All the Lies (Lies & Truths Duet #1)(36)

“Do they know who trapped me in there?” I ask with a cool voice.

“You have too many enemies to count.” He announces it like it’s the weather forecast—a given, a normalcy.

“Starting with you.”

His piercing eyes hold mine hostage. “Starting with me.”

“If you hate me so much, why are you driving me home?”

“Image and all that.” He pauses. “I couldn’t stand there while the entire college saw you at your lowest.”

I gulp and fumble for my bag. I find the phone inside; the screen is fractured like my breathing.

It doesn’t take me long to figure out what Asher means. On the blackwood-black-book IG account, there’s a picture of me sprawled out on the classroom’s floor with my mascara streaked and my hands covering my ears. My hair camouflages half of my face, but it’s obvious that it’s me.

There’s no caption. As usual with BBB’s pictures, it’s just hashtags.

#FallOfAQueen #Look #SheCanCry

The picture has over a thousand likes and a few hundred comments.

‘Did someone play a prank on her?’

‘Is this a joke?’

‘I heard she’s been crazy since she disappeared.’

‘I swear I saw Jason, the Knights’ quarterback, drop her off. Knights’ whore.’

I close my eyes and power off the phone. I don’t know what stings more—the picture, the number of people taking pleasure in my fall, or maybe the asshole who had coffee with Bree while I was living a nightmare.

Pressure builds behind my eyes all over again.

Since I returned, I’ve been trying my hardest to atone and make amends, but nothing is working. No one likes me in that goddamn college no matter what I do.

“Aww, are you going to cry?” Asher mocks, a cruel edge in his voice.

I wipe at the blurriness in my eyes and stare out the window, ignoring him.

He won’t see me break.

He won’t see me cry.

“By all means, don’t stop on my account, my ugly monster.”

“You think all this is fun and games?” I face him and fold my arms over my chest.

He does that staring thing again. His attention is like a living breathing thing, sharp and cutting.

I hate how gorgeous he looks in his simple white shirt. The sleeves are rolled to his elbows, revealing taut forearms.

And the veins.

Jeez. His strong veins disappear underneath the shirt along with the tattoo I know is in there. His hair is combed today, but he still gives off ‘fuck the world’ vibes.

“I don’t know.” He taps his finger on the steering wheel ever so casually. “You tell me.”

“I thought I was dying.” My voice rises with pent-up frustration. “I could’ve died in there!”

“And yet you didn’t.” His cold, unfeeling tone cuts me so deep I’m surprised there’s not blood all over the expensive leather of his car.

“Is that what you want?” I murmur. “Would it make you happy if I died?”

He shakes his head once as he pulls into the house’s driveway. “You give yourself so much credit. Your life or death means shit to me, monster.”

“Stop calling me that! I’m not a monster. I am not.” My voice breaks along with my heart.

He saved me. Twice.

Surely that means something. Surely he can’t be such a stone.

Asher hits the brakes so hard, I jerk forward, but the seat belt holds me in place.

Before I can make out what’s going on, he lunges out of the car, strides to my side, and yanks me out of the seat as if I were a rag doll.

He lifts me up and carries me bridal style with ease, strolling into the mansion just like that first time he walked me to my room.

My breast brushes against his shirt and my jeans are the only barrier between my skin and his steel-like hand.

For a moment, I’m too stunned to react. For a moment, I get lost in the contact of our bodies, the tightening of my nipples, the torturous friction and the aching sensation.

I shake my head, the stupefaction withering away.

My hands turn into fists and I hit him. “What are you doing? Let me down.”

He continues as if he doesn’t feel my punches.

One or two of the staff poke their heads out but quickly hide once Asher throws them a glance—or more like a glare.

Blood rushes to my cheeks at the scene they must be seeing. I can’t believe this is happening.

He takes the steps two at a time and barges into my room like a bull. I expect him to throw me on the bed like the other time and play some intimidation game with me, but he goes straight to the bathroom.

I don’t get a warning before he drops me inside the shower and turns the water on.

It drenches me in a second. Cold. Freezing.

I shriek, my clothes and hair getting soaked and sticking to my skin. I gurgle as the strong flow hits me in the nose and mouth, cutting off my air supply.

Choking on my open breaths, I trip and slip backward. He grabs my arm in a painful grip, his skin ice cold on mine. He tugs me forward, I fall to my knees, and his onslaught continues.

“S-st…op…” I gasp, fighting for air.

The water comes out of my nose and my mouth at the same time.

“Stop?” He laughs with enough menace to make chills erupt all over my skin. “You’re only tasting your own medicine, Reina. You claim you’re not a monster, but how about that dare in high school? Do you know what you did back then? You dared a second year to hose a freshman in the boys’ locker room. He had fucking asthma and almost died. You’re lucky you don’t have asthma. You can survive a little breath play, can’t you, my ugly monster?”