Page 56 of Cruel Lies

"You nearlykilledus, Harper!" Angel’s six foot four stature was intimidating on a good day, and with the rage boiling over in his glare, paired with the way he clenched his teeth and growled at me, it shook something primal inside me loose. I should have been afraid. I should have bent to his will and begged for mercy. Instead, I was filled with the sudden urge toactuallysuck his dick while his brothers watched.

Betthatwould shut him right the fuck up.

A part of me was prepared to crash, to end my own life and take these fuckers with me as payback for what they’d done to me years ago. But at the last moment, I came to, the brakes screeching like demons from hell as I skidded to a very close call of a stop.

Rowan dumped the body while I moved to the passenger seat without a word of complaint or argument. I didn’t have the willpower to speak after nearly killing myself and two of the three men who tormented and teased my libido in equalmeasure.

I hoped the idea of entertaining my offer at least stuck in his head for a second longer than it did mine.

To that end, I was still clearly thinking about it.

Now that we were back at the asylum, the adrenaline had worn off, and it took everything in me not to crash and burn in a ball of anxiety.

I’d come damn close to ending my own life, man. And not in a pretty way, either. Never in my life had I been suicidal, and I wasn’t planning on breaking that streak today, but fuck me, for a brief moment in time, I lost the ability to control myself and my actions. It was like being on autopilot; no willful or conscious input from me able to alter my movements.

I didn’t like it.

Nash slung an arm over my shoulder and chuckled some more, wiping a fake tear from his eye as he turned that gruesome leer on me. "Fuck me, you’re fun. Whaddya say we go in and have a drink? I could use a chaser."

He still reeked of cheap vodka and sorrow, but my choices were limited to the Rage Monster, the Stern Man In Charge, or Mr. Drunk in Public.

Not the most stellar of options. But at least with Nash, I wouldn’t have to talk. Only drink.

Drinking, I could do. Drinking made me forget. And unlike when I was in hiding, there was no secret to keep here. These boyswerethe secret, and I wasn’t afraid to loosen up in front of one like Nash.

Considering how toasted he already was, there was a high probability he’d pass out soon, anyhow.

And if he passed out, there was no pressure to talk with him.

A solid plan in my book.

Turned out,my solid plan had some flaws.

For example, I had no clue that Nash had the fucking tolerance of a seasoned alcoholic.

I sat in the middle of the couch, inches away from him as he tipped the bottle back with a cheesy grin. "Okay, your turn. Tell me a secret you’ve never told anybody."

I took the bottle he handed me and frowned, thinking of something that I actually hadn’t told anybody, but also something I wasn’t afraid for him to find out. "When I was in high school, I accidentally walked into the boys’ bathroom and had to hide in a stall while two seniors had a war they called the ‘battle shits’. Oh, my god, it stunkso bad?—"

"That was you?"Angel shouted from the kitchen as he pulled a bottle of water from the fridge. "Oh my god, that was Tommy Rogers and William Scott."

I thought of the two boys in question, both sexy at the time and the swoon-worthy boys every girl in school lusted over, me included. A shiver of relief that I hadn’t ended up with one of them crawled down my spine. "Ew."

"Okay, okay, drink," Nash urged. "Then you can ask your question."

"Fine." The tequila slid down my throat like an old friend, and I groaned at the burn, turning scarlet when I noticed how many sets of eyes were on me in a not-so-innocent manner.

Angel’s throat worked, that defined Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed his water and rushed to his room. Rowan made an excuse about working the case, ran his hand over his pants, and skittered away, shutting the office door behind him.

That left me and Nash. And Nash was looking at me like he’d just as soon eat me literally as well as figuratively.

It thrilled me a little too much.

"Alright, my question for you is . . . do you have any tattoos?"

"God, that’s lame," he groaned, but instead of arguing, he lifted his shirt with one hand and yanked down the edge of his jeans with the other. Right there in the divot of his adonis belt,the soft dip of his hip, was a name so tiny, you could hardly see it. "But yes. I have one. I got it seven years ago."

I put my nose damn near against the tattoo before I realized what it said.

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