Page 12 of Pretty Lies & Ugly Truths

Once I show her to the restroom and make sure she is safely inside, I go in search of Jayce, finding him behind the bar doing what my brother does best: flirting. With his blue eyes and his rugged good looks, Jayce could be drowning in pussy. And from the outside you would think he was but even though he is a massive flirt, Jayce is actually pretty particular about who he chooses to take home.

Tonight, it’s a very pretty blonde who, from the looks of itcouldbe one of the lucky ones, because he genuinely appears interested. Too bad I am about to ruin any chances of that happening.

I almost feel bad for what I’m about to do, but when I think about Maggie, and that piece of shit who hurt her, that thought goes away.

The blonde gives me a death glare as I interrupt their conversation by dragging Jayce away. I give him an abbreviated version on what happened and what I need him to do, unsure how much time I have before Maggie comes back out of the bathroom.

“Seriously…” Jayce admonishes me. “What in the hell have you gotten yourself into?”

“I promise, I will explain it all later. Just—please. Do this for me.”

“Fine,” he huffs out. “But you’ll owe me this time. That girl was a fucking gymnast. You don’t even want to know all the things I wanted to do to her tonight. The positions I planned to twist her in...”

He walks off, still grumbling, and I shudder. He’s right. I absolutely do not want to think about what crazy shit my little brother gets up to. I accidentally walked in on him one time and just once was enough for me.

Maggie still hasn’t come out, so I go in search for her, finding her standing inside my office, just coming from the bathroom.

Her deep red hair that was loose around her shoulders has now been pulled up into one of those messy buns on the top of her head. Her face is scrubbed clean, making it easier for me to see the constellation of freckles that dot her cheeks.

My favorite is a cluster of three dots right at the corner of her mouth and I have this insane urge to trace the pattern with my tongue.Christ, man! Get a hold of yourself.

She wears a smile, but it doesn’t reach all the way toher red rimmed eyes, and I can tell she is just trying to put on a brave face.

My protective instincts are screaming at me to go to her, to wrap her up in my arms and never let her go, but I know I can’t. So…I don’t. Instead, I just continue to stand there until the silence drags on so long, she starts to squirm.

“Um…is everything ok?” she asks, her soft voice cutting through the tension.

“Were you able to get ahold of the police? Do they need to talk to me? You know—like make me give a statement or something? I mean that’s what they do in the movies right? You know—Miss can you come down to the station? We need you to give a formal statement,” she says in what I can only presume to be a terrible impression of a movie cop.

It is cute as hell, and I should laugh or smile, anything to put her at ease, but I don’t. I know I’m being an asshole right now for making her uncomfortable, and I hate myself for it. But my mood has taken a turn, and I find myself irrationally angry.

Angry at the universe, at God or whatever higher being it was who put this woman in my path to torment me, to show me all the things I can never have.

But most of all, I am angry with myself, knowing that deep down, I have no one to blame for my current predicament but me.

Clearing my throat, I finally speak, “No. I took care of everything.” I watch as her shoulders droop and the creases around her eyes soften.

“Good. So…I’m good to just—go, then,” she says, standing there expectantly. Her face falls slightly when I only nod once.

“Okay,” she says before she turns and walks back out through my office door.

I should just let her go. Let this end here. Return to lurking in the shadows, watching over her from a distance. It would be better that way. Safer.

But before I even realize what I’m doing, my feet are moving against my will.

I follow her, pushing my way through the bodies that separate us, catching up to her just as she is about to slip through the front exit.

I stop her with a gentle grip on her arm and cringe inwardly when she flinches. I curse myself for not thinking how my touch might affect her so soon after what she went through.

She looks back, eyes wide and fearful, until she realizes it’s me and her body physically relaxes.

There’s a sudden pain in my chest behind my ribs and I rub at it with the palm of my hand.

“Hey,” she says, turning around to face me fully. “Did you need something?”

“No.”

“Okay…” she says, confused—and rightfully so. Christ, I am screwing this all up. I have obviously been alone too long if I can’t even offer a simple ride home to a woman. She goes to leave again.

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