Dirtiest Lie Page 8

  “We don’t have to keep talking about it,” Romeo says.

  I shake my head; finishing this is important. “I was so stunned that night, but it didn’t stop me from taking photos of everything I could. When he came back, I confronted him. He denied it all, of course.”

  “And you didn’t believe him.”

  “No. No fucking way. He murdered them. I know it sounds bad because Layla was messing with the seat, but all that means is that he had something set up, that he didn’t mean for the accident to happen when it did. I think… He may have been trying to kill just my mother.”

  “Jesus.”

  “Yeah.” We’re both quiet. “I acted like I believed him, but that night I ran. When I got somewhere safe, I emailed him copies of the photos as well as videotapes of me talking about his schemes, showing there was a pattern. I told him to stay away from me. I told him if he tried to marry Layla off, I’d go to the cops. He never tried to force Layla into anything, but as far as leaving me alone… It worked at first. Then one night I was returning to the runaway shelter and some man tried to grab me. I fought like hell. In the process I lost a chunk of hair and broke all my fingernails. Some of them never grew back properly. They’re a physical reminder to never stop being careful.” From then on, it was fake identification, moving frequently, never trusting anyone.

  I look up at Romeo. In the darkness, he’s nothing but the barest hint of an outline, or maybe I’m imagining him. It’s pretty dark. He could be scary, given his size, but I only find him reassuring. “Will you tell Slade and Hawthorne? I don’t think I can go through that story again.”

  He nods. At least, I think he does. It’s hard to tell. “I hope you don’t blame yourself,” he says.

  “For what? For leaving my sister with a murderous lunatic? For never telling her the truth? For not immediately going to the cops with what I knew? Of course I blame myself.”

  “You were barely sixteen,” he points out.

  “And maybe that was a good excuse years ago, but at some point, I should have—”

  “You’re making the mistake of applying light-of-day logic to things that happened in the darkness,” Romeo says, and he sounds like he’s speaking from experience. “You’re still young, and you haven’t had stability in your life. Have you considered that your inability to accept the mistakes of the past is keeping you from making better choices in the present?”

  “No,” I say automatically. “I accept the past. I’m not in denial.”

  “I think you should reconsider shielding your grandfather.”

  I begin shaking my head. “If it came out—”

  “We can protect you, Lindsay.”

  “But if you can’t? There’s no physical proof. He could easily turn it back on Layla.”

  “How old was she? Ten? She might not even remember playing with the seats.”

  We’ve never talked about it. “She was nine. Can you imagine finding out at nineteen that you helped cause your parents’ deaths?” I shake my head violently. “I’ll die before I let that happen.”

  “It was an accident caused by your grandfather’s schemes,” Romeo says. “How can she have something to do with it?”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “No,” he says patiently. “Actually, I don’t. Do I think there would be an adjustment period for her? Of course. But I also think that if she knew the whole story, she would want to see your grandfather punished for what he did. If it were me, I would.”

  I shake my head in frustration. “I should have gone back for her. At least I can protect her from this one thing.”

  “Back up, Lindsay. You think you should have gone back for her? You were barely taking care of yourself,” he says. I sense he’s shaking his head. “All these years, all these miles and different lives, and you still can’t get enough distance to see things from a different perspective.”

  “Different doesn’t mean accurate,” I point out. “Believe me, I’ve thought about this a lot.”

  “Quick question. Why were those papers sitting out for you to find?”

  My humorless laugh sounds almost like a moan. “He’d taken out the file to write a letter to his lawyer. He’d been trying to sue the car manufacturer for years.”

  “You said there was a settlement,” Romeo says, puzzled.

  “This was separate. Legally, the manufacturer is supposed to notify owners within two months of the recall. Our grandfather claimed they never contacted us about it. The manufacturer said that because they had been notified about the vehicle’s destruction before the expiration of that time period, there was no duty to issue notification. His letter talked about a supplemental VIP service warranty my parents had purchased. Apparently it had slightly different wording about recalls. My grandfather can sue anyone about anything.”

  I fall silent. It feels like I’ve exhausted a lifetime supply of words.

  Romeo’s response is to hold me even closer, and we stay like that until Slade and Hawthorne come back into the room.

  Chapter 11

  That night, I fall asleep alone in Slade’s bed.

  My bosses claim to be discussing work, but I know they’re talking about me, about my grandfather.

  When I wake, Slade’s already dressed.

  I missed my first night with him.

  “Romeo and Hawthorne were called away on an emergency business meeting. They’ll be back in the afternoon,” Slade says. “No training for you.”

  He hands me a navy dress and flat shoes—something appropriate for a debutante—and I wrinkle my nose.

  But the classy dress is very flattering. The skirt is more flared than I would like, but apart from that, I love it.

  Still, I’d rather not let my bosses know they’re failing to annoy me. “Will I have to dress like this forever?” I ask Slade once we’re in the limo.

  “Only until you aren’t dependent on sexy outfits for self-esteem,” he says. “Then you can wear whatever you want. Except padded bras. Romeo really hates them.”

  “Our session the other night broke me of the need. I’m a new woman. Can I put on heels at least?”

  “Telling fibs is naughty, Lindsay.” He shakes his head. “Bad girls get punished, you know. Report to my office at noon.”

  The morning passes in a blur of phone calls and new reports. Slade calls twice an hour to check up on me. “I’ve learned my lesson,” I tell him at 10:00. “I’m sorry I left town without telling you.”

  “Think of it as an opportunity to hear my voice,” he says. “Talk to you in half an hour.”

  Fifteen minutes before noon, I dig out the stockings and garter belt and put them on under my dress. I feel like a temptress as I walk into Slade’s office.

  Almost before I can get the door closed, Slade is kissing me, his possessive hands pulling the dress up over my hips, his fingers sliding under the garter belt.

  Then he lays me on his desk and, hazel eyes fixed on mine, he shoves his thick length into my pussy and fucks me slowly, making sure I feel every inch of his cock.

  He’s dominant and I’m submissive under him. That hasn’t changed, but the tone of the sex is different. The connection is deeper.

  “You are so beautiful,” he says, then he pins me down, holds a hand over my mouth, and fucks me hard. After a few minutes, he puts my ankles on his shoulders and slides into my ass, his fingers pumping in my dripping pussy.

  Afterward, he has one of the receptionists order us sandwiches. I remain in his office, my shoes off, my knees pulled up onto the comfortable sofa.

  Slade returns a few phone calls.

  Unlike Romeo, who becomes blind when he’s in work mode, Slade watches me almost the entire time.

  When he opens a drawer to look for something, I take stock of myself. I feel comfortable. I wouldn’t say that my body position is socially dominant, but it’s not submissive, either.

  It just… is. I’m relaxed. I feel like I simply exist, and I don’t have to think about every breath, e
very micro-movement. While I’m inclined to examine the circumstances, to try to pinpoint why I feel so different, I’m worried that scrutiny might make it burst like a soap bubble.

  For the moment, I’m simply enjoying my vacation from being myself.

  Someone knocks on the door.

  “Come in,” Slade says, and one of the clones enters with our sandwiches. The bag smells like Russian dressing and pickles.

  “Do you want to eat upstairs?” Slade asks when we’re alone again.

  “Upstairs?” I frown. “You mean that hidden place?”

  He nods. “There won’t be anyone there today, and I thought we could talk a bit.”

  While I don’t see any reason to go up there, I don’t see any reason to object, either.

  ~

  “What do you call this place?” I ask as we walk down the narrow hallway, surrounded by black walls, with black carpet under my feet. To get here, we had to take a hidden elevator, and Slade needed to swipe a special card.

  “The executive lounge,” Slade says with a smile as he opens the door.

  Everything in the large room seems to be either black or red. Modern furniture and contemporary art keep the somber color palette from being too oppressive. I think the design works because it’s all new and well-maintained.

  He’s correct in that we have the lounge to ourselves.

  Slade goes to a small counter and takes out a bottle of gin. “Care for a drink?” he asks, and suddenly work gets even more exciting.

  “If you have tonic water, sure.”

  He makes two gin and tonics and delivers one to me before sitting beside me on the sofa. “To playing hooky at work,” he says and takes a drink.

  The gin is complex, spicy. Too high quality to dilute with tonic water, but if I drink it straight, I’ll be finished for the day.

  We eat our sandwiches in comfortable silence, then Slade wipes his mouth with a napkin. “Last night, Hawthorne, Romeo, and I worked out a foolproof plan for dealing with your grandfather,” he says.

  I take another sip. “Ok. What is it?”

  He narrows his eyes and shakes his head. “I’m just letting you know it’s being taken care of. Rather, it will be soon. But it’s better if you don’t know the details,” he says.

  My heart stutters. “Do you have any idea how worrisome that sounds?”

  “We’re not going to knock him out, tie him up in his house and then burn it down,” Slade says.

  “I hope not! My sister lives there. And that was a disturbingly specific example.”

  “Lindsay, if we can’t go after him via legal means—”

  The door opens, and I turn to see Romeo and Hawthorne entering. Hawthorne catches Slade’s gaze and nods once.

  Oh, I really don’t like the feeling of this. “Can’t you just pull him into some bad business deals or something, act like you’re going to break his kneecaps, then offer to forgive the debt if he leaves the country, never to return?” I ask.

  Now my bosses are staring at me. Slade says, “That was a disturbingly specific example,” and he drinks.

  During the ensuing silence, Romeo and Hawthorne pour themselves drinks. I listen to the sound of the bottle tops unscrewing, the clink of ice, liquid splashing into tumblers.

  “I have an idea,” I say. “But you guys aren’t going to like it.”

  “We’re listening,” Romeo rumbles.

  “I have the stuff to blackmail my grandfather,” I say. “With your help, I could go to him, threaten him, tell him to leave.”

  “Do you really think that would solve your problem?” Hawthorne asks.

  “Yes. We could find a way to get an alert if he tries to come back into the country.”

  Romeo refills his glass. “Just so I’m understanding correctly, you want to threaten to release your information to the authorities in the hopes that he’ll leave the country and never return? You think this will work even though he denies everything?”

  I nod. “Especially if we mention that Matthew guy who wants to run for state’s attorney and is looking for a high-profile conviction.”

  “I don’t like it,” Hawthorne says.

  “But think about it,” I say, warming to the idea. “He’s threatened enough by what I know that he’s willing to go to great lengths to silence me. If he knows I’ve got help, other people listening, I think he’ll leave. The advantage he’s had all these years is that I was afraid of him and too busy trying to survive to be proactive. I think it’s worth a shot. It’s probably my best bet to protect Layla.”

  “Our plan doesn’t involve her,” Romeo says.

  “Yeah, but your plan sounds… permanent. Layla’s relationship with our grandfather is different. She must be attached. I mean, she’s old enough to live on her own, but she chooses to stay there.” The admission tastes sour.

  “Because he makes her. Otherwise he won’t pay her tuition,” Slade says.

  I tilt my head and study his handsome face. “How do you know?”

  “You don’t want to know,” he says. “I think our plan is a good one. It’s a bit slow, but it’s guaranteed to work, and when we’re finished, you’ll have your home and your inheritance back.”

  “By having him…” I drop my voice. “Assassinated.”

  “No,” Hawthorne says. “But he might get himself killed. Please don’t ask us for details, but I can promise that none of us want to go to prison for murder.”

  Twisting the ends of my hair, I stare at the edge of a painting and think about this.

  I hate my grandfather. He’s an evil, vile man.

  But do I want to see him dead?

  “It wouldn’t bother me if he keeled over,” I say, “but I don’t want to exchange one kind of nightmare for another. And I don’t want to involve any of you in that sort of way.”

  “We’re already involved,” Slade says.

  “Only because of me.”

  Hawthorne sinks into a padded chair. “We started business dealings with him. The man has already tried to cheat us twice.”

  My eyes go wide. “I thought you were going to string him along, pretend to be interested. I hope you didn’t give him money!”

  “We needed to know what we’re dealing with,” Romeo says, refreshing his drink again. He drains it standing up, then comes to sit on the sofa across from me and Slade.

  When I first suggested blackmailing my grandfather to get him to leave, I wasn’t yet sold on the idea.

  Now I am.

  Hawthorne shakes his head. “I recognize that stubborn light in her eyes,” he says.

  I stand and walk to Romeo, and I lean over him. My platinum blonde hair surrounds him like a waterfall. “I want to do this my way,” I whisper, looking into his perceptive brown eyes. Debutante dress or no, I feel sexy, seductive.

  “You know what I appreciate about these loose dresses?” he asks, skimming his palms from the backs of my knees up to my buttocks, which his large hands knead and squeeze possessively.

  I’m still sore from Hawthorne’s unbreakable ruler, but it’s a good kind of sore, and Romeo’s touch makes me wet.

  “No,” I answer.

  “I can have you in my lap, my cock in your pussy, and no one would necessarily know.”

  “See, I’d have to disagree with you there,” Slade says. “If your dick is in her, she won’t be able to keep still.”

  “Let’s see,” Romeo murmurs. He squeezes my ass one more time, then reaches down to undo his pants.

  The dress’s pooling fabric blocks my view, so I don’t get to enjoy the delicious moment when he first liberates his thick erection.

  In fact, I don’t get to see it at all.

  He turns me around, bunches up the back of my dress.

  “Look at that gorgeous ass,” he murmurs, and he smacks one of his large palms across my buttocks.

  “Nice jiggle,” Hawthorne agrees.

  “Bend over,” Romeo says, and I do, my hands braced on my knees.

  The bottom of t
he dress is over my hips. There’s so much fabric that I feel like I got naked and climbed halfway under a tablecloth or a fancy curtain.

  “Open wide,” Hawthorne says moments before his pole is shoving across my lips and down my throat. Both his hands tangle in my hair, and he lifts and lowers my mouth on his cock, setting the rhythm he wants.

  Romeo slaps my ass again, then yanks me hard onto his lap.

  I don’t know how they do it, but Romeo’s enormous erection goes right into my pussy, yet Hawthorne doesn’t yield an inch.

  My pussy and my throat full of thrusting cock, I feel my face go hot.

  “You’re not wet enough for me yet,” Romeo murmurs, adjusting me on his lap. Maybe what he says was true when he first entered me, but spasms rock my core, and within just a few seconds, his dick is slippery wet.

  Yanking my hair, Hawthorne kneels in front of us. Romeo’s hands hold my hips low, and my torso is parallel to the floor.

  “I’m going to take your ass today,” Romeo says, and I go stiff.

  His cock is far too large to fit there. Too large to go anywhere, really.

  He pulls my knees onto the sofa, and I prop my hands on the floor, my elbows locked straight.

  This would be a lot easier if Hawthorne weren’t trying to choke me. But he’s ramming himself in deep at the end of every stroke, and sometimes he holds me in position, my lips pressed against his warm body. I think I might be drooling a bit, saliva dripping down the base of his cock and his balls.

  “Slade?” Romeo says a moment before there’s a dull but distinct thud, like someone dropping the end of a sofa.

  “Done,” Slade says.

  Hawthorne eases up, then steps away from me.