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PRETTY TRUTHS AND POISONED LIES

ASHER

I was furious, and I wanted nothing but to find Vincent and punch him in the mouth, or maybe his cock. It would be so satisfying.

Twenty-four hours. I spent twenty-four hours seething about it, even though I had much bigger things to worry about. Like how to kill Tomas Hannigan in his own club.

“How are your sessions with Doctor Sharma, Asher? She thinks you’re making good progress,” Becca said, patting my arm as I walked out of the cafeteria. “When will you be leaving us?”

“Soon,” I said, and she gave me a smile that was broken around edges.

“Good to hear. Doctor Sharma’s wonderful, isn’t she? She cares a lot,” the head nurse said. “Everyone likes her. Do you like her?”

I shook my head with a frown, and she chuckled.

“No? Why not?”

“Talks too much,” I mumbled under my breath, and she let out a hearty laugh.

“She still made you talk. You weren’t saying a word before she came,” she said with a smile.

I huffed.

“Asher, I was looking around for you,” one of the orderlies said. “Doctor Stanley wants to see you in his office.”

“Why?”

“Grief counseling. He’s been meeting with everyone,” Leo said.

Grief counseling? The irony was laughable. I didn’t need grief counseling for someone I had killed. Fuck no. There was no guilt gnawing at my conscience, no ache in my chest when I thought of his death.

He fucking deserved it.

I nodded with a frown, moving toward Doctor Stanley’s office.

The doctor opened the door with a practiced smile, motioning me to the couch.

“How are you feeling after Doctor T’s death, Asher? It must be overwhelming. He was your therapist before Doctor Sharma.”

I gave him a nod.

I’m feeling fucking fantastic. Except for the pest called Diya Sharma, everything is good.

“Do you still have nightmares, Asher?”

I do.

That had never been a lie. I often dreamed of Riley’s beaten up body, torn, broken, and she was always telling me I killed her in my dreams.

I nodded, and Doctor Stanley sighed.

“It’s your brain’s way of processing sadness and bad things. You have to talk about it, Asher. It’s normal to feel lost after witnessing something so traumatic. It’ll take time, but you've got to take the first step.”

I nodded again. “Okay.”

I’d heal myself as soon as I found the man or men who hurt Riley… and then I’d get out of this fucking haunted mansion and run from all of it. I’d fucking disappear.

“I spoke with the sheriff, and he asked about you. You were friends once?”

I nodded again, my lips flat. Vincent was poking his fucking nose where it didn’t belong. He should be careful, or I just might cut that nose… and cock off.

“Yes.”

I knew Vincent would be a problem. He knew me, for better or worse. He knew all my darkness and fears. Growing up together brought people together in ways no one could understand.

He was one of the reasons I’d staged a mental breakdown and checked into Hollowhaven. Doctor T was the most important reason, but I knew Vincent. I knew how he worked, how his mind worked.

Pretending to be a patient was the perfect cover, a way to stay under the radar while I figured out the truth. The facility’s security was a joke anyway, and it gave me freedom and an alibi.

“If you need anything else, you can always come to me, Asher,” he said, looking at the clock.

Nodding, I stood up.

Thanking Doctor Stanley, I walked out toward the yard when a familiar face caught my attention. I slowed when I saw who the man was looking at. Millie.

It had been years since I had seen Jonah Bricks.

“Jonah?” He jerked, and whirled around, eyes wide. “Hey.”

“Asher.”

“What are you doing here?”

“No-nothing. I came to see Doctor Stanley,” he mumbled, but his eyes kept darting past me, back to Millie, like he couldn’t help himself. His hands twitched at his sides.

The look in his eyes

“Bye, Asher,” Jonah said.

He threw one last look at Millie before he walked away.

Later that night, when the ghosts and the residents of Hollowhaven slept, I crept out of my room and walked toward Doctor T’s office. Everything was eerily quiet, except for the faint creaking of wind against the walls. I opened the door and walked in, my heart banging.

I was so close to finding another truth.

“What secrets do you hide, Hannigan?” I whispered, logging into the Doctor’s computer.

I opened the inbox, and sure enough, I had a reply from Hannigan.

The fish had taken the bait.

Mr. Mulls,

I spent hours researching you. You weren’t lying about *that* lucrative business. I’m more than happy to entertain you in my club while we talk about profits. This is the safest place in Hollow Heights.

Hannigan.

Fuck. It’d be too risky and reckless to kill him in his own club, but I had no other option now. If I pushed him too much, he might get suspicious.

Mr. Hannigan,

I’ll meet you in your club this Saturday. Need the membership card. Attaching the PO box address. Everything needs to be a secret.

Christopher.

I waited. He might not reply right away—oh, he did.

You’ll get your membership card by tomorrow morning. Meet at midnight. Come by the back stairs.

Hannigan.

Christopher Mulls was a caricature I had built over the years exactly for times like this.

I had spent countless hours in college, building a network of digital facades—websites with detailed back-stories, fake IDs, and a slew of online profiles that made him appear both credible and elusive.

I chose to study computer engineering, programming, and scripting for this. Every step I had taken since I saw Riley’s lifeless body was to get here. Right here.

I sent another email, agreeing to Hannigan’s last message, before opening a new tab and entering Diya Sharma’s name. I had to dig deeper, but then I hit the treasure trove.

Fuck.

Doctor psycho bitch might actually be a psychopath.

Renowned Oncologist Found Dead: Psychiatrist Diya Sharma Detained for Questioning by NYPD.

Detective Knight took in Dr. Diya Sharma for questioning in connection with Doctor Dawson's murder. Sources close to the investigation revealed that she was brought in after the authorities discovered potential links between her and the deceased.

What the ever-loving fuck was this?

After further digging, I found out the murdered doctor was missing his right hand, and that Diya was cleared after the investigation.

I deleted the search history, and walked back to my room, my thoughts circling her.

She was not normal. The NYPD made a mistake. I had a feeling she killed the doctor with poison, and maimed him. And what the fuck did she do with his hand?

Her voice rang in my head, cocksure, steady.

As long as I’m not dead, I don’t care.

Maybe she was trying to survive, maybe this Doctor Dawson was evil, and he deserved death. None of that mattered, though. If she had killed him, she was a real threat.

Cursing, I punched the wall with a grunt. The pain did nothing to alleviate the pressure slowly building inside me.

Diya fucking Sharma was a goddamn menace.

The next morning, I had a group therapy with Diya, and I was the first one to arrive. I settled into a chair in the empty room, my fingers tapping restlessly against my knee.

I wanted to see her, to look her in the eyes and know. I wanted to make sure of her guilt.

Millie arrived next, accompanied by Becca.

“Asher, how are you today?” Becca asked me, motioning Millie toward the chair next to me, her eyes following Millie until she settled into her chair.

“I’m good.” I smiled.

“Keep an eye on her, will you?” Becca said, looking at Millie with a sad smile before she walked away.

I turned toward Millie to see she was, once again, busy drawing something.

“What are you drawing, Millie?” I asked, staring at her sketchbook—she carried it everywhere with her.

She shyly pulled the book closer to her chest, shaking her head.

“It’s fine, Millie. You don’t have to show me if you don’t want to,” I said.

Millie’s paintings were always filled with shadows and thorns, tears and twisting snakes, masked monsters, and cruel, unkind eyes. Things of nightmares.

She looked at me for a few seconds before tearing a page and handing it to me.

“You can keep it,” she whispered.

It was a picture of a shattered grave. Jagged pieces of stone lay scattered in the dirt filled with tiny spiders. Hands came out of the crumbling debris, as though they desperately wanted to break out.

The background was a suffocating void, and ghosts floated around, their forms vague, their faces blurred.

The longer I stared, the more I saw her suffering, her need to escape whatever it was that chased her.

“Thank you, Millie. This is—” I stopped when I felt eyes on me. She was here. I didn’t have to look up to know she was here. I could feel her on my skin, I could smell her in the air, that sweet scent that made me want to lick her all over.

I took my time to look up.

Her honey-brown eyes were almost soft as she watched me. Her black hair, streaked with blue, was in a high ponytail, and her pink silk blouse showed curves that made my mouth dry.

“Go on. Don’t stop on my account,” she said, her voice sincere.

“It’s fine,” I said as she strolled in on her pink high heels, her back straight, her eyes only on me.

Despite the kindness in her eyes, I had seen the cruelty. I had seen the madness, and I was sure that she was a killer.

A beautifully lethal killer. The worst kind. Danger cloaked in innocence.

She took her chair and smiled at me. “You’re doing good.”

I was surprised by that compliment. There was no sarcasm or derision. It was real, the smile and the words.

“Don’t let this fool you,” I whispered under my breath, and her smile was a quick punch to my lungs.

“Never,” she said, tapping her pen against her palm before turning to the others. “How are you feeling today? Me? I’m feeling excited and nervous.”

“Why?” Jimmy asked.

“I’m going on a date with a handsome man and…” she trailed off, smiling as she did. Everyone turned to look at her with a smile, and my mood soured. Fucking Vincent.

“Who is it?” Sarah asked, twirling the end of her sleeves.

“It’s Sheriff Bricks,” Diya said with a smile. I hated that look in her eyes—like she was already imagining his hands on her body.

“He’s handsome,” Sarah whispered. “I saw him.”

“He’s okay,” Jimmy said with a shrug. I chuckled, and he smiled. “Ash is better looking. You should go on a date with him.”

Diya coughed and cleared her throat while I stared at her. When she met my eyes, she was smiling.

“Well, the problem is… he’s not my type, and I can’t date my patients, Jimmy.”

I didn’t agree to any of that.

When the session ended, she walked out, and I followed her. She turned to look at me only after we reached her office, eyes filled with poison. That one look could make a man go fucking mad.

I closed the door, locking it for good measure.

“What?” she snapped.

“You can’t date your patient, but you can fantasize about fucking him when no one else is watching, can’t you? Except I was watching, Sharma.” Her breath stuttered when I leaned closer, taking a whiff of her. “And I liked it. I liked it a lot.”

She glared at me, eyes burning with vengeance, and my cock tightened.

“Why don’t you go back to being eternally silent, Asher? You’re bothering me—”

“Like you told me, it was boring. You were talking a lot when I was silent. It’s your turn to listen now, Doctor Chatterbox,” I said, leaning against her desk as she took her chair. “So? You’re still going out with Vincent?”

“I am,” she replied curtly. “And I don’t appreciate this.” She pointed at me with a frown. “You… coming in whenever you feel like it.”

“Are you sure about that?” I said, leaning closer, feeling her warmth. “Why don’t I believe that? Your heart’s racing.”

I grazed her chin with my nose, inhaling deeply, filling my lungs with Diya Sharma and her scent.

It was heady and seductive.

Diya was a drug I couldn’t resist as long as she lived.

Every breath I took made me want to move in closer, to let her consume me, drown me. My pulse quickened, and for a moment, every rational thought died, and I wanted only one thing. Her. Naked, on her knees, begging for my cock.

“What’s that scent?” I asked.

She blinked. “What?”

“The one you wear. You smell like… poison.”

She laughed then. “Lily of the Valley with a hint of vanilla and nightshade.”

I was right. Poisons!

I removed her hair tie with a sigh. Silky hair flowed down, a wild blend of black and electric blue. Burying my fingers into her hair, I yanked her head back until she was forced to look up at me.

Her lips parted.

I pulled her up, sat down on her chair, and yanked her down on my lap, wrapping my hands around her. My cock came to attention when her ass met me.

“What are you doing?” She groaned when I pressed my fingers to her hips.

“Shh,” I whispered, my hand crawling up her body until it was around her throat. “If I break your neck now…”

“Mmm.” She moaned, grinding herself against my erection. “Is that a challenge?” She pressed further into my cock, creating a torturous friction that made my mind go blank.

“N-no. It’s a threat,” I said. She chuckled, a sound that sent a shiver down my spine.

“You sound so sure of yourself. But I’ve met worse men, and they…”She trailed off, her voicetaunting. I knew she had almost admitted to killing them. My pulse quickened and my cock jerked.

“They?”

“They failed, Asher.”

I smiled, turning her around until she was looking into my eyes, and the look in her eyes made my breath catch.

“Fuuck, Little Psycho.”

She licked her lips, her fingers coming around my throat, making me groan.

“I want to…” I trailed off, unbuttoning the top two buttons of her blouse. I traced the skin above her breast, feeling how soft she was. “See you. Naked.”

“You don’t want to kill me anymore?” she asked, grabbing my hand in hers, and dragging it down until it was pressed against her breast. Soft and full.

I brushed my lips against her neck, just beneath her ear. “Killing you is still the plan. This is… just a diversion.”

Her laugh was low and throaty.

My hand trailed lower, slipping beneath the lace edge of her bra. I explored the curve of her breasts, savoring the way her body responded—arching slightly into my touch, her breath quickening just enough to betray her.

She tugged at my shirt, undoing buttons one by one until the fabric fell away. Her nails grazed over my chest, light and teasing.

“Be as cocky as you want, but when I’m done with you, Pussycat, you won’t survive,” she whispered, her tone dripping with mischief.

I chuckled, catching her chin between my fingers and tilting her face up to meet mine. Her eyes sparkled with defiance and desire, and damn, it was utterly intoxicating. Enough to make my cock harder.

If it went like this I might one day die of a permanent erection.

Asher Maddox. Died of priapism. Would be one heck of an epitaph to write on one’s tombstone.

“Show me,” I challenged.

She didn’t hesitate. She slid her hand down my cock. “Careful what you wish for,” she purred, her smile both wicked and inviting.

“You know me. Careful isn’t my thing.” I captured her lips with a sigh.

Her fingers skimmed over my waistband, teasing, testing until I groaned against her lips.

My hands tightened on her waist, pulling her flush against me, the heat of her body searing through the thin layers between us.

I kissed against the curve of her collarbone, and she tilted her head to grant me better access. My lips moved lower, teasing the edge of her bra.

Grinning, I lifted her, sitting her down on the table. Her gasp turned to a moan when I pressed my lips against hers, deeper, rougher, leaving no question of who was in control.

She grazed my chest, nails skimming down the sword, before following the wings on either side.

“Beautiful,” she grunted as her fingers moved lower. Her fingers reached the tip of the sword, and I couldn’t stop the whimper that left my lips. Her eyes were smug as she pressed a finger against the waistband and tugged.

“You’re going to drive me insane.”

Her grin was satisfied. “That’s the idea,” she whispered, her fingers moving lower until she met the bulge in my pants. Breath ragged, she met my eyes, her gaze burning with a hunger that made me breathless.

That look… God, that look was enough to unravel me.

Her fingers trailed down my cock, slow and deliberate, like she was learning the shape of it, and I was so close to coming again.

My pulse skyrocketed as she explored, and I bit my cheek hard, trying to focus on anything else . Cold showers. Object-Oriented Programming. MacOS. The man she poisoned.

Nothing worked. I was doomed. I had been doomed from the very start.

I was startled when she laughed and took a quick step back.

“Go insane, Asher. Go insane thinking about Vincent’s hands on my body. Go insane thinking about how you’ll never get to touch me again. Adieu. I’m going to get ready for my date now.”

She stood up, running her fingers through her hair.

“See you on Monday. All this pent-up sexual energy needs release—two days of release. I think it’s going to be good for me. Cathartic,” she sang, her voice goading, her eyes mercilessly evil. “Sleep tight, Asher Maddox. And hard.”

“Bitch.”

She laughed when I growled and walked away with a wink.