Page 53 of Cruel Lies

I didn’t want her to look at me anymore.

Couldn’t stand the way my compulsion forced me to make these women as miserable-looking as me.

Made me wanna vomit.

With a practiced flick of the wrist, I turned her head, grinning maliciously at the telltalesnapas I broke her neck—or what was left of it, anyhow. Her throat was sliced damn near to the spine, blood staining the front of her skimpy ass top and half her stomach. Abs that had seen better days created a break in the natural path, and it trailed off in two forks, disappearing around her hips and pooling into a puddle beneath her cooling body.

Bitch got what she deserved.

But was that me telling myself what I had to in order to deal with what I’d done, or was it the truth?

The fact that I couldn’t differentiate between the two was alarming.

A problem for another day.

"Fuck you, whore." The words echoed off the wall, but the only one of us who’d ever hear them was me. She was well past giving a fuck. "You did this to yourself, really."

I froze in place as a car turned into the alley and inched closer, headlights off. I almost panicked, until I recognized the telltale dark black that was almost a void and heaved a sigh of relief.

I started forward when Rowan slipped from behind the wheel and slammed his door, Angel climbing out on the other side. He slammed the door behind him, and it felt like there was something I was missing, but my mind was singularly focused on my kill. I couldn’t devote any more brainpower to figuring out what had me out of sorts.

Until I started to explain to Rowan, and the passenger door opened with an exasperated grumble.

"You know, Angel, you could try being less of a dick. No reason to offset all that pretty with the attitude of a douche."

Harper climbed from the backseat and slammed the door behind her pointedly, a cheezy sneer on her face as she stuck her tongue out at Angel as she shoved past him.

Oh, fuck me.

Ofcoursethey’d bring her; they couldn’t just leave her at the asylum. Too many untrustworthy fuckers in there. But I wasn’t pleased with her presence. For some reason, a new emotion shot through me, one I was unaccustomed to dealing with.

Shame.

"What the fuck happened, Nash?" Rowan spat, his eyes on the dead body lying in a heap behind me. "That looks like a lot more than‘I fucked up,’you asshole."

Harper’s eyes were on me, taking in my disheveled appearance, and then those eyes traveled south, following the path of the blood spatter, and the side of her mouth quirked before she covered her mouth.

The pain was too raw, and I took an involuntary step forward, intending to give her a taste of what I’d given the last girl who laughed at me.

Wait.

No!

This was Harper, man. I didn’t want to rip her throat apart and scar up her face to make her ugly like me.

What the fuck was wrong with me?

"Yo, Nash, your fly’s open." Angel pointed to my zipper, which I belatedly realized was the sole reason Harper had grinned at my crotch.

The fact that I’d come so close to taking my knife out on her brought all that alcohol back up, and I quickly swallowed thebile that rose in my throat, fighting the urge to be sick at the thought of my uncontrollable tendencies.

"Jesus, you smell like a fucking vat of tequila, you prick." Rowan sniffed in my direction, wincing at the scent that clung to my jacket and my breath.

What could I say? I had a love for the clear stuff.

I didn’t even bother to zip up. I just strode over to the body, and for some reason, I turned her face back forward, fighting the stiffness of her joints as my warm hands encountered her cold skin.

Ugh, dead bodies were so fucking boring.

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