Page 92 of Little Liar

He’s staring at his killer son, the murderer, the abusive asshole, yet he isn’t being judgmental or giving me shit.

“We won’t tell Olivia, but this is the last one.”

I roll my jaw. Who the fuck is he to tell me who to kill and not to kill? If someone gets in my way, they deserve a shallow grave in my yard.

Despite wanting to tell him to mind his business, I toss the shovel, climb up to the surface, and roll the body into the hole.

Even though he can barely walk without his stick, Dad helps me fill the hole with dirt. He’s only doing this for my sister. He can’t stand me. I’m the reason he can’t walk properly.

“I don’t know if I can ever forgive you,” he tells me. “But I’ll try.”

I flinch as his hand lands on my shoulder. He pats me twice, then slides his hand off me and goes to turn around.

“Dad,” I say, my nerves taking over when he pauses. I rub my fist against my chest with more meaning than ever.I’m sorry.

“I know, son.”

Walking back to the house, I stand in the middle of the kitchen while Olivia talks to Dad—they’re discussing our next steps and how he’s going to protect her, possibly send her to a safe house.

I pull the phone from my pocket. The screen is cracked at the corner, but it still works. There’s a preview of a message from hours ago that has me frowning.

Unknown:Igor will meet you at the destination in exactly one hour.

There’s no passkey or fingerprint scanner, so I unlock the phone with a swipe of my thumb, open the chat box with the unsaved number, and see they’re discussing an exchange withIgor Reznikov for a fee of five thousand dollars for delivery of the “package”.

My dad comes up beside me, staring at the screen too. “Motherfuckers,” he mutters. “This has gotten out of hand!”

I call the number and place it on speaker for everyone to hear.

“What happened? I told you not to call this number,” a voice says.

The voice of Jennifer Vize.

The woman who raised us.

25

Olivia

It feels like déjà vu, watching Malachi wash blood from his body.

We’re teenagers again, and he’s just saved me from Parker.

Except this time, he saved me from our own mother.

I can still hear the man’s strangled choking as Malachi drove a screwdriver into his throat repeatedly. I can hear the blood splattering on the windows, how he fought to stay alive, even though his head was nearly hanging off.

I can still see the way Malachi looked at me when I slid his mask off—his eyes were a void, like he was close to drowning in his own mind from panic, but the tether we have between us kept him above the surface.

Dirt and blood slips down his muscles, and I stretch onto my tiptoes, pressing my lips to his. “Thank you.”

He frowns, signing,Why are you thanking me?

“You saved me.”

Malachi chuckles deeply, audibly, clearly, as he walks me into the tiles of the shower wall. His head tilts, causing his black hair to fall over his forehead, a smile playing on the lips I can’t stop staring at.

Clear as day, he speaks. “I’m your partner. Your lover. Your brother. Your everything, Olivia.” Then he lifts his slightly stained hands to sign,But what you are to me is something more than any words can explain. If someone found a way to remove you from existence, I would burn the world before making sure my soul found yours in the afterlife.