Page 87 of Little Liar

My stomach twists, this new betrayal burning at my insides. “You’re an asshole, and no one would willingly give themself to you. Leave, or I’ll make you.”

Not that I could do a thing—he’s six foot something and a wall of muscles. Thankfully it isn’t his brother here taunting me; he’s with his cousin waiting outside.

He glares at me—then smirks again. “Unless you want my father to send his men over to deal with your brother, stop fighting this.”

Xander is tucking a lock of hair behind my ear while I stay as still as a statue, wondering if kneeing him in the balls will be more trouble than it’s worth.

The door opens. Abigail pauses in the threshold, her eyes zoned into where Xander has my hair between his fingers. He snatches himself away like it burned him then takes more steps back.

Confusion and a hint of something else takes over my friend’s gaze before she turns around and runs out of the office.

Xander swears under his breath and goes after her.

I stand in solid silence, the pounding of my heart heavy in my ears, trying to make sense of what just happened, then hunch forward, trying to breathe. I had no idea I was holding my breath for so long—my eyes burn as they water, and I can feel my pulse hammering throughout my body.

I’m sweating, and I feel dizzy as I grab a bottle of water from the minifridge and down half of it in one. I reach for my phone, and then I pause.

I should tell Malachi—I should warn him that Xander isn’t backing down and we should make a plan—we should run. I’m sure this need to marry me will vanish as soon as his father finds someone else to torment. They don’t even know me—I’m a stranger to them.

But I sit back and dig my fingers into the leather of the chair. If I tell my brother, there’s no doubt in my mind that Malachi will go into full-blown attack mode. He’ll hunt Xander, and since he’s a one-man army, Xander’s father only needs to send one order out and he’ll be dead within the hour.

My stomach twists, and I chew my bottom lip. It’s too dangerous. He isn’t the type to sit down and talk and then react. He shoved a bat down someone’s throat and snapped Parker’s legs when we were teenagers without thinking about the consequences. He attacked Adam. Dad.

What would he do to Xander? Or at least try to do? Xander is Russian, has tight security, and I think Adryx would rain hell on us both if something happened to his little brother.

Oh God.

I can’t risk Malachi’s life. I need to lie to him—again. Or withhold information. But he knows the meeting was today. What should I do? He’s supposed to pick me up from work in a few hours.

I grab my bag, lock my office, and head to my mother’s office to hunt for her spare keys. She always keeps a car here, just in case of emergency.

Right now, I guess it’s an emergency for me to get home and start working with my dad on how to stop all of this. Then I can sit Malachi down, explain things, and how it’ll be fixed. He won’t need to react and hurt people.

It’ll be fine.

I shoot Dad a message saying I’m heading over to talk.

As soon as I get out back, rain soaks my hair. I unlock Mom’s car door, toss my bag into the passenger side, and close the door, then run around the front to get to the driver’s side while trying to get my phone out of my pocket.

But a fist in my hair and a hand over my mouth snatches me from my feet and drags me, kicking and screaming into a heavy palm, to a black car.

24

Malachi

Before I was arrested, me and the guys always hung out at Mason’s place.

We’d be in the converted garage, getting high, gaming, fighting. It was our go-to when we weren’t riding or at some sort of party.

I remember the first time he invited me over—his mom and dad were kind, loving people, and I hadn’t a clue how they ended up with someone like Mason as a son. He wasn’t even allowed to cuss in front of them, yet he was sneaking out, taking drugs, smoking weed, and fucking girls in their kitchen while everyone was asleep.

His mom tried to ask me if I wanted any lunch with faltering sign language. They were learning… For me.

A few months later, they were all fluent.

When I wasn’t obsessing over my sister and her whereabouts, I’d be there, pretending I was normal, that people tolerated me because they chose to, not because they had to.

The same place that’s all boarded up now.