Page 39 of One Twisted Lie

“That’s the thing. I’m not too sure what I’m supposed to be doing.”

This is a conversation we’ve had before, and I’m hoping this time he’ll be a bit more forthcoming.

“Does it matter?”

Well, there goes that theory.

“Yeah,” I argue. “I’m not going to murder him if that’s what you want.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he says through a half-chuckle, half-scoff. “You wish. I’ll tell you when you need to know.”

And now I’m growing frustrated. “Don’t I need to know now?”

“Legally speaking, it’s better if you don’t know.”

I startle at that. “Legally? Shit. What exactly do you have planned?”

And the fucked-up thing is, I don’t think I want to know. I’m not ignorant of the ways of the business. I’ve shadowed Father enough and studied under some of his top executives, and I never witnessed anything like this. Suddenly, I’m picturing shady business deals in back alleys, greasy men in cheap suits shaking hands.

My father doesn’t respond to my question. His face grows cold and calculating, the very appearance I’ve been trying to emulate all my life. “Where is this coming from?”

“It’s coming from me not wanting to play this game,” I put it simply, not backing down when Father puffs out his chest in distaste. “I just don’t want to do this anymore.”

“Excuse me?”

“I don’t want to keep being his friend if I’m lying to him.” A burst of courage hits me. I take a deep breath. “I actually—”

He cuts me off. “You actually, what? You want to be weak? What is happening to you?”

“Nothing. I—”

He cuts me off again, that familiar intimidation tactic I’ve seen him use before, the same one he taught me. “Life is an ocean, Ozymandias, and we’re the apex predators. We don’t have second thoughts, and we don’t show mercy. We don’t showweakness.”

“I’m not fucking weak,” I spit, but a kernel of doubt seeps through me. Could it actually be that Carter is making me weak? He’s opened me up in ways I couldn’t imagine are possible. He’s stripped me down like I’ve never been before. My soul, however conceited and black it is, has never been this much of an open book.

Until now.

“You like hanging out with him,” Father states, taking a step closer. “He’s becoming your friend.”

I gulp, fingers shaking as I try to stick to my resolve. “And—”

“Why would you do this to us?”

“To us? For fuck’s sake, he’s just a friend.”

“He’s a fucking Everett!” he snaps, and I’ve never seen him lose his cool like this before. His face is red, his jaw is clenched, and he looks about ready to punch me. “They have been and will continue to try and take everything from us. It’s blood, Ozymandias.”

He takes a step back when I think he realizes how rattled I am. He sighs deeply and pinches the bridge of his nose, his age showing.

“What do we always say about everyone else?” he asks, gently placing his hand on my shoulder as he magically finds some semblance of fatherly instinct. “What is everyone else?”

“Peasants,” I whisper reluctantly.

“What do we say about peasants?”

I recall all the lessons and all the training I’ve been given. I remember the importance of each. Father always said that there’s someone behind you, ready to take everything if you let them. Everyone wants something from you, everyone has an ulterior motive, and anyone who isn’t blood can’t be trusted.

“Kings don’t concern themselves with the matters of peasants.”

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