Page 51 of All Your Lies
Alexa
With hesitance and apprehension, I cautiously step into Gage’s club. Memories of Halloween a week ago flood my mind, replaying the moment I learned the truth.
“Pursuit of Happiness” blasts through the speakers around the club as if there are a hundred people and not just the two of us. If not for that, I’m sure I’d hear my erratic heart pounding in my ears, matching the sensation of it thumping inside my chest.
The club is dark aside from the red lights illuminating behind the bar and the ember from the blunt currently hanging between Gage’s fingers.
He looks at home, in his kingdom of decadence and debauchery, while occupying one couch with his arms spread wide across the backrest. He points his head toward the heavens, though he reigns in the underworld below.
He’s the new boss of Chicago, after all. Something I haven’t quite come to terms with, or maybe I haven’t come to terms with the fact that I begrudgingly agreed to marry him yesterday. I was unaware of what awaited me when my dad summoned me to hisoffice. I knew it was something serious since we never meet in there.
What I didn’t expect was to see Gage sitting across from my dad. I felt blindsided by them, but it’s not like Dad was aware that Gage and I had already had our dumpster fire of a reunion. And worse, when my dad mentioned the marriage, I said yes, ignoring the screams in my head.
The thought of disappointing my dad is not an option for me. I’m determined to make him proud, and if it means a marriage I don’t want, so be it.
My heart hurts at the thought of the clinical and callous way I’m thinking about something that once made me smile. I wanted to have a blissful marriage like my parents have always had, with someone I can lean on when times get hard. Someone to be my best friend and partner.
I don’t know this new person in front of me, but a strong intuition tells me he possesses the ability to handle tasks effectively and fill in the gaps where I fall short. That’s what brings me here today.
I stop in my tracks, unsure if he’s noticed my presence.
He draws the blunt between his lips and inhales deep before blowing the billowing smoke out of his lungs and angling his head down toward me. Smoke covers his face before it dissipates into nothingness and all that’s left is his handsome face. The face that used to bring me solstice and warmth now brings me uncontrollable shivers of uncertainty and irritation, but worse, desire.
I rub my hands down my arms at the sudden chill and then stop. He doesn’t need to know his effect on my emotions.
A sense of safety still clings to me from this distance, yet, as soon as our eyes meet, I can feel the weight of his stare, a palpable heat that seems to strip away my clothes.
My blood boils with a need I’ve never associated with him before.
His eyes are unwavering as he takes a final, lingering drag from the blunt. The smoke curls around his face before he snuffs it and stands.
My instincts scream for me to take a step back with each advancing step he takes, but I hold my ground. His steps are leisurely, as if knowing his time with me is infinite and he’ll catch me.
This man used to be my best friend. Then he disappeared without a trace, only to return as a different person entirely.
No longer is he the boy who held a piece of my heart.
The one who made me playlists and held me when I felt sad.
No longer is he sweet, understanding, and quiet.
He’s everything dark, deviant, and calculating.
His sights aren’t set on being my friend again.
No, he wants everything I have to give and more.
He wants to own every piece of me.
It’s hard to reconcile the man standing in front of me as Gage, my best friend, the boy I loved, and the man in front of me now. A man who’s been messing with me. Playing with me. Stalking me. Lying to me. They feel as if they’re two separate entities. The man in front of me needs a different name. He isn’t who he claims to be.
He’s in a suit that fits him to perfection. Black dress pants hang low on his hips, his suit jacket is off, and his white dress-shirt sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, showing off extensive tattoo ink. He’s much bulkier than I remember. His muscles now have muscle as if stacked.
I felt so idiotic when I didn’t realize who he was, but how could I? He’s different now. In both personality and appearance. Even his voice is deeper and graver than I remember it being.
I take two steps back because I can’t handle it any longer.
“Stop retreating, piccolo angello,” his gruff voice says over the music as he advances on me.
