Page 3 of Mischievous Lies

I grab a bowl, shake some Super Crunch cereal into it, and then pour some milk over it before I sit on the couch, kick my feet up, and watch television—the perfect type of lunch.

My friends call me a serial dater. And while I agree with them, I look at it as exploring all of my options. Why would I settle for one bad lay when I could find multiple, hoping I’ll discover a few who know how to use what they have? Who knows how to please and pleasure?

I remember one of my best friends, Hope Ivanov, asking me once who was the best I’ve ever had in bed. And while I tend to tell my friends everything, I didn’t tell her it was her cousin, Hawke.

My grip tightens on my spoon as I think about the audacious asshole from last night and how he’s always been one.

The thing about our families is that we’re all connected by our parents’ underworld dealings and long-term friendships. I’ve known almost all of them since I was a child. Hawke and Ford were later additions to the gang, coming into our lives when I was thirteen. Anya Ivanov adopted them when they were fifteen, and not much is known about them prior to that. I’ve always been curious, though, and was even tempted to dive into their history since my father taught me how to dig for information on anyone, but I respect my friends’ privacy, so I haven’t done it.

When I was first introduced to the twins, I thought they were a little quirky. Not much has changed, but I suppose I also grew into my weird self. Anyone made for this world—the underworld—is bound to have a screw or two loose.

My father, one of the best trackers in the world, is no exception. He’s highly intelligent and has the incredible ability to piss everyone off. Contrary to the belief that he’s where I get my pranking and carefree nature from, I think I equally get it from my mother, a highly sought-after interior designer who can give it back just as much as my father.

As we grew up, I began to understand the twins a little better, and they couldn’t be more opposite from each other. While Ford is seemingly quiet and reserved, Hawke is loud and obnoxious. It’s a part of him that I actually love, along with his unwavering confidence. I don’t know many men who have the confidence that he has, and I find it very attractive.

Not like that guy I went on a date with the other night, the date Hawke interrupted. Telling me he wanted to grab my tits wasn’t confidence, it was stupidity and lacked tact. I had no issue walking out on that date. I did have to erase any trace of myself from his phone, though, because he tried calling me several times and even sent me delusional messages asking if we could meet up again for a “movie” at his place, which happened to be a hostel.

It turns out one has to be more direct because walking out on a date isn’t obvious enough to show one isn’t interested. But the positive of him casually contacting me so much is that it means that Hawke and Ford didn’t go overboard in whatever their business dealings at that restaurant were. I never know what to expect from those two, but often, if they’re on the job, it’s not good. I suppose that’s part of Hawke’s charm. I don’t go for the bad boys, per se, but that unwavering confidence, even in his job, draws my attention.

I’m mid-bite when the apartment door opens. I turn my head to find my other best friend, Hope, standing there. She doesn’t even seem surprised to see me almost naked.

“Welcome home!” I say around a mouthful. I knew she was arriving sometime this week, but wasn’t sure when we’d see her. Hope doesn’t live with us but often pops in when she’s back in Manhattan and not traveling the world for her sculptures. The babe’s practically a celebrity in the art world, and for those who truly know her, she’s also a socially awkward serial killer. For real.

“Where is your detective?” I ask as she walks in. Not everyone in our circle knows about her fascination for killing people, and honestly, I’m not too fazed by the knowledge. The girl has a type she chooses as her victim—men who try to hurt women, although she did kill a colleague once. Apparently, it was because she was jealous of the woman touching her new beau. Each to their own, I guess. I learned not to judge after half the shit I’ve seen in my side gig jobs in the underworld. And besides, she’s still Hope. But her name’s ironic considering her bloody hobby.

This is why it’s a big deal that she’s dating a detective, especially considering who her family is. Her father is a renowned killer and the twin of Hawke’s adoptive mother. They run the underworld auctions, and he’s known to be ruthless. The guy’s got a screw loose, which is most likely why my father somehow became best friends with him.

“He’s at work. I’ll see him later,” she says as she places her handbag on the table and glances at my bowl of cereal. She shakes her head before I can offer her any. I’m not exactly someone who cares about cooties and backwash, and besides, I’m of the mentality that sharing is caring, especially of the sexual partners kind. She takes a seat beside me and tucks her feet under her ass.

“I’m surprised he’s still alive, to be honest,” I reply as I mute the television, far more entertained by our little Hope’s love life. She’s only two years younger than me, at twenty-two andfar more mature, but I certainly didn’t expect her to get into anything serious so soon. The two are as grossly loved up as the rest of the fuckers around us lately.

“My parents like him,” she says, tucking a piece of her vibrant red hair behind her ear before removing her glasses to wipe them.

I gasp dramatically. “And here I didn’t think your papa could like anyone.”

She covers her smile with her hand as she looks away, a slight blush streaking her cheeks. It’s cute.

“So when’s the wedding?” I joke, and her face goes bright red.

“I don’t think he likes himthatmuch.” It goes without saying that I still don’t think Alek likes him at all, but probably tolerates him. I don’t think that’s because of who he is or what he does for work, but simply because it’s his little girl. It’s the same way I imagine my father would react. The carefree, happy-go-lucky man turns into a prude if he hears about me seeing anyone. Luckily for him, I see a lot of people, so by the time he’s tracked and compiled information on the man of the hour, I’m already on to the next. I’m certain he gave up on threatening them when I was a teenager.

“Any new dates you want to tell me about?” Hope questions curiously. I slurp on the remains of the flavored milk and look at her.

“What do you mean?” I ask. I’m always on a new date, so that shouldn’t be such a surprise.

“Hawke mentioned he saw you on a date,” she says. I roll my eyes, that little gossip.

“He interrupted my date,” I correct as I stand and take my bowl and spoon to the sink. She eyes me and puts her glasses back on. “What?”

“Nothing. It’s just…” She thinks about how to word whatever she wants to say. “I think there’s something between you andmy cousin that neither of you is telling me. You two always have a weird challenge thing going on. And he seemed rather smug about ruining your date.”

“Ha! He didn’t ruin my date. I was already planning on leaving. Anyway, he can only wish he had that much control over my actions. There’s nothing between us, either. You know what Hawke’s like; he gets on everyone’s nerves.”

“And yet everyone loves him,” she points out.

“As much as they want to strangle him. Listen, it’s just a little game we play with one another, that’s all. And, besides, he’s yourcousin.”

“That doesn’t mean he’s off-limits to you. And I have eyes; I can see how he looks at you.”

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