Page 9 of The Lies We Tell

I don’t believe him, but I’m guessing it was related to pussy. The corners of his mouth turn up in a slight smile he manages to stop. But I’m not the man to be holding others accountable for lying right now.

Not when I’m up to my eyeballs in lies and half-truths.

“Was doing Jessica when King hammered on the door and asked me to do this,” I say.

Spark laughs. “For a holy man, you don’t know the meaning of the wordabstinence.”

I wish I could tell Spark the truth. I hate the fact he thinks I am something I’m not. But I search my memory banks anyway to find a response that Spark expects.

Though Dad’s sermons were all about fire and brimstone, I have a wider range of knowledge from reading the Bible every day for the past two years. Decent stories if you ignore everything that’s wrong with organized religion. Sometimes, I lose track of which Bible the verses come from, but it’s not like these men know the difference between their King James and their New American Bible. “A loving doe, a graceful deer. May her breasts satisfy you always. Proverbs five nineteen. It’s as if God personally instructed me to worship those double Es of hers.”

Spark chokes out a laugh as a black sedan pulls into the lot. “This him?” He places his palm on his gun.

I do the same, purely for protection. It’s not his usual ride. “Probably.”

As I’m carrying the envelope, I walk to the sedan, and the window lowers. “New car?” I ask when I see Jasper’s nervous face.

He reaches for the envelope I’m holding. “This has helped pay off some debts.”

I like the kid. Vex, our resident tech genius, checked him out. Young, hungry. But a mountain of debt and two kids before he turned twenty. I don’t begrudge him the cash. In fact, I’ve not reported that I know his name. Because when the web closes, I don’t want this kid caught up in it all.

Some in the ATF might think that makes me corrupt.

I’m past the point of giving a fuck.

“Don’t flash the cash around,” I warn. “It’ll make it easier to find you if anyone comes looking, yeah?”

He looks confused by my concern. “Yeah?”

“Sort your debt out first. Or you’ll be stuck doing shit like this for the rest of your life, kid.”

Jasper nods, but I know he doesn’t really hear me.

The car peels out of the parking lot. I watch the dust swirl as I walk back to Spark. “Well, that was easy.” I smooth my hand through my beard. I don’t love it. It itches. But it does the job of helping me blend in with bikers well. And it will make it harder for the Iron Outlaws to identify me in public later, as they have never seen me without one.

Spark grins at me.

“What’s funny?” I ask.

“Just thinking you look a lot like Jesus, the one on those cheap candles with the weird-looking heart.”

I shake my head as I climb on my bike. “That’s the sacred heart of Jesus you’re shitting on.”

“I’m not shitting on it ... but you’ve got to admit, they could have gone with a better design.”

“O Sacred Heart of Jesus, for whom it is impossible not to have compassion on the afflicted, have pity on us miserable sinners.”

“Miserable sinners? It’s either us or a seventies rock band.”

I flip my middle finger in his direction, and he laughs. I can’t help but grin. He’s right. If Jesus were a white man with blue eyes as opposed to an actual man from the Middle East, I probably would agree that I do look like Jesus.

I reach to start my bike when a large black truck careens into the parking lot. It’s swerving erratically. When it slides to a halt about thirty meters away, the rear passenger door opens, and a young woman leaps out and runs towards us. She’s barefoot, wearing a black dress or negligee. The cut is revealing. It’s short, the color harsh against her pale skin.

My first thought is that she’s hot, but then I realize as she gets closer that she’s running for her life.

She runs straight toward us; the stones and gravel must be carving up her feet.

“Help me. Please. Help.” Her voice is tortured, her face covered in fresh scratches and bruises. She’s young. Maybe mid to late twenties.