Page 28 of Cruel Lies

Now, suddenly, all eyes were on me, and I didn’t like that.

I was inches away from a breakdown, I could tell. Panic was just on the horizon. So my mind was doing everything possible to keep from fracturing as long as possible. Which somehow only made things worse, of course.

Jackal reared back and snorted at us, his hose coming dangerously close to soaking my bag with my laptop in it. I wasn’t sure at this point if I’d crushed it in my mad dash to escape, but I wasn’t taking any risks.

"Hey, watch it, buddy, that’s got electronics in it!" I shouted, stepping further away from the water splash zone.

Of course, this prompted Jackal to turn the hose on us, and I wasn’t fast enough to react. I closed my eyes against the blast and prepared to be drenched.

Only to be spun around at the last minute as the full force of the spray landed on my kidnapper instead, who’d stepped in front of me to block the water and save my bag.

Jackal wasn’t laughing anymore, and he wisely turned the water off and muttered something about‘having other shit to do’as he fled from the room. I stood in awe of what had just happened as Ghoul shook his head like a dog, rubbing his hands over his face with a groan. The paint he’d been covered in dripped from his face, joining the blood that had run from his broken nose in its race to the floor. He shook his head again, carding his fingers through his hair as he turned to shoot me a pointed glare.

Except, when he turned, recognition flashed like a warning sign in my head, freezing me to the spot. I shorted out, the panic forgotten for a moment as realization set in, along with shock, surprise, and confusion. I’d deny it if I were asked, but I even felt some level of . . .disappointment?

I knew this man—or, rather, I knew a ghost of his former self.

My mouth fell open, and my jaw hung unhinged as his eyes met mine. The two of us refused to move; the only sound between us was the echo of water draining from the room and our labored breathing.

My hand lifted of its own accord as I stepped forward, not quite believing my own eyes. There was no way I wasn’t hallucinating. Maybe I’d finally snapped, and my brain was transposing something comforting over such a gruesome visage. I opened and closed my mouth several times, but in the end, I could only form one word, and even that felt like I had to pry it from my lips to force it into existence.

"Nash?"

His eyes never left mine as I reached up and skimmed the side of his jaw with my fingers, the feel of him solidly affirming what I dared not believe.

No wonder his voice was so familiar. No wonder I felt like I knew him.

My brain took a little longer to piece together the rest of the puzzle, though. I was too overwhelmed with the knowledge that my captor—my savior—the man named Ghoul was none other than my eldest stepbrother, Nash Blackwood.

He didn’t say a word, just stared at me while I mapped his face with my touch, desperate to confirm my spiraling thoughts. When my fingers found a ragged piece of skin at the corner of his mouth, however, his hand darted up and gripped my wrist, refusing to let me explore further.

"You’d better keep your hands to yourself, Harper. I’m not the boy I used to be."

The hardness in his voice surprised me. Seven years ago, he and his brothers saw to my death—or so they thought. How it must fester, like a rotting wound that refused to close, that they hadn’t succeeded and had to clean up their mess now.

"I’m not the same girl I used to be, either," I retorted as he dragged me along by the arm, wincing from the tightness of his grip. "Where are you taking me?"

He refused to say another word, just continued dragging me through the asylum, and I’d long forgotten my mission to map out an escape plan. We marched up two flights of stairs, then around another corner until we came to a stop at a door painted with a half-assed skull and bones insignia.

"Home sweet home," he muttered, throwing a key in the lock. I steeled myself for the possibility of anything being on the other side—a torture room, a gun cabinet, a bunch of dead bodies, anything.

What I wasn’t expecting was a fully functional living room with an attached kitchen.

And I certainly wasn’t expecting to hear the faint sounds of an operetta playing in the background.

Nash kicked the door closed with the heel of his boot and stomped in the room, dragging water, mud, and blood across the beautiful rug that looked like someone painstakingly wove by hand. My eyes found the shape of another human in the kitchen, and my heart stopped as he turned around to point a butcher’s knife in Nash’s direction.

"Dammit, Nash, get those clodhoppers off the rug; I just had it steamed—" His eyes narrowed, and the knife slowly fell to the counter in front of him as those strikingly beautiful violet eyes pinned me to the spot.

I’d know those eyes anywhere. They featured in many of my young schoolgirl fantasies, and later, in my nightmares, as I adjusted to life as a new person.

Angel Blackwood, the boy who’d curled up with me on the roof to escape our parents’ fighting in the next room at night. The boy who’d been so pretty growing up it almost hurt to look at him. He was a man now, and time and age had done absolutely nothing to dull the beauty he’d been blessed with. Hisblack hair was now bleached blonde, almost white, and hung in a messy ponytail that draped over one shoulder like the finest silk. He was taller than I remembered, and maybe a little thinner, but somehow, his presence snapped everything into place for me.

Suddenly, all the pieces were coming together in my head.

"What is she doing here?" he asked, his eyes still studying me as Nash let go of my hair and deposited my duffel bag on the couch. "I thought you were stalking her, not picking her up."

"She was on her way outta town, so I gave her a hand and a detour," he snapped back, sinking onto the couch beside my bag. He seemed uncaring about his state of being or how much paint, blood, and dampness he was spreading all over the furniture. "So now she’s here until we figure out what to do with her."

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