Web of Lies

by Elizabeth Knox

  He doesn’t answer, but I see his eye twitch.

  Taking the towel out of my bag, he presses it against my side, which makes me hiss in pain.

  “Sorry, little bird,” he murmurs. “It needs to be tight to stem the bleeding.” He takes my hands and presses them against the towel. “Keep the pressure on. I know it hurts, but you must keep the pressure.”

  I do as he commands, wincing at the pain that lances through my hip. Ow. Graze, my ass. It burns. How did I not realise I’d been shot? Seriously, now I know about the wound, it hurts so badly.

  Dante closes the car door and rounds the bonnet, coming to the driver’s side. He climbs in and watches as I try to get my seatbelt on one-handed. Finally, he takes pity on me and snags the belt from my fingers. I ignore the electricity that races through me at his touch. I should not be feeling anything for a man who put a gun to my head.

  His phone suddenly buzzes and he pulls it out. He reads the message and swears.

  “Fuck.”

  “What?”

  “My brother just messaged me. He told me to come home, that it would be better for me in the long run if I stop running. Apparently, my stealing from the family will be forgiven.”

  Cold clutches me. “Why would they think you took the money, Dante?”

  “Why indeed.”

  He starts the car up and I sink against the headrest, keeping the towel pressed to my side, watching out the side window as Dante navigates the quiet streets again.

  “Where are we going?” I ask after a little while.

  “Somewhere safe.”

  Safe . . .

  But for whom?

  Chapter Ten

  Dante

  She got shot. How the fuck did she get shot? And why the hell didn’t she mention it? She says she didn’t realise, but how can you get shot and not realise? I know adrenaline is a hell of a drug, but fuck me . . .

  I grip the steering wheel, trying not to think about throttling her. She’s my way out of this shit storm— if a way out can be found. I need her alive.

  I don’t think about the sense of panic I felt seeing that blood. I don’t understand why I care. I shouldn’t.

  I start the drive to the farmhouse. It’ll take a few hours to reach it, but it’s off the grid and it’s not in my name. In fact, I bought it using several seriously underhanded methods that would make my father proud— if he wasn’t trying to have me murdered, that is.

  My brother had to have clocked my car in the lot in front of the motel, which I’m sure has only added to his belief in my guilt. I wasn’t careful. I should have been, but in truth, I was expecting to hustle Cara out of the room, so I didn’t want to be parked too far away in case I had to drag her body out. I didn’t expect my father’s men to turn up and shoot at me.

  I should have been prepared. It’s one of the many lessons I was taught growing up— be prepared for anything. In this case, I took my eye off the ball and I screwed up.

  I can’t think about that now. I need to focus on working out what the hell is going on. The pieces of the puzzle are scattered around the board and I need to bring them together and make sense of them.

  Cara dozes as the cityscape gives way to urban sprawl then finally becomes darkened fields with the occasional farmstead. By the time we reach the farm, I’m exhausted and ready to sleep, but I need to check things are safe before I can relax. I peer through the windscreen at the darkened stone house. Nothing is moving, which is a good sign.

  Leaving Cara in the car, I quickly reload my gun and scope the place out, checking from room to room before heading out to the few outbuildings with a torch to ensure no unfriendlies are lying in wait. It’s deserted, as I expected, so I flick on the lights in the kitchen and switch the heat on before heading back out to the car.

  Cara’s still asleep when I pull the passenger door open and for a moment fear clutches me.

  Is she actually asleep?

  I reach out, my fingers pressing against her neck. It takes a second or two for the fluttering of her heart to register. I almost sigh with relief.

  “Dante?” Her sleepy voice has me pulling away, but I almost wish I didn’t have to stop touching her.

  “We’re here, little bird. Time to wake up. Do you think you can walk?”

  She stretches, then yelps, her hand going to her side. “Shit.” Her clenched teeth tell me just how much her wound is hurting.

  “I have painkillers inside.”

  She snorts. “Didn’t your mother ever teach you not to take drugs from strangers? Even if said stranger is tall, dark and very handsome.”

  “Out of the car,” I tell her, ignoring her words. I can’t think too hard on them or my brain starts wondering what if and what-ifs are a terrible idea, particularly in situations like this.

  She carefully slides out, and I steady her when she wobbles.

  “Whoa . . . head rush.”

  “Just take a minute,” I tell her, holding her elbows. “I have a first aid kit inside. We’ll properly wrap that wound.”

  I tell myself I’m taking care of her because I need her. She’s the only chance I have of being able to reclaim my old life, but I’m lying to myself. I’m doing it because seeing her shot unravelled me. I need to look after her. I’m completely tapped in the head.

  She starts to tentatively walk, her hand pressed to the towel on her side. I snag her rucksack and keep close to her; in case she wobbles again. She doesn’t, though. She seems steadier as she moves to the front door of the farmhouse. By the time she makes it inside to sit at the kitchen table, she’s moving mostly under her own steam. She fists her fingers around the edge of the chair, looking a little pale.

  I eye her before heading over to the cupboard and pulling out the medkit. Bringing it over to the table, I lay everything out I need and say, “Can you lift your top?”

  “You’ve seen me naked, Dante. I’ll just take it off so you can see what you’re doing.”

  She starts to raise her arms and whimpers. I move to help her, dragging the tee over her head. This leaves her sitting in her bra and jeans. Fuck me. My dick stirs, remembering the times I’ve had her under me in the past few weeks. I try not to gawk at the globes of her tits, poking out the top of her bra.

  Focus, Dante.

  I pull the towel away and wrap a piece of gauze around the wound. I’m not a doctor, I can’t do field medicine, but we just need to keep it clean and stop the bleeding until we can find someone who is.

  “Who do you think sold you— us— out?” she asks between gritted teeth.

  “Your boss is the likeliest candidate.” When she makes a disapproving noise in the back of her throat, I say, “Think about it, Cara. It makes sense. Your boss sends you to steal from the Escarlos. He didn’t do his due diligence. Does that seem like him?”

  When her brows draw down, I know I’m right. “He’s always thorough with background searches.” The admission is given grudgingly.

  “I hide who I am, but your boss should have been able to discover my family links with good research. I’m not that well-hidden. The discerning CEO would skate right over the facts, but I’m guessing your boss has access to better systems, better searches.”

  She nods, then says, “But what would he have to gain from doing this? I can’t think of a single reason for him selling me out.”

  “I can think of half a million. Think about it, little bird. It makes perfect sense. Your boss steals the money, but he knows stealing from my father will not go unpunished. He has to shift the blame somehow, so he can walk away scot-free. He sends you in and you take the money, unknowingly walking into a den of vipers. He had to know I would come after you, because he has to know my father will come after me. I may be his blood, but Niko doesn’t give a shit about that. He cares that half a million pounds is missing from the accounts I take care of.” The furrow between her eyes deepens. “He tips me off to keep an eye on you, which means when you take the money, I already know it’s you who did it.


  “Then, he tells my father that I’ve stolen the money and fled with you— my partner in crime. My father will kill me for that betrayal and he’ll kill you too. We get dead, so no one can question our part in all of this. They can't find the money and chalk it up to us being smart at hiding it. Meanwhile, your boss is living his best life in the Costa Del wherever-the-fuck.”

  “And all evidence points to us double-crossing your father.” She drags a hand through her hair. “Fuck!”

  “You can say that again. I mean, this might not be what’s happening, but given everything we know, I’m going to say I’m right on the money.”

  She rolls her eyes slightly at my play on words. “I’m supposed to be retiring. My boss wasn’t keen on the idea.”

  “Of course not. You know too much. You have too much inside information that could get him locked up or dead.”

  “I wouldn’t say anything.” The protestation is given vehemently.

  “Well, you definitely wouldn’t if you’re dead. Then, your boss gets to keep all the money for himself.”

  “Fuck,” she repeats.

  “Indeed.”

  “So, how the hell do we get out of this, Dante? Because I have to tell you, I’m drawing a blank here.”

  “You have to tell me everything you know. All of it, Car. No lies, no omissions. I need to know what we’re working with here.”

  She stares at me a beat, then shakes her head.

  “How do I know this isn’t a ploy to get information?”

  “You don’t. You just have to trust me.”

  She glares at me. “Trust the man who held a gun to my head and threatened to blow my brains out?”

  My lips curve into a tight smile. “I know. It’s a big ask.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Annabel

  It’s not just a big ask, it’s an insane ask. What if he’s playing me? What if this is a ploy to get to Bastian? I’m not a snitch, but I’m also being hunted down. Those men fired at both me and Dante in the dark. They had no idea if they would hit him or me, which suggests they were aiming to kill or maim both of us.

  I mull over my options.

  Trust Dante, or trust Sebastian.

  I can’t get hold of the latter, which does concern me. Although there could be a good reason for that. What if Dante’s father’s men have already found him? What if my spilling his involvement puts his life in jeopardy?

  The what-ifs are running around my head at a million miles per hour.

  “You don’t have to tell me,” he says when I offer nothing. “I’m not going to force you to spill your secrets, but it will help us to have all the facts.”

  I don’t answer, and he lets out a frustrated breath. “Your loyalty is commendable. I just hope we don’t die because of it.”

  Dramatic bastard . . .

  Although a dramatic bastard with a point.

  His fingers skim over my side as he fixes the bandage to my skin and I shiver at his touch.

  “All done. Can you stand?”

  “I think so.”

  He nods. “I suggest we try to get some sleep.”

  “Um . . . what are the sleeping arrangements?”

  “I suggest we stay together; in case we have to make a speedy exit.”

  “I thought you said no one knows about this place.”

  “They don’t,” he replies, “but that’s not to say they won’t. I’d prefer to be together if the shit hits the fan.”

  “Right.” That makes sense. “So . . .”

  “We’ll take the back bedroom. It overlooks the kitchen, so if the worst happens, we can go out the window and onto the kitchen roof. It’s not as far to jump down.”

  Another window escape . . .

  “That sounds fun,” I grumble.

  “Or you could stay inside and get shot or worse. Up to you.”

  I give him a tight smile. “The bedroom is fine.”

  He leads me up the stairs, carrying my rucksack in one of his large hands. I stare at the broad lines of his shoulders and back. He’s a big man, maybe standing at six foot five and he’s built like a tank. I have no doubt he could hurt me if he wanted to. The fact he hasn’t surprises me.

  The enemy of my enemy . . .

  I guess that mantra really does apply here. Dante may not be like his family, but I have no doubt he can turn on the savage nature that exists in all Escarlos if pushed. Keeping him on my side is the only option here.

  He pushes open the door and gestures for me to step through first. I oblige, even though I’m not entirely comfortable having him at my back.

  The lights flick on and I glance over my shoulder, seeing him at the switch. “There’s a bathroom across the hall, if you want to clean up. Just keep the gauze dry.”

  “No shower then.”

  He shakes his head.

  I turn back to the room and take it in. It looks simple, devoid of personal effects and a little dusty. I don't think it's been cleaned in a while, but beggars can’t be choosers, and since the alternative is dead, I don’t feel much like complaining about the décor.

  “I’ll get ready for bed then.”

  I head into the bathroom and get a full strip wash, avoiding my bandaged side as much as possible. Once I’m as clean as I’m going to get sans shower, I change into a pair of joggers and a tee I had in my rucksack and return to the bedroom.

  Dante is lying on the bed, still fully clothed. He looks like a delicious treat, laid out on the mattress like that, his jeans hugging his hips, his dark T-shirt pulled tight over his pecs and showing off his impressive biceps. I let my eyes linger on the tattoo working down his left arm before bringing my gaze back to his all too attractive face and forcing a smile.

  “Done. The water wasn’t very hot, but there’s still some left if you want to shower.”

  He shakes his head. “I’m good.”

  He doesn’t trust me not to run. I don’t blame him; I’d feel the same, but it stings nevertheless.

  “Um . . . shall I take the floor?”

  “The bed’s big enough for us both,” he says. When I start to protest, he adds, “Come on, Car, it’s not like we haven’t shared a bed before.”

  He’s not wrong, but this feels different. “Circumstances have changed.”

  “Yeah, you stole a shit ton of money and now we’re running for our lives because of it.”

  It’s a fair point, but it pisses me off nevertheless.

  “I had no idea things would go this way,” I fire back. “Besides, it’s your lunatic family shooting at us.”

  I peel the covers back with force and slide into the bed with a huff.

  “Little bird, are you angry?”

  “No.”

  “Then look at me.”

  I don’t move. I don’t want to look at him. Not when I’m feeling as vulnerable as I do now. I have no idea why I’m fazed by his words. Maybe it’s the stress of the past few days catching up with me.

  “Cara . . .”

  “Annabel.” I don’t know what possesses me to give him my real name, but it slips from my mouth unbidden. Part of me wants to hear my name on his lips. Part of me is tired of lying. I want to get to the bottom of this mess and fast. I don’t want to die at the hands of the Escarlos.

  “That’s your name?”

  I roll my head towards him, so I’m facing him. “Yeah. Is Dante your real name or your business name?”

  He stares at the ceiling, his hands folded under his head.

  “It’s my real name. Dante Niko Escarlo.”

  “Why Black?”

  “Why not?”

  “Where did it come from?”

  “I don’t know. Where did Cara come from?”

  I sigh. “A big book of names. I pick them at random.”

  He turns to face me, putting us inches from each other. “How did you even get into this . . . lifestyle?”

  “Need. I needed money.” I lower my eyes a little as I say, “My childhood wasn’t the best, Dante. My paren
ts were both heavily into drugs and drink. They forgot about me often. By fourteen, I was practically homeless. I did what I had to in order to survive. By the time I met . . .” I pause, still not sure I should out Bastian, “my boss, I was in dire straits. I needed help. He gave it to me. He gave me accommodation, food in my belly, safety. All I had to do was put on pretty dresses and play my part. It was hardly a hardship.”

  “You were used, Annabel. You don’t see that you were exploited? You were a young woman, afraid and alone and you were offered a life raft. Of course you were going to take the offer of security. The man who hired you knew that. He used you for his own gains.”

  I frown at him. “I didn’t feel used.”

  “I know.” He strokes the side of my face softly, his eyes running over my face. “But the facts are the facts. You were taken advantage of and used like his personal ATM. You did all the dangerous work by being in the field, but he shared none of the risk. If you got caught, he could disappear.”

  He’s not wrong, but hearing things laid out so blatantly has my stomach twisting. I don’t want to hear how stupid or naïve I am.

  “You weren’t worried about getting caught?”

  “We had an extraction plan if I did,” I tell him.

  “You honestly believe this boss of yours would have risked everything to pull you out? I’m guessing he’s sitting on a small fortune, darlin’. He didn’t need to help you.”

  In truth, he’s not saying anything that hasn’t crossed my mind before, but I trust Bastian. Or I did.

  “I didn’t really think about it. I was young. I thought I was invincible. I still did until you.”

  “But you wanted out? You said this was your last job.”

  “I’ve earned enough to keep me going for the rest of my life, Dante. I don’t need to take the risk anymore. Every job feels more and more like I’m playing with fire and I don’t want to get burnt.” I stare into his dark eyes, getting a little lost for a moment. Many times we’ve laid together like this, but this is the first time anything between us feels real. There was always lies between us before. Now, in this moment, we’re baring truths.