Page 19 of Web of Lies

Kyle

I balance on my motorcycle, parked in the shadows of a dark alleyway.

My feet rest on the footrests as I sway back and forth.

It's been a while since I've felt this antsy.

Sleep has become a stranger to me, and despite taking the emergency doses of my medication, my impulsivity has skyrocketed.

Raising my cigarette to my lips, I inhale deeply, closing my eyes as the rush of nicotine hits my lungs and sends a soothing warmth through my system.

What a chaotic week. I've been tortured, shot, stabbed, and even poisoned.

Anything under the sun has happened to me.

But getting tasered? That was a first. All I wanted was to scare Riley, but that clearly didn't work out the way I hoped.

I have been following her ever since I found the information about the Butcher at her apartment.

And when the chance presented itself a week ago, I just wanted to spook her so she would stop investigating.

But I got a shocking surprise. She had that thing at a way too high voltage.

If I had cardiac issues, I would probably be dead by now.

I'm lucky I only passed out for a couple of minutes.

When I finally woke up and got home, she was on my sofa, digging through the documents she had snatched from the place.

Trusting my gut and having a couple of automatic responses in place was definitely a smart move. Otherwise, who knows where she would have ended up?

I still can't believe that all of this happened the way it did. Fuck. Things got out of hand—I admit that—and I'm solely to blame for that. Something inside me snapped the moment I saw my beautiful Riley, looking sexier than ever, pointing a gun at me. The way she fought me, with that panic in her eyes and her feisty attitude. It was too much. My brain couldn’t separate the rush of the plan from the rush of the moment. And in that blur, I lost all control—the one thing I swore I’d never lose with a woman.

She fought back, and I’m glad she did. Although it took her a moment, she knows how to protect herself.

Sure, she was clumsy with the gun, but the way she swung the Taser at me and didn't hesitate to use it was impressive.

Despite her limited experience in the field, I have peace of mind knowing she can protect herself.

But, my God, the images keep replaying in my mind, replaying like a broken record: every angle, every jab, every little gasp. I should be horrified, but ambushing her was an adrenaline rush I hadn't felt before.

However, the excitement pulsing in my veins isn’t alone.

It's being chased by the guilt twisting in my gut.

I should feel relieved that she came to me, sought me out, and chose me to keep her safe.

But all I can think about is that I might have broken something in her.

The desperation in her usually sparkling green eyes when she begged me to fuck her like I loved her wasn't just lust. It was a plea.

A cry for something, or rather someone, to hold on to.

Maybe that’s when it hit me. Not only have the lines of our arrangement blurred for me, but for her as well. Otherwise, she wouldn't have asked me to touch her like that. But if she really likes me back… then what the hell have I done?

The vibration of my phone grabs my attention, and I focus on the chat with my mom.

Mom: Do you need anything?

Me: No, I'm good. I just need a bit of rest.

I'm doing everything but resting, but I have to keep an eye on Riley before she gets into another messy situation. My gaze shifts to the office building across the street.

Mom: Are you sure?

I could tell her the truth about what is going on.

She would never judge what I'm doing. But, having been raised by this woman and knowing all her little quirks, I'm aware it isn't a smart decision.

It would only pique her curiosity, and once that happens, there's no stopping her.

I love my mom, but she has absolutely no filter and no sense of boundaries. That's probably where I got it from.

Me: Yes. I just need sleep.

Mom: Okay, but if you need anything, let me know.

Me: Always. Need to go now. Love you.

I send my last text and shove my phone back into the inside pocket of my jacket.

My attention shifts back to my navigation system, where Riley's GPS location is marked by a red dot, showing that she is still at work.

She usually starts her day between nine and ten a.m. and leaves between five and six p.m., but it is past eight by now, and she is still here.

While she works the occasional odd hour of overtime, she tries to limit it as much as possible.

At least I know she's safe at the office.

Every door in this building is bulletproof, and no one can get in without a registered keycard.

My gaze shoots up when a black car with tinted windows pulls up to the front of the building. A man in a black suit gets out of the driver's seat, walks around the hood of the car, and then pulls open the back door.

I furrow my brows at the sight of none other than Michael Hunt himself stepping through the tall sliding glass doors, accompanied by a pretty blonde woman in a wheelchair who is laughing at something the bastard said.

I cannot stand this man. All the women who work for him, including Riley, look at him with adoration as if he were their knight in shining armor.

And even Evelyn speaks highly of him. But they refuse to see past the mask he wears.

He plays the caring father figure, but deep down, he does everything for his own benefit, and they're all just puppets in his game.

They're engaged in conversation when it is briefly interrupted by the man standing by the car, who joins their chat.

Moments later, another woman rushes out of the office building and reaches for the handgrips of the wheelchair.

The blonde woman tilts her head and beams up at her.

The two then bid their farewells and turn to leave, leaving Hunt and the driver alone.

The two men remain engaged in their conversation, showing no interest in leaving until the door slides open once again.

My heart rate quickens, and the air gets knocked out of my lungs at the sight of Riley stepping out.

Her beautiful copper hair is done in a loose updo, with curly strands framing her face in a way that makes her look effortlessly elegant.

She's wearing a shimmering, strapless, navy-green dress that clings to every curve.

The low neckline draws attention straight to her prominent, mouthwatering cleavage, while the skirt falls all the way to her ankles, but a long slit up one side reveals her right leg with every step.

Matching strappy high-heeled sandals complete the look.

She looks absolutely breathtaking. And yet… nothing like her.

My stomach churns with nausea as my gaze drops to the bare skin of her arms, her collarbone, her back, smooth and untouched. Every inch of ink, every web and spider that marks her skin is covered. That's not my Riley; that's someone I don't recognize.

Acidic fury bubbles in my gut, burning its way up my throat as I watch her walk straight to Hunt. He offers her his arm, and she takes it without hesitation, her fingers slipping into the crook of his elbow while a broad, genuine smile stretches across her face.

My jaw clenches so hard my molars grind together. My fists tighten at my sides, every muscle in my body going rigid. I fucking knew something was going on between them. And here they are, playing dress-up, going on some fancy, fucked-up date.

She always said she hated this kind of shit. Fancy dresses. Empty formalities. The people. The fakeness . So why does she look so damn comfortable now?

My chest tightens, fury clenching like a fist around my ribs. My vision tunnels, locking on her standing just a little too close to him with a soft tilt of her head toward him as they talk.

My chest heaves in a frantic rhythm while my focus remains on them as Hunt helps Riley settle into the car before climbing in after her. The driver rounds the hood and slides into the driver's seat. Soon after, the engine roars to life, and the car takes off.

My thoughts scatter and collide, tripping over each other in an irrational and ugly way. I spiral faster than I can stop, and a storm of jealous noise drowns out reason, making room for dark, violent, and possessive thoughts that are impossible to ignore.

Mine. Riley is mine. And I'll make damn sure everyone knows it, even if I have to carve it into her skin.