Page 50 of Web of Lies

Riley

"Will you be all right?" Evelyn asks as she pads barefoot across their spacious bedroom in a matching set of white lace underwear.

Her hair is styled in loose curls, and a full face of makeup complements her features.

She grabs her white summer dress from the bed beside me, steps into it, and pulls the sleeves over her shoulders.

It’s their set date night, which they stick to every two weeks, no matter what.

Despite Evelyn's offer to skip it this time to stay in with us, I couldn't let her.

I didn't want to be the reason they put their lives on hold any more than they already have by hosting us. They’ve opened their home, their time, and their routine to us.

And as much as I'd prefer having them around, they deserve some time to themselves.

"Yes, Kyle is here after all," I say, sitting on the edge of their bed, watching her hasty movements as if every second counts.

"Good," she says, twisting her arms behind her back to reach for the zipper.

"Let me," I say, rising from the bed, walking up to her, and pulling the zipper up for her.

"Thank you," she says, throwing me a smile over her shoulder. "What are you two going to do tonight?"

"We're going to practice a little more, and then we'll watch a movie."

"That sounds nice," she says, turning around to face me. "Did I show you how to access our security system through the tablet?"

"Yes, three times, but I'd like to believe that I'm skilled enough to figure it out either way."

"I'm just a little worried," she says, curling her fingers into the loose fabric of my shirt and gently tugging at it.

"No need to. Although I gotta admit I'm nervous about being left alone in your house, we will be fine."

She purses her lips and tugs at the fabric again, pulling me closer. "You have nothing to worry about. Whiskey has been walked, fed, and will sleep until we get back. The doves are taken care of as well. And in the case of an emergency, Kyle knows where everything is."

I raise an eyebrow, a small smirk tugging at my lips. "You make it sound like you're our mom leaving us home alone for the first time."

She snorts, shaking her head. "I'm not. It's just that the situation makes me nervous. I know our home is safe, but I'm not used to leaving others here all alone."

"I know," I say, placing my hands on her shoulders. "But seriously, you two should enjoy your date night without thinking about Kyle and me the entire time."

"Fine," she mutters, though the corners of her mouth twitch into a smile.

"Dove? Are you coming?" Noah's voice interrupts us, drawing our attention to where he's standing in the doorway.

The suit he's wearing fits him perfectly, as if it were tailored just for him.

His hair is neatly styled, not a single strand out of place.

His glasses sit perfectly on his nose, giving him a sharp look, as if he'd just stepped out of a magazine shoot.

"Yes," she says with a bright smile, leaning in to give me a quick hug before pulling back and hurrying toward him.

"You look beautiful," he says in a hushed tone, but I still hear him. The compliment earns him a chuckle, and Evelyn rises to her toes, planting a kiss on his cheek.

The way they’ve been with each other these last two weeks still surprises me.

The little touches and soft glances are the kind of affection that most couples lose once the honeymoon phase wears off.

They’ve been together for two years now, yet it still feels like they’re stuck in the sweet, dizzy stage at the beginning of a relationship.

I’m happy for them, especially Evelyn, because she deserves that kind of love.

But it also makes me hopeful because maybe it means there’s a chance for me too, and what I’ve found with Kyle could be the same.

"Come on, handsome." Evelyn's voice snaps me out of my thoughts, and I find her leading Noah down the hall.

I follow close behind and pause at the bottom of the stairs, and watch Evelyn slip into her heels before they disappear into the garage.

Noah helps her into the passenger seat of his sleek black car, then closes the door gently.

He moves to the driver's side, and she gives me a small wave before the engine hums to life.

I stand there, hands tucked into the pockets of my shorts, as they pull out and the car rolls down the driveway, disappearing into the woods.

In the blink of an eye, the house falls silent.

I've been adjusting to the quiet for the last two weeks now, but it still feels unsettling in many ways, like the world is holding its breath.

Every creak and tiny shift of air seems louder than it should.

It's been days since I've heard the hum of a passing car or the murmur of a stranger's voice.

And the same nightmarish thought keeps circling in the back of my mind: if I can't hear anyone out there, then who would hear me scream if something happened?

Maybe it's just the countless horror stories I've consumed over the years, but sometimes I can't help but feel like I've stepped into one.

In fact, this could be the beginning of a movie: a killer hiding in the woods like a predator, waiting to pounce.

But the reality is completely different.

Turning around, I walk through the living room and step out onto the back porch. The last warm rays of sunlight creep through the trees and cast deep blue shadows across the property. My gaze falls on Kyle, who is standing by the patio table with his focus on the firearms.

My horror story is right here with me.

I step off the porch and walk toward him. At the sound of the grass rustling beneath my feet, he shifts his attention from the pistol in his hands to me.

"Are they gone?" he asks.

"Yes, they just left."

"Perfect. Do you think you'll feel more comfortable without an audience?"

I let out a soft sigh and reach for one of the empty pistols, its cold metal biting at my fingertips as I lift it.

The weight doesn't feel as foreign anymore.

My grip is steadier, and my movements are less clumsy.

Little by little, handling a gun is starting to feel more natural, but I know that I still have room to improve.

"Can you help me again? With my stance, posture, all of it?" I ask, my voice is quieter than usual. "I want it to be perfect."

Kyle shifts closer, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Of course," he says with a low chuckle, leaning just a little too close. His fingers curl around mine as he takes the empty pistol from me and replaces it with the one he's holding.

"Thanks," I mutter.

"Sure thing." His hands land on my hips, and he guides me to face the paper target pinned against a tree.

"Just like the times before, relax your shoulders," he murmurs, his lips brushing near my ear, the warmth of his breath sending a shiver down my spine.

"Feet shoulder-width apart." His fingers move from my hips to my thighs, nudging them apart.

"Breathe. Focus on the target, not your nerves," he whispers, so close I can feel the vibration of his voice against my skin.

I follow his instructions exactly, step by step, as he has shown me before.

"Just a little more," he says. His chest presses against my back as he eases me into the correct position. His fingers curl around my biceps as he bends my arms, and my muscles slowly give in to the warmth of his touch. "That's perfect. You've got this."

I flip the safety switch off with a quiet click and rest my finger on the trigger.

My gaze locks onto the paper target staring back at me.

I take a deep breath, shift my finger to the trigger, and pull.

The explosion rips through the quiet night air like thunder, disturbing the peaceful evening.

The kickback hits me, forcing my shoulders back, but I remain standing straight.

"Perfect. Keep going," Kyle says from behind me.

But my eyes are glued to the paper target where a single hole grazes the silhouette's shoulder.

I know I have gotten better. Very few of my shots miss the target, and I hit the silhouette more often than not.

However, I want to hit its head at least once.

I pull the trigger again and again, setting off a series of explosions that bounce through the forest and ripple through the chilly evening air.

"Is that all you've got?" Kyle eventually says, and my eyes widen. My heart pounds as I scan the paper full of holes. Of the nine shots, three hit the shoulders, three hit the stomach and chest, and the rest are scattered around the edges.

"I'm doing my best," I snap, shooting him a glare over my shoulder. He stands there with a cigarette hanging from his lips, smoke curling around his face as he grins at me.

"Doesn't look like it," he says, voice dripping with amusement.

"Shut up, asshole." Heat rises to my cheeks, and I tighten my grip on the pistol.

He steps closer, his chest pressing against my back as he leans in. "Show me that you can do better," he whispers, his breath hot against my ear. The scent of mint and tobacco fills my lungs as a low, teasing chuckle rumbles from his throat and ripples through my chest.

I grit my teeth, square my shoulders, and take a deep breath. The cold metal bites against my palm as I aim and pull the trigger again. The shot echoes through the night, and the bullet hits the target in the stomach again.

"You can do better than that," Kyle adds.

"Stop pushing me."

"Not until you make a fatal hit."