A Truthful Kiss: (Signed with a Kiss, Book 3)

by Sorensen, Jessica

  A Truthful Kiss

  (Signed with a Kiss, Book 3)

  Jessica Sorensen

  A Truthful Kiss

  Jessica Sorensen

  All rights reserved.

  Copyright © 2020 by Jessica Sorensen

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.

  No part of this book can be reproduced in any form or by electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without the permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer who may quote short excerpts in a review.

  Any trademarks, service marks, product names or names featured are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if we use one of these terms.

  For information: jessicasorensen.com

  Cover design by Najla Qamber Designs

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  1. Alexis

  2. West

  3. Alexis

  4. West

  5. Alexis

  6. West

  7. Alexis

  8. Alexis

  9. Alexis

  10. West

  11. Alexis

  12. West

  13. Alexis

  Author’s Note

  About the Author

  Also by Jessica Sorensen

  1

  Alexis

  I’m leaning over him as he lies on the cracked tile floor. I push him down, ignoring his silent cries for help.

  “I’m sorry,” I tell him as I hold his face against the floor, “but I have to do this.”

  “Please,” he begs in desperation.

  My chest tightens. I don’t want to do this. Wish I couldn’t, but …

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper. “But either you have to shatter, or I do.”

  Then I break him apart, bit by bit, peeling away his layers until I reach his heart.

  Then I shatter it.

  Shatter West’s heart.

  And he doesn’t cry.

  He doesn’t scream.

  No, he’s quiet.

  Almost like he died—

  My eyelids snap open as my alarm blares. Blinking several times against the soft sunlight of the sunrise slipping through the blinds on my bedroom window, I roll over, pick up my phone, and turn the alarm off.

  Normally, I’d go back to sleep, wake up a half an hour later, and be tardy for school. Today, I’m wide awake, thoughts of what happened over spring break plaguing my mind. Thoughts of my blackmailer plaguing my mind.

  Really, after what happened yesterday, I’m surprised I even managed to fall asleep at all. The blackmailer had informed me of what they wanted me to do. They also showed me just how dangerous they could be.

  They cut my battery cable and threatened to cut my brake cables next time.

  They snuck into my house and stole my mom’s locket.

  They snuck into West’s temporary house and watched me sleep.

  They have videos of me graffitiing places across town. And they have videos of that day. That fucking day that nearly destroyed me almost the same way as I was going to destroy West in the dream I just had.

  I’m well aware of why I had the dream. Because the blackmailer wants me to destroy West. Or, well, break his heart. But that doesn’t make any sense to me. How can I break his heart when he’s not in love with me? According to the blackmailer, though, he is.

  Could he be?

  I roll my eyes as the ludicrous thought briefly crosses my mind. Up until a few days ago, West and I have been frenemies. West is in no way, shape, or form in love with me. This is just the blackmailers way of getting into my head, something they’re succeeding at. And they’re doing this because they want revenge for me taking away their fun. At least, that’s what they said. That doesn’t help me pinpoint who they are, since I’m sure a lot of people want revenge.

  “Dammit,” I breathe aloud. At the moment, I’m kind of regretting some of my life choices.

  Alexis Baker, dwelling on her life choices? Man, this stuff must really be messing with my mind. I need to focus on something else, like dragging my ass out of bed and getting ready for school. Even though I have no desire to go. Honestly, part of me is really considering ditching. But Loki would freak out if I did. Plus, I might be giving the blackmailer more stuff to hold against me if I do.

  Control.

  Until I figure out who they are, they can control me. I hate being controlled. Both the old Alexis and the new one does.

  I need to figure out who they are as quickly as possible.

  Sitting up in the bed, I throw the blankets off and pick up my phone from off the nightstand. Then I dial West’s number to see if, by chance, Ellis has figured out who’s been texting me all the threatening text and videos.

  “Hey,” he answers after three rings. He sounds a little bit better than he did yesterday. “I was just about to call you.”

  I perk up, wondering if he was because he has information. “Really?”

  “Yeah. I was heading out of the house to go meet my mom, and I … well, I just wanted to talk to you before I go.”

  “Okay, what about?”

  “Nothing really. I’m just not looking forward to seeing her. At all. And talking to you seems to cheer me up.”

  “Really?” I ask with a hint of doubt in my tone.

  “Yes, really.” I can hear the smile in his voice. “Although, I’m still feeling a bit down. Maybe I should come over, and you can give me another hug. Now that might cheer me up a fucking ton.”

  I roll my eyes, even though he can’t see me. “I only did that because you seemed super sad.”

  “I’m super sad now. In fact, I’m the saddest I’ve ever been.” But the hint of amusement in his tone suggests otherwise.

  “You don’t sound sad at all,” I point out, standing up and stretching my arm above my head.

  “Well, I am,” he assures me. “I’m so sad that I think the only thing that’ll cheer me up is a hug from you. No, I changed my mind. I think a kiss is the only thing that’ll work.”

  Okay, he definitely sounds better than he did yesterday. Why, though? Did something happen that cheered him up? Did his mom inform him she was lying about him being adopted?

  I glance at the photo I sketched of him yesterday. After I finished, I hung it on my wall as a reminder of why I need to get over my issues, at least some, and be there for West like he’s been there for me.

  But that doesn’t mean kissing him.

  Friends. We need to just be friends. Well, at least in real life. In pretend, fake dating land, I know I’m going to have to kiss him. But right now …

  “I’m not going to kiss you.” As the words leave my lips, I can almost feel his lips brushing against mine.

  “Okay.” He sounds about as doubtful as I feel.

  “Whatever,” I say with a roll of my eyes. “If you just called to flirt, I’m going to hang up, because I need to get ready for school, or else I’m going to be late.”

  He snickers into the phone. “Alexis Baker worried about being late for school. Now that’s a new one.”

  “Dude, you’re so asking for it.”

  “Aw, please don’t tease me like that.”

  My heart flutters in my chest, but I tell it to shut the hell up. That we’re so not doing this. That we can’t even do it, considering what’s going on with this whole blackmailer situation.

  Speaking of which, should I tell him what happene
d? The blackmailer said not to, but I don’t know … How would they even know?

  “Okay, I’m hanging up,” I tell him then move to end the call.

  “Lex, I’m just messing with you,” he hurriedly says. “I’ll stop. Just don’t hang up yet.”

  “Why not?” I ask, wondering why he seems so determined to keep me on the phone.

  “Because … I’m heading to talk to my mom and … I don’t know … I just need someone to talk to.” The humor is slowly seeping out from his tone.

  My heart aches for him as I remember what he found out yesterday, about how he may have been adopted.

  “Are you going to ask your mom about what you found out yesterday?” I tread cautiously.

  “Yeah. That’s basically the only reason why I’m going. I want to find out if she was telling the truth.”

  “And what if she was?”

  “Then at least I can cut ties with her and my dad … Or the man who raised me, I guess.”

  “West, I’m sorry.” I’m unsure of what else to say.

  “It’s fine. It’s not your fault.”

  “I know, but I still feel bad.” I sigh. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

  Silence stretches between us. He clearly wants to ask me something, but what?

  “Actually, I need to talk to you about something,” he says. “Can you maybe go with me somewhere at lunchtime?”

  Normally, there’d be no way I’d go to lunch with West, but a lot has changed over the course of a week. Plus, we’re technically supposed to be fake dating.

  “Yeah, sure,” I reply. “Honestly, we should probably have lunch, anyway, since we’re technically supposed to be dating.”

  “True,” he agrees. “All right then, I’ll meet you at your locker after fourth period. It can be our first official date.”

  “Fake date,” I correct.

  “Mmmhmm,” is all he says. I start to ask what he means by that when he adds, “Crap. I’m here. That was a shorter drive than I wanted. I gotta go.”

  “Okay.” I prepare to hang up, but it feels like something else needs to be said. “If you need anything, text me, okay? I keep my phone on me in class, even though we’re not supposed to.”

  “You little rebel,” he teases.

  I shake my head, throwing back at him, “Like you’re one to talk.”

  He laughs. “I guess we’re perfect for each other.” Before I can ream into him for that, he says, “Bye, Lex. Talk to you soon.”

  We hang up then and, for a moment, I just sit there, highly aware of how light I feel after talking to him. I’m not sure what that means, but I feel like it might mean something, which really freaks me out for a lot of reasons.

  It has me worried. Not just that I’m starting to feel things for West, but that because, starting today, I have to start making West fall in love with me so I can break his heart.

  What if I break both of ours in the process?

  My stomach churns at the thought. And that churning sensation only magnifies when I receive a text from the blackmailer.

  Unknown: Are you ready to start the game?

  “What damn game?” I mutter, hovering my fingers over the keyboard as I deliberate what to say.

  Me: You keep saying we’re playing a game, but how am I supposed to know how to play if I don’t even know what game I’m playing?

  Unknown: That’ll be revealed in time. Right now, the rules are pretty simple: do what I say and no one will get hurt.

  I swallow the lump wedged in my throat. Maybe I should just tell the police; let myself deal with the consequences.

  Unknown: Oh yeah, and as an added enticement, I thought I’d throw this in there. Your brother is currently under scrutiny by CPS. If you don’t want a ton of child neglect reports to flow in, I’d recommend doing what I say.

  Anger burns underneath my skin. How dare he bring my family into this? How dare he threaten them?

  Me: Don’t you dare bring my family into this.

  Unknown: I won’t as long as you do what I say.

  The muscles in my jaw pulsate as I reread the messages. It dawns on me then that this is evidence. Evidence that I can prove I’ve been blackmailed.

  I need to tell Loki.

  Swallowing hard, I make my way down the stairs where Loki is pouring a cup of coffee. He’s dressed in a button-down shirt and pants—his work clothes.

  “Don’t forget that you’re supposed to paint the store after school today,” he tells me as he sets the coffee pot down. “And then, this weekend, I want you to help out at the store.”

  “Okay.” I take a deep breath and step farther into the kitchen. You can do this. You can do this. You can do this. “Loki, there’s something I need to tell you.”

  He glances up at me with a frown on his face. “What happened?”

  I hate that he thinks something happened, but I guess it kind of did.

  This is all my fault. If I’d just stayed out of trouble, then the blackmailer wouldn’t have all this dirt on me.

  “I’ve been getting these messages.” I swipe my finger across the screen of my phone and move to open the messages. Then my heart nearly bottoms into my stomach.

  They’re gone. The entire thread.

  “No, no, no, no, no,” I mutter under my breath as panic flares through me.

  This isn’t happening. This can’t be happening. But, as I stare down at my screen, I realize that, yes, this is happening. That either I somehow deleted the thread or the blackmailer did.

  “Nothing. Never mind,” I tell Loki as I back out of the kitchen.

  He looks at me with concern. “Lex, are you okay?”

  “Yep.” I plaster on the fakest smile ever then whirl around and rush out of the kitchen, panic soaring through me.

  When I reach my room, I shut the door and let out a shaky breath. Who is this person doing this to me?

  “God, I hope West finds out something soon,” I mumble.

  Until then, I guess I’ll play the game.

  Or at least pretend to, something I’m unfortunately good at.

  2

  West

  If I didn’t need answers, I wouldn’t be here. I’m exhausted, slightly hungover, and have a lot of other stuff to worry about, like figuring out how Blaine is attached to this blackmailing thing with Alexis, and figuring out what I’m going to do about what Jay did to Alexis. Because I’m going to do something. Killing him was the first thing that came to mind, but I don’t think I’m a killer. I’m definitely up for tormenting, though. I just need a plan.

  First, I need to focus on getting through breakfast with my parents. That’s the thing, though. They might not be my parents. But this is the only way to get to the bottom of if they are, who they are to me, why they adopted me if they clearly hate kids, and who in the hell are my real parents.

  Sucking in a deep breath, I climb out of the car then head inside one of the few five-star hotels in Honeyton. It has a restaurant attached to it that serves bottomless mimosas, which is why I’m assuming we’re here—my fake mother has a thing for mimosas. And wine. And pills.

  When I peer in the restaurant area, though, I can’t spot them anywhere, so I dig out my phone and send Loraine, aka my questionable mother, a text.

  Me: Where are you? I’m by the restaurant, and you’re not there.

  Loraine: We’re not meeting at the restaurant. We’re meeting in one of the rooms. Take the elevator to the six floor and go to room 618.

  “What the hell is she up to?” I mutter as I make my way past the front desk and toward the elevators.

  The receptionist behind the desk scrutinizes me as I pass, her gaze scrolling over my nearly all-black outfit, my unlaced boots, my facial piercings, and my bloodshot eyes.

  I used to not look like this. I used to dress preppy like my parents wanted me to. It’s crazy because I’m the same person I’ve always been, yet put on some nice clothes and people treat you differently, like you’re a better person if you look put tog
ether on the outside.

  That’s a bunch of bullshit. My parents are proof of that. They’re two of the most put together people on the outside. On the inside, though, monsters live; one full of rage and anger, the other numb, cold, and uncaring.

  And I’m about to go face those monsters head-on.

  “Can I help you?” the receptionist calls out.

  “Nope,” I throw back at her.

  She narrows her eyes at me. “If you don’t have a room here, you can’t be here. And if you don’t leave, I’ll call security.”

  Grinding my teeth, I spin around and approach the desk. “I don’t have a room, sweetheart,” I say, my tone oozing annoyance. “But my parents do. You might know them. They’re Loraine and Eli Averson.”

  Her expression immediately falls. “How do you know the Aversons?”

  “Like I said, they’re my parents.”

  She swallows audibly. “Oh. I didn’t know.”

  “Well, now you do.” I pat the counter then walk off, leaving her to think I’m going to tattle on her rude behavior. Like if I did, my parents would care enough to get her in trouble. They don’t. If I told them what happened, they’d get pissed off at me for being dressed the way I am now.

  Once I make my way out of the lobby, I take the elevator up to the sixth floor and find the room. I pause in front of it, taking a collective breath before knocking. I know I need to keep my shit together, but nervousness jitters through me. I wish I was stronger than this, but I’m not. At least not with my parents. And I’m really fucking worried about what my mom is going to tell me.

  My nervousness only grows when my mom opens the door. She’s tipsy—that much I can tell—her eyes a bit glassy, and her breath reeks of wine.

  And I thought I was bad.