Page 10 of Lies He Told Me (Bratva Crime Syndicate 1)

Ruben is squinting around in a daze, like this is just some majorly bad trip.

Johnny waves the smoldering joint in Ruben’s face, although his eyes are still stuck on me. “Explain.”

Ruben pouts, sneaking over a furtive look like he wants to pluck it out of his dad’s sausage fingers, though he thinks better of it. “Uh … it’s legal?”

“What?!”

Ding-dong, wrong answer. Try again.

Ruben’s finger jabs at me. “But, uh, Joy gave it to me!”

“What?” I yelp.

“She’s been doing it a bunch.” Ruben’s belly-flopped onto his ship and is going full-speed on it. “Said I should try it.”

“Liar!” I snap. “I’ve never smoked a day in my life.”

Johnny holds up a hand, squinting at me. “You calling my son a liar?”

My hands clench on the end of Johnny’s shitty fake-wood desk. God, I hate them. I hate their stupid, slack-cheeked faces. I hate their blank eyes, devoid of anything worthwhile. I hate that these idiots are in charge of me. I hate that I’m actually considering finding a way to talk myself out of this one.

Maybe I could manage it. But right now, I don’t really care anymore. I’m tired of twisting myself into pretzels for idiots who barely know the alphabet.

I smile at Mr. Boss Johnny. And then I begin. “Yeah, I’m calling your son a liar. He was notorious for being stoned at our high school. He constantly has red eyes. You’ve been complaining about the smoke problem since before I was even hired. Two plus two equals four, you know?”

Fact, fact, fact, and …

I can almost see the gears turning in Johnny’s pea brain, as it tries to find a way to reroute the obvious conclusion.

“I’ve got allergies, you know that!” Ruben bursts out.

“Oh yeah—to what?” I ask.

“Uh, grass!”

“We’re in a grocery store—where’s the grass?”

Johnny is nodding. At what, I couldn’t say, but whatever it is, he seems like he’s in pretty enthusiastic agreement.

Until he opens his mouth and speaks.

“You’re fired,” he drawls bluntly. He jabs his thumb at me, then the door. “Get out.”

“With pleasure.” Surprising even myself, I flip him a double bird. I stride to the staff room, grab my backpack, and head for the front door.

“Hey, Joy—wait up!” the last voice I want to hear calls after me.

I drop my water bottle, I’m so surprised. Picking it up, I shake my head. “You have got to be kidding me.”

Ruben’s confusion is written on his face. His pug nose is flaring wider, his curly lashes fluttering like he just found out Santa isn’t real. Clearly, all this time he thought I’ve been civil to him just from the sheer freaking pleasure of his company.

“Back there, my dad was freaking out. I had no choice, y’know. And if you’d just been more chill—”

“You lied to him. Threw me under the bus.”

Ruben tipped his head to the side. “I mean, you could put it like that, I guess.”

“I’m not putting it like anything. That’s what happened.” I turn away. I’m done with this conversation, this place.

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