Page 1 of Lies and Other Drugs

Chapter 1

My brother’s murderer was hot.

He had that coy smile that made panties melt and a body to back up his cocky attitude. With chocolate eyes and black hair, he moved around the room like he owned it. Each flex of his muscle, each step, was precise. Objectively speaking, the man was sex on a stick.

Nathaniel Youngblood was many things. The wealthy heir to an oil empire. Intelligent. Attractive. Charming. But he was also a cold-blooded killer. I could practically feel the guilt rolling off of his muscular back.

I’d been watching him throw back drinks for a couple of hours now, but he didn’t seem to show any signs of being drunk. Not a single slur escaped his lips, nor did he stumble as he paraded around the party. He was wearing slacks and a button-down shirt, looking more like a future CEO than the life of the party.

Nathaniel Youngblood had it all. The status, the cars, the money. It was easy to get away with things when you had the world at your feet. Nathaniel didn’t even have to try. He was born into privilege and would probably die with privilege. And if I had anything to do with it—he’d die very soon.

The Pike house at Blackwood University, the most prestigious Ivy League school in New York, looked like any other frat house on a Saturday night. Drunk girls danced around at the mercy of drunk guys. Coy smiles and flirting. Everyone was tripping over themselves to get a quick fuck in the bathroom. It was easy to ask for what you wanted when you were drunk, that’s why they kept the alcohol flowing at these things. I personally didn’t get the appeal. If I wanted something—I got it. I didn’t need drugs, alcohol or an excuse to act out on my desires. But then again, I didn’t feel much of anything these days.

I breathed in the smell of pot, hating the skunky aroma. I was still pretending to nurse my vodka when another girl walked up to Nathaniel. I stared blatantly at them, curious if this would be the girl he’d take upstairs for the night. He flirted with all of the sorority chicks brave enough to approach, but the moment they tried to push further and take their cheap little mating dance upstairs, he’d brush them off or pretend to be distracted by something else.

Interesting. Very, very interesting.

In observing him, I’d concluded that Nathaniel was a sexual man. It was in the way he talked and commanded a room. He had that innate confidence that only came naturally to people like him. But he was picky, too. No one here was good enough or seemed to catch his eye.

“Are you going to go talk to him?” someone whisper-yelled in my ear. I flinched and shut my eyes, frustrated for being caught so quickly. I wasn’t a spy, not even close. I was supposed to be in Southern California finishing up my degree at the Art Institute.

I turned to face the person speaking to me and switched on my charm. I was a Wilson girl, through and through. Mom taught me how to smile past anyone’s defenses. “I’m sorry?” I asked, deciding to feign ignorance. The guy was attractive enough, bright green eyes and tousled blond hair. He looked like he belonged on an ad for cologne, but I guess most of these guys did. Fortune usually was accompanied by beauty, ’twas the fairness of it all. After closer inspection, I realized that he was Samuel Smith, and according to social media, he was Nathaniel’s best friend.

“You show up wearing”—he paused to gesture to me for dramatic effect, dragging his eyes up and down like he was hungry and I was nothing but a tasty snack—“that, nurse the same vodka and tonic for three hours, and watch my boy like it’s your job. So either you’re a stalker or a spy.”

His boy, huh? I looked down at my outfit and bit the inside of my cheek. Black skinny jeans, black heels, and an oversized black shirt. I used to have more of a bohemian vibe to my wardrobe, but since William’s death, I’d started dressing to match my mood. Black was nothing. Black intimidated.

No one should be forced to bury their twin.

“Spy. Definitely a spy. I’m with the CIA,” I answered as I took another swallow of my watered down drink. I hated alcohol. Despised it, really. Alcohol made smart people do stupid things. Again, why use it as a crutch to act on your impulses when you could just stop giving a fuck?

“Can I see your badge?” he asked. I knew he was flirting with me, and I didn’t want to play. Flirting was a game for people who wanted to find a home in other people’s souls. My home was in the ground.

“You can, but then I’d have to kill you,” I said with a grin that felt forced. I hoped Samuel was too drunk to notice that I didn’t give a fuck about his flirty smile and this damn party. The music was too loud. The room was too crowded. The energy was too vibrant.

“Why do I feel like you’re serious right now?” he asked with a smile before guiding me to the bar. “I’m Samuel, by the way. Don’t call me Sam.”

I debated on giving him a fake name, but it didn’t really matter. Pretty soon, everyone here would know who I was. Word traveled fast when your brother died tragically in one of the upstairs bedrooms. “I’m Octavia,” I half-heartedly replied while he pushed aside a sloppy guy drooling on the bar top to make me a drink. I’d let him think he was a gentleman by making me something.

He dipped his brow, probably trying to think of where he’d heard that name before. It wouldn’t take him long to figure out. My name wasn’t too common, and our family was plastered all over the national news when my brother was found dead—an overdose.

A goddamn overdose, they said. Hah!

“That’s a pretty name. Have you been here before?” He slid the cup towards me, and I placed my hands around it, opting not to sip. I didn’t owe him politeness. I didn’t owe any of them anything. I also knew better than to accept drinks from men I didn’t know.

“Transfer student,” I lied with ease. It would have looked suspicious to enroll here. A girl beside me pushed to be at the center of Samuel’s attention, and I saw my opportunity to escape. She plopped her breasts on the bar top, grinning like a predator at him.

“Can I have a drink, please?” she asked. Her voice wasn’t whiney, just assuming. This chick knew she was pretty and could get whatever she wanted. It’s how everyone at this school acted. They either had money to buy their attention, looks to steal it, or both to demand it.

“Sure thing.” He kept his green eyes on me before saying, “Don’t leave, Octavia.”

Damn. Samuel could already tell that I was turning to escape. He cracked open a can of cheap beer for her before circling the bar to stand beside me.

“You going to drink that?” he asked while nodding at the cup in my hand.

“No.”

He grabbed it from my hands and gulped it down in one swig, letting out a hiss of satisfaction before throwing me a lazy grin. “So you’re the sort of girl that doesn’t drink at parties. Noted.”

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