All the Lies (Lies & Truths Duet #1)(16)

He raises one perfect, thick eyebrow. “Do I have to threaten you again?”

Glaring up at him, I suck on his thumb faster than I intend to. My teeth graze his skin and I freeze, thinking he’ll rule it as if I were trying to bite him. When he continues watching me with half-lowered lids, I continue slower this time.

My cheeks heat and I curse myself for giving in this easily. Wait until I’m stronger, I’m going to clash with him headfirst.

“What to do?” He deadpans. “You have a new problem, Reina.”

I peek up at him, stopping.

“Did I tell you to stop?” He cocks his head to the side.

Groaning, I continue sucking the digit and lapping on it with my tongue.

“Your new problem is that you’re too expressive. You’re losing your touch.”

Why is being expressive a problem? I glare up at him so he knows exactly how I feel about him.

I don’t know what he expected, but my reaction is probably not it. Asher narrows his eyes before he pulls his finger out of my mouth. “I’ll find out about that night, and I’ll make you fucking wish you never set foot in the forest.”

“You’re a psycho.” I breathe out, my heart stammering.

It keeps beating and pulsing like crazy, as if it’ll soon stop and is using up all of its energy.

Asher’s lips pull up in a cruel smirk. “It takes one to know one, my ugly monster.”

He keeps calling me that, and I’m starting to think I should embrace that side to fight this particular monster off.





The rest of the week is filled with doctor’s appointments and trying to figure out who the hell I am.

I still can’t remember anything prior to waking up in the hospital, and Dr. Anderson’s diagnosis remains the same: my memories will filter back with time. However, at the last appointment, I heard him tell Alex we should be preparing for the possibility of this becoming long term.

I should be ready to live with a wiped memory.

Thinking about it brings a taste of bitterness and nausea. I’m not ready to face that bleak reality.

Today, I decided to end the one-person pity party and go back to college.

This is my last year, and I shouldn’t miss more classes.

I can walk with a brace on my right leg, and there’s no point in roaming around an empty house. Alex is barely home, if ever. Elizabeth—whom I finally convinced to let me call her Izzy—is usually holed up in the kitchen making some of the most delicious food I’ve ever tasted.

Every time I eat her meals, I wonder why the hell I would have moved out.

She’s been giving me funny stares whenever I ask for more or for food rich in calories. Apparently, I only ate salads before. That’s such a blasphemous thing to do when Izzy’s food is around.

To my dismay, the resident asshole Asher hasn’t left. I’ve been praying every day that the next time I wake up, he’ll be long gone to England.

Hasn’t happened.

On top of that, he enrolled in Blackwood College. I don’t know why the hell he would give up Oxford and return here.

It can’t be just so he can ruin my life.

Scratch that—with someone like Asher, it’s completely plausible.

I’ve been actively avoiding him, which isn’t too hard. We don’t eat together in this family. Alex is off to work first thing in the morning and returns late. Asher leaves early, too. I watch him from my window. He’s usually wearing jeans and stylish sports T-shirts.

Every day, he stops in front of the house and glances up. Sometimes, I’d swear he was looking straight at me if I weren’t sure the curtains camouflaged me. Those annoying aviators hide his expression, too, so I’m never sure what he’s thinking about.

No idea why I always want to know what’s going on in that screwed-up head.

Asher is an enigma in a way, but that’s not all. He’s an enigma who’s after me. I’ve been watching him closely with Izzy and the rest of the staff, and he never shows them an ounce of what he shows me.

If anything, he laughs and smiles like the kindest son of a bitch in the world.

It aches, you know. Being hated by someone who doesn’t hate anyone is a straight jab to my person.

What could I have done to warrant such treatment?

Some days, I curl into a ball and let a gloomy depression take me over. I let the unknown creep under my skin and whisper nasty things to my brain.

Well, not today.

I have to start somewhere to know what kind of person I am. And yes, I’ve been praying I’m not the type who dresses to impress or a vain cheerleading captain.

A truck comes down the driveway, heading toward the entrance.

My chance.

Due to the brace, I limp and move slowly, but I manage to intercept Jason’s truck before it’s out.

The sound of the brakes echoes in the air. He rolls his window down. “Jesus. Do you have a death wish?”

I open the passenger door, throw my bag in, and slide inside. “Not today, but a ride to college would be cool.”

Even though the inside of the truck isn’t fancy, it smells like mint and lemon, like summer.

I like that smell.

He looks me up and down like I’m a zombie apocalypse runaway. I mean I’m wearing a denim dress and some cute flats I found at the back of the walk-in. I even covered all the bruises with foundation. The only thing that stands out is the leg brace that stops right under my knee. I shouldn’t look that much like a zombie.