Lies(6)

“Thom is my name.”

“But Lange’s not your surname.”

“No.” He pauses. “Why did you want to leave?”

“Does it matter why I attempted to dump you, since we’re apparently now stuck with each other?”

“I thought you were happy.” The weird thing is, he sounds almost hurt. Which is crazy. “I know I’ve been busy lately, but—”

“You do remember this is a fake relationship you’re talking about,” I say between clenched teeth. “A lie that you manipulated and tricked me into believing.”

For a moment, we just stare at each other. Neither of us is happy.

“Given how badly I held up under pressure, I can almost forgive you for not telling me the whole truth. But I really don’t think I can ever forgive you for starting this relationship in the first place.”

“Everyone breaks under torture; it’s just a matter of when.” He doesn’t address the second issue. Doesn’t even go near it.

“Great.”

“You’re exhausted; you should sleep.” He nods to a door on the other side of the large bedroom. “Bathroom is through there if you want to clean up. I’ll check on you later.”

“Okay.”

“I’ll be right outside. You’re safe, Betty.”

I don’t know what to say. This new Thom doesn’t feel safe at all.

And then he’s gone.

I have no idea where we are or how far from civilization we might be. And I have neither money nor shoes. My chances of making a successful getaway are slim to none. For now, there’s no other real option but to stay put and figure out this situation. My supposed fiancé seems to want to keep me alive and in one piece. It’s something, I guess.

The woman in the bathroom mirror is pale and pasty, battered and bruised. I turn on the shower, testing the temperature with a hand. Red marks line my wrists, further reminder of the crazy and violent day. My clothes stink of smoke and vomit, but there’s soap and shampoo, towels and a fluffy white robe. It’ll have to do. I need to put myself back together and deal.

Only the first tear leaves a trail in the soot and general mess of my face. A second tear follows fast. Soon my vision wavers and I step into the shower, hiding the sound of my crying with the running water. It’d be great to be able to handle this, to stay strong. But first I apparently need a minute to let it all out. All of the anger, stress, and horror of the past few hours. All of my fear.

Because I’m trapped. That’s what it comes down to in the end.





CHAPTER TWO


It’s late when knocking wakes me. Hints of dawn light slip past the curtain edges casting shadows across the plain white walls. Being almost blown up, tortured, and interrogated warrants a sleepin. But apparently it’s not going to happen.

I sit up slowly, pushing my hair out of my face, being careful of the butterfly bandages on my forehead and other assorted bruising. Meanwhile, Thom is already moving toward the door, gun in hand. I didn’t even realize he’d been in bed with me. He wasn’t there a few hours ago when a nightmare woke me. It’s bizarre, how comfortable he seems with the weapon, as if it’s merely an extension of him. His grip on it eases at the sight of whoever’s in the hallway, and he gives me a nod to say it’s okay.

Sleep hasn’t solved anything. He still seems like a stranger wearing Thom’s face. More now than ever. I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to looking into those hard blue eyes.

“Wolf.” The man who enters is tall and lean, with black hair and brown skin. Late twenties, I’d guess. He’s got on a sharp suit with a white shirt open at the collar and he’s carrying a wealth of shopping bags. Also, he’s pretty. “And this must be your beautiful fiancée.”

I pull the collar of the robe closed over my ample cleavage because hello.

“This is Crow,” Thom says to me, tucking the gun into the waistband of his jeans. His feet are bare and so is his upper body. The scars are once again on display.

He used to insist on having sex in the dark and always locked the bathroom door when he took a shower. I just figured he had the market cornered on inhibitions. Who hasn’t got flaws? But after all of the excuses he used to keep me at a distance, to keep himself covered, it’s strange to see them exposed. And it’s a definite; I still want to hit him for all the lies and assorted bullshit he pedaled throughout the duration of our relationship.

He stands beside the bed, keeping his body partly between me and the stranger, despite saying, “He’s a friend.”

Crow smiles. “Didn’t you once tell me there were no friends in this business?”

The edges of Thom’s lips rise slightly in agreement.

“Hi,” I say.

Crow drops the shopping bags on the end of the bed. The bulk of them appear to be labeled Neiman Marcus. “For you, Betty. Some clothes and so on. He gave me your measurements so everything should fit. It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’ve been wanting to for a while now, but someone had you declared strictly off-limits.”

“It was for her own good. And I said to pick up a few things,” says Thom, sounding disgruntled. “Not empty the damn store.”

“The personal shopper needed the commission and you can afford it. The replacement ring is in the little blue bag. I picked that one out myself.”