Page 6 of Beautiful Liar

I didn’t feel lucky. I passed out.

When I opened my eyes again Tristan was sitting in a chair next to my bed. Leaning forward, his eyes cast down in heavy thought. For a moment, I watched him as if he were someone I hadn’t hated for the majority of my life. I’d hated this man down to the deep pit of my soul. A dark stain that he had put there. And now he’d kill me for being weak. For being a defect.

I licked my dry lips, my tongue swollen. The movement drew his attention. Without a word, he got up, filled a cup with water, and returned with it. Gently, he placed the straw on my lips and watched as I drank what I could before my stomach tightened. The cold liquid awoke my senses. Clarity returned slowly.

I wasn’t in a hospital. The bed was way too comfy for that. Lines had been run into my veins. My world spun. “Are you going to kill me?”

“Why would I kill you?”

“Because I’m a defect.” The words came out slow, lagging in space and time. His face a blur in my visuals.

“Doctor said you need to rest. She’ll be here in a couple of hours to remove the lines,” Tristan said, ignoring my question.

I think I thanked him and passed out again. When I woke up again, Tristan was still in the room. My head clearer, I dragged myself to a sitting position. “What happened?”

“You passed out.” He ran his hand through his already unkempt hair. At that moment, he looked vulnerable.

The sting in my chest made me bristle. One kind act couldn’t make up for years of torture. That he hadn’t been the one to actually torture me made no difference. He’d donenothing to save me.

Finally, he dropped his hand and glared at me. The hardened look replaced his concern. I preferred the stone-cold killer anyway. “How long?”

It was my turn to grind my teeth. “Fuck you.”

Tristan clenched his hands around my throat, crushing my airway. I clawed at his arms, tugging the lines. The stands crashed to the floor. Someone burst into the room. A glimpse of his frame suggested it was Jacob and he remained near the door. Watching. Waiting for my father to kill me. I was starting to hate the guy.

“You compromised my family. Tell me why I should keep you breathing?” The words tumbled out of his mouth and all I saw was Grandfather aiming the gun at my forehead.“Why should I keep you alive?”

“I’ll be good. I can be good.”

I shut my eyes but couldn’t stop the tears. I couldn’t fucking breathe. I made no motion to talk. Jacob ripped him away from me, and I turned to my side, filling my lungs with oxygen. My head pulsed with the beat of my own heart. Gasping, I felt tears burn tracks down my cheeks. Angrily, I wiped them away, furious at their appearance. Furious at my weak body. Wondering if it would’ve been mercy had Grandfather killed me when he found me.

The silence stretched too long. If Tristan wanted me dead, I wouldn’t fight him. I was too fucking tired. It was only then I realized I was wearing nothing but a hospital gown. The cool air against my naked back made me shiver. It took me a moment to realize what they’d see with my back exposed to them.

The scars Grandfather had left behind.

I rolled off the bed, my legs wobbled under me, my body too damn uncoordinated to fight back. I used the bed to support my weight. Weak. I was fucking weak. A liability to those I sworeto protect.

I finally dragged my eyes to Tristan. Jacob stood behind him, his arms wrapped around Tristan’s chest as if holding him back from me, but they were both still. The pity in their eyes made me sick. “Fuck you,” I shot back and spat the wad of bile in my throat. “Kill me because I will never, ever, fucking be what you want!”

Tristan shrugged out of Jacob’s hold. “Jacob, please wait outside and do not come inside until I call you.”

Jacob didn’t question. He wasn’t there to question. He obeyed.

Once the door snicked closed, Tristan ran his hand through his hair. A vulnerability replaced his hostility. I could see the sorry look on his face. The shadowed darkness of regret that hovered over his eyes. I preferred his cold indifference.

“Who?” he asked. I knew he needed confirmation but fuck him. I owed him nothing.

“Oh, fuck you. You know who.”

Tristan paled.

“Eight lashings on my back. Whip marks for disobeying a direct order. A reminder to do better. He sliced me from belly button to groin for refusing to whore myself out to a female target. And he burned my skin just over my heart to remind me that I’d always be a target. A reminder that we were all mortal. Does that answer your fucking questions?”

“Why?” The question came out whispered, as if he weren’t really asking me, but asking the dead.

I chuckled. It sounded wet and evil. “Ask him,” I said, my voice thick. “Oh, wait, you can’t. BecauseIkilled him.”

Tristan’s eyes turned cold. The same haunted eyes that stared at me every fucking day I looked in the mirror.

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