Twisted Truth (Truth Vs Lie Book 1)

by Maria Macdonald

  “They’ve arrived.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Affirmative, it’s them. Only three from the six-man team we tracked last week. Intel says more are coming, but these three are the spotters, the rest come to collect later.”

  The chatter through our earpieces confirms what we all thought. Tonight is the night. As I sit at the back end of the bar overlooking the seedy club, I know I need to focus. We’ve been here for little under an hour, and I’ve spotted at least twelve possible girls they could pick. Darwin is across at the other side of the club where the second bar is situated, and much the same as me, he’s projecting the image of a drunk propping up the bar. Shelly’s sharing a table with Victor at the moment. They’re under the guise of being together, occasionally kissing and pretending to be all over each other. He will seemingly leave her alone later, following a fake argument, which will hopefully set the stage for Shelly to be the bait. Clint, Dean, and Brand are pretending to be drunk arseholes. At twenty-six, I’m one of the oldest—except Darwin, who has two years on me—which means we can all pass for horny guys out for a quick fuck. Nobody ever takes us for Black Ops, and that works in our favour. I scan the room but already know I’ll never spot Arlo and King. They’re ghosts, they always have been. I know they’re somewhere in the background, watching, lying in wait like coiled pythons. Until they’re needed, no one will see them.

  While sipping my drink, I covertly scan the men who have just arrived. To most, they are pretty nondescript—all have brown hair, stand around six foot and are wearing dark jeans and long-sleeved tops—but I notice the smaller things. The first guy has a scar on his chin, he’s slightly leaner than the other two, and I’d put my money on him being a quick sprint, which means he could get away easily. “Dean, the guy with the scar on his chin?” I wait for his response.

  “Yep. Got him.”

  “He’s yours. He’ll be fast, you need to be faster.”

  “Done,” he replies, and just like that, I’ve matched the first of my team up. I can read people well, it’s one of the many reasons I’m in command.

  My stare eats up the room again picking out the second guy. They’re all sitting down now, the two heftier men seem slightly squashed in their booth. It was stupid of them to pick a booth rather than an open table like Shelly and Victor have. After all, they can be pinned in that booth. The second guy scans the room, and I avert my eyes and drop my head, so I don’t attract his attention.

  “You’re clear,” Darwin informs me, knowing instinctively what I was doing.

  Looking back up, I notice the second guy has scabs and grazes across his knuckles, a quick glance tells me guy three has the same. They’re part of the muscle.

  “Okay. The other two guys are muscle. My guess is…” I stop talking when another man moves to their table. Two of them immediately stand, and the new guy sits in the middle. He’s shorter than the rest wearing a suit and a gold watch, and he drips with power. “I was going to say I think there might be someone missing. Now I know I’m right. The main man has just sat down, probably the boss, definitely the thinker.” Pausing, I assess the situation for a split second. “Darwin, you’re on the suit. Clint, Brand, on the muscle. I don’t care which one you pick, but choose between you now, so both of you know who you’re taking down.”

  “Got it.”

  “On it.”

  They both chorus at once. I scrub my hand down my face. “Right, my understanding is that there should have been three more arriving, but seeing as the boss has turned up, I think we should expect two more. Does the intel sound right?” I ask all of them the question because for the last week everyone has been trying to collect as much information as they could get their hands on. We were given bare scraps to work with when we were assigned this case, and as it was such a fastball, we’ve had no choice but to run with only sketchy information. I hate being unprepared, but even more than that, I hate asking my team to put themselves in danger when we only have part of the picture.

  “That’s what our understanding is,” Darwin confirms what I thought.

  “Prepare for the unexpected. Victor, you already know you’re to keep your eyes on Shelly in case she needs backup. That’s not a request, Shel,” I add the last comment knowing she’ll want to protest my order. “Arlo, King, I want you both prepared for anything.”

  “Always are, boss,” King replies, and I’m pretty sure I hear a grunt from Arlo.

  “Keep your minds clear. There might be two more or ten more. Our intel is bare metal, and we haven’t had time to build on it. You know this. I’ll be here, too. All of you, keep focused. Let’s get this done.”

  I receive various murmurs of agreement from everyone. Even so, I can’t help hearing the bullshit in my own words, when my mind is fogged with long blonde hair, tattoos, and a face that has haunted my dreams for as long as I can remember.

  I nurse my drink for the next hour and receive varying looks of disgust from the barman, sitting here for so long with only one drink isn’t the done thing. Still, he seems happier when I shove a fifty-pound note into the tips box.

  My back straightens, and my glass hits the counter hard as I forget to breathe.

  “You seeing this, Isaac?” Shel says, using my real name. But I can’t speak, my words are lassoed, and the rope that’s holding them hostage is attached directly to my heart.

  “Fuck me, they’ve been spotted,” Darwin adds, and my body goes cold. “Isaac, I’ve switched to the private channel, only you can hear me. Listen, now. I know you want to go over there, but you can’t. You go over there, you’ll fuck this whole mission. If we play this right, keep an eye on the girls, we could have this in the bag tonight,” Darwin tells me what I already know. But all my brain screams is that my girl is in this shitty club with her friend at nearly three-thirty in the morning, wearing only a skirt and a fucking bra and getting herself noticed by the one group of men that no female ever wants to notice them.

  “Fuck me,” I whisper, for once not having a clue what to do as my heart and head commence war.

  LIV

  “I can’t believe you brought me here,” I complain to Helena while looking around the dark, dingy club. “I’m pretty sure my feet are stuck to the floor,” I complain again, pulling one heel at a time from the tacky carpet beneath my soles.

  “What?” Helena chirps, shrugging her shoulders and winking. “It’s not that different from ShadowBox.”

  “That’s rubbish,” I state as I follow her toward the bar. “ShadowBox may be dark, but your feet don’t stick to the floor, and we’re always safe.”

  We reach the bar, and Helena turns to face me. “Technically, it’s your shoes that are stuck to the floor and anyway, guys grab at us there, too,” she states, turning back to order our drinks.

  “Yeah, maybe, but I’ve never felt like I was going to be stabbed in the loos,” I return, crinkling my nose and looking around. A guy at the bar stares at me, and I can feel my eyes widen as I take him in. Brooding, dark, mysterious, and definitely dangerous. He looks away, and I can breathe again. He’s scary, but I still know one guy who’s scarier.

  “Seriously, you have to stop thinking about that tosspot,” Helena shoots out.

  “How do you know I’m thinking of him? You’re not even looking at me.”

  “You’re always thinking of him,” she replies deadpan, and I shut my mouth.

  We both worked tonight and only finished at two a.m. After cleaning up, we decided to go out clubbing. We started out at Regents, but Helena got bored with the dance music and wanted something a little darker, rockier. So she dragged me here, and while it’s slightly ominous and probably not very sanitary, the music is good. Three Days Grace’s ‘I Hate Everything About You’ comes on, and I throw back the shot Helena offers me.

  “Dance?” she questions raising an eyebrow with a knowing look.

  “Oh, yeah,” I reply and drag her into the throng of clubbers.

  “Do you get the feeling we’re b
eing watched?” Helena asks me.

  I shrug. “Probably, I mean we’re dancing in the middle of a club.” I glance between us. “You’re wearing a skin-tight pair of jeans and what is essentially a boob tube.” I grin.

  “It’s summer!” she shoots back.

  “Hel, it may be late August, but it’s also four in the morning. Not exactly hot.”

  She harrumphs. “It’s hot in here with all these bodies,” she informs me with a raised eyebrow.

  “Okay, I’ll give you that.” I wink back.

  We’re both still dancing, and our skin glistens. The sweat beads all over me. It gives the illusion that my tattoos glow. I catch a few admiring stares, but I’m not interested. My heart is smashed to smithereens, and at this point, I’m not sure it’s ever going to work again.

  “Anyway, you can’t talk about what I’m wearing, lady,” she says pointing at me. I glance down at my clothes or lack of them. She’s right, there isn’t much of my skin that’s covered, at least not on top anyway. I chose to wear a black Lycra pencil skirt. It’s so tight that I have no underwear on. It’s an unusual choice for me as it restricts my dancing but I want to feel girly and sexy tonight. The skirt is attached to braces which run up and over my shoulders. I guess that under the braces, I’m supposed to have a top on or maybe a grandad shirt. I have a black bra on. That’s it. My skirt, a black bra, and black slinky heels that are so high, they should be illegal. My hair trails down my back, and I’m like a walking showcase for my tattoos.

  I giggle and pull her into me. We dance like hookers for the next twenty minutes laughing and enjoying ourselves. Finally.

  Once Helena has had enough of dancing, we go to the back of the club searching for a table. We find an open booth and settle in.

  “So what’s going on with you and Noah?” I question her. Helena only came back from her grandparents last night, so we haven’t had much time to chat.

  “He’s picking me up early next week, and we’re going for dinner.”

  I raise my eyebrow at her. “Wow, how… domesticated.” I smile.

  Her lips pinch together, and she narrows her eyes. “I will never be domesticated, Liv, I just…” She shrugs, pink stains her cheeks.

  “Hey,” I say reaching across the table and grabbing her hand. “It’s okay, you can like him, and you can want to go to dinner with him. Just because you have tats, and we’re not altogether straight laced, let’s call it…” I say with air quotes, “… that doesn’t mean you have to date a biker covered with tats who has a Mohawk.”

  She laughs, and it starts me off too.

  “Hello, ladies.”

  We both glance at the man greeting us. He’s not overly tall but as we’re both fairly short, he would still be at least five or six inches taller than us. His suit is a shiny grey, and his skin is leathery.

  “Hi,” I reply.

  “I was hoping to buy you ladies a drink,” he tells us, sliding into the booth beside me. I scoot over as I don’t have a choice and instantly feel creeped out as he brushes his thumb up my thigh.

  “No thanks,” Helena instantly feeds back to him. He offers her a cursory glance—which is more like a sneer—before looking back at me. “Can I buy you a drink, pretty lady?”

  What a sleazebag!

  I shudder, but I’m pretty sure he thinks it’s because I like him. Every hair on my body stands on end, and my brain shouts at me to move away from this guy, but I’m blocked in by him. I decide tact would be the best way out at this juncture.

  “Erm, it’s very kind of you to offer, but I’m here with my friend, and we’re in the middle of talking. Sorry, girls’ night.” I smile, hoping he gets the idea.

  “No boyfriends?” he asks looking around.

  “No. Just us,” I inform him.

  He smiles, but it’s fake and doesn’t reach his eyes. “Sorry to have bothered you, ladies,” he tells me smoothly, and my hackles rise.

  “That’s okay,” I return, but I’m spooked as I watch him slither away, taking a last glance back.

  “Well, that wasn’t creepy,” Helena whispers the minute he’s gone.

  “Hmmm… that didn’t feel right. I think we should go,” I tell her looking over to the bar and mentally calling a cab.

  “Oh, come on, don’t be a party pooper. I need to drink and dance, I don’t want that dick ruining our night.”

  My shoulders drop, and I force myself to relax. “Okay, fine.”

  “Drinks,” she says and drags me to the bar.

  Twenty minutes later and we’ve had another four shots. I can’t see straight, and I can’t stop giggling, but when the song ‘Always’ by Saliva comes on, my feet take me to the dance floor. The emotion that moves through me is all my pent-up frustration, all aimed at one man. I have no idea where Isaac is, and my brain says to forget him, but my heart still loves him, and I fear it always will.

  ISAAC

  My muscles are rigid. I’m completely strung out, every inch of me pulled tight like the strings on a bow, ready to snap. I’ve felt like this since Via came into Crimson, but when one of my marks went over to her table and sat next to her, I lifted from my stool. Arlo and King appeared and locked me down—kind of. I could have pushed it, could have still gotten to her, but there was no reason to hurt my friends. If he had tried something with Via, though, all bets would have been off, and if Arlo and King hadn’t have let me go, things would have turned out differently. I have a new purpose, that’s why I know I need to leave, because Black Ops, the mission, my team, they don’t come first anymore. She does. I think she always has, but now I know I can’t live without her, not anymore.

  Via’s heavily drunk, but as soon as the Saliva track ‘Always’ comes on, she starts dancing to the song. She dances as though it’s her lifeline, like the words are what feeds the blood pumping around her body. It reminds me how much I hurt her, and how she feels about me.

  Two things happen simultaneously.

  I realise this time she’s never going to forgive me—not ever, and that realisation happens at the same time a pair of muscly arms grab her and pull her toward the back of the club.

  ISAAC

  “Get the fuck off me!” I roar, throwing both Arlo and King at least four feet clear of me. I run through the club, barrelling over people, shoving them out of the way. The moment I barge through the fire escape, I know that the whole thing was a mistake… or a setup. I count ten men standing in front of me, and two vans idle behind them. Dean is on the floor, unmoving. Fuck.

  “Isaac?” Via’s shaky voice tears me up inside, and my eyes move from her to the man gripping her arm.

  “You thought we didn’t know about you? That this was a covert op? You should watch your back, young man, you never know who’s shoving knives into it.” The words spring free from the mouth of the suit. Derry. That’s the name of the leader. I remember it from the sparse intel we were provided.

  “Via, you’re going to be fine. I will come for you,” I tell her, my voice steady because I know it’s true.

  “Isaac,” Via whispers. “Don’t let them take me, please!” she screams.

  I know what’s coming as her screams continue, and all I can do is keep looking at her trying to let her know I’ll get her even if it’s not right now. One of the men standing at her back raises his hand, the gun glints in the moonlight as he clocks her on the back of the head, and she falls limp in his arms. I show no emotion. I’ve locked everything down. If I don’t, she’ll die, but I mark him as mine to kill.

  “Hmmm… so cold. I’ve heard about you, Kane. Heard you were a frigid bastard. She’s someone to you.” He steps forward, his suit crinkling as he moves. Stopping, he rubs his chin. “You think you’re going to save her, but you’re not.” He shakes his head, grinning. As he fades into the background his men step forward, obscuring my view of him. Helena isn’t visible, so I know she’s already in one van. I watch poised as the man holding Via throws her over his shoulder and spins around walking away.


  Pulling my knife from my sleeve, I jump forward stabbing the man in front of me in the throat. All hell breaks loose as shouting, shooting, and smashing fills the quiet night air with sound. I see the moment they throw Via into the back of one of the vans and flee. I knew they would. I had settled it in my mind, knowing I wouldn’t get through the guys in front of me before they took her.

  Now I’m facing multiple men, Dean is down, and I have no idea where the rest of my team is. Crouching and rounding out my leg, I take down the next man to come at me—his head hits the concrete step and makes a crunching sound. I reach around to my waistband pulling out my gun, shooting the guy to my far left. I only manage to hit his shoulder as the others rush toward me. Fighting is a matter of life and death, and right now, as I feel fists hit my back and ribs, I know I need to think quick. With my gun in one hand and my knife in the other, I shoot someone, making a space as they fall. At the same time, I stab another. Sucking the knife out of his flesh, I push it back in again. There’s a groan and a thump—another one down.

  I swing my fist up and thrust the knife into the next man’s chin, pushing up into his mouth. He falls taking my knife, so I bring up my gun, but not quick enough I realise as I feel the cold steel at my temple.

  “I might not have pulled my gun out originally because I wanted to beat you like a real man. Seeing as you used your gun, I figure it’s anything goes now,” a man at my back tells me.

  I chuckle. “This isn’t schoolboy rules, dickhead. If it were, then none of you would have rushed me. Instead, you would have fought me one at a time. But then you know I would have killed every single one of you.”

  He clocks me on the back of my head, and I grind my teeth together.

  “You’re brave for a man who has a gun to his brain,” he sneers.