Page 17 of Web of Lies

Riley

My eyes are glued to the numbers above the elevator door as I watch them tick up toward the penthouse.

Each one feels slower than the last. When it finally pings, I sigh.

The doors slide open with a soft whoosh, and I step out into the familiar, dark hallway.

The only light illuminating the penthouse comes from the elevator behind me and the faint city lights that reach the tall windows.

A loud, vibrating meow cuts through the eerie darkness. I barely have time to react before Dumpster rushes straight toward me, her tail held high. She throws herself against my legs and purrs like an engine. A weak smile tugs at my lips, and I crouch down to run my fingers over her head.

"Hey, girl. Happy to see me?" Another loud meow echoes through the penthouse, and I let out a small laugh as I pet her behind the ears. "Good girl."

I push myself back up with a quiet groan. Every muscle in my body screams in pain, and a shower sounds like a much-needed relief.

Without wasting another second, I head straight for Kyle's bedroom, with Dumpster trotting behind me. I slip into the bathroom and leave the door open behind me. She immediately hops up onto the closed toilet lid and claims her usual spot.

The first time I showered here, I thought it was strange that she liked to watch people shower, whether it was me or Kyle. But now? It's oddly comforting. I want to think that she's just making sure that the evil water doesn't attack me, since she hates it with a passion.

"You're a little creep. You know that?" I offer Dumpster a faint smile, to which she responds with another meow.

I reach for the faucet and turn it on. Within seconds, the water turns hot, and the bathroom fills with warm, thick steam.

I strip off my clothes, one piece at a time.

When I pull down my soaked underwear, it clings to my skin, cold and damp.

I flinch, squeezing my eyes shut, and suppress the thoughts of what happened tonight, clawing at the back of my mind as I throw them into the pile of my clothes.

I step into the shower and the water hits me, raining down on my shoulders, back, and head. My eyes fall shut as I let the comforting warmth wrap around me. Gradually, my muscles begin to relax, and the tension drains from my body.

After what feels like forever, I grab the bottle of shampoo that Kyle keeps here for me, lather it into my hair, and scrub with more force than usual.

Then, I reach for the exfoliating glove and coat it with the comforting, peachy scent of my shower gel.

I start with my arms. Then my stomach. Then, my legs. Everywhere.

My breathing grows uneven, and tears sting in the corners of my eyes.

Even as my skin turns red, I don't stop.

Instead, I move lower between my legs, gritting my teeth as I scrub harder than necessary.

It isn't comforting. It burns. But that's what I need.

I want to feel something else. Something other than the lingering memory of the Butcher touching me.

I keep scrubbing, my movements growing rougher and more frantic. My skin is already raw and threatens to break under the relentless pressure. If I scrub hard enough and dig deep enough, I can get him off me. The glove scrapes harder between my thighs, and I wince at the pain.

A soft meow cuts through the sound of the water. My eyes snap open, and through the steam-fogged glass, I spot Dumpster pacing along the outer edge of the shower, her body brushing against the glass as she walks back and forth.

With a sniffle, I drop the glove and wipe the tears from my face. I rinse the soap off, turn the water off, and step out of the shower. Dumpster runs toward me, rubbing herself against my leg. I squat down and run a hand over her head.

"Thank you." She purrs and leans into my touch. But the second the water soaks her fur, she ducks away and swats at my hand. My lips stretch into a small smile as a chuckle slips out, and I push myself back to my feet.

I grab two of Kyle's towels, one large and fluffy, the other smaller. I wrap the big one around my body, tucking it tight, and use the smaller one to pat my hair dry.

Dumpster trots after me as I walk back into the bedroom and move to Kyle's dresser, pull it open, and rummage through the neatly folded stacks of clothes. I grab one of his oversized T-shirts and a pair of his black boxer briefs and slip them on.

As I pull the shirt over my head, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror.

The sight of me dressed in Kyle's familiar clothes puts a small smile on my face.

The shirt is too big, with its fabric hanging loosely around me and its sleeves extending past my elbows.

But instead of feeling small, something about the image of me in Kyle's clothes feels right, like this is meant to be.

I take a deep breath and steal one last glance at my reflection before stepping out of the bedroom.

Dumpster follows close behind, her paws padding softly across the floor.

Back in the open living space, I head to the kitchen, grab a wineglass from the cabinet, and spot the half-empty bottle of red still sitting on the counter from our last hookup.

I pour myself a generous glass, then move to the fridge.

I pull the door open, and my gaze falls on a white pizza box from one of my favorite restaurants.

Without hesitation, I grab a plate and take two slices.

Then, I jam the folder and my phone under my armpit.

Take my pizza and drink, and walk to the sofa.

When I sit down, the folder and phone slip from my armpit and fall onto the cushions.

I set the glass on the table and put the pizza next to me on the couch.

Then, I take a bite and reach for the remote.

The TV comes to life and switches straight to a sitcom.

With a huff, I lean back into the cushions, bring the folder to my lap, and start flipping through the documents, scanning pages of names and numbers.

Lost in the overwhelming amount of information in front of me, I jump at the sound of the familiar ring of the elevator. Dumpster's soft meow echoes through the penthouse as she trots toward the front. My eyes snap to the clock above the TV, which reads three a.m.

I then turn my attention back to the papers. It has been about an hour since I started reviewing these documents. I shut the folder and turn my gaze to the hallway. My heart quickens with each heavy footstep echoing through the apartment.

When Kyle steps out of the hallway, wearing a gray shirt and jeans, his hair a little messier than usual, a thunderous wave of relief washes over me. He easily scoops Dumpster up into his arms and cradles her. "Hey, my little one. I know I'm late."

I jump to my feet and rush toward him. He sets Dumpster down just in time, holding his arms out for me. I crash right into his embrace, wrapping my arms around his waist.

"Hey, Freckles. I'm back," he says, cradling me in his arms.

"Finally," I say, tightening my hold on him.

He lifts his hand and places it on my head, threading his fingers through my hair. "Everything okay?"

"Now that you're here, it is."

"Did something happen?"

My hands ball into his shirt, clinging to him like a lifeline. I could tell him, but that would mean telling him everything . Not only what happened tonight but also how and why I ended up in this situation. And I can’t stomach the idea of him finding out the truth about me, not like this.

"No. Just a bad day," I mutter, burying my face in his shoulder. One more lie.

"Okay," he says in a hushed tone. A smile tugs at my lips when he plants a kiss on the top of my head. "I'll take a quick shower and join you after. Then, if you want, you can tell me what's going on."

I hum in response, not trusting myself to speak, and pull back to look up at him.

His eyes lock onto mine, and he leans in, his lips connecting with mine in a soft, fleeting kiss before breaking away.

He disappears into the bedroom, and a moment later, the quiet rush of running water fills the apartment.

I return to the sofa, and my eyes drift to the folder.

Shame creeps up my throat, acidic and raw.

I swallow hard, trying to force it all back down again and shove the memories back into some dark corner of my mind.

I wrap my arms around myself and take a deep breath as I settle back down into the cushions.

A few minutes later, Kyle steps out of his bedroom. His short hair is damp and messy. He's wearing a fresh black shirt and sweatpants. Chewing on my lower lip, I watch him grab a bottle of water from the fridge, walk over to the sofa, and sit beside me.

"So, Freckles," Kyle says, nodding toward the stack of papers on the coffee table. "What are you doing there? Is it work again?"

"Something like that," I murmur.

He unscrews a water bottle and lifts it to his lips. His Adam's apple bobs with each swallow, drawing my attention. My gaze travels down his neck and over his arms, taking in the way his shirt stretches across his muscular chest.

But then the memory hits me. The ghost of someone else's hands and broad body caged me against the table. My stomach twists as heat and shame pool in my core. I shift from one leg to the other. I want to feel something else— someone else.

I lean onto Kyle's side, who instinctively wraps his arm around me. My head rolls back onto his shoulder, and I close my eyes.

"Is everything okay?" he asks, resting his head against mine.

I can’t bring myself to answer. My chest feels too tight, and the words are trapped in my throat. His warmth seeps into me and wraps around me like a comforting blanket. In his arms, I feel safe, as if the world can't touch me, and every gentle brush of his fingers erases the ghosts of other hands.

"I just... I need this," I finally say, my voice barely louder than a whisper.