Page 63 of The Truths that Deceive

“Pretty, isn’t she?” the big goon says, his hand stroking over her as he holds her tight by the hair.

Her lips are firmly pressed together, and her body vibrates with anger and fear. It’s so strong I can almost smell it.

The asshole’s hand grabs a tit, squeezing, making her wince. There’s a fine line between pleasure and pain. Exquisite, delightful.

In game mode.

With a willing partner.

The line between good pain and bad is a fucking rift. And he’s on the wrong side.

“Maybe I take her and make her talk. What do you think?” he says, his rough beard grazing against Calista’s cheek as he rubs it with his own.

“I say stop touching her.”

“Or what?” The guy’s hand moves lower and starts to touch her cloth-covered pussy. My vision bleeds red.

I want to rip his balls off, filet his damn cock. I want to poke the fucker’s eyes out and cut outhis tongue. But first I want to cut off each fucking finger that touches her, that brings the gleam of tears to her eyes.

“Or,” I say, trying to hold my temper, ready to take a gamble on what I’m about to say next since I don’t know what the hell is even happening. “I won’t give you what you want to know, because after a little chat with the girl, nowIknow where the blueprints for the weapon are.”

Chapter 18

Calista

Iswallow the cry of betrayal, and it’s so much more painful than any agony the brute grabbing me can cause.

The flash of heat in his words is so strong, harsh, that even as I suspect he’s buying time, I can’t shake the feeling he just pumped me for information.

And I gave him something.

I just don’t know what.

I twist, trying to get away from the asshole who mauled me.

“Okay, then.” The man nods at Smith. “I’ll play.”

The man flings me away and I stumble, unable to keep my balance. I crash onto the floor on my hands and knees.

Smith’s up and halfway to me when the guy pulls a gun.

I’ve got a feeling Smith would have caught me if I’d been flung near him instead of to the right and behind.

I rear up, ready to attack when the merest flicker of gaze from Smith stops me.

“What do you have? I could taken her.” The guy laughs. “Questioned the shit out of her.”

“She doesn’t know anything. She’s wet behind the ears.” Smith doesn’t look at me and I don’t know which of them I want to punch. “I was hired to get back what she stole. And I did. I just checked with her, and she doesn’t know a fucking thing.”

“Really?” the guy says in his accented English, gun on Smith. “You’re sweet on her enough to risk some torture?”

“Touch her and you’ll know a very prolonged, very excruciating death.” Smith’s smile looks benign but there’s poison in it. Violence. Anger. “Not sweet on her, she’s in enough trouble and she’s ignorant. There’s no need for torture since I just volunteered.”

He’s not betraying me. He’s protecting me.

I think.

Because I didn’t give him anything.

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