Page 51 of Under the Lies

I look away from the art on the walls to take him in instead.

With the shadows hugging his sharp bone structure, he looks like a fallen angel in search of his reckoning with his hair in a mess and eyes aged in knowledge. More knowledge than a twenty-eight-year-old should probably have.

He’s irresistible in his appeal, the way the corner of his mouth is stretched a little higher than the other as he stares down at me. “Like what you see?”

Yes. I quickly turn back around. Returning to my safety net of beautiful things. The art.

And, surprisingly, he lets me. Whatever he wants to show me can wait.

From a goblin wearing a crown to a rotting sun. An outline of a lotus flower that holds drawings of various styles to script that reads he who roams the night walks hand in hand with the Devil.

The line strikes a chord.

Only my devil likes suits and wears black-framed glasses.

Speaking of…

I don’t feel him beside me anymore. The heat that usually accompanies him is absent, my coat no longer feels adequate to keep me warm by itself.

I pull it closer around me. It’s too quiet. The kind of quiet that comes with being alone.

I spin around with an anxious heart, thinking he’s walked farther down. He’s not.

Noah is no longer in the alley with me.

Not anymore.

“Noah?” I call out, spinning around again only to stare at a painting on the opposite wall. A bleeding medieval cross with a broken crown hanging from the top.

I start to walk back to the street, thinking maybe he’s out there when an arm goes around my waist.

I scream as a hand covers my mouth and pulls me into darkness.

A loud bang pierces the air. The sound of a door slamming shut.

My pulse spikes, breathing tight, but instead of letting myself panic I snap into fight mode. Kicking behind me, I connect with a shin. The hold around me becomes tighter and my struggling becomes more manic.

I bite down on the hand, hard. My captor doesn’t even flinch.

Instead, my hair is pushed aside, and cold words are whispered into the shell of my ear. “Careful, Baby Brooks. Pain turns me on.”

My heart feels weighted in my chest and my face hot despite feeling frozen moments ago.

Noah.

Now, after hearing his voice, I feel like an idiot. Of course, it’s Noah. My skin feels tight under his touch, recognizing him faster than my brain did. I panicked, blocking out all logic. For a moment I slump against his solid frame, only to pull away.

Spinning around, I push against his chest. “Don’t do that! You scared me!”

My heart still pounds with no sign of settling down anytime soon.

Noah’s chuckle is as dark as this unlit room. “But I enjoy it.”

“And I enjoy cheesecake, but you don’t see me…”

I trail off as the lights flicker on and I gasp as the room becomes illuminated.

We’re in an art gallery.

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