Page 6 of Ugly Truths (The Veiled Truths Trilogy #2)

Elena

“E lena!”

Luis’s voice carries through the closed guest room door, just seconds before it swings open. His curls bounce with the momentum of his movements, chest rising and falling like he’s climbed several dozen flights of stairs.

I’m still not used to him calling me Elena.

He hasn’t called me Marilyn since the warehouse debacle. I’m not entirely sure what made him decide to drop it, but I’ve never really had the courage to ask.

Silently, I’m relieved.

I’ve spent years slipping into names that weren’t mine, bending myself into whatever shape Peter demanded to get the job done. I never thought I cared much about shedding them until I had the option to do so.

With an arched eyebrow, I closed the mystery novel I’ve been reading and set it next to my legs. “Luis?” I mimic his tone with a sugary smile.

My friend gestures wildly towards his room at the other end of the hall. “Where the hell did that come from?”

He found the money I left tucked under his bedside lamp, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to make it easy for him.

Shrugging, I straighten my back against the wooden headboard. “Maybe the tooth fairy is a little late delivering?”

The laugh I’m hoping for never surfaces. Instead, Luis’s jaw flexes as he exhales hard through his nose. “Don’t be cute with me.”

Tilting my head, I take in his frustration. “Lu, this feels a bit dramatic.”

When I arrived in Alma, Luis had added the contacts of Corey and Ben, his friends who had helped us decrypt parts of the Wells cloud files, to my new phone. “Just in case,” he’d said. At the time, I didn’t know what I’d need them for, but I’ve reached out since.

The day I found Drew lying in a pool of her own blood in our Chandler apartment was just days after I saw my last payment from Peter.

Once he knew he could control me with blackmail alone, compensation stopped.

He did, however, still give me credit cards tied to my false identities.

It was always under the guise of blending in while on a job, but it didn’t take a genius to also realize it allowed Peter to keep tabs on my day-to-day life and hold me financially hostage.

So, instead of fighting it, I used it to my advantage. I lived off the cards while he housed me, spending within reasonable limits to avoid retaliation, and keeping my head down more often than not.

Meanwhile, the money I saved before my life turned to shit sat untouched in a high-yield savings account, quietly growing.

I’m not sure why Peter never attempted to take that money from me, but I wasn’t going to ask questions or draw attention to it.

Though it’s not enough to live on for more than a few months, it gives me some options.

And the first way I wanted to use it was to start paying back the person who has been housing and feeding me for a month.

Though Peter more than likely thinks I’m dead, I can’t be too careful.

I knew that if there were any people out there who could help me set up a new bank account and show me the best ways to transfer the money without drawing attention, it’d be Corey and Ben.

Unsurprisingly, they’d done something like this before and felt confident in their process.

Once we had everything set up, I began making small transfers, just enough to avoid raising any suspicion.

In a month or two, I’ll have everything cleared out.

Eventually, I’ll go back to Arizona to retrieve the items in my safety deposit box—the only other piece of my old life I left behind—but for now, going to one of the big branch locations in Breckenridge and working with a teller instead of the machines will do.

Luis steps fully into the room now, the door closing slowly on its own behind him. “I already told you, I don’t want your money. I have more than enough of it.”

“And I already told you that I owe you. So take it.”

“You don’t owe me a damn thing,” he snaps, though the words sound tired. “I don’t know what it’s going to take to get that through your head.”

I sigh, rubbing the bridge of my nose. “Luis,” I say softly, “I’m never going to stop. Just like with the groceries, it’ll be easier if you let me help where I can.”

His frustration gives way to something softer. “You do know that friendships aren’t supposed to be transactional, right? I didn’t help so you would owe me something. I helped you because I care about you.”

The tender words crash into me in an almost violent wave.

Luis is my friend, but I’ve always tacked on other descriptors too—colleague, ally, strategist. We’ve never had the chance to only be friends, because friendships without strings or expiration dates aren’t something I know how to do anymore.

Not really. The idea of being that and nothing else makes my skin heat uncomfortably.

I fold my arms across my chest. “It doesn’t change the fact that I want to show you my appreciation,” I mutter.

Luis's expression is unreadable as he steps closer to the bed. He sits on the edge, the mattress dipping as he pulls one of my arms loose to hold my hand in his.

“El.” His thumb brushes against the back of my knuckles.

“When I invited you here, I meant it. What Peter did to you,” he pauses, jaw clenching briefly before he continues, “I just want you to feel like yourself again and figure out what you want to do next. None of this comes with strings attached. ”

His sincerity chips away at tiny pieces of the walls I’ve been carefully reconstructing since June. I smile faintly, squeezing his hand in return. “I know. You have no idea how much that means to me. Really.”

My answer gives way to a moment of silence, and Luis nods. I start to relax, assuming that he’s receptive to my answer. The feeling fizzles out when his lips turn up on the corner.

He huffs out a laugh. “I can’t even pretend like I’m agreeing with you. I’m still not taking your money,” he admits.

I roll my eyes, tugging my hand from his to cross my arms again. “Over my dead body.”

Luis grins, leaning back on one hand over the top of my legs. “Now that feels dramatic.”

“Says the man who just made a speech about friendships not being transactional,” I shoot back, blinking incredulously. Still, my own smile widens at his amusement.

He lets out a low chuckle, tongue scraping against his top teeth. The hand he isn’t leaning on moves—quick and precise, to latch onto the top of my knee and squeeze just enough to make me jerk.

I yelp, fingers curling around his wrist instantly. “Luis!”

His smirk grows, full of unrepentant delight. “Oh, so you do have some nerves left under all that ice.”

My fingers tense around his wrist in return and glare at him, even as a reluctant laugh bubbles up in my throat. His grip loosens. “That was uncalled for.”

Luis lifts a shoulder in a half-shrug. “So is trying to bribe me.”

There’s no stopping the long exhale I release while I search for the words to tell him it isn’t a bribe, but they on my tongue when I look back up.

Luis is close enough that I can catch the faint scent of his spiced cologne and the subtle flex of his jaw, but he isn’t looking at me. He’s looking between us, where his hand still rests on my bare knee, my fingers encircling part of his wrist .

He lifts his gaze to mine. His eyes have shifted from teasing into something almost nervous. They track every feature of my face, studying it, as if seeing something for the first time and trying to decide if I see it, too.

My breath catches, and suddenly, I’m not in Alma anymore.

I can feel the air rearrange itself. Luis’s curls darken, taming themselves into something neater, more intentional.

His soft brown eyes deepen into pools of ink, framed by glasses and sharper features I know far too well.

I can almost hear Silas’s reassuring voice, low and smoky, as he tells me he wants me. Us.

I blink once, then again, harder this time. Silas’s face melts back into Luis’s, but the expression remains. Restraint of wanting to say something but holding it back.

The weight of Luis’s touch feels too warm. Too intimate.

Wrong .

“I—I think I’m going to start on dinner,” I blurt, pulling away from him. He flinches. “It’s my turn tonight, remember?” I add, though the words sound hollow.

Before he can respond, I’m crawling off the opposite side of the bed and across the room, putting as much distance between us as I can. My heart is pounding so hard that my body vibrates. I fumble with the handle. “I’ll, uh, let you know when it’s ready.”

And just like that, I’m gone. My feet move on instinct, carrying me down the hall and toward the stairs, but the distance doesn’t help. The pulse hammering in my ears is loud enough to drown out everything else.

Have I read this all wrong?

My thoughts scramble, desperate to land on something solid—any moment, any memory that hinted at more than friendship between us.

Even back when we were stuck together for nearly a week in that apartment in California years ago, there was nothing but mutual respect.

We left on good terms and an unspoken promise to have each other’s backs.

It wasn’t until this spring that our conversations started to feel deeper. But even then, it felt safe. Steady .

Did I miss something? Or did something change?

No—maybe I’m reading too much into this.

Maybe this has nothing to do with Luis at all, and I’m so wrecked from Silas that even the smallest gesture of affection feels like a betrayal.

Like accepting kindness from someone else means letting go of a man who probably doesn't even care if I’m alive anymore.

My stomach knots as I step into the kitchen, the bright afternoon light pooling in through the windows. I take a shaky breath, willing my hands to stop trembling.

Get it together.

No matter how many times I say it, the pressure in my chest doesn’t budge.