Page 12 of Blood and Lies (A Twisted Duet 1)

Another step, his gaze grazing across my face. “You’re a liar.”

“I have no reason to lie.”

“Oh, I beg to differ.”

“Tell me what it is I have to gain by lying. You drugged me, kidnapped me, robbed me of my clothes, and left me a goddamn finger in a fucking box!”

I didn’t realize I was shouting until the last word left my mouth. Immediately, I bit my lower lip, and all he did was stare at me, completely unfazed by my outburst. For a moment, I wasn’t sure if I should fear the absolute coolness he was presenting, especially after the anger he showed earlier. Then he took another step, coming so close I could feel his breath on my cheeks.

“It would be wise of you to speak to me with respect, little mouse.” He placed his hand against the wall right above my shoulder, leaning closer. “Like you said, I kidnapped you and left you a finger in a box, so what else do you think I’m capable of?”

Shivers ran down my spine, and I closed my eyes, desperate to push back the tears.

He placed his other hand next to my head, casing me in between him and the wall, leaving me with nowhere to go.

“Do not underestimate me during our time together, Miss Linscott. It would only make this experience so much harder for you, and the only thing you will accomplish by underestimating me with your lies is to piss me off. You don’t want that, Miss Linscott.”

I opened my eyes, staring into the black depths of his, the scar above his right eye clearly visible this close up.

“You already seem pissed off to me.” I didn’t mean to whisper. Those words were meant to sound strong, bold, determined, yet they sounded anything but.

He continued to stare down at me, the corners of his lips curling up in a wicked smirk. “Believe me, Miss Linscott, you haven’t seen me pissed off…yet.”

He pushed his hands off the wall and took a step back, allowing me to take a breath. It was like his presence sucked all the oxygen out of the room, making it impossible to breathe right.

I leaned my head against the wall. “Why did you put that finger in a box for me to see?”

“It’s a warning.”

“A warning for what?”

“The better question is a warning to whom.”

I studied his face without saying a word. I wouldn’t fall in his trap by letting him coax me into playing his little game.

One of his dark eyebrows slanted upward when he realized I wasn’t going to ask.

“That ring, Miss Linscott, belonged to the man your father hired to kill my brother.”

I couldn’t stop the soft gasp from coming out of my mouth, and he smiled with pure amusement. “You seem surprised.”

“My father didn’t hire anyone.”

“Are you sure about that, Miss Linscott? How much do you actually know about your father’s business? About how he runs his empire?”

The way he cocked his head to the side, the smug grin on his face, he knew when it came to my father and his business, I knew nothing. I chose to know nothing. All I wanted was my drawings, my art, getting lost in my own world of colors, contours, and my vivid imagination. My father never understood my love for drawing, always trying to sway me to go to college so I could end up working for him like my brother. But when an internship at a huge art studio in New York came my way, there was no way I could say no. So to answer his question, I didn’t know anything about my father and Linscott Resources other than the company made my family millions.

He smiled. “As I suspected. You don’t know a fucking thing. Let me enlighten you, then.” He started pacing leisurely in front of me, rubbing his chin with his fingers. “Your father has an entire legion of men working for him. So while he sits there on his Linscott throne, he hires the more inferior men to do his dirty work for him.” He stopped and turned to look at me. “And in this case, the dirty work was killing my brother. In turn, the hired murderer got a hefty paycheck and a very snazzy ring—as you could see.” He glanced down at the finger before looking back at me.

I shook my head. “It doesn’t make sense. Why would my father want Carlo dead in the first place?”

“That, little mouse, is something I was hoping you could answer.”

“There’s just no motive,” I muttered, more to myself than to him.

His dark eyes moved, his gaze slowly going down my body. “I see plenty of motive right here in front of me.”

“My dad never even met Carlo. So why would he want him dead?”

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