Lavish Lies
Page 1
Lavish Lies
Charlotte Byrd
Contents
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I. Prologue - Easton
1. Everly
2. Everly
II. Before York
3. Everly
4. Everly
5. Everly
6. Everly
7. Everly
8. Everly
9. Everly
III. Welcome to York
10. Everly
11. Everly
12. Everly
13. Everly
14. Everly
15. Everly
IV. A Different Kind of Prison
16. Easton
17. Easton
18. Easton
19. Easton
20. Easton
21. Easton
22. Easton
V. First Rounds
23. Everly
24. Everly
25. Everly
26. Everly
27. Everly
28. Everly
29. Everly
30. Everly
31. Easton
32. Easton
33. Easton
34. Everly
35. Everly
36. Everly
37. Everly
38. Everly
39. Everly
40. Easton
41. Easton
42. Everly
43. Everly
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About Charlotte Byrd
Copyright © 2018 by Charlotte Byrd, LLC.
All rights reserved.
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Cover Design: Charlotte Byrd
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This book is a word of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
Visit my website at www.charlotte-byrd.com
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About Lavish Lies
He has taken me away from everything that I know and love. I only have one choice: to do everything he says or my fate will be worse than death.
What does he want?
He wants to play a game.
But I’m not the only one playing. There are others. Prettier, smarter, more charming than I am.
But only one of us can be the winner.
Only one of us can be his wife.
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**This novel was previously published as the House of York.
Praise for Charlotte Byrd
“Decadent, delicious, & dangerously addictive!” - Amazon Review ★★★★★
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“Captivating!” - Crystal Jones, Amazon Review ★★★★★
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"Exciting, intense, sensual” - Rock, Amazon Reviewer ★★★★★
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“Sexy, secretive, pulsating chemistry…” - Mrs. K, Amazon Reviewer ★★★★★
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“Charlotte Byrd is a brilliant writer. I've read loads and I've laughed and cried. She writes a balanced book with brilliant characters. Well done!” -Amazon Review ★★★★★
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* * *
Tell me Series
Tell me to Stop
Tell me to Go
Tell me to Stay
Tell me to Run
Tell me to Fight
* * *
Tangled Series
Tangled up in Ice
Tangled up in Pain
Tangled up in Lace
Tangled up in Hate
Tangled up in Love
* * *
Black Series
Black Edge
Black Rules
Black Bounds
Black Contract
Black Limit
Lavish Trilogy
Lavish Lies
Lavish Betrayal
Lavish Obsession
Standalone Novels
Debt
Offer
Unknown
Dressing Mr. Dalton
Part I
Prologue - Easton
They are not supposed to be here. They are innocent and polite and sweet. Some of them may even be kind.
They think that they are here of their own free will.
They think that it’s a game.
They think that everything is going to be okay.
I know the truth.
They are not here by accident. They were all carefully chosen.
Selected.
Identified.
Vetted.
Some are here because they are gorgeous, others because they will be good at bearing children. A few are lost souls who no one will ever look for.
&nbs
p; But some, well, they are here because of their ability to fight.
Propensity to fight.
Willingness to fight.
Not everyone wants a fighter. Not everyone wants someone to resist their every move.
But some of them do. And these are the ones who will pay the most. And to find a girl who is both beautiful and a fighter? Well, that’s everything, isn’t it?
Of course, there will be the ones who fail. Most will fail at least once, but some will fail for good.
We call this game a competition to keep them pacified. Calm. Quiet.
But they had all lost their freedom a long time before they ever stepped foot on the island of York.
All but one will lose their lives.
Everly
Degrees of freedom
Freedom is difficult to describe when you have it.
You go through life bogged down by life’s little problems. You go to work at a job you don’t particularly like.
You get paid way too little.
Thirty-four thousand dollars a year.
Your rent and monthly expenses are way too high.
Fifteen-hundred in rent and another three-hundred in student loan payments plus utilities. Of course, there’s the myriad of other little but not inconsequential expenses.
The occasional lunch out.
Happy hour.
A movie once in a while.
Is this what it means to be an adult? I guess so.
After I graduated with my undergraduate degree in Psychology, I decided to work for a few years to save some money before going on to graduate school for my doctorate.
Of course, I wanted to work in the field. The only problem was that the only job I was qualified to do with just a bachelor’s degree was to answer phones at a marriage therapist’s office.
I scheduled appointments and dealt with the insurance companies. The job wasn’t anything I ever wanted to do and I hated it.
I would sit in the freezer of an office with the zipper of my dress pants digging into my stomach, and I would feel sorry for myself. College was hard, but it was nothing in comparison to the grind of everyday life. School was broken up into semesters, and semesters into weeks, and weeks into classes and assignments. Even if a class was unbearable, as some requirements were, at least I knew when it would come to an end.
I can still remember the contempt that I felt for my job and my life, in general. Days became weeks and then months and years and everything in my life stayed the same. Clients called. Appointments were scheduled. Lunch was eaten. Money was made. Bills were paid.
But looking back now, trapped in this God-forsaken place, I would give anything to be there again.
To have that kind of freedom again.
“Number 19,” a loud deep voice is piped in on the loud speaker. “It’s your turn.”
My heart sinks and I take a deep breath.
“I don’t have all day,” she says loudly.
I know what to do and I do it quickly. I pull off my tank top and take off my pajama bottoms. When the door opens, I’m completely nude. She looks me up and down.
I’m used to their glares. I don’t know her name, I know her simply as C. There are twenty-six guards here. All called by different letters of the alphabet.
“Let’s go,” she says, leading me to the end of the hallway.
The ground is cold and wet under my bare feet. I’m ushered into a large shower room. Five others are there as well. We exchange knowing glances, but none of us dare to say a word.
We have exactly two minutes to wash our hair and bodies. After that, the water turns off automatically and the guards throw us a small hand towel to dry ourselves.
It wasn’t that long ago when I worked at an office all day hating my job.
It wasn’t that long ago that I thought that I didn’t have any freedom.
Now, I know better.
Now, I know what real imprisonment is like.
Now, I know that the life that I hated so much before is one that I would do anything to get back to now.
After drying myself off, C leads me back to my cell. The walk back is even colder than before, but I appreciate being given the opportunity to clean myself.
“E will be in shortly,” C says. “It’s your turn to be shown.”
My throat clenches up in fear.
To. Be. Shown.
What does that mean?
Everly
When she gets me ready…
Being shown.
I’ve heard whispers about this, but none of the prisoners really know what’s going to happen. The guards? They know. Of course, they know, but they aren’t talking.
When C leaves, I put my pajamas back on and sit down on the bed. I wrap my hands around my knees, resting my head on top.
I wait.
A few minutes later, E comes in. Her hair is cut short, blunt at the edges, right by her chin. Her eyes are severe, without an inkling of compassion. Her skin is pale. Her bright red lips stand in stark contrast to the gray monotone uniform that all the guards down here wear.
Besides the bright red lips, she is not wearing a smudge of any other makeup.
She lays a garment bag and a big black box on my bed.
After washing and drying her hands, she opens her makeup box. It’s so large that it has wheels like a suitcase. She gets out a big spotlight and shines it in my face. There is no mirror here, so I cannot see what she is doing as she starts to apply foundation to my face. All I see are the tools. Foundation brush. Concealer brush. Eyeshadow primer. Eyeshadow brush. Highlighter. After a few minutes, I lose track of everything that she’s doing.
“So…how did you get this job?” I ask. Partly out of curiosity and partly out of boredom.
I haven’t talked to anyone in days and life gets tedious that way.
But E ignores me.
“You’re just not going to answer me?” I ask. She gives me a little shrug. Progress.
“Are you not allowed to talk?” I ask.
“Of course, I am,” she says. Apparently, I have insulted her.
“So, why don’t you answer me?”
She shrugs again.
“I applied for it.”
“You applied for it?”
“Did I stutter?” she asks.
Now, it’s my turn to shrug.
“So…you don’t live here?” I ask.
I don’t really know where here is, but I hope that she can help me figure it out.
“I just work here. I live on the mainland.”
Wow. There’s that word.
Mainland.
How long have I been here? I’m not sure exactly. But in all that time, I didn’t realize that we were on an island.
Do you know what happens here? I want to ask. Do you know that we are all prisoners? You must. Of course, you do.
I want to ask, but I don’t know who I’m talking to. She’s a stranger. And just because she’s a woman, doesn’t mean that she is necessarily on my side. She is an employee, after all.
So, I decide to ask something else instead.
“So, what does E stand for?”
“It’s just a letter.”
“You don’t have a regular name?”
“Not here.”
“Why?”
“No one here has names. Privacy reasons.”
I look straight into her eyes. Is she trying to tell me something? Reach out? Or is she just stating the facts?
“My name is Everly,” I say. I need to make a connection, any way I can.
“No.” E shakes her head. “Your name is Number 19. And you will never mention Everly again, if you know what’s good for you.”
It sounds like a threat, but it’s not. More like sound advice from someone who has a little sympathy for me. At least, I hope so.
If she won’t tell me anything about herself or this place, then maybe she will tell me something about what is about to happen.
“Why are you here?” I ask. “Why a
re you doing my makeup? Dressing me up?”
“Because that’s my job.”
“But what’s it for?”
“You are going to be shown.”
“What does that mean?”
“There will be a competition. A contest with judges. Only, it won’t look like a contest. Everyone will want to be there. It’s a privilege just to be chosen. You will all live in a big house together. Play. Have fun. But every few days, someone will leave.”
The way she says the word ‘leave’ sends shivers through my body.