Page 164 of Tell Me Pucking Lies

I try to scream but it comes out muffled. I thrash against the ropes but they hold.

Koa finally looks at me and his face is a war zone—anguish and resignation and something that might be an apology but means nothing now. Nothing.

The older man claps his hands together.

“Now,” he says, “let’s discuss debts. And what these Kane siblings will do for me.”

My vision is starting to blur—whether from tears or terror or rage, I don’t know. All I can hear is the sound of my own heartbeat thundering in my ears, and beneath it, quieter, the sound of Koa’s voice saying my name like it’s a sin he can’t take back.

Like he’s already mourning what he’s done.

36

Koa

Something’s off.

The air feels heavier—not from the usual shit, not from drugs or sweat or the metallic tang of fear that always hangs in this place. This is different. This ismovement. Quiet, calculated movement that sets my teeth on edge. Cars outside, engines idling low. Shoes scraping against gravel in patterns too deliberate to be random. The kind of sound you don’t notice unless you’ve been trained to listen for it, unless survival has taught you to catalog every deviation from normal.

I don’t look toward the sound. Don’t flinch. Don’t give anything away. I just stand there, hands shoved deep in my pockets, pretending to stare at the concrete floor while I count the shadows between the beams overhead. One. Two. Three figures moving in the rafters.

Vincent’s voice cuts through the warehouse. “You brought friends, Koa?”

My jaw tightens. I don’t answer because it doesn’t matter what I say, it will always be the wrong thing.

His men are scattered around the space like discarded toys—restless, high, stupid. All of them weapons but none of them soldiers.

And there, in the center of it all, are Lexi and Axel.

Both tied to chairs. Both gagged. Lexi’s thrashing against the ropes still, her eyes wild and furious, muffled curses trying to fight their way past the gag. Axel’s staring at me like he’s already planning exactly how he’s going to kill me, which methods will be the slowest and most painful.

I deserve every second of what he’s imagining.

Vincent nods at one of the guards—some thick-necked asshole I’ve seen around but never learned the name of. The guard pulls something from his pocket.

A needle. The liquid inside catches the dim light, amber and poisonous.

I inhale before I do something stupid. My fists clench. I’m about to open my mouth, but the words die in my throat. I know if I speak, if I move, Vincent will fuck me up and make it worse for her. Right now I’m on his good side where I need to stay.

Before I can react, before I can do anything, the needle’s already buried in her arm, plunger depressed, poison flooding her system.

Lexi jerks once, her whole body going rigid. Her eyes—those brown eyes that looked at me with trust not too long ago—go wide, meeting mine. There’s accusation there, and betrayal, and underneath it all, a terror so raw it makes my chest cavity feel hollow.

Welcome to my hell.This is what I’ve been living in.

Then she goes still. Not limp exactly but loose. The fight drains out of her like someone pulled a plug, and her head lolls to the side.

I clench my fists so hard my nails cut into my palms. The pain is grounding, necessary. It reminds me not to react, not to give Vincent the satisfaction of seeing me break.

Vincent exhales smoke, grinning like he just won something. “There we go. Pretty little thing. Should’ve seen your face, boy.”

He’s laughing now, reaching for his phone as it buzzes. Answers the call without looking away from me, testing, always testing.

“Yeah?” His voice is jovial, performative. “No, no, we’re all good here. Just having a family reunion.”

The sound of his laughter echoes off the walls, bouncing back at us distorted and ugly.

This was supposed to be it. The end. Deliver the Kane siblings to Vincent, debt cleared, obligations fulfilled. No more running product for him. No more collecting debts from desperate people. No more being his attack dog. Just hockey and drums and grades and maybe a future that didn’t involve blood under my fingernails.