Page 41 of Web of Lies

Riley

I stare at my reflection in the mirror above the bed.

A dull ache pulses in my skull and drills into my forehead as the high from the Ecstasy fades and the lingering aftermath takes its toll on me.

My eyes are heavy, but a million thoughts race through my mind, forming a tangled mess that keeps me awake.

With a long sigh, the air is pulled from my lungs, easing the chaos swirling in my head.

My eyes flutter shut, but the silence doesn't last long.

In the blink of an eye, my brain kicks back into gear, refusing to rest.

I open my eyes again and push myself up.

The room is wrapped in darkness except for the soft glow of moonlight creeping through the slits in the curtains.

My gaze shifts to Kyle, who is lying on his side, fast asleep, right beside me.

Every now and then, a quiet snore rumbles from his throat.

On the pillow next to him rests Dumpster, curled into a furry ball and purring gently as she snoozes with her tail draped over Kyle's head.

At least these two are getting some sleep.

Another sigh slips from my lips as I reach for the water bottle on the nightstand.

I twist off the cap, lift the bottle to my lips, and chug half of it.

Maybe a joint would have been the smarter choice.

While weed calms me down, Ecstasy keeps me awake, buzzing and alive when I feel like I'm drowning.

Tonight, I didn't need calm as much as I needed a push to keep me from falling apart, and it worked like a charm.

Although Kyle and I were able to talk about things more openly, the issue remains: I still have no idea what to do next.

The more I think about it, the more ridiculous the scenarios I've come up with over the last couple of hours seem.

One thing is painfully clear: if I don't disclose information about Kyle, I'm screwed.

If I rat him out, I'm still screwed. He was right, because he has the connections to disappear overnight if he wants to, but I don't. I can try running, and I’m sure it will work for a while, but that is not the life I want.

I raise my hand to brush a strand of messy hair from his face and let my fingers linger on his forehead for a moment.

My eyes wander over the crow tattoo on his neck, its wings spreading behind his ear.

A mix of flowers, leaves, and feathers stretches across his skin and disappears into his hairline.

Following the lines of his tattoos, my gaze travels over his shoulder, down his arm, and across his chest until it lands on the tattoo of a semi-automatic pistol.

I lower my hand to it and trace the soft lines of the tattoo with my fingertips.

What if we took them down? Exposed them?

My mind jumps from one possibility to another as I try to find the pieces that fit the image.

I could hack into their systems, dig up every shred of information, and release it. Or—my eyes snap back to Kyle's face.

I scoot closer to him, place one hand on his shoulder, and give him a nudge. "Kyle," I whisper. "Wake up." A low grunt vibrates in his chest as he turns his head and buries his face in the pillow. "Wake up," I repeat, nudging him harder this time, causing his whole body to rock back and forth.

"I'm awake," he groans, rolling onto his back. "I'm awake." He lifts a hand to his face and brushes his messy hair back. "Everything okay?" His eyes flutter open, still hazy with sleep.

"Yes, well, as okay as things can be."

"So, no one tried to break in?"

"Not that I know."

"Then what is it?" He clears his throat; his voice is still rough from sleep.

"I need to find a way to get rid of Jackson."

His eyebrows shoot up, and he finally pushes himself into a sitting position, leaning back against the headboard. Beside him, Dumpster hisses and stretches her tiny limbs before hopping off the bed.

"What do you mean by ," get rid of him?" Like, kill him?"

"If I have to," I say, and Kyle lets out a long sigh and nods. I'm not sure if it's the aftereffects of the Ecstasy speaking, but to me, this appears to be the best course of action right now.

"But you've never killed anyone before, right?"

"No, I haven't. I have a working gun, but honestly, the last time I used one was years ago, before I joined Hunt Corp. It was just part of the training."

A low chuckle vibrates from Kyle's chest. "Yeah, I could tell by the way you held it when you pointed it at me."

"Hey," I snap, shooting him a glare. Heat spreads across my cheeks as a wave of embarrassment fills my chest. Yes, I'm not the best shot, but I'd like to believe I'm not the worst either.

"I'm just saying, Freckles, I've seen grandmas at the range with a better grip and aim."

I ball my hand into a fist and aim for his shoulder, but he catches my wrist mid-swing. "Who exactly would we need to kill? How many?" Kyle asks, tracing lazy circles on my back of my hand, his thumb brushing over my knuckles.

"The biggest threat would be Jackson directly. He's the one with the connections."

"So, just one?" He cocks an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced.

"Well… for killing, yes." I shift on the bed, pulling my knees to my chest, wrapping one arm around them while Kyle holds on to the other.

"Jackson is the head of the department, but he surrounds himself with some of the very people he supposedly caught in the past. The city officials, like the mayor, the district attorney, you name it, they're the ones who built this department for him that poses as the Office of Public Safety.

They let him run it, and in return, they get to keep their own skeletons buried. Everyone's protecting everyone."

Kyle's eyes narrow, his jaw tightening as he tries to piece it together. "That means… kill Jackson and?" His voice is flat, but confusion flickers across his face.

"Expose the city officials." My voice dips, heavy with the weight of my thoughts. "Taking out the mayor and the district attorney directly? That's too big for me. But if Jackson's gone and the truth about them gets leaked, there's no more hiding, and an investigation will be inevitable."

"I see." Kyle nods slowly, his sleep-fogged brain clearly taking a moment longer to sort through my suggestion. I almost feel bad about waking him up at three a.m. and dumping all these thoughts on him, but if I had waited until morning, there's a chance I would've lost it.

"Will you help me?" I ask softly, turning toward him, searching his gaze.

Kyle tilts his head, his tired eyes narrowing just slightly. "Help you as in hire me?"

"No." I shake my head. "Not like that. I mean, really help me. Do this with me."

For a long moment, he doesn't answer. His gaze lingers on me, as if he's weighing his options. Then, without another word, he exhales slowly, leans forward, and slides an arm around my shoulders, pulling me against his bare chest.

"Of course," he says, a reassuring smile tugging at his lips. "We'll figure it out together."

"Thank you," I whisper, barely audible, as my eyes flutter shut.

I press my face into the firmness of his chest and listen to the rhythmic thuds of his heartbeat against my ear.

His fingers trace lazy, comforting circles across my back, and I melt into his embrace, allowing myself to sink into the fleeting sense of safety he offers and let sleep take me.

I barely register it when Kyle carefully lowers me onto the soft mattress. Through the haze of half-consciousness, I crack my eyes open just enough to see the faint blue glow of his phone illuminating his sharp features before he raises it to his ear and pushes himself to his feet.

"Hey, yeah, I know what time it is. Calm down. I need something from you." His words fade into a muddled blur. The sound of his voice is familiar and soothing, like a lullaby. My body grows heavier as it sinks into the mattress, and I finally let go, drifting off to sleep.