Page 48 of Deceit

Beckett and Adler are the heathen banes of my existence. Nothing is ever good enough by their standards, and I might as well be Susie Homemaker for they have the 1950’s mindsets. Working independently and not wanting to marry just for shits and giggles boggles their tunnel-visioned minds.

We used to get along as children, but something in our dynamic changed, and we’ve never been the same since.

“Don’t worry about it, Em,” Kyson finally replies, then promptly continues with, “Keep your mouth shut.”

“Emmy.” Bishop’s enraged voice assaults my body like a taser, electric with an aftershock of every nerve ending being zapped and locked into place.

The bitterness dripping from his words makes me immediately shutter in response as I slowly pivot to face him. And I’m met with his heated blues boring into me like I did something wrong—again.

“Willy Wonka, not the motherfucker from the chocolate factory, a real fucking guy...findhim.”

Then he marches away, right to the petite blonde that’s standing in front of his truck, hugging herself against the cold or Bishop, I’m not sure.

Kyson never tells me who she is, and I’m afraid to know. An empty pitting in my stomach begins to form, and I force myself to shake it off.

I need to go home.

Now.

Eighteen Years Ago…

“God, baby girl, you feel so good. I wanna hear you scream my name when you come.”

“Please,” a female voice begs through a choked sob. “Let me go.”

Kyson and I freeze at the same time, the familiarity of that voice hurling into my gut like a punch. I replay it in my head, believing that I must be hearing shit.

That Iwantto be hearing shit.

An animalistic grunt sounds from the abandoned carpool parking lot nearby on the road that we’re walking on. A red pickup truck the only thing parked on it.

Kyson instinctively pulls his knife out of his back pocket, and I do the same.

We’ve just come back from running an errand for Kyson’s grandma. Nothing exciting unless you want to count mixing green tomatoes with the Granny Smith apples at the grocery store your idea of an eventful night.

Slowly, I place down the plastic bags in my hand and move into the small ditch for cover. Kyson follows as the truck begins to move side to side.

I know that truck.

I know theassholethat drives that truck.

Kyson jerks his head in the direction of it and pads towards the rusted piece of shit.

Of course, I follow as a female loudly squeals, prompting Kyson to rip open the door.

Reaching inside, I clutch onto the back of someone’s leather jacket and tear them out of the car, letting them fall to the stones and broken cement below.

Identity confirmed. It’s exactly who I thought it was.

“Why if it isn’t Mac Lancaster,” I coo, fisting my blade tighter in my palm. “I’ve been waiting to get my hands on you for years.”

He peers up at me, deep-set eyes narrowed before flicking them to Kyson behind me. “And? The fuck do you think you’re going to do?”

A mirthless chuckle escapes my lips because I’ve been dreaming of this moment too many times. However, before I can open my mouth, Kyson speaks.

“Bish,” he calls out lowly, distress clogged in his words. When he doesn’t continue, I glimpse over my shoulder, finding my best friend still standing by the driver’s side door with it open.

He gestures to the interior, and I move, not asking what or why.

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