Queen of Lies: Volume 2

by G. , Whitney

  I sucked in a breath as he moved the barrel against my neck, cocking it.

  “If you’d only taken a few thousand, maybe I could’ve lived with that. Maybe I would’ve made you give me your night’s wages for a few months and made sure you never stole from me again, but—” He paused, laughing and shaking his head. “You’ve stolen a bit too much for that to be an option.”

  “Please don’t kill me…”

  “Kill you?” He laughed, even harder this time. “I’m not going to kill you. I can’t pay anybody with a dead body.”

  “I can give you your money back.”

  “I know,” he said. “You’re going to do it right now.” He called out for someone and the door opened, allowing another guy to walk into the room. “Take Miss Thatchwood down to the car. We’re going to hold her overnight and then take her to the bank in the morning.”

  “No, wait.” I felt my voice cracking. “You don’t need to do that. I can give it all back to you right here.”

  “You’re walking around this city with two hundred and fifty thousand dollars of my money in cash?” He moved the gun away from me. “Please tell me that you’re not that fucking dumb.”

  “No.” I swallowed. “It’s in different bank accounts…I stole from each client’s personal bank account. I know all their account numbers by heart and I can just transfer it back.”

  He blinked, looked over at his guy.

  His guy pulled out a phone and showed him a screen, then he looked at me.

  “Anthony Sorenson,” he said. “Thirteen thousand eight hundred thirty-five dollars. Tell me his bank information.”

  “Bank of Hudson,” I said. “Routing number 4500017. Account number 2387907. The business account, not the checking.”

  His guy tapped the screen a few times, and then he nodded. “It’s legit, sir.”

  “Make Miss Thatchwood a drink, Kep,” he said, taking a seat. “She’s going to give us the account numbers for all our clients, and then she’s going to tell us where exactly these transfers will be coming from. We’re going to be here for at least half an hour.”

  I downed the alcohol within seconds of him giving it to me, and rattled off the accounts as he listed the names of all the men I’d stolen from over the past couple of years. Every now and then, he’d say, “You’re a goddamn waste of talent…” but there was no other conversation between us.

  When he reached the last name—a Mr. Tanner Yardley, he sat up and lit a cigarette.

  “Now, give me your account number, so I can take it directly from there.”

  “I know all the accounts,” I said. “I thought you would trust me to do it on my own.”

  “Then you thought fucking wrong. Account number. Bank. Now.”

  “There’s more than the money I owe you in this account, though…” I looked at him. “You’re only taking the money I stole, right? There’s sixty or so there that’s not yours.”

  “I’m taking all of it,” he said. “It’s called interest, and if you don’t start spouting out the fucking numbers within the next few seconds, you’re going to lose a lot more than that.”

  “Cadence River Bank.” I felt tears pricking my eyes, but I didn’t dare let them fall. “Account number 4123483.”

  His guy nodded once he confirmed it was the right account, and then he stood to his feet.

  “There’s an underground ecosystem in this city, Meredith.” He narrowed his eyes at me. “One that I don’t think you’ll ever know anything about, and I don’t think you should ever fuck with it again.”

  I was too stunned to say a word. I swore on my life that I was done coming here forever. It was time to let this lifestyle go.

  “Glad we could have this little chat tonight.” He walked to the door. “Now, I suggest you put in a notice of absence and take a vacation from this life. Go find somebody to fuck over who isn’t me. In a month, after I make sure my money is returned and accounted for, you can come back and dance off as many Daddy issues as you like. We clear?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Good.” He walked over to me, placed his gun under my chin one more time for good measure. “I’m glad I never had to tell the A brothers about you.” He smiled. “You’d be dead by now, and that would be a damn shame. Between you and me, I think you’re too pretty for a casket. Then again, so are roses, and we throw those at caskets all the time, huh?”

  He looked me over again before leaving the room with his guy, and all the tears I’d been holding inside, started making their way down my face.

  Rushing back to the dressing room, I grabbed my bag and rushed out of the dressing room. I took the stairwell, running down several flights, until I made it to the lobby, out of the club and down the block. I was running without a destination, and I knew I wasn’t going to be able to stop for a while…

  * * *

  An hour later, my heart was still racing out of fear, and I couldn’t help but feel like someone was watching me.

  Instead of hailing a cab, I made my way to the closest subway station and took a seat near the back. As the train made its way across the city, I tried not to think about what had happened at Club Swan. How everything I’d built over the past couple years was a complete and utter lie, and I’d lost it in a single night.

  “Now stopping at Broadway and 7th.” The subway’s system called out. “Broadway and 7th.”

  I stood as the train slowed, and stepped off. I made my way up the steps and walked two blocks to Gershwin Theater.

  “We’re closed, Miss,” the security guard said as I approached. “Come back tomorrow.”

  “I’m here to see Michael Anderson,” I said, and he immediately opened the door. I stood inside the empty lobby for several seconds—taking in all of the beautiful green and black designs, then I took the steps to the next level and opened the double doors to the theater.

  Onstage, Glinda the Good Witch was reciting a monologue, while wearing a sparkling blue. gown—addressing the villagers of the fictional town.

  Squinting in the darkness, I looked around the empty theater. In the center, on the balcony level was Michael, staring straight ahead.

  He was leaning back in his seat with the top buttons of his shirt undone, looking sexy as fuck, as always.

  I made my way up to him and took a seat on his right.

  “Did you have a good time at your secret job tonight?” he asked.

  “No,” I said softly. “I won’t be going to my secret job anymore.”

  He turned to face me, raising his eyebrow. “What happened?”

  “Nothing…I just made a few critical mistakes and they finally caught up to me.”

  He pressed his fingers under my chin, tilted it up a bit to where his eyes met mine. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

  “Not unless you’re a crime boss or know some people called the A brothers…”

  “What?” He looked beyond concerned now. “Why would you ever need to know who the A brothers are?”

  “No reason, I um…” I shrugged. “I got off pretty easy. I needed a break from this side job anyway.”

  He stayed silent, staring at me intently.

  “How’s the play so far?” I asked, trying to change the subject. “Are they convincing you that the villain isn’t as bad as we always thought he was?”

  “No,” he said. “True villains never change.”

  “They can become heroes in their backstories.”

  “No,” he said, running his fingers through my hair. “They’re just pretending. They’ll return to their old ways.”

  “I won’t return to mine.” I shook my head, looking into his eyes. “Sometimes, I don’t think I’m a good person.”

  “That’s okay.” He smiled. “I don’t think I’m a good person, either.”

  “You can’t be as bad as me,” I said. “I stole from people.”

  “I hurt people.”

  I raised my eyebrow. “Is that past tense or present?”

  He didn’t answer th
at. “You’re not a bad person, Meredith. You’ve just done a few bad things.”

  “What about you?”

  “I’ve done a lot of bad things…” He ran his fingers through my hair. “You’re actually at the top of that list.”

  Before I could ask him what he meant by that, he pulled my face close to his and kissed me.

  He pulled up the armrest between us, and slid his hand under my dress, but I grabbed it and moved it away.

  “I wish you had been there with me tonight,” I said.

  “Why’s that?”

  “I have the feeling it might’ve ended very differently…I honestly thought you were there for a split second…”

  “If I was there, how would it have ended differently?”

  “I’ll show you.” I moved down to the floor, between his legs. I unbuckled his belt, kept my eyes on his as I unzipped his zipper and pulled out his cock.

  I sucked it into my mouth, slowly bobbing my head up and down his length, swirling my tongue around his shaft each time I came up.

  He groaned and ran his fingers through my hair, as I arched my back and took him as deep as I could. I gripped his knees and moved a bit faster.

  “I need to come in your throat,” he said, turning me on even more. “I need to mark it as mine and I want you to swallow every drop…”

  He slid his hand under my shirt and gently squeezed my nipple.

  He came in my throat at the end of the act, against the sound of the final song, and I swallowed. He stared at me in utter awe and pulled me up and into his lap.

  “I think we should go back to your place now.”

  “There’s one more act in this play…”

  “We can watch it tomorrow.”

  * * *

  I see the man who ruined my life of crime a few times after that in passing. Out of fear, I always double check to make sure his number hasn’t crossed my screen and I’ve missed it somehow.

  He smiles at me whenever we happen to be in the coffee shop I venture into for my boss, but the first time he saw me with Michael, his eyes widened and he immediately backed away and kept his distance.

  It wasn’t until Michael went to the restroom that he walked right up to me and whispered seven final words before completely disappearing from my life.

  “That’s one hell of a fucking checkmate…”

  Michael

  Now

  Police Publicly Confirm that DNA Found in Trunk of Car Belongs to Meredith Thatchwood

  Officials to Investigate Thatchwood Case as a Homicide

  Leonardo Thatchwood Announces Memorial for Daughter, Starts Foundation in Her Honor

  1-888-MER-TIPS line to be redirected to private firm; Reward Money Decreased

  Residents at Meredith Thatchwood’s Condo Request Access to Her Condo; Claim She’d Promised to Give Away Several Pieces of her Wardrobe

  Top Ten Reasons Why Meredith Thatchwood is Probably Dead (& Tips on How to Take on Her Old Job at Vogue)

  I roll my eyes at the pure laziness in the recent headlines, giving up on the media entirely. The only thing they’ve done right, is make the next few weeks far easier for me.

  Setting down The Washington Post, I wait for Meredith to join me downstairs for dinner, but she never does. Our latest chess game remains at a standstill, her bishop in danger of crossing the line.

  It’s the third day in a row that she’s done this, and it’s driving me more insane than usual. Not fucking her for weeks was better than getting a taste of it and having it taken away, without a chance for a repeat.

  The night that she was in my bed—taking me in as deeply as I could go, I realized one taste of her would never be enough. I was having intense withdrawals already. I was remembering what the hell got me into this situation in the first place, and I was feeling an uncomfortable and rather annoying emotion: Vulnerability.

  I stood outside her door like a fucking sap last night, asking her to let me inside, waiting for her to come out. I was willing to open up about some of the reasons why she was here, if she could just give me one fucking taste of her mouth, but she never opened her door.

  I turned on our wedding video on the living room TV during breakfast today, expecting her to come down and watch it like she normally did. To glare and scowl at me during all the sweet parts, but to sit there, with me, and start to accept and believe that there was a bit of a method to this madness. (And maybe also, so we could fuck at the end, but the aforementioned things would’ve been fine as well.)

  The only thing she did was tiptoe down the steps and grab a few bagels. She poked her head into the room when I said my vows, and she rushed back to her room without saying a single word to me.

  What the hell am I missing?

  Michael

  Now

  Subject: Your wife’s memorial + WTF

  I wore a turtleneck and gloves, and made sure to look very sad while playing you.

  What happened to “We don’t fuck with the mafia? Ever.” Why the hell is Rio Warren currently in the hospital?

  You’re welcome for my presence at the memorial.

  --Trevor

  Subject: Re: Your wife’s memorial + WTF

  I’m sure you weren’t as attractive as I would’ve been, but I won’t hold it against you.

  I have no idea what you’re talking about in regard to Rio.

  Thank you for going in my place.

  --Michael

  Subject: Re: Re: Your wife’s memorial + WTF

  Someone in a ski mask beat the hell out of him, out of nowhere several hours ago…The bone breaks and the M.O. of the attack from behind all sound like something you would do, in my opinion…

  What the fuck did he do to you to deserve that?

  I’m not doing any other favors for you.

  --Trevor

  Subject: Re: Re: Re: Your wife’s memorial + WTF

  Did any cameras catch this “someone in a ski mask”? I don’t think there would be any around, if someone were bold enough to attack Mr. Warren in broad daylight.

  I don’t have any other favors to ask of you.

  Michael

  Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Your wife’s memorial + WTF

  WHAT THE FUCK DID HE DO TO YOU TO DESERVE THAT?

  Trevor

  Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Your wife’s memorial + WTF

  I just happened to stumble across my wife’s old diary the other day and saw something in there about him that I didn’t like. That’s all.

  Michael

  Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Your wife’s memorial + WTF

  Meet me at The Reynolds Diner off 87. NOW.

  Trevor

  Michael

  Now

  The diner where Trevor wants to meet is not his typical style at all. It’s simple and cheap, and I’m sure it’ll only take thirty minutes for him to complain about the lack of a three-course menu.

  Pulling out this week’s latest list of offenders while I wait, I run my highlighter over a few of the names that weren’t there last week. There are a few I’ll pay a free visit to in the coming months.

  After half an hour has passed, Trevor walks into the diner—making the waitress do an immediate double take and drop her coffee pot to the floor.

  Ever the gentleman, he helps her pick it up and strikes up a short conversation. He offers to brew his own coffee, and he tells her that he thinks she’s pretty. I’m certain he’s failing to mention that her manager is currently suffocating to death in the back of his trunk.

  When he finishes charming her, he heads my way and pulls a newspaper from his coat.

  “You hear about this?” He slams a copy of The New York Times onto the table. “They’re building some new luxury condos over the place where we used to stay. They’re going to be designed by some egotistical hotshot who wants each unit to cost a minimum of five million.”

  “I did hear.”

  “The asshole is going to blow up the old buildings and dig trenches twelve feet deep for a m
oat. A goddamn moat in New York City.” He shakes his head. “Unbelievable.”

  “I think it’s quite ambitious,” I say. “Stupid, but ambitious.”

  “It’s unfortunate.” He lets out a sigh. “But nothing I can’t look into this week.”

  “I take it that you’ll have some of our guys assess the building plans and move some things around before they begin?”

  “Already did.” He pours himself a cup of coffee. “Now that that’s settled, how’d you get rid of Thatchwood?”

  “I’ve already told you this.”

  “I want to hear it again.” He shrugs. “I’m in the mood for a really good story today.”

  I set my newspaper down and sigh, signaling the waitress for a second fresh pot of coffee.

  “I suffocated her while she slept,” I say, as the waitress walks away. “Wrapped her in a rug and cracked her skull with a sledgehammer. Her body is at the bottom of a ghosted river.”

  He nods, takes another sip from his cup. “You know, that’s a really intricate and well-detailed tale.”

  “The truth usually is.”

  “The lies are always better.” He glares at me. “I had two guys trail you on the day you supposedly got it done.”

  I tap my fingers against the table; I know this already and I’d purposely lost them after seventy miles of driving.

  “When they lost you, I made them stop and wait at the ghosted river,” he says. “You never showed.”

  “You and I both know that it takes far more than two people to watch an entire river.”

  “Michael…” he says, looking into my eyes. “Don’t fuck with me. Where is she?”

  “Are you asking as my brother or as the client?”

  “First, I’m asking as the client.”

  “She died a tragic death and she’ll never be found.”

  “Now, I’m asking as your brother.”