Vicious Lies

by Ella Miles

  I frantically try to untangle my wrists, but he notices and holds onto my hands with one of his large, dirty mitts while the other shoves unwanted into my panties.

  I cringe and turn my face away, so he can’t see the suffering he’s causing me. I won’t let him have my pain, my fear, my agony. That I will keep to myself. If I can’t beat him, I at least won’t give him what he wants. That’s how I survived Enzo’s father. That’s how I’ll survive this scumbag too.

  A throat clears, and my head snaps in the direction of the door.

  Joel hears it too. His fingers stop fumbling in my bikini bottoms. Slowly and carefully, he removes his hand, trying to hide his actions from the voice at the door.

  “You’re back early, sir. I was just teaching Miss Dunn a lesson in what happens to thieves on this island,” Joel says, his head looking over his shoulder at Langston, while continuing to straddle my body.

  Liar. I didn’t steal anything.

  “I can see that,” Langston answers, his voice low and orderly. He doesn’t seem upset at all to find Joel groping me.

  Joel was right, Langston doesn’t care about me.

  Langston doesn’t look at me; he only looks at Joel.

  “I can handle Miss Dunn from here. Thank you, Joel.”

  “Yes, sir.” Joel smirks at me and then rolls off me before exiting the room.

  Then it’s just Langston and me.

  I’m still tied up. My face is covered in Joel’s blood. Surprisingly, my shoulder has little blood on it. I doubt he even realizes I’m bleeding from a gunshot wound.

  Langston doesn’t say anything. He just studies me a second, taking in the scene. I take the moment to study him.

  He’s wearing jeans and a grey V-neck. He looks the same, but I see the bruises around his eye. Whatever he went and did, he got at least one punch for it. There are probably more beneath his shirt.

  “Can you untie yourself?” he asks.

  My eyes narrow. “Yes.”

  “Good.”

  And then Langston turns and walks out of the room.

  That’s it? That’s all Langston is going to say or do?

  Now, I’m pissed. He didn’t even ask what happened or check if I’m injured, check to see what Joel did to me.

  Langston really does hate me.

  His hate motivates me to untie myself faster.

  I had already made progress on my wrists, so I finish them quickly and start on my ankles. I fumble once or twice before finally freeing myself.

  I pull my jean shorts back up and then head to the bathroom. I wipe the blood from my face on Langston’s white towels, happy to be ruining them. I can’t reach my wound, and I don’t want to look at how violently my shoulder is fucked up.

  I rummage for some painkillers and find none.

  Dammit.

  I run my hand through my blonde wavy hair. I’m strong. I’m going to go kick Langston’s ass and demand painkillers and a doctor. Then I’m going to find a way off this motherfucking island.

  I consider my options: walk down the stairs or climb down the vines.

  I choose vines.

  It takes everything in me to climb down the wall, basically one-handed. My left shoulder is useless with the bullet lodged in it, but finally, my feet hit the ground.

  I sneak around the house, keeping my head low to avoid being seen out the windows as I look for Langston.

  I make it to the front of the house before I hear voices.

  “I told you not to touch her,” Langston says, he has a gun pointed at Joel’s head, and Joel is kneeling in front of him.

  My eyes widen. I was right, not Joel.

  Amelia is standing off to the side with tears in her eyes.

  “You didn’t listen. You touched her that first night when I told you not to. I told you to just scare her a bit. And what the hell was that I just walked in on?”

  “She broke into the half of the house that was off-limits, sir. She was trying to run. She—” Joel says.

  “No, I pay you to prevent that. She shouldn’t have been able to escape in the first place if you were doing your job. And you sure as hell aren’t allowed to touch her.”

  “I’m sorry. I—” Joel says.

  Langston doesn’t let him finish his sentence. He shoots Joel square in the forehead. His body drops lifelessly to the ground.

  I gasp but snap my hands quickly over my mouth so Langston doesn’t know that I’m watching him.

  Amelia holds her hands up as Langston aims the gun at her. “Please, I’m so sorry. It will never happen again.”

  “I’m only letting you live because I don’t want to deal with the body. Get rid of him and then get off my fucking island. If I ever see your face again, Amelia, I’ll kill you, too.”

  Amelia nods, tears streaming down her face now.

  I slink away from the window and along the house.

  I can’t believe what I just saw. Maybe I wasn’t so wrong about Langston after all.

  I stop to dart into the kitchen and find a bottle of scotch and a towel, quickly running back outside. I don’t know what to make of everything that just happened. I need some space to decompress everything. The scotch will help with the pain until I’m ready to face Langston again.

  What are you up to, Langston?

  I always thought I was the only one with secrets. I thought his only secrets were the contents of the half of my letter he stole. Now, I’m beginning to think he has secrets of his own.

  28

  Langston

  It’s been a long time since I’ve felt this level of anger.

  I thought shooting Joel would dissipate some of it, but I’m more pissed off than I was when I first caught them.

  I can’t trust any of my employees.

  I’ve always known that. The only way you gain the kind of trust required to do this job is by working side by side, battling for your lives and growing up together. The kind of trust that I have with Enzo and Zeke. That’s not possible with any of my employees.

  I have money, but I’m not filthy rich like Enzo. I can pay my employees well, but not well enough to ensure they are loyal. And the threat of death only goes so far. I’m guessing now that I’ve killed one of them, the rest will be more likely to stay in line.

  God, I can’t get the images out of my head.

  I was still in the air, about an hour out, when the security feed came through. I just wanted to see Liesel, see what she was up to. That’s when I found her tied to my bed.

  She looked dead, but I couldn’t see any bullet or stab wounds, no blood.

  I implored my pilot to fly faster, but we weren’t fast enough.

  As soon as I landed, I drove like a maniac to get here. I didn’t trust anyone to stop what was happening. And then I saw Joel enter the room.

  Up to that point, Liesel was just tied up. I could think of a million ways my huntress could have gotten herself into that position. A billion tricks she could have pulled on my staff that made them think she was a vicious creature needing to be tied up.

  Joel climbed on top of her.

  He kissed what is mine!

  And he said he had violated her before.

  I became a bull about to ram through everyone in my way at that point.

  I couldn’t watch the rest, and yet I couldn’t drag my eyes away.

  I watched as she drew blood.

  I watched as she struggled to free herself.

  I watched her stronger than I’ve ever seen her, not making a single sound of pain, fear, or defeat. It’s then that I realized my entire strategy had been wrong. There is no way I’m breaking Liesel. She’s too durable, impenetrable.

  But if anyone is going to break her, it’s going to be me.

  When I finally got here, it took all of my control not to show her how I felt. I was the one breaking for her. I’ve always been breaking for her.

  I ordered Joel away.

  Even then, it took everything in me to walk away from her. We both needed sp
ace. She deserved space to hate me for failing her again.

  After shooting Joel, I probably should have killed Amelia too, but I didn’t want to spend the day getting rid of two dead bodies.

  Instead, I spent the day giving Liesel space. I spent it trying to put the fear of God into the rest of my team, laying down rules and making it perfectly clear what will happen if they lay a finger on Liesel without my permission.

  I pick out a new man as my head of security to replace Joel. Unfortunately, no one else on the team is a good cook, so we will be chefless for the time being.

  All I know is that I don’t trust a damn soul on this island—not even Phoenix, who has decided to give me the silent treatment today.

  As for Liesel, she’s been at the beach all day.

  I gave her her space. I needed it as much as she did.

  But the sun is setting—it’s time to talk.

  I grab the most expensive bottle of scotch I own. One I don’t think Liesel has tried, but she’ll love. I carry it and two glasses down the sandy cove to the beach.

  Liesel is sitting in our spot in the sand already. I’m pretty sure she’s sat here all day. She has a towel wrapped around her like she’s cold, but the sun’s heat is still beating on us. I’m sweating as I walk, so there is no way she’s cold.

  Then I spot the bottle she’s lifting to her lips. It only has a fourth of the liquid left in it. She’s probably drunk off her ass if that bottle was full when she started this morning. She’s trying to chase her demons away with alcohol, trying to chase away Joel. She doesn’t know that he’s already paid for what he did to her.

  I sit down next to her in the sand.

  She doesn’t look over at me, just brings the bottle back to her lips.

  “Where’s Joel?” she asks with surprising clarity for a woman who spent the day drinking.

  “He quit.”

  “Uh-huh,” she says, not believing me.

  “You don’t have to worry about Joel anymore.”

  “I know.”

  I frown, not sure what she means. She’s drunk, so I’m not going to get any clear answers from her tonight. Tonight is just about getting back into our routine.

  “I told you not to trust anyone but me,” I say.

  “Oh, so this is my fault?” Her head snaps to me with the venom of a cobra as she looks at me.

  Her towel drops away as she snarls at me, and my world freezes.

  Blood.

  Dried blood covers her shoulder.

  I think back to Joel. I don’t remember him having any wound except for his tongue, where she bit him. And of course, the giant hole I put in his head.

  I reach out to examine her shoulder, but Liesel pulls away, re-covering herself with the towel.

  That’s why she has the towel: to hide her pain.

  “Liesel, let me see your shoulder,” I say calmly and firmly. I won’t give her a choice in the matter. I need to see her injuries, but I won’t physically force her.

  Her eyes tear into me, and once again, she looks ready to strike.

  “Please,” I force my voice to soften.

  She blinks rapidly, trying to find a way out of showing me her shoulder. Eventually, something she sees in my eyes forces her to let me.

  She nods and relinquishes her hold on the towel, but doesn’t remove it herself.

  I reach out, and she doesn’t pull away this time.

  I grab the towel, preparing myself not to react to whatever I see.

  When I lower the towel, I see the dried blood once again, and then I see the gaping hole blasted into the back of her shoulder.

  A bullet hole.

  In the back.

  The fucking bastard shot her running away. He didn’t even have the decency to shoot her face to face.

  “Shit,” I curse, grinding my teeth together.

  Liesel’s hazel eyes water, but she doesn’t cry.

  Once again, I failed her. I should have been here instead of searching for Siren. I should have known Joel was a bastard. I should have known she’d been shot.

  And I shouldn’t be showing her any damn emotion, but there is no hiding how I feel.

  I pull the rest of the towel from her back, examining every inch of her with my own eyes, but I only see the single bullet hole.

  “Joel did this?”

  Liesel nods.

  “Did he hurt you anywhere else?”

  Please, don’t tell me he raped you and I didn’t realize.

  “No, you got here before he could do worse.”

  I narrow my gaze; my heart roars in my chest full of a thousand exploding angry cannons. I didn’t get here in time. He should have never touched her. Never tied her up. Never shot her.

  I regret killing the bastard now—he deserved worse than death.

  “Hold this,” I say, handing Liesel the expensive bottle of scotch.

  She leaves her bottle in the sand and takes mine in her arms, cradling it against her chest.

  Then, I scoop her up in my arms, lifting her as gently as I can. She hisses when I first touch her, but something in my eyes must convince her to not fight me.

  I carry her back into the house and up to my bedroom before realizing that putting her back in the bed where she was tied up and almost raped probably isn’t the best idea.

  “It’s okay,” Liesel says when I start to turn back.

  “You sure?”

  She nods.

  I set her gently on the edge of the bed, and then I run to the bathroom, popping open a panel in the wall where I keep my emergency supplies. I grab the first aid kit. It’s more like a wound healer kit, though. The only thing the kit is good for is dealing with bullet or knife wounds.

  I carry the bag out and set it on the bed. Then I take the scotch bottle from her and set it on the nightstand. My eyes don’t leave her now. I can’t stop looking at her.

  “Do you want me to call a doctor or do you want—”

  “You—I want you to do it.”

  I nod.

  “Painkillers or more scotch?”

  The corner of her mouth lifts at that. “What do you think?”

  I smile lightly and grab the bottle of scotch from the nightstand. It’s the most expensive bottle in the house, over $30K. This isn’t exactly the situation I imagined using it on. She’s not going to take the time to savor the thick peat and sherry cask finish.

  But right now, I’d give Liesel the world if I could.

  I pop the bottle open and take a quick sip myself to steady my nerves before I hand it to her. She takes it, but I realize now it’s a mistake. The bottle is heavy and hard to lift with her injured shoulder.

  I hold the base and help lift it to her lips. I keep holding it until she gets enough down to ease her pain.

  When I remove the bottle and set it back on the nightstand, she lifts an eyebrow. “I may already be drunk, but that was the best damn scotch I’ve ever tasted.”

  I smirk. “Don’t get used to it. That’s a thirty thousand dollar bottle.”

  Her eyebrows shoot up. “If you’re paying, I could definitely get used to it.”

  I shake my head and then move closer to the bed.

  “I’m going to sit behind you so I can get the bullet out, okay?”

  She nods.

  I’ve removed plenty of bullets before—out of my buddies, my coworkers, my employees, but never out of Liesel.

  I gather my supplies, trying to think of her like any other person, but as I hold the tweezers up to her back, I hesitate.

  “Oh, don’t puss out on me now. If you can’t pull a bullet out of my back, how am I supposed to believe that you’re going to kill me?” Liesel teases.

  But I hear the underlying fear. She knows there is a difference between hurting and killing her. When you kill someone, you don’t have to deal with their pain and agony. Pulling this out is going to hurt like a motherfucker. I know, I have scars all over my body to prove it.

  “Hold still. Scream, yell, cry if you have to
, just don’t move, understand?”

  “Yes,” she hisses.

  I wish I could hold her hand as I do this. Not that that really helps, but at least I’d feel like I was doing something for her.

  I push the tweezers in, digging for the bullet.

  She doesn’t move.

  She doesn’t hiss.

  Scream.

  Cry.

  Did she pass out from the pain? Die of a sudden heart attack?

  No, she’s still breathing.

  “Will you hurry up? This isn’t exactly enjoyable for me, you know?”

  I laugh. “Deep breath, Liesel.”

  And then I yank the bullet out on her exhale.

  I plop the bullet and tweezers into a plastic bag and then apply gauze to her shoulder to stop the bleeding.

  “Hard part’s over.”

  “Really? I imagine the stitches aren’t a cakewalk.”

  “Staples are faster.”

  “Let’s go with the staples then,” Liesel says, flashing me a grin over her shoulder.

  I grab the bottle of scotch and hold it up to her lips. “Take one more sip.”

  She grips the bottle with her good arm and starts drinking while I apply the three quick staples into her back. Then I secure a gauze bandage to the wound and wipe the blood from her back and arm.

  “All done,” I say.

  She nods and rests the bottle between her legs on the bed.

  I gather up the supplies, put them back in the bag, and carry them into the bathroom, where I catch a glance of myself in the mirror.

  I’m a monster.

  She deserves better.

  When I walk back into the bedroom, I lock eyes with her.

  Liesel—the badass motherfucker.

  My huntress.

  My liar.

  Mine.

  I won’t fail you again.

  And to prove it, I say two little words I never thought I’d say to her.

  “I’m sorry.”

  29

  Liesel

  Langston apologized.

  I don’t know what to do with that.

  “Need anything else? Can I get you more painkillers? Food? Anything?” Langston asks.

  I’m still sitting on the edge of the bed, and he’s standing just inside the room looking like someone stole his puppy, and he got into a fistfight.