Page 96 of All Your Lies
“Let’s worry about my life later. There are far more important things happening,” she deflects.
“But...”
She shakes her head and I drop it. This is a lot to unpack, and she may not be ready to discuss it, as she claims. My friend, who I’ve grown to love like a sister over the past few months, isn’t who she portrayed. Beneath the bubbly exterior of the fun-loving woman is a lost and hurting girl, and I want to help her heal and get revenge on whoever caused her pain.
I give her the earbud for her right ear while I take the left. I hit shuffle, and we wait in silence until a song plays.
The speakers come alive with the smooth, seductive notes of a song that starts slow and sensual, and in seconds, we’re cracking up.
“I knew it was a playlist for your honeymoon!”
We both move back and forth as the rest of the song plays and wait for the next song. It begins with a slow tempo, and a smooth melody fills the air, triggering recognition in me. As I sob, Jenna’s firm grasp on my hand offers solace throughout the entire song.
I snatch my phone from my side as it vibrates. Vic texted me an address, but it’s not their house or the lake—it’s somewhere else entirely.
“I have to go,” I say to Jenna as I remove the left earbud and rise to my feet.
“I understand.” With a frown, she nods and gives me back the other earbud.
“Do you want to come? It’s somewhere in Wilding.”
“I know where it is.”
“Good, let’s go,” I say as I pocket the box with the iPod and note in it. “On the way, you can tell me all about these ‘games’ Trey was talking to you about the other day.”
“Ugh, don’t remind me.”
With the night closing in, the tall trees lining the road loom large. Their branches create a dark tunnel as we drive closer to our destination. Finally, we stop just outside a massive metal gate, its imposing presence casting a shadow over us. A figure that looks vaguely familiar approaches with a gun securely fastened to his chest. With a squinted gaze, he points toward someone, signaling for them to allow us entry. We drive through the entrance and find a parking spot close to the front of the gigantic building.
“Gage is going to kill me when he finds out you came by your—” Vic says as he looks beyond me at the other side of the car where Jenna is exiting. “He’s definitely going to kill me.”
As I step into the vast, open area, the absence of sound is palpable, creating an eerie atmosphere that is almost unsettling. When I asked them to find him, my heart was heavy with hurt, my mind filled with confusion, and my thoughts consumed with worry about the unknown.
Rage is the only thing that pumps through my veins now.
We descend into the dimly lit basement, making our way through a narrow hallway until we reach a doorway. Brad sits on a chair inside, bound and naked, with his head drooping to the side.
I walk into the room and catch Trey and Marcus in the corner. Their laughter halts as they glance in my direction. They share a quiet demeanor, yet I discern a variance between them. As Trey’s eyes meet Jenna’s, his face breaks into a wide grin, his excitement evident, while Marcus purposely averts his gaze. Weird.
As I glance at her, I notice her eyes rolling with exasperation before returning her attention to the purpose of our visit.
“He’s not dead, is he?” I ask, my gaze fixed on the superficial wound on his thigh—a long, shallow graze, still faintly bleeding from my earlier, clumsy shot.
“He passed out after pissing himself. We only fucked with him a little. Highly disappointing if you ask me,” Trey says.
Jenna gives my hand one reassuring squeeze as I step forward and walk up to him by myself.
This is what I was trained to do, what has always been expected of me, but I was too worried I’d never have what it takes.
I guess all it takes is someone shooting the love of your life to become a vengeful, rage-infested being whose sole purpose is to destroy the person who hurt your heart and soul.
Feeling the weight of my gun against my back, I reach behind me and retrieve it. The safety clicks, the sound reverberating through the hushed room.
The gun is steady in my grip as I take aim at his left foot, and the tension in the air intensifies as I squeeze the trigger.
At that moment, I don’t know what’s more satisfying—the piercing sound of his scream or the sight of crimson blood staining the concrete floor.
His tear-filled eyes bore into mine, radiating a hatred that I undeniably reflect.
