by Ella Miles
He grabs my bicep and starts yanking me down the hill behind the house, just like I knew he would when I goaded him. He continues to hold onto me even though I’m more than capable of getting free.
We are so close to the lake now.
Just a little further.
I pull against his hold, knowing it will only make him want to yank me further.
It does. He pulls me further until we are at the edge of the water, hidden from view of the party by the rows and rows of trees. Not even the moonlight will illuminate us.
Only then do I yank my arm free of his hold. He stumbles off balance at the sudden movement.
“Drunk bastard,” I mumble under my breath.
“What did you say, boy?” He regains his footing. “I told you to leave. Your sorry ass didn’t listen!” He pulls his hand back, preparing to hit me.
He won’t be hitting me, not tonight. I’ll never let him hit me again.
I easily duck as he takes a swing at me.
He huffs, his nostrils flare, and his eyes widen until I can see the whites of his bloodshot eyes.
I’ve dreamed about killing this man for so long—in so many different ways.
A gunshot to the head.
A knife to the throat.
A snap of the neck.
Right now, my mind is quickly rotating through all of my options, trying to decide which way this man deserves to die.
He tries to hit me again while I’m thinking. I take a step back and dodge his fist once again.
This time he stumbles and has to catch himself with his hand to keep from falling completely to the ground.
It’s then that I realize how this monster deserves to die. He doesn’t deserve anything special. It won’t take much to kill him. Just one wrong step, one stumble because he’s too drunk to stay upright. Then I can finish him off.
“Stop moving and take your beating like a man! You deserve it!” he shouts at me.
I step around him until I’m just in front of the water’s edge.
“No son deserves to get beaten by their father.”
“You’re no son of mine! You’re a bastard; your mother cheated on me so many times, I’m not even sure you are mine.”
I wish his statement were true. I wish I wasn’t his son, but we share the same eyes, the same lanky body, the same jawline—I’m his.
I stand firm as the lake sloshes at my heels, biding my time until he swings again.
On cue, he does. This time, I wait until the very last moment—until his fist almost brushes against my cheek before I move out of the way.
I watch his body fall face-first into the water. He can’t catch himself; it’s too late. His body hits the water hard. From the way his head bounces, he landed on a rock beneath the surface of the water.
Slowly, he tries to push himself up.
That won’t be happening.
I press my foot down on top of his back, holding him down easily with my weight. He’s too drunk, too weak to get me off, even though he’s twice my size.
This is for everything he’s done.
I watch wordlessly as he struggles beneath my foot. Every second he’s one step closer to death. Each second he loses more and more oxygen. His lungs begin to fill with water. His arms stop flailing. His body stops moving.
He’s dead.
I hold my foot on his back for another couple seconds—processing the moment. He’s dead and I killed him.
My mind goes blank. I don’t feel anything. I can’t feel anything.
Then I feel her hand.
I glance down at Liesel’s fingers intertwined with my own. She doesn’t speak; she just guides me out of the water, away from my father’s body. The whole time I was killing my father, I forgot completely about Liesel. I was so consumed by making sure my father paid for his sins.
I don’t know where Liesel is leading me, and I don’t care. I’d follow her anywhere.
It’s not until this moment that I realize how much I needed her here with me tonight.
Finally, she stops on the edge of a hill that overlooks the lake.
We sit down.
“Thank you,” I say suddenly.
She drops my hand then, as if the phrase makes her uncomfortable. Eventually she says, “You’re welcome.”
We sit in silence once more, both processing what happened.
“That wasn’t my first kill, you know?” I say, needing her to understand what I’ve become—a monster.
“I know, and it doesn’t matter,” she whispers back.
Liesel reaches behind a nearby bush and pulls out a bottle.
“What’s this?” I ask.
“Champagne I stole from the party. I thought we should celebrate.”
She hands the open bottle to me. I hold it out like I’m about to make a toast.
“To one less monster walking this earth.” Then I take a long swig before handing the bottle to Liesel.
“To being free and new beginnings. May that man rot in hell.”
She takes a swig.
New beginnings—that’s what she said.
Our eyes meet in the chill of the night. An unspoken connection we will always share rekindles between us.
I didn’t realize how much I needed her here. How much I miss the girl who lived across the street from me when I had nothing. Now that I have everything money can buy, I’m still missing one thing—her.
I open my mouth to talk but then snap it shut.
Tonight isn’t the night to talk to her about our future. To ask for forgiveness. To start over.
Tonight is about putting an end to this chapter of our lives. I won’t start something new with Liesel so close to my father’s death. I won’t let this moment define us forever.
Someday soon, though, I’ll tell Liesel how I feel—and it will change our lives forever.
Instead of acknowledging how I feel, I tell another lie. “This changes nothing.”
8
Liesel
Eighteen Years Old
* * *
The night Langston’s father died flashes in my mind. I don’t know why that particular memory makes its way into my head. Maybe because I’m currently at my mother’s funeral.
I thought that night was a turning point in my life. I thought things between Langston and I would change. I thought we would stop bickering and become friends again.
Instead, we continued the back and forth between liking and hating each other. Right now, all I feel toward Langston is hate.
I thought Langston’s father was the biggest monster in my life. I was wrong. Mr. Pearce was barely a cockroach compared to the Godzilla I later faced.
I’m not going to think about that now. I have to focus on burying my mother. She died of an overdose on my birthday.
I release a fistful of dirt over my mother’s coffin. The minster finishes speaking and starts walking back to the church, giving me some privacy.
I’m the only person who showed up to my mother’s funeral.
Enzo and Zeke offered to come, but they’re off training somewhere. I didn’t want to bother them.
And Langston…I haven’t spoken to him in a while. At first, I thought he might show up. But the short funeral came and went, and no Langston.
Stop thinking about him.
I force myself to think about my mother. About how I’ll never see her again. I try to cry, really I do. But after the suffering I’ve been through in the last couple of years, I eventually stopped feeling pain at all. I couldn’t cry even if I wanted to.
I stand another moment, trying to pay my mother her respects before I leave and never come back to this place. Too much torment has happened here. I’m about to turn when I feel his fingers brush against mine.
Chills race up my arm at his touch—that’s new.
Then his fingers lock around mine.
I don’t look at him. I refuse to be the first to speak.
Deep down, I’m grateful he’s here, even if he is late. No
one wants to bury their mother alone.
“Here,” Langston says.
I glance up and see him holding a single flower—rose-like, but not quite a rose. It looks almost identical to the flower I gave him to place on his mother’s grave when we buried her in this exact cemetery all those years ago.
I take the flower and place it on my mother’s stone.
And then I look at Langston. I should say something—thank him, perhaps. But I don’t need to use words to tell him how I’m feeling.
Langston, on the other hand, looks like he’s about to spill everything inside him. He opens his mouth, “Liesel, I—”
“Hold onto that thought.” I glance at my watch. “I’m supposed to meet my lawyer at the house to go over my mother’s will and decide what to do with the house.”
“What house? Enzo’s guest house?”
“No, she never sold our old house here, even after we moved into Enzo’s guest house. I’m meeting him there.”
“Oh, okay.” Langston rubs the back of his neck. He’s wearing a dark shirt and jeans. Langston thinks he’s the devil now after everything he’s done. He’s right, but I wish he would become my light, my laughter, the boy I used to care for.
“We could grab a bite after, though. Meet me at the house in thirty minutes?”
He smiles tightly. “Okay.”
Langston walks to his car, while I walk to mine before driving the couple blocks to the house. I get out of the car, ignoring the feelings flooding me as I walk up to the house.
I stand on the single step and knock on the door, peering over at the dried-up bush under the window. There is a car in the driveway that I expect is the lawyer’s.
The door opens.
I gasp.
“Dad?” I ask the man who has my hazel eyes, my blonde hair, my complexion. He looks almost exactly like the single picture I have of him. The only difference is his hair is now peppered with gray, and he seems to have a few more wrinkles around his eyes and mouth. He shouldn’t be here. He left my mom and me when I was three. He has no right to be here.
“Yes,” he says.
I turn to walk away.
“Wait, please, let me explain. Talk to me; then I’ll be gone and out of your life forever.”
“Why should I?” I snap at him.
“Because I’ll keep hunting you, stalking you until you give in and talk to me. You might as well get it over with now.”
I glare, my eyes narrow in defiance, but I eventually decide to stomp inside the house. “You couldn’t have chosen a different day other than my mother’s funeral to talk to me?”
He shuts the door behind me and stands facing me, like he’s blocking off my escape route. He doesn’t know that a man like him doesn’t terrify me. Nothing scares me anymore, not after I’ve been through hell already.
“You have five minutes, start talking,” I say, folding my arms over my chest. The ratty couch I used to sleep on is still in the living room, but I refuse to sit on it.
My father doesn’t either.
“I didn’t come here to apologize for leaving you. Although, I am sorry to hear about your mother.”
“Good, because I wouldn’t forgive you.” I don’t acknowledge his comment about my mother.
He nods.
“I came here to tell you about your inheritance, of sorts.”
I frown. “Just take the house and whatever money Mom had. I’m not going to fight you. I have my own money now.”
He looks me over, head to toe, taking in my appearance, my expensive clothes. I’ve come a long way in a short time thanks to the help of my friends.
“I can see that. Still, it’s time I told you a story.”
I huff. “Really? I don’t have time for a story. My friend is picking me up any minute now.”
He raises an eyebrow, calling my bluff.
“I still have four minutes remaining. I can tell you the story in that amount of time.”
“Go on, then.”
Once upon a time, I fell in love.
She was feisty, radiant, and reckless. She had nothing. She came from nothing. And unless she found a rich husband—it would take everything she had to pull herself out of poverty.
I wasn’t rich.
I had less money than her.
I had no college degree.
No job prospects.
All I had was five dollars in my pocket and the clothes on my back.
None of that mattered.
Our love was enough.
We vowed to love each other forever.
We got married.
A baby followed.
I thought our life together was so happy.
I thought we could make our marriage last.
I thought…
I thought it was enough.
Turns out, you can’t live on love.
You can’t eat love.
Breathe love.
Live under a roof made of love.
You need money.
We tried to make more of ourselves. I went to a community college.
It wasn’t enough.
She worked three jobs.
It wasn’t enough.
Our baby deserved more.
We deserved more.
So we started hunting for a way out.
Hunting.
Hunting.
Hunting…
Until finally, we found a way out.
We had more money than we could have ever imagined.
More money than the suits who used to look down on us as we cleaned their homes.
More money than the executives who those suits reported to.
More money than the queen of England.
We thought we had it all. We thought we knew what came next.
But all that came next was defending what we had stolen.
Our love wasn’t enough.
Fighting our enemies wore us down until we had no energy left, no desire to fight. Until our love dissolved into ash, and our hearts were torn apart.
Sometimes fairy tales turn into nightmares.
Listen to my warning, child.
Don’t search for it.
Don’t seek the fairytale.
Don’t seek the money like your mother and me.
Run, Liesel.
Hide.
Don’t hunt.
Above everything else, don’t ever tell anyone the truth—who you are or what you know.
“I don’t understand,” I say. All this time my parents had money? They had a treasure? The only reason I grew up poor was because they weren’t strong enough to keep the money?
“It’s all in here.” He hands me an envelope.
I stare at it with big eyes as I begin to remove the letter from the envelope. “What is it?”
He puts his hand over mine, stopping me.
“Later. Read it later, when you’re alone. Then burn it. Forget about going after the money, the treasure. Lie to anyone who asks you about it.”
“I have so many questions,” I say, staring at the envelope cautiously.
“I know, and I wish we had more time.”
“Is this goodbye?”
“It is, my sweet daughter. It is.”
He leans forward and kisses me on the cheek before I realize what’s happening. I’m in shock. This man is insane. There is no way any of this is true.
“Go,” he says, breaking the trance I’m under.
I take a step out of the tiny house, knowing that I won’t be back inside ever again. This part of my life is over. My mother is gone, and I won’t search for my father. I doubt I even read this stupid letter.
I run out, and I don’t hear him following me.
I head toward my car, planning on driving away before Langston appears. I just want out of here. I can’t handle a dinner with Langston right now.
But Langston is already here, and he’ll stop me. I feel him before I see him.
When I look up, I see the tension on his face, a vein bulging on his
forehead. He’s pissed, but I don’t know why.
“Is it true?” he asks me, stopping me from entering my car.
“Is what true? You’re going to have to be a little more specific. My mother just died, and my father decided to show up after fifteen years of running and dropped a bomb on me.”
Langston’s nostrils flare.
“Is. It. True?”
“I. Don’t. Know. What. You’re. Talking. About.” I point my finger at him as I talk.
He doesn’t back down, but I don’t have the patience to deal with him. I grab my car door and climb in. He catches the door right before I slam it in his face.
One tense moment.
He slams the door.
I drive away.
I’ll deal with Langston later.
I look at the envelope in my hand after a few miles, deciding I should just pull over at the nearest Starbucks to read it and blow off whatever ridiculous conspiracy theory my father stumbled on in a drugged up state.
I do a double-take—the letter is torn.
Right in half.
Langston. The asshole tore the envelope when he grabbed the car door.
Dammit—I pull over and slam my hands against the steering wheel.
I take a deep breath, composing myself, and then I open the letter and read.
I read every word on my half.
The words reverberate in my core; they’re true. But I only have half of the secret. Langston has the other half.
My father was worried about the treasure staying hidden. He won’t have to worry, though. There is no way Langston will give up his half of the secret, and there is no way I’ll give up mine to him.
The treasure is safe.
Lie, Liesel—it’s the only way to stay alive.
My father meant to warn me with his words. He didn’t know that lying is all I do. Lying has kept me alive, even when I wish I had died.
I laugh, staring at the letter.
There is no way any of this is true. It’s all a lie, yet another lie Langston and I share. A lie we will never reveal, just like all the other lies from our past.
Thank you so much for reading Lies We Share: A Prologue! Langston & Liesel’s story continues in Vicious Lies.