Dare You to Lie

by Amber Lynn Natusch

I scoffed.

  “Like I have one to sell.…”

  “Perfect!” she replied without skipping a beat. “Then we won’t have to worry about that pesky detail, now will we?”

  “Nope. Let’s get right to the devilish deeds.”

  She laughed as she pulled out some paperwork and put it down in front of me.

  “Soul or not, you still have some forms to fill out to be hired.” Feigning a pout, I reached for a pen sitting on her desk. “You don’t have to do it right now, Kylene. You can take them home. There’s no rush.”

  “Perfect. I’m still not caught up in school, so if it’s okay, I might have to be part-part-time until I am.”

  “That’s not an issue. Now, since you’re here, let me show you around a bit. Introduce you to some of the staff and familiarize you with what you’ll actually be doing.”

  “Sounds good. Lead the way, boss lady.”

  She shook her head at me, managing to curb her undoubtedly snappy comeback. It appeared that she knew as well as I did that we’d never get anything done if she didn’t. Meg and I were capable of epic verbal banter on occasion. Unfortunately, her place of employment wasn’t really the best setting for a showdown.

  We walked back down the hall toward the front office while Meg pointed out the various lawyers’ offices and explained what type of law they practiced. Given that Jasperville County wasn’t huge, it made sense that they would try to offer various services. Meg was a litigator, but not the ambulance-chasing sort—more like Erin Brockovich. She fought for the little guy, something I’d long admired about her. The founding partner in the firm was Mr. Stenson, who practiced family law, though very part-time. She said I’d rarely if ever see him in the office. Luke Clark was a defense attorney and the newest partner. Meg made a point of saying how sharp and focused he was—how little to nothing seemed to get by him. High praise indeed, coming from her.

  I met a couple of the paralegals, all of whom were young single mothers, judging by the pictures on their desks of them with children but no fathers to be seen. Lastly, I met the first person I’d encountered when I’d entered the building that day. Marcy, the receptionist, smiled again as we approached.

  “Will you be joining us, Kylene?”

  I shot a glance to Meg.

  “I think so.” I made a point to return her smile. The attorneys might have owned the business, but it was common knowledge that the receptionists ran the show. If I got on her bad side, my life would be miserable for sure. No, Marcy and I needed to be tight as tight could be.

  “Who’s joining us where?” a male called out from down the hall. I turned to see a guy in his early- to midthirties, dressed in a full suit, heading toward us. Since I knew Mr. Stenson was older than dirt and rarely ever there, that left one option.

  “Luke,” Meg said, stepping to the side a bit so he could come join our little group. “This is Kylene. She’s going to be coming to work here part-time.”

  “Ah, the new gopher,” he replied with a wide smile.

  “Technically, I’m a badger, but…”

  “I see … a Jasperville girl. My rival team.”

  I groaned.

  “Et tu, Brute? Meg, I’m not sure I can work with a football lover.”

  Both Luke and Meg laughed heartily.

  “Not your sport, I take it?” he asked.

  “I prefer to avoid Satan’s favorite pastime at all costs.”

  “How will you manage to rise above such prejudices to work here?”

  “Honestly, I’m not sure, but I don’t have a choice.”

  “Did you lose a bet or something?”

  “Yes.” I shot a playful glance at Meg. “Looks like I doubled down when I should have walked away.”

  “Rookie mistake. It happens.”

  “I’ve known Kylene since she was little,” Meg said, interrupting us. “You’d better watch out for this one, Luke. If you think I’m a handful, you’re in for a real treat.”

  The twinkle in his eyes was hard to ignore.

  “If Meg thinks a teenager is a formidable opponent for me, you must really be something. I can’t imagine what you’ll be like when you’re my age.”

  “Old,” I said with a quirk of my brow. “I’ll be old.”

  His booming laughter filled the room.

  “This one’s a keeper. Can’t wait to see how much trouble you cause around here, Kylene.”

  “Me too.”

  “I’m about to be late for court, so if you ladies will please excuse me.” He gave us a small nod, then headed for the front entrance. As he walked out the door, he looked back over his shoulder and smiled. “Pleasure to meet you, Kylene.”

  “You too.”

  As the heavy wooden door closed, Meg turned her attention back to me.

  “I have to get a few things done now, too, I’m afraid, though this has been a lot of fun. Just bring the paperwork back once you get it filled out, and Marcy will take care of everything else for you, okay?”

  “Sounds great. Thanks again for this, Meg. I … I really need it.”

  Her gaze softened.

  “We all need a break sometimes, kiddo. Happy to give it to you.” She gave me a quick hug before releasing me. “Now get out of here before Marcy starts thinking I’m a softie.”

  “Can’t have that,” I said, walking toward the door.

  “See you later.”

  “Absolutely. You can’t get rid of me that easily.”

  I pulled the door open and walked out into the crisp fall air. My day really had taken a turn for the better. Working with Meg and her crew promised to be as entertaining as it would be educational. Working at a law firm surely had its perks, especially with a defense attorney like Luke to consult with about my dad’s case—unofficially, of course.

  He might have been the best thing to happen to me in a really long time.

  TWELVE

  On my way home, I drove by another part of my past—one I needed to get reacquainted with. Kru Tyson’s Muay Thai gym sat on the corner of two main roads, in what had once been a used-car shop. With large windows along the front, I could clearly see when I passed by that he was open. I yanked Heidi into a spot not far down the street and climbed out.

  I didn’t have my gloves or shin guards with me, but I had shorts and a T-shirt in my gym bag, which would have to suffice. Tyson always had extra gloves kicking around somewhere that I could borrow. I doubted that had changed in the past two years.

  After my day with Donovan, I had an uncontrollable desire to hit things.

  Muay Thai had always been a safe (and legal) outlet for my frustrations. I’d been out of the gym for far too long: I could feel it in my bones. I needed a date with a heavy bag. Badly.

  The door squeaked loudly as I pushed it open, drawing attention from some of the guys training. They all looked at me for a moment like I was lost, then went back to what they were doing. I searched the room for Tyson, wondering if he was there. Then I heard a voice that fell on my ears in the most welcome way.

  “You’re late, Danners.”

  I couldn’t help but smile. I finally located him holding a heavy bag for someone, his familiar tattoos winding up his arms until they disappeared behind the leather bag. I had a sneaking suspicion he was hiding his amusement behind it.

  “Like that’s anything new,” I replied, kicking off my shoes to enter the gym. He stepped out from behind the heavy bag and walked toward me, doing his best to look intimidating. It was pointless, though—he’d always had a soft spot for me, ever since I was little. In a town full of girls who aspired to be pageant queens and cheerleaders, I trained to be a fighter. He’d always appreciated that.

  He secretly appreciated my smart mouth, too.

  “You here to train?” he asked, wiping his brow with the hem of his shirt.

  “I didn’t come for your sunny disposition, that’s for damn sure.”

  “Where’s your gear?”

  “I was hoping to borrow some gloves.…”
<
br />   He jerked his head toward the desk in the corner.

  “Still in the bottom drawer. Now go change. You can’t kick in skinny jeans.”

  “I beg to differ,” I replied, heading to go get the gloves. Then I stopped, realizing that I’d forgotten something. Something rather important. “Hey, Tyson?” He stopped and looked over his shoulder. “Any chance I have a credit left here?”

  He nodded.

  “Yeah. You’ve still got one.”

  “Any clue how much?”

  “Enough.”

  “Enough for tonight?”

  “Enough for as long as you want to be here.”

  With that, he turned and went back to the bag he’d been holding for the heavyweight whaling on it. I opened my mouth to thank him, then stopped myself. He wouldn’t have wanted me to make a big deal about the fact that he was letting me train for free. He knew why my family left, and he had to have known why I was back—or at least part of the reason. He was trying to help me out. The best way I could thank him was to work hard and not embarrass him.

  “By the way, Danners. You owe me a hundred and fifty skip knees on the bag. Twenty-five for each minute you were late.”

  I looked at the clock and my smile widened.

  “Class started five minutes ago. That’s only a hundred and twenty-five.”

  He peeked out from behind the cracked black leather cylinder hanging from the ceiling.

  “Never was good at math.” Then his dark, narrowed eyes drifted to that same clock. “But since you can’t ever stop running that mouth of yours, it looks like you’re six minutes late now. Guess it’s still a hundred and fifty skip knees.”

  I ran to the bathroom to change and came right out, dropping my bag at the front door. I started jogging around the perimeter of the modest-size space to warm up before doing my penance. While I did, I watched the others in the gym, some sparring, others training on the bag or holding pads for one another—about fifteen people in total—making note of their techniques. Their strengths. Their weaknesses. I filed it all away, knowing damn well that Kru Tyson would be pairing me up before I left that day just to see what I still had in me after all that time away. Little did he know I’d been practicing in my basement in Columbus. My shit was on point.

  Then I realized that Mark Sinclair was among them. One of The Six. The one who’d tried to call Donovan off the day before—however weakly. He saw me staring him down and shook his head, turning back to the guy holding pads for him. I couldn’t wait to spar with him.

  After my legs were warm, I stepped up to the only empty heavy bag left and gripped it between my forearms. I smiled at the insignia on it—my favorite bag in the gym, perfectly worn in from years of being battered—and drew back my leg before slamming it forward, extending through my hip at the last second for a bit more force. I repeated this on the other side, going back and forth. It created a dance of sorts with the bag—a dance that would have been really painful for my partner. I pictured Mark’s face on it and kneed the bag harder—right at man-junk level.

  By the time I finished, I was sweating like crazy. Half the gym seemed to be watching me out of the corners of their eyes. When I leveled a steady gaze on them all, they turned their focus back to what they were doing. Douchebags.

  I made my way over to grab a quick drink from the cooler, but Kru Tyson stepped in front of me, taking his fighting stance in the middle of the room. He said nothing, only raised his hands to his face for cover before he started circling me. Apparently, he really did want to see what I still had in me.

  Technical sparring wasn’t about doing damage. It was about combining your skills against an opponent in a controlled fashion. A fight without the brutality. I looked down at my hands, which were still bare, then back to him. He only smiled in response.

  “What happened to safety first?” I asked, mimicking his stance.

  “I’m not too worried about you, Danners.”

  Without so much as flinching, I hauled my right leg up and arced it toward his head, pivoting on my foot while swinging my hip around. The motion felt great. So did landing the kick square on his arm that sheltered the side of his head from my shin.

  The familiar sound of cracking pads in the background went silent.

  We officially had an audience.

  Kru Tyson was quick to return my kick with one of his own. I blocked it when I should have caught it, but I followed it up with a fake front kick that I snapped back into a Superman punch. I pulled up at the last second, knowing I would have made contact with my bare hand if I hadn’t. He merely laughed in response.

  Then he hugged me.

  “There’s my little tiger.” I wrapped my arms around his back and gave him a squeeze. He and I had so much in common, including a tough exterior that camouflaged our gooey insides. Until that moment, I hadn’t realized just how much I’d missed him. So much of my life had been cast aside when my family had left Jasperville that it was easy for people to be cast aside, too. Tyson had been one of those people.

  And he hadn’t deserved it.

  “I’d heard you were back in town. I wondered how long it would take before you showed up at my door.”

  “Longer than it should have, but … I had things to do. Trouble to cause. You know the drill.”

  And he really did.

  Kru Tyson had been a bit of a rebellious kid growing up. Minor run-ins with the law, but nothing major. He’d enlisted in the U.S. Marines right out of high school and served his four years and then some. My dad had always respected him for that—for cleaning up his life. Going straight. Tyson had opened the gym when he was in his midtwenties after leaving the reserves. He’d moved away from where he’d grown up on the East Coast, wanting to start over. He, like my dad, had followed a girl here. She eventually left. He stayed.

  And my life was better for it.

  “Yo, everybody, listen up,” he said, demanding the attention of everyone there—the attention we’d already garnered the second we’d started sparring. “This here is my girl, Kylene, otherwise known as Danners. She knows her shit. Treat her accordingly. And if any of you disrespects her in any way, I’ll let her go bare knuckles on your face. Got it?”

  A flurry of mumbled responses echoed off the cinder-block walls.

  “Aw, don’t scare them like that, Tyson. I’ll wear gloves. Maybe six-ouncers.”

  I turned to see him fighting back his laughter. He lost miserably, but I admired his effort.

  “Get your ass over to that bag and practice your kicks. You’re not bringing your leg all the way back. And move faster. Don’t be so lazy.”

  “Yes, sir!” I shouted before jogging over to the heavy bag I’d just kneed the crap out of. The one I’d pretended was Mark. As I took my stance, ready to unleash on the worn leather again, I heard Kru Tyson tell someone to come hold the bag for me. Imagine my surprise when Mark brushed past me to stand behind it, looking at me through the chains it hung from.

  “Is this why you think you can step to guys like Donovan? Because you’ve got a little skill in the gym?” he asked, leaning his chest and pelvis against the bag. I stared at him for a second before switching my stance in a flash and uncorking a left body kick on the bag. He hadn’t expected it to have so much force, and he stepped back, having been caught unprepared.

  “Before you start mansplaining how training isn’t the same as fighting, let me stop you. I’ve been in fights—both in and out of the ring. I’m well aware. And if you’d prefer not to find out firsthand, just hold the bag like you mean it and shut your mouth.” After his surprise faded, he sneered at me. Maybe he needed a good front kick to knock a bit more of his hubris away.

  “I was trying to help you yesterday, but if you’re so tough, I guess you don’t need it.”

  “If that was your idea of helping me, then we’re just not on the same page at all.”

  “What did you want me to do, Kylene? Tackle him?”

  “No, but I thought maybe one of you spineless
shits might not have just stood by with your mouth full of PB&J while Donovan beat on Amy or me. But, then again, why am I surprised. None of you did a thing to stop AJ, so…”

  I smashed the bag with a front kick that knocked Mark in the nuts. He let out a painful exhale and bent forward to grab his boys. Tyson, hearing the ruckus, came over.

  “You all right, Sinclair?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good. Then stop being a pussy and hold the bag for her. I told you she knows her shit. Start acting like it.”

  Mark didn’t say another word to me for the rest of our training. When it was over, he grabbed his bag and bailed without saying goodbye. I could see the unasked questions in Tyson’s stare, but I just thanked him for borrowing his gloves and left. Unlike me, the identities of the boys had been better withheld from the public. Yes, people either figured out who they were or assumed, but they were usually referred to as “those nice boys.” I, however, was called a barrage of names, none of which were very flattering. I wondered if Tyson was slowly piecing together that Mark and I had beef, and that maybe it had something to do with the scandal that drove me from town.

  If he ever did, Sinclair would be in a world of hurt.

  THIRTEEN

  Striker sent me a text while I was training, telling me that he’d forgotten a file and that someone working down in my area would be dropping it off at Gramps’ house in an hour. Since he’d sent it forty-five minutes earlier, I didn’t have long to get home in time to receive it.

  I raced through town and into Gramps’ neighborhood. When I got to the house, there was a generic-looking sedan, not unlike the one my father used to drive, parked outside. I hadn’t even pulled all the way into the driveway before Agent Douchecanoe was out of his vehicle and headed my way, file in hand.

  “So you’re the errand boy,” I said to him as he scowled at me.

  “You know you can hear that environmental hazard coming from a mile away, right?”

  “Weird … kinda like your hostility and hubris.”

  His frown deepened as he extended the file in his hand toward me. I reached for it, but he pulled it back at the last second.