Page 19 of Ugly Truths (The Veiled Truths Trilogy #2)

Silas

I smash my fingers against my phone and throw it across the desk, as far out of reach as possible. The recording I had been listening to cuts out mid-sentence, but I don’t need to hear any more. The words are still echoing off every corner of my mind.

It must be late afternoon now, though I’m not sure how many hours have passed.

The curtains in my study are drawn and the only light illuminating the room is my desk lamp, which casts long shadows across the walls.

I don’t remember the last time I looked away from my laptop other than to use the bathroom or make coffee.

I had only meant to listen to their phone call before eating dinner last night.

I needed to hear for myself whether Elena and Luis were telling the truth about their relationship.

It was their first conversation since being separated, and I wasn’t stupid.

If there was anything between them, it would come out after Ben and Corey hung up.

And then Luis so perfectly posed the question to her about us, as if there was anything left. Instantly, my jaw set, convinced that somehow they planned this exact dialogue, knowing I’d be listening in.

“If the only thing I can do is love him from a distance and hope he’s happy, then that’s what I’ll do.”

Her words have dug into me like a splinter I can’t pull free, and all I need is some goddamn relief.

After listening to their phone call the whole way through, I found myself pulling up the security footage from her week in the basement and started from the beginning.

Elena began with her parents and childhood, and how college was her way to escape them.

I'd heard snippets of those memories in the spring, but I never realized just how bad it had been.

It might be the one story that wasn't a lie.

She talked about getting into college, trying to survive, and her friend who was murdered for wanting to do the right thing when she found out how much Elena had lost her way.

I hadn’t intended to watch the almost twenty hours of footage, but hearing the story from her instead of the broad strokes Davey and Cillian provided me made everything worse, because I could feel all that she lost before she ever had the chance to really hold onto it.

Though my bloodshot eyes would say otherwise, the time felt like it passed in seconds. Before I knew it, I was watching her on her last day in the holding room with Natalie, as she admitted that she tried to keep her distance from me, but my persistence had worn her down.

My skin still tingles at the memory of that high—those moments when she’d try to mask her surprise at whatever crass thing I said.

The way her gaze would flick to my mouth before her cheeks flushed pink.

How I’d prepare for five different reactions, just to stay one step ahead of her and keep some semblance of control between us.

Every narrowed look, every sarcastic jab, every involuntary shiver. I caught them all and I reveled in them, because they told me that she felt it too.

The pretty lie I told myself over and over was that if I had her once, I’d get her out of my system like all the others. This only felt different because she was trying to prove a point, and the chase was as maddening as it was addictive.

But Elena’s denial only hardened the closer I got to breaking her.

She used her friendship with Natalie as an excuse and insisted she didn’t want to be just another woman I brought home.

I figured she’d read the worst of the tabloids, which got louder after I started keeping parts of my life off-limits.

She knew that I might lose interest the second she gave in.

Everything she’d orchestrated could fall apart the moment I was done.

Or maybe she knew how deep she’d buried her talons into me and how unlikely it was that I’d let her go.

My grip on the armrests of my chair is so tight that my joints ache. Despite everything she did, it’s more obvious than ever that Elena wholeheartedly believed she had no other options. And for the first time in months, I don’t know where to put all of this anger.

I’ve never known that kind of fear. Some decisions I made for myself, some I allowed to be made for me—whether out of loyalty or convenience—but they were still choices. I had resources and people who cared, whether I wanted them to or not.

What if she really did believe there was no way out and everything that happened was collateral damage in her trying to survive?

What if I was wrong?

The thought lodges in my chest, and my mind clings to the remnants of hatred that have been crumbling like drying sand since Alice took my hand in Natalie’s living room. All I could see was the same misery in her eyes that I saw the night she left in June.

I saw Scarlett. The woman I had to grieve in pieces.

Mourning the living is its own version of hell, but mourning someone who didn’t even exist at all? It’s like slipping into a slow psychosis. Sometimes, it felt like I had made the entire thing up.

But in that holding room, buried beneath the cracks in her voice and the weight in her eyes, I caught glimpses of someone I recognized.

A tilt of her head. A clipped breath before a sharp remark she instantly wanted to take back.

The same strange mix of calculation and conviction I'd become so addicted to.

But this person was messier. Less sure of herself. She looked like someone who had been running on fear for so long that she didn’t know how to stand still. Maybe that’s why I feel so goddamn wrecked.

Because suddenly, it doesn’t feel like Scarlett is completely gone.

The pressure in my chest pushes against my ribs so violently that I can only manage small, shallow breaths .

Before I even realize what I’m doing, I’m out of my chair, grabbing my keys, and heading to the garage.

My phone vibrates in my pocket—likely Cillian asking where I’ve run off to in such a hurry from where he watches in the basement office, but I leave it be as I back out of the garage and through the already parting metal gate.

I don’t think about where I’m going. My hands grip the wheel so tightly that it feels like my knuckles might split. The city streets blur around me, and my thoughts race faster than the car.

I shouldn’t be doing this. I don’t even know why I’m doing this.

The drive is too quick. I cut the engine, step out of the car, and head through their courtyard to the steps, barely noticing the late summer air pressing against my skin.

I knock once, twice, and after too many minutes, Natalie opens the door, glaring at me through the crack.

“Silas,” she says, her tone cautious. “What are you doing here?”

I open my mouth, but the words get caught in my throat. My brain is too scrambled to give her more than the most basic words.

“I need to see her,” I manage, almost desperate. “I’m not here to fight. I just… need to.”

My sister studies me for a moment. Something in my expression must convince her because her shoulders slowly relax, and she steps aside, opening the door wider.

“She’s in the guest bedroom,” she says softly, gesturing toward the staircase.

I nod, brush past her to take the stairs two at a time, and storm down the hallway. My nerves vibrate between dread and hunger. I don’t know what I’m going to say, or even what I want from her. It’s not rational. None of this is.

Without thought, I push open the door and step into the room.

Elena is near the bed, tugging a shirt down over her torso.

She’s fresh from the shower with damp hair falling to her shoulders in waves, the smell of her coconut body wash wafts in my direction, reminding me of so many things, but mostly how it feels to press my lips to the hollow of her throat where the scent tends to linger the longest.

Her movements falter at my noisy arrival. In an instant, she braces for an attack; eyes hardening, hands crossed tightly over her chest. Even her knees are slightly bent, as if she might run toward the bathroom or maybe out of town, if given the chance.

The room is silent except for the faint hum of the central air. For the first time since she’s been here, I allow myself to take her in.

Her oval face, the way her cheeks still flush under my scrutiny. She’s strong, but leaner than when she left. It seems like she isn’t working out as often or at all.

When the quiet becomes too much to bear, Elena clears her throat.

“If you’re looking for my morning updates, I sent them to Davey.

” Her tone reminds me of the time she gave me and one of my senior IT analysts an impromptu demonstration of several email security tools, though it’s missing the same confidence.

“I’ll send over more by the end of the day. ”

I shake my head. “I’m not here for that.”

Her brow furrows. “Okay,” she says slowly.

Tilting her head, she studies me, and for a second, I wonder what she sees.

I don’t have to wonder long because her gaze narrows.

“If you’re here to make me go back to that basement, at least tell Natalie first. No need to drag me out of here when I’ll go willingly. ”

Heat spikes in my blood at that small taste of attitude.

There it is.

My mouth kicks up, and I take another step into the room, shutting the door quietly behind me before locking it.

“What are you doing?”

I don’t bother to answer her question as I turn back around. Her eyes sharpen, and the ember I thought had been snuffed out glows faintly behind her cautious demeanor.

That spark is my undoing.

My feet carry me toward her without permission, and she retreats at equal speed until her back meets the wall. There’s no missing the clench of her fists or the way her chest stutters when she realizes there’s nowhere to run or hide.

There’s barely time to process her gasp as I haul her to me by her waist. She steadies herself on my bicep; her still calloused fingers against my skin feel like a live wire.

I lean into her until my nose is buried in her hair, inhaling that warm, sweet-scented shampoo she still uses, just as one hand curls to the damp strands. It wraps around me like a velvet tether, squeezing until it burns.

Using my hold, I tilt her head toward me as I pull back. The hair framing her face is more copper than I remember, but maybe it’s the way the afternoon light hits it.

The tips of her impossibly white teeth are visible in her open-mouthed shock, cheeks growing more crimson by the second. I drink in her weary eyes, streaked with golden hues that look like sunbursts.

Fuck. She’s so beautiful.

And alive.

My thumb brushes the delicate skin of her neck, landing on the hammering pulse point just under her ear. A frantic rhythm that makes me want to hold harder just to remind myself that she’s right here.

Elena swallows, her full lips closing and opening again as she searches for words, but nothing comes.

Her stare is nothing short of terrified as she scans my face from top to bottom, looking for some clue or sign, but my thoughts are moving so quickly that I can’t pin one down.

She’s overwhelmed every one of my senses except for taste.

My mouth waters at the thought.

I should stop; God knows I should. But only one thought cuts through the chaos still tearing through my head.

“I’m so fucking mad at you,” I rasp, and then crash my mouth into hers.