Page 33 of Web of Lies

Riley

Frustration bubbles up in my chest as I stare at the screen in front of me.

The data on Mr. Hunt's laptop is more secure than I had expected.

The program I'm using to decrypt the data has crashed multiple times in the past two days.

I've had to adjust several commands and add extra tools, but I'm finally making progress and, most importantly, seeing success.

Although gaining access to Hunt's bank statements—both private and company-related—I personally wouldn't call it a success.

I knew he was filthy rich. Assuming otherwise would be foolish.

But outside of codes and calculations, I've never seen as many connected numbers in one place.

Whoever created his security measures clearly wanted to make accessing the data difficult, requiring multiple attempts to load everything step by step.

It makes sense because if someone were attempting a simple hack, it would be too risky and time-consuming.

They might try again after one failed attempt, but no one takes a third shot because the odds of being caught are too high.

When my phone pings with a familiar sound, I pick it up and read the notification reminding me of my lunch break.

I steal another glance at my laptop. About five percent of the way through, the search term jumped to " Butcher ," the loading bar slowly creeping forward.

It's only a matter of time. Maybe a few minutes, maybe a few hours.

My stomach growls at the thought of a meal, and I sigh in defeat. A short break won't be an issue, and the best-case scenario is that I come back and have the answers I'm looking for.

I push my chair back, rise to my feet, and grab my wallet and keys before stepping out of my office and locking the door behind me.

Then, I head toward the elevator at the end of the hallway.

No one usually enters my office when I'm out, but I don't want to take the risk.

Doing this in the office is already pushing my luck, but I didn't want to drag Kyle any further into this than he already is.

I know he wants to help, but it's best this way.

I tap the elevator buttons and stare at the numbers on the screen as they tick down until it stops on my floor. When it pings, I perk up as the doors slide open in front of me.

It isn't empty; instead, I'm greeted by a familiar face who has been visiting the office regularly for a handful of weeks.

The black-haired woman who has occasionally come to see Hunt.

Upon seeing me, she perks up. Her blue eyes twinkle with excitement, and her lips stretch into a bright, welcoming smile.

"Hey," she says, holding up her hand and waving me in.

"Hi." I offer her a weak smile as I step into the elevator and check the buttons. The one for the ground floor is already lit up.

"It must be destiny that I ran into you," she says, taking a step closer as the doors slide shut. "I'm Chloé. Nice to meet you."

"Riley," I smile and nod. "The pleasure is all mine."

"You know Michael pretty well, don't you?"

"Kind of." I furrow my brows at the rare mention of Mr. Hunt's first name and turn to face her. "Why?"

"He keeps turning me down." She purses her lips into a pout and crosses her arms in front of her chest. "Am I really not his type?" she asks.

I allow my gaze to wander over her, taking in the way the short black summer dress hugs her curves and stops just below her round butt.

The thin straps show off her smooth shoulders, and the fabric clings to her curves in all the right places, drawing attention to her breasts and slim waist. Although this outfit may be inappropriate for business meetings, it's perfect if her sole goal is to sleep with Mr. Hunt.

It's daring, seductive, and clearly meant to turn heads.

Honestly, I'm surprised he's not going for her.

She's young, beautiful, and clearly knows how to present herself.

If I weren't with Kyle, I'd be tempted even if it were just a one-night stand.

"I'm sure he finds you attractive," I say, offering her a small, knowing smile. "But he's probably trying to stay professional. He's that kind of man. Especially since the divorce, his work has been his top priority."

She tilts her head, eyes sparkling with mischief. "Professional, huh? Sounds like he needs a little distraction."

I raise an eyebrow, an amused smile pulling at the corners of my mouth. "He definitely needs that."

Her smile widens, eyes sparkling. She perks up at the ping of the elevator and the doors sliding open once we reach the ground floor. I hold my arm out to block the doors from closing again, and she steps out first before I follow.

"Are you by any chance on your way to lunch?" She tilts her head with a teasing glint in her eyes.

"Yes, I am." I nod as we walk toward the exit together.

"I wouldn't want to intrude, but… would you mind if I joined you? I have a few more questions about Michael. Maybe you can help me figure out the best way to seduce him," she adds with a cheeky grin.

I pause for a moment, my gaze fixed on her.

She seems like a sweet, easygoing person, and it sounds like fun and a nice break.

I've been stuck here for weeks, constantly on edge.

Even if it's just for half an hour, I could unwind, gossip, and potentially help a beautiful woman get the man she wants. What's the harm?

"Are you okay with the coffee shop down the street?" I ask.

"That sounds fantastic," she says, smiling as she loops her arm through mine and leads me out of the office building.

It's a gloomy noon, and the predicted heavy rain clouds are coloring the sky an eerie shade of gray.

Aside from the occasional pedestrian, the streets are empty.

Since the office is in a neighborhood of only corporate buildings, with no room for residential housing, by two p.m., most workers have already taken their lunch break and are back in their offices.

We're walking side by side when Chloé suddenly pulls on my arm and mutters a curse. "I'm sorry," she says, giving me an apologetic half-smile as her gaze shifts to the tip of her heel, which is stuck in a street vent.

"No problem," I say, crouching down to help her when a shadow suddenly flashes across my peripheral vision.

My head snaps around, my heart leaping into my throat, but the figure is faster.

Long arms wrap around my body, and a rough cloth is shoved against my face.

The sickly sweet stench of chloroform hits me like a smack in the face.

My lungs seize as I inhale, and adrenaline pumps through my veins.

I thrash in their grip, twisting and kicking, my fingers clawing at anything within reach.

But it is of no use. My vision clouds, colors blurring and spinning.

The pounding in my chest grows louder as my body screams for help.

The last image I register is of Chloé walking toward me.

With each heartbeat, my head pounds until my control slips away.

Slowly, the hazy fog clouding my senses clears.

One by one, my senses creep back in. A pulsing ache, like someone knocking against my temples, throbs in my skull.

My arm twitches, but my wrist stays locked in place, hitting resistance in the form of something cold and hard.

Panic spikes in my chest as my heart hammers and adrenaline surges through my veins.

My eyes snap open and dart around the dimly lit room, searching for answers.

If this is another one of Kyle's ridiculous stunts, I swear—but then I see her.

My gaze falls on none other than Chloé across the room.

She is still wearing her summer dress, but her hair is now pulled back into two neat pigtails.

She sits on the lap of a man dressed in all black.

A mask covers his face, glowing with red stitches shaped like a twisted smile.

My eyes shift to his arms. One is free of tattoos, while the other is covered by a detailed sleeve.

A rough, raspy cough scratches my dry throat and rattles in my chest. The sound startles them both, and they turn their attention toward me.

"Finally." Chloé's energetic voice echoes off the old walls as she jumps from the man's lap and charges toward me. She cups my cheeks in her palms, her fingertips soft against my skin as she brushes her thumbs over them. "Did you sleep well, beautiful?"

"What the hell is going on?" I rasp, another cough rippling from my dry throat.

With a dramatic sigh, she lets go of my face and twirls a strand of her hair around her finger.

"You've been naughty, sweetheart," she says, her heel clicking against the old wood floor as she paces around me like a cat circling its prey.

"And I've been sent to bring you back to your rightful owner. "

"Rightful owner?" I cock a brow.

She hums a melody and tilts her head. "Jackson is not happy." She stops in front of me and rests a hand on my shoulders. "It's been how many years? And you still haven't figured out who the Butcher is."

"I'm close," I blurt out, lifting my head to meet her gaze. "I just need more time. I swear."

Chloé throws her head back, bursting into a loud, mocking laugh. Her grip on my shoulder tightens as her laughter fades, and she leans closer. "You're close," she whispers in my ear. "So, so close, Baby Girl. Closer than you could ever imagine." I stare at her, grinding my teeth.

"Just a few more days." The words fall from my lips like a plea. "Let me call Jackson. I'll tell him."

"But Jackson is tired of waiting for you.

" Her lips purse into a pout. Nausea floods my chest as she climbs onto my lap, straddling my hips, and presses her body flush against mine.

Her arms fall limp around my shoulders, and she leans closer, cupping one of my cheeks in her palm.

"You would never find him. The Butcher and his close circle?

They've been playing you like a fiddle .

" Her thumb strokes over my cheekbone, as if her mocking affection could soften the cruelty of her words.

"What the hell are you talking about?" My chest tightens, and the words slip out of me in a hoarse whisper. My eyes lock on her icy blue ones, and I don't dare look away. Every inch of her feels like a trap, and if I take my eyes off her, she might snap.

But the Butcher, playing me? No. No, it doesn't make sense. I've been careful. I've been safe with Kyle since the incident. Every piece of the puzzle has been falling neatly into place.

"You would never find out who he is," she says with a shrug and slides off my lap.

"How—" I start, but the words catch in my throat. "How do you know that?" My voice cracks, sounding smaller, more desperate, than I want it to.

"Because I know the Butcher." She flashes me a cocky smile, and my blood runs cold.

"You're lying." It's more of a plea than an accusation.

"Why would I?" she teases, her tone filled with amusement.

She raises a hand, tucking a loose strand of hair from my face, her fingers brushing against my skin.

"I may be a kidnapper and a murderer," she continues, her voice laced with cruel playfulness, "but I'm not a liar.

" She scoffs, like the very idea offends her, as if lying were somehow worse than killing someone. "I personally hate liars."

"You're awful."

"I know," she says, followed by a melodic chuckle.

I narrow my eyes at her. "If you know who the Butcher is, why haven't you turned him in to Jackson? I'm sure he would have paid you."

She cocks a brow, her lips twisting into a smirk as she crosses her arms. "Because we don't do that.

" The cheerful tone in her voice vanishes.

"You should know that after working with Hunt.

Sure, we might slit each other's throats, but snitching?

" She shakes her head, clicking her tongue against the roof of her mouth.

"That's boring. Where's the fun in that?

Once someone's locked up, the game's over.

And the last person I want to lose in this game is the Butcher. "

"Why?" The word topples out of my mouth before I can stop it.

"Because I love him."

For a moment, I stare at her, thinking I must have misheard her.

Love? For the Butcher? This woman is far from innocent, but to love someone like him?

Someone who treats people like cattle? I don’t know if I’m more shocked, disgusted, or horrified.

Probably all three. My stomach twists, and the sour taste of bile creeps up my throat.

She turns and struts toward the masked man.

She drapes herself over him like a lover and presses her cheek against his mask, but keeps her face turned toward me.

"But, hey…" She tilts her head back against the man's chest, her icy gaze pinning me in place.

"We'll have a visitor soon. And I'm sure they'll be thrilled to explain everything to you. "

Her words hit me like a punch to the gut. A visitor?

My pulse pounds in my ears, and my mind races, trying to piece everything together. Jackson? Is he on his way to pick me up? Why would he need to explain anything to me?

My attention snaps back to her and the masked man. His hands are on her hips now. She leans into him, beaming like a cat that just delivered a bird to its owner.

She said that she's not a snitch and that they don't rat each other out because, otherwise, the game would be over. That means there's another possibility. One that makes my stomach twist and leaves a bitter taste of bile on my tongue: The Butcher.

What if she wasn't just taunting me? What if, instead of delivering me to Jackson, she's serving me straight to the Butcher?

The memory of the man, his hand all over my body, makes my skin crawl.

My instincts scream at me to get out of here.

Because if that's the case, then I'm not just trapped. I'm already dead.