Cruel Lies

by Ella Miles

  I start to pull away when she groans into my lips—her voice pulling me back to her.

  How am I ever going to let her go?

  I’m not.

  She’s mine.

  My hand slides up her thigh, hiking her dress up her toned leg until I reach her ass.

  “Get a room,” a man’s voice says.

  I stop, realizing I’m taking things too far.

  Our eyes open, and we stare at each other as my lips gently pull off hers. She pulls her bottom lip into her mouth as her cheeks pinken. I swear I see stars in her eyes.

  Oh, baby, you have no idea what I’m about to do to you.

  I pull her back up onto her feet, then take her hand. We need to get out of here now, before I take her into the church bathroom and fuck her in a dirty stall.

  I turn, and then I see my biggest problem—Maxwell.

  He’s sitting in the second pew with a smug look on his face. I don’t know why in the hell Liesel thinks we need to keep him alive. She thinks I was controlling before; she’s about to find out just how controlling I can be.

  “Stand up,” I tell Maxwell.

  He stands casually, putting his hands in his pockets like he’s not worried for his life.

  My jaw ticks. I hate that he thinks so little of me. He thinks that Liesel will save him.

  I consider my options. I don’t want to leave Liesel alone for a second, but I also don’t want her to have Maxwell on her conscience.

  I pull out some cash and hand it to Liesel. “There is a hotel two blocks over. Get us the most expensive room they have for the night.”

  She looks at me, wide-eyed. “What about him?”

  “I’ll take care of him.”

  She opens her mouth, I assume, to argue with me, to beg for me not to kill him, but she shuts it before rising on her tiptoes and kissing me with plenty of tongue. “Hurry,” she whispers before she walks out of the church.

  I stand frozen, watching her walk away. I can’t stand to see her go, even though we’ll only be apart a few minutes. I still ache.

  Maxwell frowns.

  I grin.

  Liesel trusted me. She let me decide what I do with Maxwell. I don’t know when that changed, why she decided to trust me now with him, but she did.

  “Shit,” Maxwell mutters.

  I stalk toward him—expecting him to run, to beg, to fight.

  He does nothing.

  What game is he playing?

  I pull my gun out.

  He keeps his hands in his pockets, surrendering to his fate.

  “You going to kill me here, in the church? Isn’t that like a double sin or something?”

  “Why do you assume I’m going to kill you?”

  “Because you are.”

  “Move,” I say, nodding my gun toward the church’s basement door behind the altar.

  Maxwell walks with slow and steady steps, not like a man about to die. He walks like he isn’t afraid of death.

  He’s like me—always knowing death will come sooner for him than it will for most people. It’s one of the many reasons why my marriage to Liesel isn’t real. It won’t last, so what’s the point?

  We descend into the dark basement. This is the moment where I could torture Maxwell, get answers to my questions, ensure my family is safe and free the boy Corbin kidnapped. But Liesel is waiting for me in a hotel room, hopefully naked. My only goal is to secure him so I can spend the night with my wife. Tomorrow, I can deal with this bastard.

  Every second I spend with Maxwell is a second I don’t get back with Liesel. I may have just married her, but tomorrow is never promised. Tomorrow she could hate me, divorce me, kill me.

  I grab pull ties from my pocket while keeping the gun on Maxwell.

  “Put your arms behind your back,” I say.

  Maxwell slowly removes his hands from his pocket and slips them behind his back.

  I walk behind him, jerking him backward until his arms are around a pole. I tie his arms with the pull ties, and then I walk to the door.

  “I knew you didn’t have the balls to go against her,” Maxwell snickers.

  I fire.

  He yelps and then stares at his thigh, where blood oozes out.

  “Fucking bastard,” he yells at me.

  I smirk; there’s his reaction. He is human, after all.

  “I’ll be back in the morning, to see if you survived the night.” And then I walk the fuck away, to go find my wife.

  17

  Liesel

  I pace back and forth in the hotel suite, still not believing what just happened. I have to stare down at the thorn-covered ring on my finger as the only proof I have that I just married Langston.

  I. Married. Langston.

  What the hell was I thinking?!

  I shouldn’t have married him. This will fuck everything up. It will distract us both from the task at hand. It will end up hurting him in the end.

  And as much as I used to enjoy hurting Langston, I don’t want to put him through the pain I know I’ll end up causing.

  So I pace—trying to find a way out of this that won’t end in destroying Langston even more than I already have. He’s my killer. My protector. He has a hard exterior capable of enduring any explosion, but inside he’s sweet, kind, and warm.

  Inside, he’s a beautifully sensitive soul who cares about me more than he will ever say out loud. I pray that I haven’t already ruined that soul. A soul that has to survive long enough for our kids to grow up with a father after I’m long gone from their lives.

  I hear a keycard enter the door, and my feet stop. I gulp in huge amounts of oxygen as I wait for Langston to open the door.

  The door opens like he’s pushing the weight of the world away. He steps through and slams all outside forces out until it’s just the two of us remaining. Everything else vanishes.

  Langston enters alone, which doesn’t surprise me. I want to ask what he did with Maxwell. Did he kill him?

  It doesn’t matter. I trust him.

  Why?

  I shouldn’t.

  He’s a monster.

  A killer.

  But he’s my killer. And now he’s my husband. There are plenty of vows we couldn’t speak to each other because we wouldn’t keep them. But being loyal and trusting to my husband is something I plan on doing for as long as we are married.

  My gut told me to keep Maxwell alive, but tonight, I’m trusting Langston’s gut. If it told him to kill Maxwell, then so be it. We’ll find Corbin and the kid he kidnapped with or without Maxwell.

  Langston has a predatory gleam as he looks me up and down. I haven’t changed out of my wedding dress, my hair is dried in long waves, and I’ve been itching to drink something from the minibar to calm my nerves but thought better of it. I want to be completely sober for whatever happens between us tonight.

  I throw his look back, pinning him with my stare as I take in his thick muscles that his white linen shirt is clinging to.

  The atmosphere changes now that Langston’s in it. The air is warm, electric—a brewing storm.

  He walks toward me; words have yet to be exchanged.

  Tonight isn’t about words. For the first time, I can fuck Langston without taking something from another woman. Phoenix gave him up. I still have to make a lot of things right between me and her. I owe her my life, and I plan on repaying, but I don’t have to worry about hurting her with every kiss.

  Langston grabs the back of my neck, and he pulls me into a wicked kiss. One that involves teeth, tongue, and swollen lips. One that radiates down my entire body setting me aflame. One that cements him in my soul, refusing to let go of this man ever again.

  I have to be careful tonight. I have to guard his heart. I have to protect him.

  “Why do you still want to kill me?” I ask him as his open mouth comes down hard on mine for another kiss.

  They’re the first words I’ve spoken to him since we got married in the church.

  He stops his kiss, his l
ips pausing on my upper lip. He pulls back gently, giving me just enough room to breathe but not enough to not be exchanging oxygen with him. He thumbs the vein in my neck.

  “Why do you still hate me?” he asks, answering my question with a question.

  Because I can’t love you, I can’t keep you. All I’m going to do is hurt you. And I hate you for turning me into a killer. I already know my first kill is going to be the slaughter of your heart.

  I nip his top lip.

  He grabs my ass as I wrap my legs around his waist. His kisses turn soft, graceful like a choreographed dance as he carries me toward the bed.

  Warning bells go off inside my head, reminding me that we shouldn’t fuck in a bed like normal people. That level of intimacy, now that we are married, can only lead to heartbreak.

  I grab his hair and yank hard, pulling his lips off mine.

  He growls, not liking that I’m taking control or stopping his possessive kisses.

  “Don’t fuck me in the bed,” I say.

  He cocks his head, searching for the truth in my words, in my eyes. And then he grins deviously.

  “I can still blow your mind whether I fuck you in a bed or against the window for everyone to see.”

  I shake my head as he kisses me tenderly. I know what kind of sex he’s expecting. The kind that says more than I’m just a good fuck. The kind that has feelings and emotion behind it.

  “I’m damaged, killer.”

  “I am too, huntress.”

  He tosses me back onto the bed. His body covers mine before I have a chance to escape. His hips press against mine until I feel his bulging erection pulsing against my sex.

  He’s mine.

  I’m his.

  But being his is as far as this can go.

  I push against his chest, and my hips wiggle beneath his pelvis, only causing his hardness to rub against my clit through my clothes, inciting my brain with euphoria and making it harder for me to focus on getting my words out. But I have to—it’s important.

  “Don’t make love to me,” I whisper.

  The corner of his lip tilts up as if to laugh. “I never make love, huntress. I fuck—hard. I control and sin with the darkest pleasures. I never make love.”

  I twist out of his grasp as I knee him in the crotch, springing my escape. I run to the wall, pushing my back against it as Langston groans before standing up and stalking toward me.

  “Promise you’ll never love me,” I beg.

  He grabs my wrists and pins them behind my back. He twists me around until my front hits the wall. There’s no way I can knee him now.

  “I could never love you, huntress. You’re a fucking liar. How could I ever love you?”

  My eyes cut to his, and I know his words are a lie. I can see it in his amused expression. He can’t promise that he won’t love me.

  “Promise me that a part of you will always hate me,” I say, hoping that even if he ends up loving me, the hate will always remain.

  He grabs the hem of my dress, his nails clawing up the back of my thigh as he raises it up. They creep around my cotton panties until he dips his fingers inside, pushing between my lips and trying to enter me.

  I growl, not ready to let him have control of my body even though he already has control of more than I’m willing to admit, even to myself. My thighs squeeze shut, keeping his fingers locked between my folds.

  “Promise,” I demand.

  His teeth clamp down on my earlobe until I squeal.

  “I promise that a part of me will always hate you.”

  He releases my earlobe; I release his fingers.

  Then I kick back against the wall, pushing him off me until I have control of my body once again. I run toward him, barreling my body into his open arms. I grab the hem of his shirt and rip the thin fabric in two right up the middle.

  He pants hard, his abs contracting with each breath, taunting me with his fitness.

  My nails scrape down his front, feeling every ripple on my way to his pants to rip them off his body.

  He catches my wrist in my hands, denying my touch until he has what he wants first. His eyes drop to look at my dress, but he can’t rip it until he lets go of my wrists.

  He grins, as if he can read my mind.

  “You want to play, huntress? Let’s play.”

  With my wrists still in his fists, he dips his head down to the v of my dress. His teeth sink into the fabric, and then he pulls down—hard.

  The fabric starts to fray, then rips in half as his teeth continue their assault on my dress. He continues downward until the dress is split in two, and my body is displayed in front of him in nothing but my white thong panties between us.

  I yank my arms free before fleeing the bedroom. The bedroom is too personal, too sweet, too romantic. It’s the opposite of who we are and what we can be.

  Langston doesn’t chase me. He walks slowly and deliberately after me, knowing that I want to get caught; I just don’t want to fuck in the bedroom.

  I glance around the living room, trying to come up with a way to have the upper hand when it comes to Langston. We’ve fucked before, and it was always incredible, but how long can that last? How long can I give myself up to him before I lose myself? Before the raging panic returns, as will the nightmares of my past?

  Langston catches the fear in my eyes—so much fear mixed with want. It’s a cataclysmic combination.

  It only makes him move slower as I scan the room for a plan. I have nothing. All I can do is fight or surrender, and I’m not one to surrender.

  Langston removes his shirt, baring all of his glorious muscles to me before he puts his hands in the pockets of his pants and stands still, watching me.

  I let my dress fall to the floor before putting my hands on my hips, mirroring his action.

  We both breathe slowly; our eyes grazing each other’s burning flesh.

  “You’re mine,” Langston says in a deep, controlling voice.

  “Then, come and get me.”

  I bite my bottom lip.

  He moves.

  I move.

  One step.

  Two steps.

  And then we both attack. Both grapple for control of the other.

  I grab his pants, needing them off his body, needing him as vulnerable as I feel.

  I yank them down his legs as he grabs me once again in his arms and slams me back until I knock the lamp off the small table behind me.

  I shove him hard, until his back crashes against the full-length mirror behind him. The glass shatters, no doubt some slicing into his back.

  His eyes twinkle with arousal.

  I reach between us, finding his cock beneath his boxers. I want to wrap my lips around him. I want to suck him so well that he’ll never want another woman sucking his dick ever again.

  He smirks and cups my chin. “You don’t have to worry, huntress. I’m yours.”

  He once again reads my thoughts.

  Then he slams me back toward the couch. We end up knocking the TV off the wall as we stomp by.

  I keep squeezing his cock. He ravishes my mouth with his.

  And then, all at once, he releases me until I fall back on the couch with him standing over me.

  “Spread your legs.”

  I throw them closed, purposefully defying him and loving the thrill it brings me when he seethes and bosses me around.

  He steps forward, kicking my ankles apart. “Spread. Your. Legs.”

  As I do, he steps between them, his hand moving over my thighs, spreading me wider. He kneels in front of me.

  My heart is shuddering in my chest, feeling like a deer that’s just been caught by a tiger.

  Langston licks his lips like he’s about to devour a feast. His eyes are a wicked shade of dark brown, swirling with the devious things he wants to do to my body.

  And then he leans down, his fingers swiping my panties aside as his tongue licks down my slit.

  I bite my lip to keep from screaming his name with one tou
ch, but my hands can’t stand to not touch him. I grab on his hair, pushing his head deeper between my folds.

  He stops, his head popping up as he grabs my hands and places them on either side of the couch.

  “If you touch me, I’ll stop, and you don’t want me to stop, baby.”

  I frown. “Why would you stop?”

  “You don’t get to control this.”

  I dig my fingers into the couch cushions, trying to give up a little control as Langston once again licks my clit with his tongue.

  My eyes roll at the pleasure shooting through my body. My lips part, needing more oxygen. Needing to grab him, but needing Langston to continue more.

  He takes his time relentlessly licking over my clit like an endless lollipop. It’s torture, when what I really want is him to suck, twirl, and hum to bring my body to orgasm quickly, instead of this slow, torturous slog.

  He has me so worked up that I can’t control myself, and I grab his hair.

  He stops, once again moving my hands to the couch before continuing.

  “You decide when you come, huntress. Not me.”

  “What?” I breathe, confused because he’s clearly the one deciding by going so slowly.

  He smiles between my folds before his finger plunges into me. “When you trust me, you’ll come.”

  “I trust you.”

  “You don’t.”

  I frown, realizing I don’t trust him because the fear is still there. The fear that a man I care about could possibly not be enough. I could revert to my nightmares having hold of me.

  “Let go,” he hums against my clit.

  I do, exploding on his tongue as my orgasm pours out of my throat, and I call out his name.

  I collapse against the couch, my head falling back as I catch my breath.

  “My turn,” I say, eyeing his crotch.

  He stands and exhales, as if blowing out smoke. “I’m going to bed.”

  “What?” I snap up. He just gave me one hell of an orgasm, but it didn’t do anything to quench my thirst for him.

  He grins. “You’re welcome to join me in bed.”

  I sigh and lean back, refusing to give in. No matter how much my body wants it, I can’t give in.