Page 62 of Mischievous Lies

“Intense is good, isn’t it?” I ask, pretending like I care.

“Not like this guy. He was unhappy with a recent mistake I made, and so I had to do a job I wasn’t comfortable with,” he admits.

Interesting.

“Everything okay? You can tell me, you know. It’s not easy keeping things to yourself,” I push.

He stares at the food between us, and I feel the shift before I see it in his gaze. Has the asshole actually snapped?

“No, it’s not okay. I wouldn’t have had to do it if the drugs just worked on you and shit didn’t start going pear-shaped.”

My entire body freezes. Did he just say what I think he did? No way, surely not. A manic smile slowly creeps onto his lips as I retract my hand and realize he might be cracking far more quickly than I thought he might. The thing with ordinary men is when they’re introduced into this world, not all of them can handle its expectations or its repercussions.

“What do you mean?” I ask, leaning back in my chair now. The Jared who was sitting across from me a moment before is gone. The facade of who or what he might’ve once been vanished.

I didn’t touch my food because I didn’t trust his intention before, and I certainly don’t trust it now. He studies me with curious eyes, and I wonder how I missed it. How I missed hisinterest in me. Because now when I look at him, I can see it clear as day written all over his face.

“If only it worked on you, and Lester didn’t go missing because of it. You should’ve just gone home with him like a good girl. That was our plan. It was as simple as that. I wish I could’ve seen you then, and we could’ve talked aboutus.”

“You were the one behind drugging me that night?” I ask quietly, realizing he’s furious with me as if I’m the reason it all went wrong. It takes my breath away. I’d come to terms with what happened, but knowing it wasn’t just Lester but him as well? It makes me feel sick. How many women…? I let the thought trail off.

I always assumed he and Makayla just had a weird relationship, and somehow they made it work. She never really shared many details with me about him, and I never really cared enough to ask. But this asshole has a few screws loose, and not in a fun way. In a way that’s he nurtured himself to take advantage of women and then blame them for him having to face any kind of consequences.

He picks up his knife and fork, cuts into the steak, and puts a piece in his mouth, chewing furiously as if that will calm down his mood.

“I was just trying to create a time for us to speak privately. But every time we were at parties, you were always off with some other guy,” he grits out.

“You were with Makayla,” I remind him.Remember the dead ex-girlfriend you killed?!

“Fuck Makayla. She always got in the way,” he bites back.

I’m gobsmacked by how deranged this guy is, and I wish I had never touched him, even if I was only trying to get answers from him. He’s looking around the restaurant now as if we’re being spied on, and I realize he’s living in a state of paranoia,certain he’s being watched or waiting for his fall when he makes another wrong move.

He’s a desperate man.

And desperate men end up in deeper trouble, or worse, in this world.

His hair is styled back, and he’s wearing a nice suit. I thought at first it was because he was trying to impress me, but maybe this is him uncomfortably living in a world he was never cut out for. And it’s very clear he wasn’t meant for it because I know men who certainly don’t squeal. Especially to impress a woman.

He makes me want to vomit. Not only would I never want him, I don’t even find him attractive.

Without a doubt, he’s the worst type of man.

“You’re awfully quiet. You should eat,” he says, pointing his knife at my salad.

“Did you do it?” I ask. Fuck this coy shit. He’s going to pay for what he did anyway. Now I want him to see me for the real me. A powerful woman. One not enticed by his cheap cologne or rented suit. A woman who basks in the world he so desperately wanted to be involved with and so clearly can’t handle.

He glances over his shoulder. This asshole’s in too deep, and he doesn’t know how to get out.

So I’ll make sure he’s taken out.

“Do what?”

“Makayla. Did you kill her?” I ask directly.

He stops cutting his steak and raises his gaze to mine. There’s a twinkle of being recognized but also the erratic movement of a man who’s about to crack.

“The possibility is there,” he says, glancing down at my tits. “I never meant for it to happen. But I was punished for being sloppy here in Manhattan for selling the drugs. So I had to kill some politician’s daughter. Makayla wasn’t supposed to be there that night, but when she heard I asked one of her friends ona date, she came anyway. Convinced the other girl to have a threesome with us. Maybe I should’ve fucked them both before I killed them.” He’s speaking so rapidly now it’s like he’s glorifying his actions. “I’m not a killer. I just had to show my boss I was dedicated, you know.” Something changes in his expression, and he meets my eyes again. “But girls like a bad boy anyway, right? I’d never hurt you. You’re different. You should eat.”

---