Deadly Lies (Deadly #3)(25)

He was going too far, he was—

“It’s almost over, love,” his voice whispered from behind her, and Veronica stiffened. The pink water poured down the drain.

The old floor creaked beneath his feet. “A few more days,” he told her, his voice rumbling, “and we’ll be free and clear.”

Her hands were clean now. Blood was surprisingly easy to wash away. If you did it fast enough, there was never any stain. She turned off the water and faced him, her heart pounding too fast in her chest. When she’d first seen him at The Core, she’d thought he would be the perfect target.

Now she knew that she hadn’t been the only one hunting that night.

“Just one more?” she asked him. She couldn’t think about all the things they’d done. All they would do.

She had to focus on survival. Hers. Theirs.

Surival and money. All of that wonderful money would be waiting for her.

He smiled, and it was the same crooked grin that had first caught her attention. “We’ve almost got enough cash for the group. We’ll ditch this f*cking town and start over.”

Money. That was what it was all about for her. To finally have enough that she could do whatever she wanted.

His lips skimmed her jaw. Sometimes, he could be so gentle.

And sometimes…

Veronica swallowed and leaned toward him. Her eyes drifted closed.

“You’re with me until the end, aren’t you, love?” He whispered.

She nodded against him.

“I can trust you,” his fingers caught her chin and tipped back her head, “and you can trust me.”

Veronica’s eyes opened.

“You do trust me?” he pressed.

“Yes.” Veronica knew just how dangerous he was, but… not to me. He wouldn’t hurt her. He loved her. He wanted to marry her.

And they were going to be so f*cking rich.

She licked her lips. The blood washes away. “I love you,” she told him. He was right. They’d start over again, free and clear, with a shitload of cash. No one would know about the past, and there’d be no blood on her hands ever again.


The phone call didn’t come at ten o’clock. Max stared at the phone on his stepfather’s desk, willing it to ring.

Samantha sat in the chair across from him. Frank was in the den, drinking, having a breakdown—who the hell knew what he was really doing?

“What did you tell them?” Max asked Samantha, forcing his gaze to her.

Her chin lifted. “I let the agent in charge know a victim had been taken, who he was.”

“How.”

“I sent him a text on the way here.”

Ballsy.

“Then I sent him another when we were upstairs, right after the call came.”

And right under his nose. Talk about being a blind idiot. Why wouldn’t the phone ring? Why? He’d been a piss-poor brother, he knew that. He and Quinlan had never gotten along like they should have, but—

But his mom’s last words to him had been, “Watch him.” A week before she’d died, she’d given him her order, and she’d never spoken to him again. Never opened her blue eyes again.

One thing. All she’d ever asked him to do. To watch over the brother that blood hadn’t given him.

And he’d screwed that up. Max exhaled on a long sigh. “I had you wrong, didn’t I?”

“I don’t… know what you mean,” Samantha said hesitantly.

Ten-oh-three a.m.

His gaze sharpened on her. “I thought you were weak. That you were running scared.” The nightmare flashed in his mind. He’d actually wanted to protect her that night. What an idiot. “But I guess it was just some game to you.” His fingers curled around the edge of the desk. “How many men?”

Her brows lifted. “What?”

“How many men have you picked up in bars? How many men have you asked for sex, but not forever? I mean, is that some line you like to use?” Pretty effective.

She leapt out of the chair. “You don’t know me. Do not say—”

“The truth? It can hurt, can’t it?” Why had he been so addicted to her? Why was he still so addicted? He looked, and even in the middle of this twisted hell, he wanted her. He could still taste her on his tongue and smell her on his skin.

You don’t know her.

Sex. That was all they’d had. Sex and lies.

A knock rapped at the door.

Max rose and stormed around the edge of the desk. “Come in!”

Samantha stepped in front of him. She lifted to her tip-toes and kissed him.

His hands came up automatically and clamped down on her arms. The kiss was angry, fierce. Her mouth was closed. His was—

No.

Her lips opened. Softened. Her tongue snaked out, licked across his, and the growl in his throat burst out as he dragged her closer. The furious tension that had been riding him snapped, and for just that moment, he wanted her in his arms, her mouth on his, her breasts against him as—

Samantha’s mouth tore from his. She kissed his jaw, pressing her lips against the line of stubble that he knew would be rough. Her lips feathered over him, and then her breath blew lightly at his ear.

“Whatever you feel…” Her soft whisper slid right through him. “Whatever you think about me… to everyone else, we have to be lovers.”