Page 42 of Sinister Lies

I hung up the phone, then reached down to my desk drawer, fetching my keys. It took me less than five minutes to make it to the parking lot.

About fifteen minutes later,Demon’s Ink Tattoo Parlorblessed my vision. Cindy stepped out of her car when I pulled in beside her and parked.

“You’re lucky I love you,” she said when I got out, giving in to the hug she was offering me. “I don’t do this shit for just anyone.”

“I know. Thank you.”

She parted from me and then reached inside the back of her jeans pocket and tugged out her keys, fiddling through them for a moment. When she found the correct key, she unlocked the back door and stepped inside. I was right behind her.

The light flicked on, and I blinked, needing a minute for my eyes to adjust. Cindy placed her bag down on the counter across the room. Once she was situated, she got to work hooking up her equipment.

“The usual?”

“Yeah,” I nodded, removing my shirt. “The usual.”

Bobbing her head, Cindy finished grabbing the rest of her materials while I got comfortable in the hydraulic chair. Five minutes later, her hair was up, and she was at my side, applying the cool antiseptic along the last of my scarred flesh.

I relaxed when the tattoo gun therapeutically purred to life. I breathed out, the last of my tension dying as Cindy got to work perfecting her masterpiece.

“Whenever you’re ready,” she muttered softly.

I came out with it, not wanting to beat around the bush, and didn’t stop venting until I’d gotten it all out.

Samara.

Kidnapping Jace and why we did it.

The meeting with my father and his wonky as fuck behavior.

The shit with my fucking cousin.

Every-fucking-thing that made me want to strap a bomb to the Earth.

Cindy let out a sad sigh and shut off the tattoo gun, then rolled back in her stool until she was facing me, her lips tilted down in a heavy frown.

I knew what she was thinking. I know what I did was wrong, but it had to be done. My only regret was getting caught. That was on me. If I’d just gotten my head out of my ass and told Rhett the truth, then Father would’ve never found out. Shit wouldn’t have gone down the way it did.

“You have every right to be angry,” she said, her frown unwavering. “And while I don’t agree with the decisions you’ve made, what’s done is done. Now, as for the rest of it, it sounds like quite a goddamn pickle to be stuck in.”

I snorted. “Ya fucking think?”

Cindy flashed me another sympathetic grimace. “So, I’m assuming Samara didn’t take the money?”

“No. She didn’t.”

“So, she’s chosen to take the trials instead?”

“Yes.”

“And with everything you know now, you still don’t trust her?”

I shook my head, my jaw so tight it was painful. “No. I don’t.”

This whole fucking thing had me so wrangled; I was ready to beat my head into the wall just to silence all these conflictive thoughts battling a brutal war in my head.

I knew Samara was telling the truth. After all that shit went down with Father, I’d done some extra digging into her background and went back over the police reports from the night Samara’s mother was killed, and when Samara had ended up in the hospital. Everything checked out.

And of fucking course, our cousin, Griffin, who I hadn’t known until recently had been sent undercover on Father’s orders, backed Samara’s story. I was ornery as fuck over it; however, Ididtrust Griffin. He was family. If he really believed Samara was a real threat to us, he’d have said so.

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