Page 115 of Tell Me Pucking Lies

“Did I mention that I stole his car?”

That stops me. I straighten up, suddenly more interested. “You managed to steal his car?”

This girl—this eighteen-year-old college freshman—stole a car from the biggest dealer in three counties?

“Yeah. So tell me where you are so I can come to you.”

I laugh. Actually laugh. “Jasper said I’d help, huh?”

“That’s what he said.”

“I don’t give a fuck about the car,” I say, still grinning. “But what do you think he’ll do when he finds out you’re running straight to a Reaper?”

“A what?”

Innocent, I see. She has no idea she’s running from one monster and into the hands of another. I stare at her photo again, trying to decipher if she’s worth the trouble. “A Reaper, baby. I’ll be his worst nightmare.”

“I’m not making any deals or any promises.”

My grin widens. “No promises?”

“None.”

That’s my kind of girl.

I pull up the address of the mansion and text it to her. If the dealer wants to follow, let him. He’ll die before he reaches the gate.

“Got it,” she says. “Thank you... what did you say your name was?”

“I didn’t.”

“Sorry. I guess I should’ve started with that. What’s your name?”

“Revan.”

“Huh?”

“Ask for Rev when you arrive.”

“Wait... this is near Blackridge. Do you go there?”

“First year. We’ll see how long I last.” I glance at the witness, who’s slumped forward now, barely conscious. “I have to go.”

I end the call and look over at Noah, who runs this place. He’s standing by the chamber door with Brody and Caleb flanking him, all three of them wearing their Reaper masks—red, meant to terrify.

Atticus is beside me, silent as always, watching everything with those dead eyes.

“Someone interesting is heading our way,” I say. “Ever heard of the biggest dealer in three counties?”

Atticus lifts a brow.

Noah’s mask tilts toward me. “Fresh meat.” He jerks his chin at the witness. “Dump him. I don’t care where. Just don’t get caught.”

“Noah,” I start. “Got a family matter coming here.”

Before I can finish, his hand is around my throat. He slams me against the wall, concrete scraping my back through my shirt.

“And who the fuck said you could do that?” he snarls.