Page 58 of Cold Hard Truth

Fel shuffles down the hall, and I don’t blame her. I wouldn’t want to be around us either.

Lyla leans forward, once more messing with her cards. “Is this how it’s going to be then?”

She flicks her violet eyes up at me, and I swear they should be considered weapons with how they hit me in the chest.

“What do you mean?”

“This cold war between us.” She pushes the cards into a stack, resting her hand over them like she’s gathering their strength. “I know you’re not happy about how I left—”

“It’s not just that.”

I’m angry that she left at all. But worse, I’m pissed any of that happened in the first place. Maybe if I’d tracked her down after we got in that fight at the clubhouse, she wouldn’t have been taken. I should have protected her, and I didn’t.

Hating her is easier than focusing on the fact that I hate myself more.

I still don’t know what happened to Lyla, but if it’s anything close to what happened to Ellie, it makes me almost double over and heave just thinking about it.

“I’m looking out for you, okay?” I rake my fingers through my hair. “I don’t know what else you want.”

“I don’t know what I want.” Her gaze drifts out the window.

For a minute I think she’ll say something else. That she’ll fight me until I’m nice to her like she used to do when I was pissing her off when we were kids. Instead, she sits there and lets her mind drift. There’s nothing in her eyes but the vacant stare that’s so unlike her, she almost reminds me of her sister.

“Well, let me know if you need anything.” Turning, I walk away, even if my body revolts at every step.

For years, all I wanted was to find her to shake some sense into her, to make her realize the mess she left inside me. I fought the urge to hunt her down and drowned myself in booze, drugs, women. I’ve been numb for so long; I didn’t realize I was smiling through it.

But one look in Lyla’s eyes was a reminder of someone I forgot—myself. And I don’t know if I’m ready to face him yet.

19

Lyla

The Twisted Kings compoundwas where I lived growing up, but Twisted Roses Tattoo Parlor feels more like home than that place ever did.

Being back here is comforting, even if I know better than to think I’m safe when I’m in this close proximity to Kane.

At least working at the shop keeps me busy. It’s better than so many of the jobs I’ve held these past few years. The team here is friendly, and since they have a long waitlist, the majority of the customers are regulars and will stop in to hang out or say hello whether they have an appointment or not.

When I used to come here as a teenager, the curb would be crowded with bikes. But that’s no longer the case. What was an extension of the club, isn’t anymore. And strangely, it feels like a safe space.

I don’t need to work, technically. I’m not sticking around once I figure out how to get Kane and Sage to stop worrying that someone is after me. But if I’m forced to be in town for the time being, I’m not going to stay locked in Sage’s apartment, trapped in his tower staring at the same four walls.

Every time Sage gets a text, I wonder if it’s from Kane because of the concern that paints his face. He doesn’t tell me what they’re worried about. And I guess it doesn’t matter. I’m in danger again—like I always am.

If I let myself think too much about that I’ll be reminded of all the reasons I left. So I stay busy with work instead. It’s simpler focusing on ink-splattered skin, so long as I don’t have to remember the blood.

Echo walks into the lobby with her client. They talk about a new bar opening down the street while her client pays. And once I finish processing the transaction, Echo waits for them to leave, propping herself against the body jewelry case.

“You catch on quick,” Echo says as the door to the shop closes behind her client.

She hops up onto the counter behind the case and pops her gum.

If there’s one thing I’ve learned about Echo, it’s that she’s always chewing something. Clacking gum between her teeth or talking. She’s constantly bubbling with energy and fidgeting. Her feet swing back and forth, kicking the cabinet with her heels, and it has her black and blonde ponytail swishing around.

Of all the artists at the shop, she is by far the friendliest. Her personality matches her tattoos. While the guys are carved in demons and chaos, hers are pops of color and brightness.

“Not my first time working retail.” I shrug. “And you guys make it easy having it all mapped out in the system. How is it possible you can’t keep anyone around?”

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