Page 122 of Iris' Lying Eyes

With a few cheap pairs of pants, shirts, and underthings, I collapse on the flat mattress and sigh. I’m at a crossroads. I can get the fuck out or make one final attempt to get this right.

I did what I set out to do, but now the freedom tastes like poison on my tongue.

I traded Liberty’s life for my own and Sam’s. Can I walk, knowing she’s awaiting a death sentence?

There are more bad guys. More filthy deeds to uncover. More. More. More.

I’m tired of the filth, but what can I reasonably accomplish? As I said before, kill one, and another pops up like a fucking cockroach.

But I can help her. I know the secrets. If anyone can use it to get her out, it’s me.

How? I don’t have the money or the might. I just have the knowledge. I need someone on the inside. But who?

I’ve burned so many bridges. Now I’m left in a canoe that’s slowly sinking while I cling to the side.

But everything I fought for is gone. With no leverage for these fuckers, nothing but death can stop me.

Am I willing to die? I think I am. I’ve come this far. Why stop now? So, I can live this miserable life with the bitter taste of failure dogging my steps?

Ha.

Maybe I am a no-good whore, but I’ll use it to my advantage. Those fuckers won’t know what hit them.

∞∞∞

I lie low for a couple of days, allowing my body to heal. Over that time, I consider my options.

With John and Roman dead, the cast of villains I’m up against has shrunk, but what remains are the big fish. None of them are going to let Liberty go because I ask nicely.

The senator is out for obvious reasons. Castinetti would jump at the information, but he’s no better than McCafferty.

McCafferty left me out to dry. Finnen wants me to believe he’s on my side, but what have I seen but more lies? Bringing John out to that cabin wasn’t for Liberty’s benefit.

I’ve heard nothing about the information I sent to the police anonymously. At this point, they’re my best bet, but it’s a sure death sentence if I do. I’m not ruling it out, but it’s my last resort.

I left the remainder of the information I dug up at the house, and since I’m trying to save precious money, I pack up and relocate. Problem is, being here traps me in a space that I can’t stand. This is where it all began, and even though both my mom and John are gone, they still haunt me.

It’s Friday night. I can’t stand my circling thoughts, so I scavenge in my closet and piece together an outfit from before.

It feels so long ago now, and frankly, as I look at myself in the dusty mirror, I can practically feel my bones ache. I’m not that young girl. But who am I?

I still have makeup in one of the drawers, and when I’m done, my brown eyes look sexy under the dark tones. I leave my lips bare and curl my long red hair so that it swings around my back.

It’s way too long, the ends brushing my ass, and I give a thought to cutting it before leaving it as is. I’m too tired for that too.

I pull up to Fight Club in a rideshare and pay the driver before exiting. The air is crisp, and I shiver. I’m not in the headspace for this, but I have to get my shit together.

Inhaling slowly, I hold the air for a moment before exhaling. By the time I reach the doors, I’ve got my game face on, but I’m still a little wobbly as I pay the dude and venture inside.

It’s easy to spot Diem. He’s in the ring. His muscles flex and glisten magnificently, but that’s not why I stare. Nope.

He’s in the ring with Bastion. What the fuck? Since when does B participate in this shit?

He’s the damn Bruno. My thoughts are derailed when he spins, and I glare helplessly at his sweaty chest. He’s a beast, but his yummy pecs, delicious abs, and sexy happy trail mock my supposed feelings.

I wish my traitorous body would get with the program, but I rationalize that I can admire his form and still hate his guts.

Bastion swings his meaty fist, and Diem’s head flies backward before he shakes his head and grins. Psycho.

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