Throne of Truth (Truth and Lies Duet #2)(57)

I needed her to lie to me for a change and tell me this would all go away and I’d be free again. I needed her to touch me and tell me she’d wait for me no matter how long it took, even while I pushed her away so she didn’t waste her life alone.

I scoffed at the thoughts, hearing the truth behind them.

She didn’t need to touch me to assure me she’d wait for me—I saw her loyalty in every blink and heard it in every vowel.

And she didn’t need to lie about my freedom.

I would get it back.

Eventually.

Larry was fighting for me. He’d win.

He has to.

There was no other scenario I could accept.

Stretching out my legs with ankles crossed, I did my best to unwind and watch the men around me—taking note of their weakness and strategies, cataloguing who to chat with versus those to stay away from.

I had to be smart and play a long game even if I hoped I’d only endure a short inning.

The sound of a car horn wrenched my head to the TV where local news was playing.

My chair legs screeched on the linoleum as I sat up and scooted forward.

Elle filled the screen.

A blurred photo of her climbing into the Range Rover with David and Larry doing their best to obscure her. They couldn’t hide the tangle of pretty blonde hair or her sexy body, though.

I’d recognize her anywhere.

The news anchor in her bright red suit droned, “Today, a name that is normally reserved for retail news has been dragged into controversy with the recent love triangle. According to sources, Noelle Charlston, who is the head of the family’s empire Belle Elle retail chain, has been dealing with a few unusual matters of late. Things haven’t been smooth sailing for the young CEO ever since rumors began of her engagement to Penn Everett.

“After a string of unsuccessful romantic set-ups over the past few years, Ms. Charlston has somehow wound up dating two men—both who have ended up in jail for reasons not entirely known. What we do know is Greg Hobson, the son of Steve Hobson, who has worked for the Charlston family for four decades, is being held for kidnapping and attempted rape while Penn Everett, a well-known offender who struck it big with a penny stock a year ago, is being held for aggravated assault including attempted murder.

“We tried to get more facts from Ms. Charlston as she was leaving the correctional facility, but she declined to comment.”

A prisoner turned to face me, his eyes glowing with violence. “Hey, you’re Everett, aren’t cha?”

Shit.

Another guy with tattoos all over his arms and a shaved head stood up, his posture screaming ‘oh, it’s on, buddy.’ He cocked his head. “Seems we have a celebrity in our midst, boys.”

Christ, I didn’t want to fight.

I smirked condescendingly, slipping back into the armor I’d perfected from the streets. “Nothing to get excited about. Typical news junkies don’t know what they’re saying.”

The tatted inmate chuckled. “Oh yeah? Guess, we’ll just have to find out for ourselves, won’t we?” He cracked his knuckles. “Be prepared to spill, Everett. We’ll plan a nice chat, you and me.”

Goddammit.

I’d done my best to avoid this.

But the games had begun, all thanks to the fucking news.

A prisoner, who wasn’t aware of the showdown about to start, bellowed at one of the guards. “Turn the news off, man. Who fucking cares about that shit.”

No one cares.

Apart from me.

Never taking my eyes off the two men squaring me up, I stood and left the room. They’d let me go—they’d have no choice.

But tomorrow, they’d ambush.

I had to be ready.

I had to attack them before they attacked me.

I had tonight to prepare.

After that...it’s war.





Chapter Twenty-Five


Elle


“YOU CAN’T GET mixed up in this, Elle.”

I looked up as Dad appeared in my office, his fingers wrapped around the daily newspaper. He still wore his three-piece suits as fashion statements. The one of choice today demanded obedience in sharp midnight blue. His cheeks glowed warm; his eyes bright but disapproving. He’d lost the stress of my disappearance and bounced back healthier than ever.

I no longer leapt to my feet to hold his elbow in fear of his heart playing tricks. He was robust and old-fashioned, and my hackles rose as he marched to my desk, then perched on the side as he always did, looking down at me in my chair.

I’d expected this.

Ever since I’d turned the news on last night and seen myself being shuttled like a convict to the awaiting Range Rover, I’d waited for my father to railroad me.

To be told I couldn’t be seen in such unflattering situations.

That all news was bad news, and it was up to me to keep controversy as far away from Belle Elle’s shop shelves as possible.

“This will slander Belle Elle’s name,” Dad said.

Didn’t he see it would slander me for the rest of my life if I did nothing? Belle Elle was decades old. It was more than just a company—it was a lifestyle: a part of so many people’s lives. Our quality merchandise was in every adult’s and child’s wardrobe across the States and Canada.

Belle Elle didn’t need me.