Beautiful Liar

by Natasha Knight

  Although how good a friend was I, when most of what I told her about my life was a lie? Lydia opened the door, her smile disappearing almost as quickly as it had appeared when she got a look at my boots.

  “You are not wearing those ugly old boots in here!”

  If she only knew the uniform at my second job. I smiled, liking the simplicity of her life. How straightforward it seemed. “I have my shoes right here!” I downplayed my looks around town, hiding behind my thick-rimmed glasses and baggy clothes most days, so wearing dressy shoes was a special bonus tonight.

  “Phew. Then you can come in.”

  She moved aside, and I walked in, taking off my boots at the door and sliding on my pumps.

  “Much better. Come on. I’ve already poured you a glass of wine.”

  “Perfect.”

  We headed toward the dining room, where I unpacked the hummus and found a place for it on the table among the things Lydia had already put together.

  “You’re sure you don’t mind watering the plants and taking care of Zeus while I’m gone?”

  At the mention of his name, Zeus, an eighty-pound German Shepherd, lumbered around the corner to greet me, drooling and licking my knee before he sat by my side and waited for me to scratch behind his ears.

  Lydia worked as a flight attendant, and I always took care of her house and Zeus when she went out of town for more than a day. This would be a longer than usual trip, though. She had arranged to take a month off—her sabbatical, as she called it—and was spending it on a beach in Cancun.

  “Of course not!” I said, squatting down to pet Zeus. “I love this little guy.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “You mean this giant drool machine.”

  “Don’t mind her, Zeus,” I said to the ten-year-old dog before addressing Lydia. “And don’t worry about me in the cold here while you’re sweating your ass off on a soft, sandy beach.”

  “Drink in hand,” she added with a wink. “And if I’m lucky, a handsome man to rub my feet!”

  I laughed. “Men, probably. Plural.”

  She nudged my shoulder while waggling her eyebrows. “Oh! I’ve got news!”

  “What news?” Lydia was a bit of a gossip, but mostly harmless.

  “The house next door to yours just got rented, and I got a glimpse.” She made a sizzling sound. “All I can say is I’m glad I decided to stay on the market!”

  “Lydia! You will break poor Sheriff Rooney’s heart.”

  “And more good news! Turns out the sheriff has a stomach virus”—she made a disgusted face—“and won’t be coming tonight. Being the good neighbor I am, I invited our new guy!”

  I giggled. “Well, that was thoughtful of you.”

  “And get this, he has a motorcycle!”

  I paused, for some reason taken back to last night in the parking lot.

  “Isn’t that great? You know I have a thing for hot guys on bikes.”

  I recovered and focused on rearranging the dishes on the table. I’d just been spooked last night. No big deal. “You have a thing for most guys, Lydia,” I teased but didn’t feel like laughing myself. First that feeling of something being off at the club, then the biker in the parking lot, and now this?

  It all made me uneasy.

  The doorbell rang, and I shook it off. There wasn’t anything to be worried about. No one from the club knew where I lived. The guy last night? Coincidence, that’s all.

  “Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Bell, come in. The snow’s coming down now, isn’t it?”

  “Well, no one has to drive, so that shouldn’t be a problem for the party,” Mr. Bell said.

  “Everything looks lovely here, Lydia,” Mrs. Bell added as I joined them.

  I was lucky to have found this small neighborhood with friendly neighbors who mostly kept to themselves. Although in a town the size of Bandon, people did get bored, which meant they got curious, so I always needed to be on my toes and asking questions rather than answering them.

  Neighbors arrived throughout the next hour, soft music played in the background, and people talked and drank and then drank some more and talked louder. I watched, keeping to the background and sipping my wine, involving myself just enough in conversation that I was there but unmemorable. I’d learned something in the last three years, something that helped immensely if you were in a situation like mine. People really liked to talk about themselves, and if you asked them questions, it kept the conversation flowing and made them feel good about themselves. And most people didn’t ask questions back.

  I wondered about the new renter next door to me. In fact, every time the doorbell rang, my heart skipped a beat, but the new neighbor hadn’t yet arrived. I took a moment to run to the bathroom after my second glass of wine, reminding myself to drink slowly as I tripped over the carpet in the hallway. When I returned, the music had grown louder, and, from the sound of things, I wasn’t the only one who needed to scale back the drinking.

  When I saw the wine needed refreshing, I went into the kitchen to open a few bottles. I rummaged through the drawers until I found the bottle opener and started on the first one. The feeling came over me again, just like last night, when I’d been dancing. Something felt off. Wrong.

  The kitchen door swung open, and I jumped, but it was just Lydia. She laughed at what someone in the other room said before turning to me.

  “Oh, thank goodness! We’re completely out of wine out there!”

  “Here, take this one,” I said, handing it to her as she swept past me. “I’ll open a few more and bring them out in a second.”

  “Thanks!”

  I opened another bottle just as someone came into the kitchen again. I turned, smiling, fully expecting to find Lydia.

  But it wasn’t her. It wasn’t her at all.

  Stunned, I stared, my mouth gaping open, caught in that almost smile. My heart pounded against my chest, and my throat went dry.

  This couldn’t be happening. It couldn’t be him.

  “Cat got your tongue?”

  I sucked in a breath, as if waking from a horrible nightmare. The bottle slipped from my hand. Slater lunged forward, grabbing it before it crashed to the floor, his body twice the size I remembered.

  He straightened and looked me over from head to toe and then back up, his lips in a grimace, making every hair on my body stand on end.

  “Because the last time I saw you, you couldn’t shut that trap for a second, could you?”

  He referred to my interviews after the fact. To my lies.

  I’d met Slater Vaughn three years ago, literally bumped into him on my way into a bar. Nothing coincidental or even accidental in that encounter, though. It’d been planned to the minute and executed flawlessly. I’d been paid well too. The deal: one night with him. One night to put on a hell of a show while the video camera rolled, recording everything from right above the closet door. Tiny little thing I’d barely noticed, actually, although I’d been told its location so I could arrange our bodies accordingly. Slater unwittingly had had his on-screen debut. Not the way he’d want it, for sure.

  “What’s the matter, Mac?” he asked, a smirk on his face.

  He used my nickname. How did he know my nickname? With him, I’d only used my full name, MacKayla.

  We were not friends.

  “There you are!” Lydia came crashing through the door, a huge smile on her face. “I wanted to introduce you!” she said, somehow not taking notice of the tension in the room. “Mac, this is your new neighbor, Slater Vaughn. Slater, this is Mac, short for MacKayla, Thomas.”

  He recovered much more quickly than I did. He smiled, a brief shifting of his lips for Lydia’s sake, not mine.

  “Funny thing,” Slater said, never taking his eyes off mine. “We know each other.”

  I swallowed. One corner of Slater’s mouth went up. He turned to Lydia.

  “Do you?” she asked, confused and a little drunk.

  “Small world,” he said, his attention back on me. “Crazy how you run i
nto people from your past when you least expect it.”

  Slater held out his hand. “Nice to see you again, Mac.”

  My entire body trembled, not just the hand I extended to shake Slater’s. I hesitated when I felt the heat of his palm. I paused and looked at it, at that big hand ready to swallow mine up. Slater gripped mine when I took too long and squeezed hard, making me flinch.

  “I…uh, it’s nice to see you”—I had to clear my throat—“Slater.” I swallowed, his name on my tongue sounding and feeling strange.

  He’d found me. After all this time, he’d found me. It was naive to think he wouldn’t come looking, wasn’t it? I owed this man. Because of what I’d done, because of me, he’d lost everything.

  I was going to vomit or cry or a combination of the two, but I needed to get out of here. I needed fresh air.

  “Excuse me.” I pulled my hand free and lunged toward the outside door off the kitchen, yanking it open and stepping onto the back porch. Tears blurred my vision as the little bit I’d eaten burned my throat. Somehow, I managed to keep it down. A moment later, Lydia was by my side.

  “You okay, Hon?”

  I nodded. “Yeah. Just too much wine and not enough food. I’m sorry, I…”

  “Don’t worry about it. Let’s get you something to eat, and you’ll feel better.” She tried to pull me back into the kitchen, but I resisted.

  “No, I think I’d better go. I really don’t feel well.”

  She made a disappointed face, but then the kitchen door opened. Someone else demanded her attention, and she turned to help.

  “I’ll call you tomorrow,” I said quickly, taking advantage of the opportunity and slipping away. I wrapped my arms around myself to keep warm and walked as quickly as I could in high heels on the snow-dusted street, to my house. I’d left my coat, boots, and keys at Lydia’s house, but I kept a spare on the front porch. Upon reaching home, I glanced back and sped up the stairs when I saw Slater walk out her front door and head toward mine.

  Fuck, fuck, fuck!

  With trembling hands, I finally gripped the key hidden beneath the dead potted plant and tried to slide it into the lock.

  “You sure left in a rush.”

  I jumped, turning to face him, my back pressed against the door.

  “Slater, I—”

  With heavy feet, he climbed the porch stairs, looking so different than I remembered, so much harder, meaner.

  “Open the door.”

  I shook my head, fear making me shake all over. I had to crane my neck to look up at him when he came closer. “What do you want?”

  “I want to go inside. It’s cold out here.”

  His voice hadn’t been harsh that night three years ago.

  “I don’t remember you being hard of hearing, MacKayla. Open the door.” When I didn’t move, he added, “I’m not going to hurt you.”

  The realization that he was here to do just that made me shudder, the memory of his big hands, the damage they could do…

  “Well, not yet, anyway.” He chuckled and held his hand out, palm up.

  I looked at it, confused.

  “Key.”

  I dropped it into his hand and moved a bit so he could unlock and open the door. “In.”

  I obeyed, not having much choice at the moment. I turned on the lights and drew the curtains closed, one eye on him the entire time.

  This was it. It was time to pay, and I owed dearly.

  I WAS ANGRY. I was so fucking angry.

  MacKayla Simone stood before me, a mute, trembling mess.

  What did I expect to find? What in hell did I expect to gain from coming here? From seeking her out? It’s not like she could change anything, even if she wanted to. The people who had done what they’d done—no. I shook my head to banish the thoughts. I wouldn’t go down that road. I couldn’t. Not now.

  “Sit.” It came out a bark.

  She obeyed instantly, dropping into a chair in her living room. She tucked her legs up beneath her, clutched her belly, and stared, wide-eyed, as I moved around her small house, trying to find something to drink. God knew I needed a drink.

  “Where do you keep your liquor?”

  “There’s a bottle of wine on the counter.”

  “That’s all you have?”

  She nodded, all huge eyes and innocence. I called bullshit on the latter. She’d made a fool out of me once. It wouldn’t happen again.

  Taking the bottle of wine and two mugs I found in a cupboard, I made a point of stalking toward her. Knocking her discarded shoes aside, I sat on the edge of the coffee table, so that my knees touched hers. She shrank back. Good. She should shrink away. She should be scared shitless right now.

  Pouring a glass, I held it out to her. She looked at it like it was poison.

  “Take it and drink. You’re going to need it.”

  When she didn’t, I set the bottle and my empty mug down on the table. “You’re going to learn to do as you’re told, MacKayla.” I stood too fast for her to react, gripped her braid, and tugged her head backward.

  She cried out, immediately reaching back to try and free herself.

  “Thought you liked that the last time. Liked it rough, if I remember correctly. And I’ll tell you something else, that night is damn hard to forget.”

  “Stop.”

  “For you too?”

  “Stop.”

  “Got your attention, do I?”

  “You’re hurting me, Slater.”

  “I told you to drink.” I tugged again so she looked up at me. I brought the cup to her lips. “Now open your fucking mouth and drink.”

  She cried out when I pressed the glass to her lips. I was glad I’d picked up coffee mugs because I would have shattered a wineglass in my grip. She opened her mouth, and I tipped the mug to make her drink. I kept pouring it down her throat until she choked. When I released her, she doubled over, her feet on the floor, and coughed up a storm.

  I sat back down.

  “Next time I tell you to drink, you drink, understood?”

  Still coughing, she nodded, her eyes bloodshot and mascara smudged.

  “Good.”

  I poured myself a mug of wine and sat back down on the coffee table. I took a sip and watched her. MacKayla hugged her knees to her chest, her chin pressed to her knees, shivering. I studied her. Last night, when I’d watched her strip, I’d wanted her, just like I had that night three years ago. From the moment I’d set eyes on her, I’d wanted her.

  Damn her.

  “How much did my wife pay you to fuck me?”

  She jerked her head up, my question a reality check for both of us.

  “Huh? How much to be my whore for the night?”

  She closed her eyes and rubbed her face. “Look, that was a long time ago, and I’m sorry, okay?”

  “Really? You’re sorry?” I almost laughed out loud at the ridiculousness of what she’d said. As if it mattered at all.

  She gave a short, quick nod.

  “What? You’re sorry because I found you?”

  “You don’t know anything about me!”

  She made to stand, but I grabbed her wrist and tugged her back down. “You sit until I tell you to get up, got it?”

  When she didn’t answer right away, I squeezed her wrist.

  “Got it,” she squeaked.

  I let her go, and she quickly wiped a tear off her face. But she had no right to cry. In fact, her tears fucking pissed me off.

  “Besides, I didn’t ask you if you were sorry,” I snapped. “I asked you how much you got paid to fuck me.”

  She flinched and shifted her gaze to somewhere over my shoulder.

  “How much, MacKayla?” I knew. I just wanted her to say it. To own it.

  “Five thousand dollars,” she mumbled, lowering her gaze to her lap, where she picked at a cuticle.

  “Five grand to fuck a stranger.”

  She only bit her lip.

  “To ruin a life.” Sadness softened the words, the anger
I felt. But I needed that sadness gone.

  “What are you going to do?”

  Her unsure, frightened gaze met mine. I stood and looked around her small but cozy house. Furnishings were minimal but seemed to have been chosen with care. A small vase of flowers sat on the kitchen table, and a book laid open and facedown on the couch. It felt homey.

  “You’ve got a nice little setup here, MacKayla Thomas. Wonder if your friends know you take off your clothes for money in the next town over. People seem conservative. Most small towns are. Wonder how welcome you’d be if they found out about that. About who you really are,” I said, picking up what looked to be a scarf she was in the middle of knitting.

  “No. You can’t. Please, Slater—”

  She rose to her feet, pleading as she approached me, but when I turned to face her, she stopped short. I stood a good foot taller than her and a hundred times stronger.

  I took a step toward her.

  She took two back.

  “See, MacKayla,” I started, stalking closer, closing the space between us until her back hit the wall. “I can. I can do whatever the fuck I want.” Resting my left forearm against the wall, I closed my right hand around her throat and got down to where we met eye to eye. “Because you owe me.”

  She shuddered in my grip.

  I squeezed her throat. She grabbed my arm. I straightened, lifting her off her feet. She began choking and kicking her legs, her eyes bulging and her face turning red.

  “Don’t you think so?” I asked, giving her a small shake.

  When her kicking grew frantic and her fingernails scratched desperately at my arm, I lowered her back down to the floor and pressed her against the wall by her shoulders.

  “Tell me, do you owe me?”

  She sputtered and coughed, gulping in air before nodding, her cheeks wet with tears.

  “Well, I’m glad we agree on that, then. Sit down.”

  This time, she obeyed me instantly, reclaiming the chair she’d just vacated. She clutched her hands so tight, her knuckles turned white.