Page 69 of The Truths that Deceive

Calista’s troubles aren’t stemming from the weapon blueprints and schematics being sold to the highest bidder…

I think she’s a scapegoat.

“Jones…”

“She’s just another piece of a puzzle, one they want, one you’ll hand over. When she’s given you everything.” He motions to the door. The others have left and we make our wayout to the large car that’s waiting. “And this? Glad we could join you for some fun, but…”

“Some of it got out of hand.” A muscle twitches in my jaw. Like the men I killed who touched her. All fucking three of them. “But?”

“Don’t get too caught up.”

“Never. She’s a commodity, nothing more.”

And with that, I shut down the feeling that I’m a total fucking liar.

The private islandin the Florida Keys, close to mainland USA and Miami by plane, is a stopover. We own it, so it’s the perfect place to rest up for a few hours.

Calista’s back with me. The others have scattered.

I’m fresh from my shower, buttoning a cuff link when I come out into the living area of the suite we’re in. Calista’s sitting on the white sofa. She looks around, then at me. “I’d ask who you are but it’s going to be the same answer, isn’t it? A lot of bullshit wrapped in nothing paper. Eva… your friend?”

The trip here from Cuba wasn’t long and Eva, aka the Black Widow, sequestered her.

Fuck, I don’t think the Widow’s much older than Calista. And I’m not sure if Eva’s even her real name. She’s a Knight and we don’t dig into each other. What we are at the tables and suites in the depths beneath O-Ring back in our New York headquarters is taken at face value.

Every single one of us has a past.

Every single one has secrets. We all earned the right to reveal those when and if we want to.

“What about her?” I switch to the other cuff link.

“She was very nice to me but was the same as you.”

Yep, sounds about right. We all have a story, and it’s never the truth.

“She’s nice to women and girls. Men? We have to earn her respect.” I lean against the doorjamb. “Your room’s through there.” I gesture to the main bedroom of the suite. “This is a resort so order in, but don’t venture out, if you get my drift.”

“And what about you?” She’s avoiding what happened, the impact of her words so hard I can feel it pressing down like a weight.

“You should get some sleep and?—”

“I’m not broken.” She throws a cushion at me and jumps up. “I’m trained, I know?—”

“Those men tried to rape you, Calista, they?—”

“Don’t treat me like a doll. Like a broken, fragile thing. I’m not. There are worse things than what they did, and?—”

“Like death? Or like me?”

“You don’t even warrant a blip on my radar. I like kinky shit. I might not like or trust you, but I like what you do.”

I half smile. “Good to know. And you need to rest.” I give her a gentle push toward the bedroom. “I can send someone up to talk to you.”

“I’m a prisoner again?” she asks, deliberately misunderstanding me. We both know I meant a therapist. Not that there’s one here, but I’ve got two options. Push her to see if she’ll crack or hold her.

And the latter?

It’s dangerous.

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