Page 33 of Cruel Lies

"Then I suppose I’ll just make some last requests and hope you still care enough about your dearly departedsisterto grant them before you turn Nash’s itchy fingers on me for sport."

She couldn’t be serious. Sane people didn’t joke around like this.

"You’ve lost your damn mind." My brows were so high up, if they went any higher, they’d jump off my forehead. "I thought there was nothing crazier than the loons that live here in the asylum, but you’ve managed to top them in less than an hour." I started a slow clap, sarcasm dripping from every pore on my body. "Congrats."

"Could you be any less of a douche, Angel?" The couch's leather creaked under Nash’s weight as he shifted on the cushions. "Seriously, now. What’s the verdict here?"

"We were given a job. I say one woman’s life isn’t worth us losing everything over."

I knew it sounded harsh. I didn’t care. Let them think I was an asshole. Let them all think I was callous. I didn’t give a shit if they thought I was heartless and cruel. If she stayed, if they let her live, I wasn’t sure I could keep myself from turning into something I didn’t want to be again. I didn’t like the idea of risking our everything for a woman I thought was dead already. We’d already buried her memory deep in the recesses of ourminds. Why dredge up the old pain now when we could just end her and call it a day?

Collect the pay and go on with our lives. All in a day’s work. She was just another target. Another job.

Except she wasn’t.

Nash stared daggers into my back; I could fucking feel them like they were actual blades sticking out of my spine. But I refused to turn around. Refused to pretend I was okay with this. If I turned around, someone would see my weakness, and it would all be over.

I wasn’t that weak man anymore.

I’d changed.

And it was all because of her.

Nash cleared his throat, and I heard the telltale creak of the leather as he stood and meandered his way into the kitchen. I knew what his aim was, but I didn’t plan to give him a second to think it through. With my hackles raised like an angry cat, I split, disappearing to the safety of the office as they stood there in the front room, watching me go.

Like a sad little fuck, I hung close to the door, listening to see if they’d pursue me, or if they were just content to let me go. Was I important enough to this conversation to drag back into it?

The pathetic side of me that sought constant reassurance had reared its’ ugly head once more, and I had tried so desperately to keep it buried. All for naught, it appeared. It made me hate myself. Made me angry at the world for cursing me with my overly attached nature. I longed for someone to tell me I was important—no, fuck that!I didn’t need anyone to tell me I was a valuable member of this crew. How many jobs had I single-handedly pulled off?

I was worlds better than I gave myself credit for. These intrusive thoughts wouldn’t win.

Still didn’t stop me from hanging by the door to see if anyone would follow me.

It wasn’t even shut all the way, so I could still clearly hear their conversation.

"Well, you know what his position is on this, Nash. Where do you stand?" Rowan sounded upset, but whether he was angry with the situation, me, or life in general was still up for debate.

Nash grumbled a response I couldn’t make out, then sighed. "I’ll be your tiebreaker, should you need one. But as much as I wanna cut someone up to vent my frustration, I don’t think it should be her." He paused for a second, logical words not usually being his forte. "She didn’t do shit to us."

"I wanna know more about who hired us for this hit," Rowan finally replied, just like I knew he would. He didn’t want to make a solid decision until he knew all the facts. "So until we know what’s going on, maybe we hold off on any rash decision and just do our research."

This didnt sound like the Rowan I knew. The brother I knew would have demanded to plan this thing out meticulously, down to the last finite, minute detail. Rowan, winging it?

I peeked my head back out the door. "Are you still drunk? Weknowwho took out the contract. Who the fuckelsewould want her dead?"

Harper’s eyes refused to turn in my direction, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to examine why that stung so much.

Rowan frowned. "It’s not our father’s style to do things behind the scenes. If he knew she was still alive, and he wanted to punish us for fucking up the first time, he’d have made it a point to drag us home to berate us himself.."

"So why not go to the source and ask?" I spat, marching back into the room like I’d never left. "Because we hold the contract. Classified client or not, Lilly St. Clair owes us an answer."

Rowan frowned at the suggestion. "Lilly can’t find out about this. If she learns our first target never died, we lose all standing in the Guild, and we’re ruined."

"Fair point." Nash rolled his eyes, jerking a thumb at Harperabsently. "So what do we do with her in the meantime? We don’t have many doors with locks on the outside."

"No point in locking me in a room," Harper said suddenly. "I can pick locks pretty well." She took in our incredulous stares like we were the weird ones and frowned. "What? Can’t a girl learn a few questionable skills in seven years?

"Lockpicking isn’t usually a skill you justpick up,Harper," Nash pointed out. "Who taught you a thing like that?"

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