Page 15 of The Lies We Steal

My eyes shut, floating in the seconds before he attacked.

“Briar!”

Lyra’s voice pierces through the haze, my eyes snapping open realizing the mystery man is gone, disappeared in the crowd with not as much as a word.

“Hey do you know—” I stop myself, knowing Lyra is full of knowledge about the people who live here, but how would I even explain him?

Tall? Hot? When he looks at you, you feel like he might eat you alive? She’d think I was crazy.

“Know who?” She yells, eyebrows coming together in concern.

I look around me once more, trying to catch even a glimpse of his leather jacket or silver rings.

Only to be disappointed.

“No one, it was nobody. Come on, let’s get out of here.”

Alistair

“Well, did you get your fix, Alistair? I haven’t known you to be the kind of guy who only watched. I kept waiting to see when you’d pounce, you let me down, pal. I was ready for a show.”

I jog down the steps of the front entrance, lighting a cigarette as I do. The smoke burning my chest, setting fire to whatever good that’s left in there.

“Not getting enough action, perfect one? Need to get off watching me now? All you had to do was ask, Thatch, and I’d let you.”

His armrest on the driver side window, staring up at me with a glare. Slowly he raises his middle finger, the ruby gem with his family signet reflecting in the night.

“Move over, sugar.” I open the driver’s door, with a sarcastic smile.

“This is my car!”

“And you drive it like you’re an elderly man with cataracts. Now move the fuck over.”

He grinds his molars, lifting himself over the middle console and to the passenger seat. Readjusting his three-piece suit. I hated this car. The Lamborghini Huracán was one of the best on the market, dipped in Thatcher’s signature color. Dark red. But even I could respect that this car needed to be driven correctly and going ten over the speed limit wasn’t it.

“Buckle up, honey. Wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself.”

I can feel his glare on the side of my head as I put it into drive, pressing aggressively onto the accelerator, the tires squealing loudly.

“You break it, you buy it.” Thatcher snarks as we tear out of the driveway and towards the address Rook had sent us.

His right hand grips the side of the door, it’s subtle, most wouldn’t even notice his already pale hand turning another shade of white as he squeezes the handle.

Except I know this is the one thing Thatcher can’t deal with and that’s not being in control.

“Oh yeah? With what money? You think I can fork out the two hundred grand for this?”

“Oh don’t be modest, Alistair. We all know you have more money than God. One of the perks of having your last name on everything in town.”

My hands grip the steering wheel impossibly hard. The animal in my gut waking up, it does so any time my family’s money is brought up. My family in general.

“Not my money. It’s theirs.”

He relaxes in his seat a beat, laying his head on the head rest with a sigh,

“Whatever you say, Ali. Whatever you say.”

The drive goes by quickly, this car eats the pavement for breakfast. It’s not long before I’m turning the car into the dirty driveway. A rickety old mailbox marking the house.

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