ve gotten to know you pretty well, and I learned to pick up on your personality. And something about your ju-ju is outta whack right now."

The fact that she could tell I was acting strange in a matter of minutes was astounding. Apparently, I wasn’t doing as good a job at hiding it as I thought.

"What gave it away?" I asked, sincerely curious what my greatest tell was so I could correct the slip-up. I didn’t care for people to know my state of mind.

She gestured at me again with her glass in hand, eyes narrowing. "Oh, no. You think I’m gonna just tell you what makes you human so you can erase it like you do all your other human traits. Not happening, buddy. This one, I’m keeping close to the breast." Lilly patted her chest over her heart, smiling at me like a fucking Cheshire cat. "Come on, now. Out with it. What’s up with the three of you?"

The room fell silent as she waited for an answer I refused to give. I didn’t care to divulge this to her—I had no desire to reveal the premise which she’d hired us on was false. I rather liked my job here. Our standoff might very well go down in history as one of the most tense moments in Guild record. That pause in space between us weighed more than a cargo ship and felt rather like trying to hold up a planet. Atlas of old lore came to mind, and I smiled despite myself at the image of me replacing him, cussing up a storm as my brothers danced around me.

"Let’s just say they unearthed a lie I told them for their protection, and they’re not happy about it."

She squinted at me, waiting for more, but I clammed up, pissed at myself for even giving her that. I knew better than to drink, and look where that one single sip had gotten me—here I was, blabbing to my boss about a fuck-up. I certainly didn’t want Lilly St. Clair to think I was incompetent.

I was competent. I was just also a softie for a certain victim in the past.

Totally understandable.

I was young. Stupid. Headstrong.

And in love.

"Will this affect your ability to finish the jobs you’ve already taken?" She took another sip, tipped the glass up to empty it, and swiped my still-full glass on her way to the wet bar. "Because I’d hate to have to call up our clients and tell them you’re not up to it."

"We’re up to it; we’re just taking a night to cool off, that’s all." Her reaction made me scowl. She knew damn well I was all business. If I had to finish the jobs myself, I would see to it they were completed. "No need to worry about our jobs."

She handed me a fresh glass with a clear liquid in it this time. "I got the impression you don’t really like brandy, so I took the liberty of switching you to something different. Smoother." She waggled those eyebrows at me like she was letting me in on some secret. Being I wasn’t a connoisseur of liquor, the effect was lost on me. "Come on, you really don’t get it?"

I shook my head, my locs bouncing against my face with the movement. "Sorry, Lilly. Not a drinker."

"Your loss," she muttered, forcing me to take the glass. "That’s nowhere near as strong as brandy. Finish that, and go to bed. Maybe you’ll wake up in a better mood."

Might as well get it over with,I thought as I swished the clear fluid around the glass slowly. The smell alone made me wanna retch, but I steeled myself and tipped the glass back with a jerk of my wrist, finishing it off in one go.

Which was just the first of many mistakes I would make tonight.

Yippee.

Twenty minutes later, I found myself standing, however ungracefully, making my way to the door with a sway in my step I didn’t much like.

Work, dammit legs, the way I fucken want you to.

From her velvet throne, I heard Lilly snort, and I realized I’d muttered that out loud.

"Shit."

Nowthat,IknewI said out loud.

She broke into raucous laughter as I slumped into the hall, grabbing for anything that could support my weight as I stumbled and tripped to the stairs. Hell, it was a miracle I was stuck in a constantly leaning forward position, because had I been a backward leaner, I might’ve gone head over foot back down the stairs, broke my neck, or more.

Hell, she probably would have found me at the foot of the stairs, in a pool of my own blood from a self-inflicted head wound, delirious and paralyzed.

If one of the other crews didn’t find me first and turned me into a human torture dummy.

Somehow I managed to make it to our floor, which was a miracle in itself, and made it all the way to the door before my stomach started to remind me why I wasn’t a drinker very often.

I made it to the kitchen, where Angel found me minutes later, with my head in the fucking can, the smell of strong tequila and brandy emanating from below. The fucking stench was enough to make me retch again, but there hadn’t been much to my stomach before. Now, all I could do was dry heave and wish I had been smart enough to refuse St. Clair when she offered that poison.

"Well, well, well. If it isn’t Mr. Righteous himself, sitting here stewing in what smells like a frat party bender. Who liquored you up and sent you stumbling home?"

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