Page 70 of Little Liar

Two hours, and it’s night—the moon settles between rooftops in the far distance, and the clouds open to a little rainfall. It soaks my hair, my clothes, but I keep waiting.

I frown when most of the workers leave. She usually walks out with two older women, smiles at them, then heads to her apartment. Yet, the two older women have left, and there’s no sign of my sister. She wouldn’t go to her apartment either—she lives with me now.

Lighting another smoke and sheltering it from the rain by angling my hand, I impatiently tap my finger on my handle, checking my phone for any new messages. I try to call, but all I’m met with is her voicemail.

I drop my helmet and cigarette on the ground and walk across the street, nearly getting struck by a car, but they sound their horn and swerve just in time while I fully focus on the main door.

There’s no reason for her to be late, unless she’s trying to catch up on emails. But what if that asshole she was supposed to marry is there?

What if he took her?

I thought he was still in Canada on a business trip? I’ve tried to keep tabs on him without Olivia noticing my newest obsessive trait of following his every move. He’s still fucking around despite waiting to get married.

Palpitations push me forward until I reach the entrance, but before I can yank the door open, it nearly smacks me in the face, and my mom freezes like a deer in headlights, eyes wide and in total shock.

She’s as tall as me in her heeled shoes, her lips parting, her graying hair flying around her face. Her glasses hold her bangs off her forehead.

The woman who raised me.

19

Malachi

Mom steps back, her mouth open. Then rage takes over. “You have some nerve,” she sneers, “to show your face around here.”

She’s mad. I fully expected her to hate me, but I’m not a fan of the way she’s looking at me like I’m a monster.

My brows knit together; I’m confused by the slight twinge of pain in my chest. I knew I’d lost her as a mother the second I laid my fists on Dad, but this has just set it in stone for me.

I lost my father the day I was arrested.

I’ve lost her too.

As angry as Mom is, she also looks terrified of me. And that’s all my fault. But why send me money? Why give me enough funds to survive so I didn’t need to try finding work as an ex-convict with a terrible track record with communication and behavior?

“You…” She stops and shakes her head. “It’s your fault. Every hurdle in Olivia’s life is because of you. You’re the reason she ran out of work crying. Why won’t you leave her the fuck alone?”

She slaps me across the face, making my head turn to the side, my cheek burning. She fixes her bag on her shoulder and marches away without waiting for a response, her heels clicking until she climbs into the car picking her up. It drives off.

My mom just hit me.

So did my bio-mom.

Why do they keep fucking hitting me?

My confusion vanishes the second her words register with me. Did she just say Olivia was crying because of me?

I pull my phone out and try to call her again, but there’s no reply. The security guard walks out of the building and locks the door, so I know she’s not in there—the lights are all out too.

Fuck.

Checking the cameras in our house while I cross the road, I don’t see her, and no movement has been detected. Then I open my other app—the one I haven’t used since she came back to me—and check her old place, then stop when I reach my bike.

She’s there. In her apartment. Not ours.

I only have one camera left in there. It’s facing the front door, just above a picture of the family, hidden, so she’ll never know it’s there.

Her bag is by the door.