Page 1 of A Secret and a Lie

Muffled cries and muted whimpers swirl like a cyclone as the dreamlike sound of chains rattles through the air. I smile, confident and menacing as I descend the steps, my sky-high heels clicking against the concrete.

I’m grinning by the time I reach the bottom, vengeance dripping from my blood-red lips as four sets of irises latch onto mine like vicious dogs clamping their teeth around a kill.

And dogs they are—kenneled, collared, and muzzled.

Theseanimalsneed to be put down.

Approaching the cages against the back wall, I take in the sight of the three hounds cowering in the corners of their temporary homes. The one in front of me is red-faced, and while that could be from alcoholism, I suspect that his wet cheeks have more to do with that.

“Oh no, you can’t cry yet. We’ve only just started.” I parrot the words that have haunted my sleep for the last four years.

My other twopetsglare at me, one of them even attempting to speak, but he’s silenced by his pup hood. While puppy play isn’t a kink of mine, I’m thoroughly enjoying this. Nothing gets my blood pumping quite like revenge.

I reach through the bars and stroke his pointed ears, the hatred in his brown eyes soothing an ache in my heart.

Moving to my second victim, I crouch down and scratch him beneath the chin as I repeat more words from the worst night of my life. “You’re going to be good for me tonight, won’t you?”

When I get to the third man shrinking away from me, I blow him a kiss before answering my own question. “I suppose it doesn’t really matter.” I shrug, making my way to the center of the room. “There’s no cure for the disease you carry, but I’m curious to see how docile you become once neutered.”

Sobs ring out, bouncing off the concrete walls as I circle the fourth man in the center, his chains clanking as he attempts to escape. I drag a fingernail down his spine, hard enough that blood wells in the scratch.

“A truly beautiful specimen,” I lie, spitting back the vitriol he once spewed at me. “I bet you’re even prettier when I get you warmed up.”

He whimpers into his black ball gag, saliva escaping the corners, strings of tiny clear bubbles dripping onto his chest. I’d considered making him apetas well, but I’d prefer to see every line of his handsome face etched in agony.

Striding toward the metal table in the corner, I reach for the gut hook knife, a thrill zipping through me until my bones are coated in the kind of exhilaration that only comes with retribution.

When I face the room again, I’m brandishing the knife and relishing the sight of four ashen faces. Running the pad of my thumb over the hooked blade, I stalk toward the center of the room. He shakes his head rapidly, thrashing his body, making the chains securing him to the ceiling jangle gloriously.

Cocking my head to the side, I pout, slicing the knife casually through the air. “No? You don’t want this?”

He continues to whip his head back and forth, the gag making his words utterly incoherent.

As I step into his space, I mimic his words, my arctic voice now as desolate and unforgiving as the weather at the South Pole. “I don’t owe you shit. You’re just a whore.”

I lift the knife, my soul stitching itself together with every slice I make, his screams blanketing me in a serene calmness I haven’t felt in years. Although, it’s not until his blood pools on the floor, staining the concrete beneath him, that I feel truly vindicated.

“Your ignorance on corruption is their power.”

Unknown

Genevieve

The faint scent of freshly bloomed cherry blossoms permeates the air as I stroll down the bustling streets of Washington, D.C. I take a deep breath, savoring my favorite time of the year. A season of newness, a fresh start, the revealing of a blank slate.

A man bumps into me in his mad dash to cross the street while the walk signal still flashes with his permission. I memorize his face, locking it into the same memory vault where I keep everyone else’s. In my line of work, you can’t be too careful.

Everyone’s a threat, an enemy. Safety is an optical illusion created by those who seek to harm you.

My phone vibrates in my hand, and I glance down to see Henry Fisher’s name flash across the screen. I roll my eyes good-naturedly, swiping to answer.

“Hello, Henry,” I purr. I swear I can hear him adjusting himself to the sound of my candy-coated voice, despite the early hour.

“Hi, sugar. Do you have time to see me today?”

My stilettos clack against the concrete as I navigate the throng of people, the pedestrian traffic thinning slightly. “My favorite client? Of course. I can see you at eleven.”

“That won’t work. I have a committee meeting then.”