Page 89 of Cruel Lies

We didn’t need to say a word about the situationto understand there wouldn’t be many more moments like this for us. Tomorrow, I would be a free woman. They had no more reason to guard me, since there was no more reason to kill me. And I’d get to go back to my old life, working on cars, keeping to myself, and living a life under the radar that I’d come to love. My independence would be restored, and I’d finally be able to walk down the street without a fucking police escort.

No more being cooped up in this place, unable to even visit the common areas for fear that someone would make me for a civvie and have their fun with my body until they tired of me and threw me out with the evening trash.

I missed the little alleycat who begged for food on the fire escape. I missed my job, the solitude of my own apartment, the comfort of my routine.

I missed having freedom.

I wanted to be me again, not this person I’d become out of necessity that I didn’t even recognize.

His tongue slipped into my mouth, and for a moment, lost in the intoxicating taste of him, I let myself forget.

"Get a room, you two," Angel spat, though I knew from the tone of his voice he didn’t mean it. "God, that’s disgusting to watch."

"You’re just jealous," Rowan murmured against my lips, a smile spreading on his face as his brother growled and huffed in annoyance and denial.

"As if," he muttered, turning away from us to fill his shot glass again. "Fucking stupid contraption barely holds a swallow, Nash. Why’d you give all of us training wheel glasses?"

Nash grinned and offered Angel the bottle, but his gaze was on his brother and I, a feral glint in his eyes that made me shiver. I knew that look well—that was the Nashville Special. Back in high school, he’d flash it at any girl he planned to fuck, and they’d fall at his feet and drop their panties like they were born to be used as his fucktoys.

It was still as effective now as it was back then.

I felt my insides twist as Rowan turned me around and curled his big hands over my biceps, holding me in place as he nipped along the length of my neck, his gaze flicking up to Nash’s every few seconds, like this was a competition.

I needed some air so I could think straight.

"Oh, no, my glass is empty. Angel, be a dear and share some of that fire whiskey with me?"

He eyed my shot glass with disgust for a few seconds before filling it from the bottle. His long fingers curled around the neck of the bottle, and I shivered as I imagined those fingers doing a handful of other things involving me.

Bad girl. No.

"Thanks," I muttered, my eyes drifting to the floor for a second.

Nash bounced over to my side like a fucking puppy, his fingers brushing against the back of my free hand. "Why don’t we liven things up tonight and play a little truth or dare?"

Rowan’s laugh rumbled through his chest and into my own. "That’s Harper’s favorite game, if memory serves."

I could feel the beginnings of ahell fucking nosituation building in my gut, but I ignored it like the idiot I was and grinned like a loon as I tipped that shot glass back and downed the fire whiskey with a wince.

"Good lord, how do you boys drink this shit?"

Rowan eyed my glass and nodded at Nash, who refilled it quickly, playing bartender with too much glee for my taste. "Whaddya say, Harper? Do you want to play a little going-away game with us? Itisyour last night here, after all."

I felt the disdain and disappointment in that single sentence, but the three of us collectively ignored it. We all had our reasons for pretending the sadness didn’t exist.

If they weren’t talking about it, neither was I.

"Sure. I guess I can play." My eyes narrowed as I leaned alittle too hard into Rowan’s broad chest, letting him support me. "But you better be prepared. I’m not going light on you."

Nash’s brows quirked almost comically, but Rowan’s furrowed. Angel watched the three of us as Rowan let Nash drag me over to the couch and position me in the middle of the damn thing. He settled on my left while Rowan took my right, and Angel perched on the edge of the coffee table, his haughty airs a much-needed contrast to the other two.

"Who should go first? What are the rules?" I looked around for guidance, and then realized it had always been me. All my life, they’d let me set the parameters of this game.

It felt different, being grown and setting the game’s rules up. Past me had hangups and still lived in denial. She hid her attraction from them and was afraid to say anything indecent.

Past me had never sucked Nash’s cock from the other end of a leash.

Past me never made out with Angel on the hood of his boss’s car.

---