Page 32 of Web of Lies
I thrust my arms into the loose sleeves of my denim jacket and take another look at myself in the mirror by my apartment door. Although I looked beautiful in the dress, I couldn't get out of it fast enough and wash off the makeup that was hiding my tattoos so I could change back into something that felt more like me. The dress, the heels, the flawless makeup—it all felt like a costume. It was a polished, silent version of me that didn't speak too loudly or stand out too much.
I pull my hair into a high ponytail and secure it. Then, I give myself a final look-over. A cropped, lace-edged top hugs my chest, paired with a black miniskirt and fishnet stockings. My favorite navy-green denim jacket pulls the outfit together, and my worn-in sneakers complete the look. With a smile on my face, I do a quick spin to ensure I look great from the back as well. This is me. This is the person I'm proud to be.
Ever since the incident at the restaurant, I haven't been able to stop thinking about what happened, analyzing who I am and how I got to this point. I felt stuck—angry, confused, and ashamed of what happened. And the worst part? I didn’t knowwhat to do with any of it. So, I went with what felt most comfortable to me.
Straight into Kyle’s arms. I messaged him more than usual and leaned on him at every opportunity. It wasn't just about wanting sex with him; it was about needing to feel like I had control again. If I could choose when and how I had sex, if I could drown myself in heat and pleasure on my own terms, maybe it would erase the memory of having that choice ripped from me.
Then, one night, I remembered something my father had once told me: "If you ever have to choose between two evils, pick the lesser one."
As much as I never want to relive the nightmare of the Butcher forcing himself on me, I know it could have ended much worse. He could have killed me. And that possibility haunts me. The truth is, I don’t want to die. Not like that, not yet. I want more time to laugh with the people who’ve become my friends, my family. Time to make memories that aren’t built on lies and secrets. I’m not ready to let go of all of that, not when I’ve barely felt like I belong anywhere at all.
After running into him and seeing that he's real and out there, I know I'm on the right track. I have to keep digging and pushing no matter how ugly things get because the truth is out there, and when I find it, I'll make it out of this mess. And maybe once all of this is done, I can tellKyleeverything about myself, and we can have a chance.
Pulling my phone from the pocket of my jacket, I glance at Kyle's last message.
Sidekick:Omw.
It's short and unlike him. He's been rather brief in his replies tonight, with no emojis or rambling. It's completely different from how he's been acting since we started talking. He mentioned a job didn't go well, so maybe he's still feeling thefallout and needs to blow off some steam. And, honestly? That makes two of us. The entire event tonight had me on edge, and I need something real. Something that feels good. And if there's one thing Kyle and I are good at, it's having a good time together.
I shove my phone back into my pocket and leave my apartment, heading down the stairs with a light bounce in my step and a soft tune humming in my throat. The moment I push through the front door, the warm night air hits me, buzzing with the distant sounds of honking cars, chatter, and muffled music. I scan the parking lot in front of the building, but there's no sign of Kyle's SUV.
A sharp shriek rips from my throat when two long arms suddenly wrap around me from behind. They grip me tightly, hoisting me off my feet. Adrenaline surges through my veins as I squirm, ready to jab my elbow, until the familiar scent of Kyle hits me—cedarwood and citrus with a faint lingering note of cigarettes. The panic instantly drains from my muscles, and I melt into his solid embrace.
"Scared?" he murmurs, his hot breath tickling my skin as his lips curve into a smirk against my ear.
"Startled. Not scared," I say as I nudge his ribs with my elbow, and he lowers me back to the ground.
"Liar." His hands flatten against my stomach, pulling me tighter against him. He chuckles against my ear, the vibration in his chest rippling through me in waves. "You always make the cutest noises when you're caught off guard," he says, his hot breath feathering over my skin.
"Keep talking like that, and you'll find out how cute I sound when I punch you."
"Oof. Feisty tonight." He grins and sways us gently from side to side. "Are you always this jumpy?"
"Only when lunatics ambush me," I say, tipping my head back to look at him.
"Please, if I were a lunatic, you'd already be in my trunk."
I can't help but roll my eyes at his comment. A soft laugh slips out of me as I lean my head back against his shoulder. This man always manages to be both annoying and endearing all at once. Under normal circumstances, it would drive me up the wall, but I find myself charmed. But tonight, something's different. There's a crack beneath his usual charm, something I can't quite put my finger on.
"Hey," I say, placing my hands over his. "Are you okay? You've been different tonight. Kinda short in your messages."
He doesn't answer right away and just leans in a little closer. "Yeah. I," he pauses. "Just couldn't wait to see you."
At the sincerity in his voice, my heart skips a beat. Kyle Bennettmissedme?
The thought catches me off guard, and my first instinct is to laugh it off. But somewhere beneath the disbelief, a quiet hope stirs and a soft warmth blooms in my chest.
"Then let's go," I say, turning my head to nudge my nose against his. "Let's have a fun night." I place a soft kiss on his stubbled cheek.
"Sounds good," he murmurs, his grin stretching against my ear before he places a kiss on my temple. He pulls back just enough to grab my hand, his fingers lacing through mine before he tugs me toward his car parked down the street.
The soft hum of rock music fills the bar, blending with the low murmur of voices and clinking glasses. I sit perched on a barstool at a table, sipping my rum and Coke, eyes following Kyle as he stands a few feet away at the dartboard. His postureis upright, shoulders squared as he focuses and lines up his next throw.
He's quiet. Less of his usual chaotic banter, but noticeably touchier. After collecting his darts, he strolls back to me and slips an arm around my waist. His palm rests on my hip as if it's the most natural gesture in the world. He leans in and presses a kiss to my temple, his lips brushing against my skin.
Butterflies stir in my stomach, and my heart rate quickens. I like this. Not the silence, but the way he's touching me. How he can't stay away for too long. It feels different and more intentional.
Could it be that he's feeling something, too? Something more, like I—no. Don't be ridiculous. I'm probably just reading into things because I want to.
