Beneath These Lies

by Meghan March

  “Ain’t fixed yet.”

  I spun around at the deep, rough voice coming from behind me. A man leaned against the inside of the gate, watching me. I hadn’t even heard him come through it. Clutching my purse closer, I thought about the Smith & Wesson inside and prayed to God I never had to use it.

  Something about this guy told me I might need it. Menace. It came off him in waves. But under it, he was also strangely gorgeous, which didn’t make sense.

  I took in his light caramel-colored skin, hair buzzed to a dark shadow, his T-shirt stretching across a broad, well-muscled chest. Intricate designs in black ink wrapped around thick biceps and forearms. I dragged my gaze back to his face, finding his piercing silver eyes assessing me as carefully as I did him.

  Swallowing, I got to my purpose for being here. “Do you know Derrick Rockins?”

  The man’s carved features gave nothing away. Jesus. Was his going to be the last face I saw before I ended up in the trunk of a car and my parents had to file a missing person’s report for me?

  My heart hammered and my palms sweat where I held on to the leather of my purse.

  After a long silence, he finally responded. “This ain’t the kind of neighborhood you come to and start asking questions. Woman like you? It won’t take long before someone decides not to let you leave.”

  I gritted my teeth, willing myself not to show fear. Instinctively, I knew that would only make things worse. I would face down the devil in hell to find Trinity; I just hoped I hadn’t found him.

  I tried again. “I’m looking for a girl named Trinity. Someone said Derrick Rockins might know where she is.”

  Something flashed through those silver eyes, and I was willing to bet my Tesla it was knowledge.

  Resolve straightened my spine, overcoming the fear, at least until he pushed off the gate and crossed his arms. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, they were big. The muscles strained against the cotton of his T-shirt.

  “Who is she to you?”

  Decision time. Tell him more or offer as little information as possible? I decided at this point, I had nothing to lose by going with the truth.

  “My employee, and someone I’m very worried about.” When he said nothing, I filled the silence instinctively. “She didn’t show up at work and she’s not answering her cell. Her grandmother hasn’t seen her either, and since I care about her and the police won’t let me file a missing person’s report yet, I’m doing what I can to find her myself.”

  His expression hardened to granite as soon as I mentioned the police.

  “You went to the cops?”

  His ominous tone threatened my resolve. If he was connected to the same gang as Derrick, then obviously I’d just said the wrong thing. There was nothing I could do but brazen it out. Show no fear.

  I lifted my chin. “Yes. And if you’ll tell me where she is, you’ll save me another trip to the precinct tomorrow.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Who the fuck goes to the cops when someone doesn’t show for work?”

  Squaring my shoulders, I infused my tone with all the confidence I could muster. “I did, because she’s just a kid.”

  He uncrossed his arms. “She ain’t no kid.”

  Bingo. He knew her. He freaking knew her. I latched onto that fact like a dog to a bone, and some of the apprehension of facing him down drained away in the face of my determination.

  “You know where she is. Admit it,” I demanded.

  The thunderous expression on his face told me that no one demanded anything of this man, but I didn’t care.

  “Why should I tell you a goddamned thing?”

  “Please,” I said, my tone near to begging. “All I want to know is if she’s okay.”

  He studied me for long moments. I didn’t know if he read the desperation on my face, but he shifted.

  “She’s fine. He took her out for her birthday.”

  “It’s not her birthday anymore.”

  “Well, it was, and he was out of town,” the man countered.

  That was true, but Trinity would have told me if he was taking her out. She’d been moping about him being gone before our conversation about love and penises, and Yve showing up to invite me to the bachelorette party.

  “She didn’t say anything about it.”

  “Not my problem.”

  He might as well have held up a sign that read That’s all the information you’re getting from me. But I wasn’t satisfied.

  “Where are they?”

  His gaze drilled into mine as if he couldn’t believe I was still asking questions. Which explained why he ignored it.

  “I’m gonna give you a piece of advice and suggest you take it. Leave the girl a voice mail like any normal boss. Don’t come ’round here knocking on doors. You might be the one needing a missing person’s report if you’re not careful.”

  Banked fear curled around my spine, but I refused to succumb to it. The last several years, my life had been a constant battle to try to sort “good guys” into categories of actually good and pretending to be good.

  I’d never faced someone in my sheltered little world who was unapologetically bad. It wasn’t inherently logical, but there was some comfort in the fact that he wasn’t pretending to be anything but what he was. It was the pretending to be good guys who struck the most fear into me because they presented an unknown danger.

  Take the monster—he’d been a “good guy” from a good New Orleans family. And he’d terrorized both Yve and me.

  This man in front of me was unequivocally dangerous.

  “Is that a threat?” I asked, idiotically testing my theory. The good thing about unapologetically bad guys? They were usually pretty honest. They had nothing to hide.

  “Call it a warning. This ain’t the job for you.” He tilted his head and watched me for my reaction, but I didn’t give him one. “You ain’t lettin’ this go, are you?”

  “No.”

  He shook his head slowly. “She’s probably holed up with D-Rock in some hotel room. The boy was going to take her somewhere romantic.” He made air quotes around the word romantic, and suddenly he was a little less scary and a little more human.

  “Romantic?”

  The boy gangbanger was into romance? So Trinity wasn’t missing due to some malevolent deed, she was a young girl being swept off her feet by her boyfriend. Could I have really missed the mark so widely?

  Glancing back at the man watching my every change in expression, I knew I didn’t have a choice but to believe him. Which meant I didn’t need to be in this neighborhood at all, and it was time for me to go.

  I dropped my gaze to the ground and debated how I was going to get out of this yard. He was blocking the only exit. Nothing to do but brazen this out too.

  He’s not going to hurt me, I told myself. I’ll shoot him if he tries.

  I stepped down from the porch, head held high, not showing a trace of fear except perhaps with how tightly I gripped my purse. “I appreciate the heads-up. I’ll be on my way then, if you’ll excuse me.”

  When in doubt, choose manners. My mother would be so proud. Actually, she’d probably want to lock me up until I was fifty if she knew where I was.

  He pushed off the gate, uncrossed his arms, and stepped toward me.

  Good grief, he was even bigger up close. In my heels, I was nearly five eight, and I didn’t think the top of my head came to his eye level. Not important. I stepped off the path, my heels sinking into the dry grass of the front yard as I attempted to get around him.

  “You ain’t leaving until I get a name from you.” His hand shot out and wrapped around my arm.

  I froze at the contact. Strange men didn’t get to touch me. I waited for my skin to crawl . . . but it didn’t. All I registered was the heat of his hand on my skin and the light grip that kept me from taking another step.

  “My name isn’t relevant,” I said. It was time to retreat to the safety of my car, get home, and leave Trinity another voice mail to call me with a sternly word
ed reprimand.

  “It’s relevant as hell to me.”

  The deep timbre of his voice sent shivers up the arm he held, but these strangely weren’t shivers of fear. My reaction surprised me, so I ignored it.

  I tugged at my arm, but I couldn’t free myself. “Let go. You wanted me out of your neighborhood, and I’m leaving.”

  “Give me your name, and you can walk right out that gate.”

  My tugging was getting me nowhere, and I wanted to be gone. In my head I labeled it a form of self-defense when I snapped out, “Valentina. Now let me go.”

  His touch was gone immediately, and the absence of the heat of his hand hit me.

  “Valentina,” he repeated. “Last name?”

  “No way,” I said.

  “Don’t need it anyway.”

  I said nothing, and I didn’t look at him. I wouldn’t look at him. And I absolutely wouldn’t think about the change in his tone when he’d said my name. Nope. I wouldn’t.

  Keeping my gaze firmly glued to the cracked sidewalk as I walked, I reached for the latch. My fingers froze when he said, “This is my neighborhood. My world. You don’t belong here. Don’t come here again. You do, and you won’t like the consequences. You get that, Valentina?”

  I straightened my spine, and despite my vow, I turned to face him. “I don’t plan on coming back. And as long as Trinity shows up at work tomorrow, I won’t have to.”

  I stepped outside the gate and was pulling it closed when he dropped both palms on top of the chain link. “You’re either fearless or stupid.”

  “Neither,” I shot back, hackles rising. “I’m just worried about her.”

  I turned my back on him and walked to my car. Once I had my door open, I swung my head around toward him. I had no earthly idea what possessed me to ask the question, but I couldn’t help it.

  “All this hassle about my name, and you never even introduced yourself.”

  His lips quirked, but he didn’t smile. Still, I thought it was humor I saw on his face. He was laughing at me. Jerk.

  “Rix.”

  One syllable. That’s all it took. Recognition slammed into me and I dove into my car, shut the door, and locked it.

  Holy. Shit. That was Rix?

  Pulling out of my parking spot, I couldn’t help but stare out the window as I drove away.

  He’s the head of one of the biggest gangs in New Orleans?

  I’d put him in the category of unapologetically bad, and I’d been right on the mark. It’s okay, I told myself. You’ll never see him again.

  I DROVE DIRECTLY HOME AND left another voice mail for Trinity telling her to call me, goddamn it. After I’d stripped off the skirt and blouse I’d worn to the gallery today, I pulled my dark hair back into a messy bun and threw on a pair of leggings and a tank before covering it with an old dress shirt of my father’s that was so worn from washing, his monogram was barely visible on the cuff any longer.

  I had to paint.

  I had no idea what, if any social commitments I might have tonight, but I didn’t care. Everything could go to hell when the need to paint struck. It had been weeks since I’d picked up a brush, and even longer since I’d completed a single piece.

  No one knew about my closely guarded hobby. Because if they knew, they’d ask me why I didn’t show my own work at Noble Art. I was the owner, therefore I could do whatever I pleased.

  The reason? While I had confidence in my ability to choose great artists and pieces to sell, I had no confidence in my own work. Instead, I held a piercing, blinding certainty that it was beyond terrible and not fit to be seen by human eyes other than my own. I had no classical training, and those flaws I was so critical of in others’ work while assessing its ability to sell were more than present in my own. But I didn’t care because painting wasn’t something I did for money or for show—it was all about the escape for me.

  The night I was raped over ten years ago, my entire life had changed. One moment of bad judgment contaminated every day since like black paint tainted every color it touched.

  I’d been torn apart on the stand by the defense attorneys, my reputation put on trial. Rape charges were ugly, and they were even uglier when your rapist was the son of a politician who had plenty to lose. I’d been barely twenty-two when it had happened, and I hadn’t exactly been a choirgirl in college. At least the proceedings had been kept closed—again the benefit of the plaintiff and defendant being well-connected—and the general public never knew my humiliation.

  I’d given up so many things after that. I was careful to keep any of the limited number of sexual partners I had completely off the radar, because of my hyperawareness of my reputation for the last decade. Instead of going out with friends and having fun, I’d locked myself away with my canvases. Painting had become my own personal salvation.

  For years, I’d told myself I’d moved on, but I hadn’t. I would have been living a normal life all these years if I’d really moved on rather than burying myself in work and paint.

  I paused to take in the man I’d painted while the events of the day replayed in my head. Tall, broad-shouldered. His skin color strikingly similar to the man I’d met today. I dropped my brush and stepped back.

  What the hell?

  Painting him hadn’t been a deliberate act, but it wasn’t something I could deny had just happened. There he was. All rippling muscle and striking silver eyes.

  The only things that were missing were the tattoos I didn’t get a close enough look at to replicate.

  But it was him. Rix.

  His name didn’t seem to fit him.

  Stop, Valentina. Just stop. He’s not important, he’s not relevant, he shouldn’t even exist to you.

  I was just starting to believe the things I was telling myself when my phone vibrated from the side table where I’d left it. After quickly cleaning my hands and wiping them dry on a rag, I reached for it.

  Two things struck me at the same time: I’d been painting for hours. It was after midnight. And the second was: Trinity.

  I answered immediately. “Are you okay?”

  Her voice, which I expected to be filled with excitement over what Rix had told me, was shaking when she spoke. “Can you come get me? I’m scared, V. Something’s wrong here and I’m freaking out.”

  Protectiveness to rival a mama bear roared to life within me. “Baby girl, I’m coming for you. Just tell me where you are.”

  She rattled off an address, one that was almost the same as the one I’d already visited today, except for two transposed numbers. Apparently my memory sucked when I was sneaking peeks at a cop’s computer screen.

  “Is that Derrick’s house?” I asked.

  “Yeah, I’m in the bathroom. I just want to go home, but there are people downstairs and they’re yelling, and I can’t find Derrick. I don’t know what to do. I tried to go out the back, but one of his friends wouldn’t let me leave and told me to get out of the way.”

  I thought about the neighborhood she was in, and was happy someone didn’t let her run out into the night by herself. I’d had no idea she’d been hanging out there the last few months, or I definitely would’ve had something to say about it.

  She might only be my employee now, but I’d watched her grow up from awkward middle schooler to a bright and beautiful woman. I’d given her birthday and Christmas presents. I’d taken her prom dress shopping. I’d done all of the things a parent would have done that her grandmother was too old or too uninterested to do.

  “It’s okay, honey. I’ll be right there.”

  I didn’t bother changing except to toss off my smock and grab a light cotton zip-up hoodie. It was still humid and hot, but it was late and I wanted to be covered when I ventured back into the lion’s den. Because this was the lion’s den. It was Rix’s world, and he’d made no bones about the fact that I didn’t belong in it.

  Well, dammit, I don’t want to be back in it. But I had no choice.

  My mind raced as I drove my Tesla back t
o the same street I’d parked on this afternoon, wondering how I’d flip-flopped the numbers of Derrick’s address when I’d jotted them down. I could have circumvented my encounter with Rix altogether, but that didn’t matter now. I just hoped I wasn’t walking into another confrontation with him.

  No lights were visible from the house I now assumed was Rix’s. Good. He never needed to know I was here. In and out. Quick and quiet. Get my girl and go.

  Every light was on in the run-down house two doors down, and cars with dark-tinted windows lined the street. It was the address she’d given me. I parked my car a few houses up and once again marshaled my courage. I’d texted Trinity when I was at a stop sign about a block away, but she still hadn’t responded.

  Did I wait or did I go? I waited for another minute. Still nothing. Screw it. I was going in so I could get out of here just as quickly.

  With no plan other than to get my girl, I stepped over beer bottles and crushed cans to make my way up the front walk. The house was similar to Rix’s but it hadn’t been repaired. The steps were caving in, the screen door was falling off its hinges, and more blue paint had peeled off the house than stayed on.

  I thought about knocking but didn’t bother as the door flew open and two drunk girls stumbled out. Their mini skirts and tube tops revealed more than they left to the imagination, and their makeup was so dark and smoky, they’d almost assuredly look like raccoons in a few hours. But I could use them for information.

  “Have you seen a girl named Trinity? She’s got long, dark hair with a pink streak on the side, and she’s about five seven.”

  One girl giggled but the other, seemingly a touch more sober than her friend, nodded. “Yeah. She’s D-Rock’s girl. I saw her in there.”

  Oh, thank God. A wave of relief rolled through me. This day was all going to be a bad memory tomorrow.

  “Do you know where in there?” I asked.

  The girl shook her head, and grabbed the top edge of her tube top before it slid down and caused a wardrobe malfunction. “Try D-Rock’s room. It’s in the back but it might be occupied, if you know what I mean.”