Page 65 of An Honest Lie

His blue, fishy eyes studied Braithe, and he tilted his head to the side so that it matched the angle of hers. He looked like a puppet relaxed on its strings.

“Said she’d flown here from Washington with some girlfriends for a weekend getaway. So I asked what she wanted to get away from—” He clapped his hands twice, bouncing on one leg with the flair of a performer.Of course, Rainy thought:Vegas, he’s a showman.

“She thought that was so, so funny. Do you know what she told me next, Rainy?”

“I can’t wait for you to tell me, Paul,” she answered dryly.

“She said she was there to call her ex, the man she was still in love with.” Rainy swallowed; she wished she had water to cool the aching in her throat. How long had she been here? Paul stared at her, his eyes mesmerizing.

“She took your little game as a sign, you see? And then the psychic...you girls just had to stop to talk to that cracked nut, didn’t you?” He tapped a closed fist to the side of his head, clicking his tongue.

“It’s not my business who she’s in love with. It’s not reciprocated.”

“Well, see there, that’s what I thought, as well—this poor, delusional woman who arranged this...special weekend so she could come to Vegas and have a psychic confirm her high school boyfriend was the one.” He laughed, slapping his knee like it was the funniest joke he’d ever heard, and then he suddenly became very serious.

“She showed me the text she was planning on sending him, you know...” He placed a hand over his heart, his bottom lip drooping out. “It was good, Rainy, that’s all I’ll say. Braithe should have been a writer.”

“That’s all you’ll say, huh?” Somehow she really doubted that.

Paul grinned, making the motion of zipping his lips and throwing away the key.

From across the room Braithe moaned. Paul either didn’t hear her or didn’t care; he was engrossed in telling his story. “We had a toast together to celebrate, but I could tell she was nervous the whole time, waiting for Grant to text her back.”

Rainy bit down on her tongue, forcing herself not to use it. She needed to hear him out, wanted to, but she was spitting angry that she was being forced to hear the truth from a sociopath instead of Grant. And how much of the truth was he actually giving her? Braithe wasn’t conscious enough to contradict his story.

“He did text her back. Not right away, but his response was equally as thoughtful as hers.”

She couldn’t hold back for another second. The anger rose like vomit. “Fuck you!” If he didn’t have her chained, she’d launch herself at him. “I need water,” she said.

Paul shrugged. “Why should I give you water when you’re being so very rude?”

“A dehydrated girl is no fun to play with, Paul.”

He kicked off the fridge he was leaning against and Rainy gave a silent prayer of thanks when he pulled a bottle of water from the pack on the counter and casually walked over. She kept eye contact with him the whole time he held the bottle to her lips. Cold, mean chips of blue buried beneath a spray of blond lashes. They were unblinking as they watched her, like he didn’t want to miss a second of her suffering. She was so, so close, but she couldn’t quite place him yet.

She tried to drink slowly to give him less of a thrill, but she sucked down the whole bottle in seconds. He carried the empty bottle over to a garbage bag and tucked it inside, then he took a bottle over to Braithe. Rainy heard the seal on the lid snap before he bent over her with the water. She couldn’t tell if Braithe was conscious enough to drink, but after a few seconds he stood up, setting the bottle on the table above her head. Was this really happening?Yes, because you made it happen.She didn’t want to look at him. She’d been staring into his eyes less than twenty seconds ago and it had been a hollow experience. She suddenly felt exhausted. She leaned her head against the pole behind her and closed her eyes.

When she woke, the window on the wall above Braithe was dark. She had the strong urge to pee, and her mouth was so dry she had to work her tongue free of her teeth. What time was it? He must have put something in her water.

“Braithe...are you awake?” Her voice cracked; she scooted her butt forward in an attempt to get her blood moving and tented her knees. “Braithe...I need you to wake up,” she called louder. No answer.

“Hey! Hey! Can anyone hear me? Help! Help!” She rocked against the table, trying to move it, but Rainy knew it was no use; it was bolted down. “Hey!” she yelled again. “Help us!

“Braithe!” she called. “Wake up! We need to get out of here.”

“You can’t.” The words preceded his footsteps like he’d been just around the corner, listening. Rainy went so still she could hear her own raspy breath. A few seconds later, Paul walked into view, carrying a large paper bag that smelled of food.

“This—” he said, after setting the bag on the table that separated her from Braithe “—is in the new wing of the hotel. Construction is only set to resume in a few months, and by then we will be long gone, won’t we, B?” He tossed his keys on the counter. “No one can hear you, Rainy—these professional kitchens are well insulated. Chefs like to be able to scream at their kitchen staff without the dining room hearing.” As he spoke, he stacked containers on the table, his movements fast and jerky. Rainy could smell him from where she sat. Had he just left a shift?

She glanced at the window and saw that the sky was lightening to an indigo. When she looked over again, he was unlocking Braithe’s handcuffs. He pulled her to her feet, where she swayed, unsteady, and then he led her to the food. Rainy watched as he sat her on a stool and placed a fork in her hand. It was the first time she was seeing Braithe’s face since the night of the dinner. Her hair was still in the topknot she’d worn that night, but it sagged off the side of her head like a piece of fruit past its prime. A few strands had escaped their pins and hung limply around her face. She didn’t have bruises, not that Rainy could see, but Braithe was so gray she matched the concrete floor. Her eyes looked swollen, but that could have been from crying. She didn’t look up when Rainy said her name.

“She’s so zonked out she doesn’t know who you are,” Paul said, stroking her head. She was staring down at whatever was in the container, the fork poised above it. “Go on, be a good girl and take a bite.” When Braithe didn’t move, he spoke again. “Hey! I’m talking to you, you ungrateful shit, eat! God!” Throwing his hands up, he paced behind her chair.

“You said it yourself, she’s drugged. Untie me and I’ll feed her.”

“I don’t think so,” he said. “We’ve already been through this, Rainy.” He took the fork from Braithe and speared something in the box. Braithe opened her mouth and Paul spooned what looked like pancakes through her lips. She chewed unenthusiastically, her eyes on the table. He handed her the fork and she took over, robotically.

“Braithe wouldn’t eat at first, you see. She can be really stubborn, as I’m sure you know. Anyway, we came to a deal—she eats what I bring her, and I don’t leave her in the freezer all day.”

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