Page 64 of The Truths that Deceive

I don’t even know what I have. The only thing I hedged on, ever, is the Collectors and that’s personal.

The man’s deadly, a hunter. He’s playing a game.

With me? Or the jackass here with us?

I want to say it’s with the big guy, but maybe my idiot brain’s a little soft on Smith. My body burns for him because every touch, the hot, primal games he’s played with me, all make me melt.

There’s a reason I haven’t used the safe word.

I don’t want to.

I like his brand of kink, it exhilarates me like nothing ever has before.

It doesn’t mean I trust him. Or like him. Or… even if I like him, that doesn’t put us on the same side.

Not that I like him, though.

The guy looks from me to Smith and back again. “Or I take her and have some fun.”

“And then,” Smith says, “I don’t talk.”

I’m not a crier, and on demand is almost impossible. But I’ve had guns pointed at me. A man who turns my stomach has felt me up, mauled me, and now he’s threatening me with torture at best, rape at worst.

“P-please…” I have to cry, so I think of not seeing my brother, of not avenging my mom’s death. And I think of Smith’s daughter, the girl he clearly loves and tries to pretend doesn’t mean that much, and my lip trembles. “P-please, let me go.”

I then bite the inside of my cheek, hard enough the coppery taste of blood comes, and it brings home all the violence that could happen. And what the CIA might also do to me, and I manage a few tears.

Fuck it. I’m scared, beyond scared… terrified, so I bury my face in my hands as my vision blurs and I pretend I’m bawling.

The man hisses in disgust.

Outside the door someone calls out to him. It’s a sharp command in, I think, Portuguese. It’s not one of my languages, but from the slowness of the command, and the repeat, I don’t think it’s this guy’s, either.

He yells back an affirmative. It’s something that I understand right away. The big guy then motions to the door with the gun on Smith.

“Come on,” he says. “We’ll see what you know. And if you try anything, I’m tasting your sweet thing here.”

Smith doesn’t look at me as he’s led out, the gun poking him hard in the back and I stand, dropping all attempt at tears as helplessness overcomes me. They disappear out the door, the echoing slam like some kind of bell toll at a funeral.

The moment they’re gone, I look around again. I don’t see any telltale lights for cameras, and besides, there’s nowhere to keep them hidden.

I have no idea who is behind this. So many people mightwant this weapon, and the blueprints… Johnny, my field agent, was on the trail for an important piece of the puzzle when he went MIA. Before he went dark, he told me not to trust anyone.

Then again, he might have said that because he was feeding me bad intel.

Slowly, I creep toward the door and place my ear against it. The wood’s thick, very thick, maybe even reinforced.

I need to keep my eyes on the prize. Finding the fucker who raped my mom. Who used her, got her in with these people, the Collectors, or… I don’t know the details, but I have to find out the truth.

Beyond the door there are muffled sounds. Voices. But I can’t make anything out.

I reach for the handle and stop.

If I can even get out and there’s a guard waiting, where am I going to go and what the fuck will he do to me if he catches me? The disgusting giant already gave me a taste. He also taunted a cold and furious Smith with my fate.

Smith…

I swallow, legs wobbling, tears pressing hard and hot at my eyes.

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