Page 117 of Sinful Lies

“It lasted fourteen days,” I said, voice flat, as if saying it out loud would make it less real. “The first few days, he didn’t ask me anything. He just hurt me. Blades, mostly. Small, shallow cuts—nothing fatal, just enough to make me bleed, make me feel every inch of it. And when that got boring? He got… creative.”

Her face twisted with fear.

“By the fourth or fifth day, I lost track. All I could feel was the pain. That’s when the questions started. He wanted everything—Lazzio family secrets, my grandfather’s dealings, my father’s stash of dirty money. He wanted names, locations, every skeleton the Lazzio family had buried, and where they’d buried it. He was patient, I’ll give him that. Made it a game. But he said he wanted to know everything and I…”

She leaned in slightly. “And you didn’t, did you?”

My laugh came out bitter, scraping the raw edges of my throat. “Of course not. I didn’t know anything—not really. I was just a fucking kid. But even if I did…” My voice trailed off, the memory so vivid it made my hands curl into fists. “I’d rather have died on that chair than give him the satisfaction.”

She looked unsure, like she didn’t know whether to stay or run.

Smart girl.

“I haven’t been the same ever since,” I said, my voice quieter. “No one walks away from shit like that and stays whole. He took pieces of me—pieces I’ll never get back. And some nights? Some nights, I still hear his voice. Feel his fucking knives.”

Her eyes softened just a fraction, and I hated it.

Pity.

The last thing I wanted from her was pity.

“So now you know,” I said, standing abruptly.

“Did you ever find out who he was?” she whispered, pulling my blazer tighter around her body.

“Nah,” I scoffed, the sound bitter, harsh. “The Lazzios tore the city apart looking for him. Turned over every rock, burned down every lead. But he left without a trace.” My jaw clenched. “He hit me hard on the head before he dumped me. I was out cold. When I came to…”

I paused, the words sticking in my throat.

“It’s okay?—”

“I woke up on a beach, blood crusted over my head, disoriented as hell. Didn’t know where I was, or how I’d gottenthere. Some old man walking his dog found me there at six in the morning.”

She didn’t say a word, and maybe that was for the best.

I stood abruptly, as sharply as the thoughts running wild in my head.

Sitting there, drowning in her eyes while my past clawed its way to the surface—it was too fucking much.

My chest was too tight, my skin too hot, my thoughts too loud.

I needed distance. I needed out.

I nodded toward the spare room, barely glancing back as I moved past. She could figure it out. Hell, she could sleep on the couch for all I cared.

I just needed to get away from her—away from those pretty eyes that saw too much.

When I got to my room, I slammed the door and let my head fall against the wood, a deep breath forcing its way out of me.

What a great fucking night.

I felt her energy the moment she entered, the pull impossible to ignore.

The floor creaked under her weight as she moved, and her breath—soft, measured—hung in the air between us.

Then, the mattress shifted as she slid in beside me.

Guess she couldn’t sleep either.

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