Page 76 of The Lies We Steal

He owns my fear. Not them. That’s what he’s saying with his eyes.

“Your fear ends and begins with me, only me.” He goes on, relishing in the power that comes from that statement. Alistair knows no matter what happens, his friends will never scare me the way he does.

They will never make my heart race or heat boil under my skin the way he can. They won’t ever control me, the way he has secured.

We both know he’s right, and it makes me fidgety admitting it, even internally. For such a tight-knit group of sociopaths, this one doesn’t share as well.

“Don’t.” I lean my face close to his, our breaths mixing like it did in the pool, “Flatter yourself.” I conclude, resting in the chair.

“You don’t own shit, Alistair. That’s your parent’s money. You have nothing without that last name.” I sneer, keeping my heart rate under control.

They were going to kill me anyway, right? I might as well go down telling them exactly what I think about every one of them.

“I don’t believe you’re in a place to be making cynical remarks, hick.” Thatcher defends his friend, arms crossed over his chest, his white button down, rolled up to his elbows.The veins in his forearms are an alarmingly cobalt blue.

“Oh, yeah?” I cut my eyes to him. “And what are you going to do about it, Norman Bates? Cut me up because your mommy and daddy didn’t love you?” I pout sarcastically.

When Lyra speaks about Thatcher, it’s always in a muffled manner. Like he’s a boogie man who's always listening beneath your bed. I’d yet to see that in action, so I never took him seriously. The way he waltzed around in hispettycoats and turtlenecks.

To me, he was just a guy with raging mommy issues that needed to be treated urgently.

Until right now, when his mask of sophistication drops like an anchor to the sea floor, lugging me down with it. Vomit slides up my throat as he threatens me with eyes so void of any emotion, I’m not sure he even has a soul.

“Don’t.”

They know each other so well, that Alistair doesn’t even need to turn around to say it. He already knows Thatcher was going to do something hasty.

His hands drop to my thighs, crushing them securely. My stomach hurdles, my body melting. I jerk in my chair, bucking at him, wanting to get away from his touch. Only causing the zip ties to gouge into the tender skin of my wrist.

“If you’re gonna kill me then do it, just fucking do it! I’m tired of this!” I exclaim or try to, but with the lack of water in my throat, it just comes out cracked.

Rook laughs from the corner, like an explosion, loud and intrusive.

“Anyone gonna tell her what she’s won?” He rotates the zippo across his knuckles, like a domino.

I stopped moving, peering intently at each of them. Puzzled by what it was I had won.This felt like the very opposite of a prize.

“What is he talking about?” I direct my question at Alistair, looking down at him in front of me. The grip on my thighs becomes tighter, as he holds me there for another moment before releasing me.

He takes a step back, “We aren’t going to kill you.” Waltzing around my back while Thatcher rolls his eyes at me.

“The jury is still out on that.”Thatcher adds.

“Fuck you.” I hiss.

Alistair is now standing behind me making me anxious. I’m humming with anticipation as he bends at the waist behind me, his mouth lowering near my ear. Simmering air heats the sensitive skin of my neck, a chain reaction of goosebumps riddling my body.

Every time he is close it always feels like the warning signs before a tornado or thunderstorm. Sirens blasting in my head, keeping me on my toes.

“So what then? You’re gonna continue toying with me? What fucking pussies.” I growl, leaning my upper body away from him.

The tip of a knife rubs against my wrists, “We need your help.”

He must be fucking delusional. They had to have been dropped directly on their damn heads as children and cracked their fucking skulls wide the hell open. They could ask me till they were blue in the face and I’d still spit in their faces.

It’s so humorous, that they are asking, I start actually laughing.

“You’re joking. You have to be joking,” I cackle, “You crazy ass psychos, expect me to believe you’ve been doing all this just to get me to help you? Whoa, you sure know how to treat a lady!”

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