by Emily Bowie
Pretty, Twisted Lies
EMILY BOWIE
Pretty, Twisted Lies
Copyright © 2020 Emily Bowie
Kindle Edition
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be produced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photography, recording or other electronic or mechanical methods, without prior written consent of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotation embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
Resemblance to actual persons, things, living or dead, locales or events is entirely coincidental.
DEDICATION
To my beta readers, Sara, Jerilyn and Michelle. You are a huge process in my writing. I don’t know what I would ever do without you.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Excerpt from Stolen Moments
Other books by Emily Bowie
Dear Reader
Acknowledgments
About the Author
PROLOGUE
Dear Kellie,
I am beyond disappointed to hear you have accepted a marriage proposal when in fact you belong to me. Does your heart not bleed? Or are you wanting to see the rage I’m feeling? At first, I thought this was an error, a tabloid rumor, or something taken out of context. Surely, there is no way you would have accepted and not told me. Actions have consequences, and you know what yours will be. Run, little lamb. I am coming for you.
Bending down, I give her a gentle kiss on her soft blonde hair before setting my letter on her bedside table. Peering down at her, my body shadows hers from the bright moonlight. She looks incredibly peaceful while she sleeps, her face makeup-free, reminding me of her when we first met. Her skin looks silky-smooth as my eyes cast down the slope of her neck, lingering on the sports bra she wears. Her nipples slightly push at the tight fabric, and I have to refrain from allowing my fingers to drag across the material to see if I can get them to perk up just a little more. Her blush-colored silk sheets are ruffled around her hips, dipping between her thighs, taunting me, as they show off her toned dancer-like stems. I can’t wait to have those legs wrapped around me.
Soon.
I’m a man of my word, and I always collect my debts. Kellie was promised to me by more than just herself. I’ve kept my word throughout the years; it’s time I get to enjoy what’s mine.
CHAPTER 1
“Why in the hell would I allow your drugs in my establishment?” I stand tall against Bear, the VP of the MC Fallen Saints, who at every point has tried to overrun my bar. This is not a friendly meeting. Adrenaline begins to strum through me as we begin our standoff. We’re more rivals than anything else, McGrath Mansion being a point of contention with this club, always wanting to take it for themselves. My age of almost nineteen seems to be the reason for the sudden hostility.
He’s tall and twice the width of me. His face is covered by a dark unkept beard, hiding the scars he’s acquired through the years. His eyes are dark and menacing. The vein in his neck pops out, the only indicator I’m getting under his skin. Stepping forward, he tries to use his size to intimidate me. His biceps flex, and I do the same, standing my ground. My eyes stay trained on his, refusing to show any weakness.
We’re standing in the yard of the clubhouse, the light breeze doing nothing to cool the tension snapping between us. One spark can flare up this war I’m not equipped to fight. The sun shines brightly on us, its rays making this stare-down more difficult on my part. A bird is heard in the distance, and I wonder how many guns are pointed at me right now. I can’t see anyone, but that doesn’t mean they’re not there. Any other person would buckle. I would rather die. This is the only life I know.
I’m not good at school; my mother was never on a PTA board. I was mixing drinks behind the bar at the age of seven. What I excel at is running McGrath Mansion, a biker bar on the outskirts of Three Rivers. Because of my younger age, I have to be twice as strong and cunning to gain the respect other people get naturally. This idea of meeting them on their home turf and turning them down is either stupid or ingenious.
He blows the blunt he’s smoking into my face, not giving a damn. His features are rigid, cold, and calculating. “We never had an issue when your father was around. Now that your mother is sick, I thought we could do business, man-to-man again.” He tries another angle.
My lip half curves upward at the same time as my brow lifts in response. I don’t say a word, holding my ground. His vein begins to pulse, unused to anyone telling him what he doesn’t want to hear.
Word about my mother’s sickness has run rampant through the grapevine. All the little cockroaches have come out trying to overtake what is ours, what will be mine. My father brought me up in this way of life, and my mother needed help once he was gone. I thrived in it, welcoming the chaos of it all. This is my foreplay, and we’re both getting off on it. Everyone likes a challenge.
He goes to blow his weak-ass weed into my face again, pissing me off. “Keep your drugs in your own clubhouse.” My arms cross in front of me. My heart should be pounding in my chest; my skin should tingle with the sense of death on the horizon, yet I’m completely relaxed. I honestly don’t give a damn about the outcome. Either I win or they kill me. I welcome both of those options. Either way, I have made my point—I’m no pushover. I mean business. It plays right into their own respect thing they have going on for each other.
The man in front of me doesn’t blink, remaining solid, the cloud of smoke held in his lungs as the seconds stretch by until slowly, with calculated precision, he blows it out and around my face, needling me. His hand rests on the concealed gun at the back of his hip, and I know he wants to pull it on me right now. I allow my lips to fully curve into a smirk, daring him to make a move. I’m no one’s easy mark, especially some MC who think they run this town.
“You’re missing the point, McGrath.” His eyes are hard, narrowing on me. I doubt he’s ever heard of the word “no” before. If I were a woman, he’d be hard, ready to lay it down.
“What is the point then?”
His lips curl up in his attempt to smile but come out more of
a sneer. “If we joined forces, we would be unstoppable. Your shitty bar would be the new place on the map. Money would start spilling into it again. All of the money your mother owes would soon be paid. Or I can wait for the money to dry up and take everything that is McGrath, leaving you with nothing. Either way, I get what I want.”
He shrugs dismissively, thinking he has me right where he wants me. What he doesn’t understand is there will be a time that I’ll become untouchable. I have this unquenchable thirst to be someone that no one fucks with. I’ve seen both my parents be taken advantage of, and in the end, they never came out on top. This feeling is so carved into me I’m willing to do anything, even if it becomes my downfall.
“I’ll be in touch.” I pat him on his shoulder, patronizing him, trying to push him to do something stupid. I refuse to look back, waiting for a bullet to be placed in my back as I hop onto my bike. I pause before I turn the engine, giving him his moment. When not even the sound of grass crunching is heard, I rev my engine, taking off, leaving him to stare at my back.
Heading away from the run-down clubhouse, a gunshot rings out, and I feel it whizz by me by about a foot. I take it that’s my warning.
The advantage of me being so young is that all I have to hold onto is my life. Yet when you don’t care and you’re scared to die, no one can hold anything over your head. I’m forever young….
Until my heart becomes permanently attached to someone I was never meant to love. We were never destined for the same path, and I was the one who barricaded her way, forcing her to choose my direction. Maybe I was the one who blew up her path, forcing her to run down my path blind and filled with landmines.
Or maybe I never really had a heart. I survived on the pain, and it fed my nightmare that was only disguised as a love story.
CHAPTER 2
August
Ripping the plastic wrap from my smuggled cigarette package feels satisfying, the crinkling sound bringing me comfort when nothing else here does. Squeezing it in my hand, the crackling goes silent once covered by my palm until I allow it to be free. The clear plastic floats to the ground, waffling side to side, until it lands softly without a sound. I stare at it, pretending I don’t care, before rolling my eyes at myself. It stays at my feet with no breeze in the hot stagnate air.
I’m surrounded by trees and a gravel road that goes nowhere. The smell of the trees and fresh-cut grass surround me. There are no other background noises I’m used to lulling me calm. There are no sounds of vehicles, horns, music that vibrate along the sidewalks, or hums of chatter and laughter in the street. My only hope of escaping this place would be if the world flattened and I fell off at the edge of town.
My mother’s words ring through my head. “We have no choice but to send you away. Your behavior is a liability.” She sighed like it was the hardest decision of her life. It was only another way for them to control me.
My fingers shake as I tap the small package against my prison bars. A small echo pings around me as I concentrate on my practiced party trick. The noise reminds me of the saying “if a tree falls in the forest, but no one is around to hear it, does it still make a sound?” Just as I’ve practiced, a single cig pops up and I bring it to my mouth.
That plastic hasn’t moved from my feet, agitating me. Huffing, I pick it up, hating people who litter.
“A girl who smokes but cares for the environment.” A rough masculine voice catches me off guard.
My whole body turns to stone as I lift my blue eyes toward a man-boy who’s staring back at me with a crooked smirk on his handsome face. My shoulders drop in relief, seeing it’s only a local.
Not wanting to stare and trying to stay indifferent, my eyes dart to the lettering on my cage. Easton All-Girls Prep. Slowly, my eyes go back to him. He’s still there, hands in his jeans pockets, looking out of place.
My next thought is that he looks incredibly handsome. Almost like he’s a page ripped out of a magazine for a Calvin Klein advertisement. One with that guy who’s leaning next to his motorcycle with dirt on his jeans, looking cool and collected. I hate that he looks like everything I want—freedom and comfortable in his own skin. My lips turn in a scowl, thinking how lucky he is; no one probably cares what he does as long as he comes home at night.
I’m suddenly hot, standing out here in the wave of heat with no shade to cover my creamy skin. He’s studying me in a way that makes me feel exposed. My fingers fidget with my uniform skirt while my other hand twirls my long, thin cig that acts like a prop. It’s only now I notice I forgot to bring my matches as my fingers itch to do something to distract me from him.
“What has your panties in a twist?” His eyes drop to my unlit cig then to my school’s name before landing back on me. I swear there’s amusement etched into his eyes as he takes in my reaction.
My lips purse while I quirk an eyebrow. I should be offended by how he’s talking to me. But instead, I feel drawn to him, a total cliché. Me, the rich spoiled brat, making friends with what looks like the local bad boy. My parents’ therapist would have a field day with this one.
“I’m debating how much money my family will have to throw in to keep me here this year.” Now it’s my turn to test him for a reaction. He gives nothing away, other than a low arrogant chuckle.
“A rebel without a cause.” His voice is deep, causing me to rethink this man-boy idea.
He has hard, sharp facial features, making his eyes seem older than the rest of his face. I can’t stop looking at his gold-flecked irises; they feel like they could pierce into every soul they look into. They’re dark around the edges and become lighter closer to the pupil. They’re captivating and make me feel hypnotized in their swirl-like storm. He’s much taller than me. His chest fills out his shirt, making his arms look fit—that’s the right word. They’re defined, but not completely filled out like older men have. But he’s well on his way. He has black ink that looks fresh going down one of his arms. Outlines of thick and thin lines weave up and down his arm, one picture blending into another flawlessly. Behind him sits an old rusted dirt bike. It looks much smaller than the motorcycles my parents’ friends might keep for show but never drive.
A flick has me startled before his hand reaches between the large metal gates toward me. Being brave, I step forward, accepting his light. The smoke burns my lungs as I stay determined not to cough, refusing to show my inexperience.
“You’re wrong about the ‘rebel without a cause.’” I manage to say the sentence with the poison cloud in my lungs before I blow it out. “I can’t do anything without my parents’ controlling my every move, making sure I fit in the picture-perfect life their voters think we have.”
Hell, they even refuse to do family photos for the media, because they can’t trust how I’ll behave. Everyone else sends beautiful pictures, and each year, I am blamed for the lack of public photos of us.
He nods, pointing his finger at my cancer stick. I don’t even like smoking. I’m a fraud, like every other person in Easton Prep.
“And this is your plan?”
Throwing the cig down, I allow the toe of my shoe to crush it. “No.” My back straightens, feeling defensive. “I’m going to be a singer in Nashville.” I half expect him to laugh and tell me I’m being stupid, but he doesn’t.
“And that will solve everything?”
I hate that he’s questioning me.
“What do you know…?” My words trail off, wanting to use his name, but we haven’t introduced ourselves yet.
One handsome brow lifts. “Kiptyn.”
He’s so calm, cool, and collected, while I feel anything but. My thoughts are scattered everywhere, and for the life of me, I don’t understand why that cigarette butt at my feet is killing me when I could be thinking about anything else.
“Kellie Dare!” Both our heads pop up, seeing the headmistress lifting up her long skirt as she marches toward me on what should be nearly dead grass. Instead, it’s lush and green from all the overwatering they do.
<
br /> “You could kiss me to piss them off.”
My head snaps toward him, caught off guard by his forwardness. Having his sole attention on me feels unnerving. The muscle in my chest hammers as he stares down at me, waiting for my answer. My lips all of a sudden feel cracked, my tongue darting out to wet them. I swear static charges between the two of us, moving my feet right up to the black poles. Leaning in, I hear Mistress calling out again, making me smile.
“My hero,” I whisper, unsure if he can hear me.
He winks, and I swear butterflies have invaded me, their little wings making my skin tingle.
I can feel his hot breath fan across my lips before we even touch. When we finally connect, I’m welcomed with a softness that warms my whole body. This kiss feels perfect, like it’s the thing I have been missing all this time. I start to move my mouth and kiss him back, not caring about our audience. It feels too good to care about anything else. His tongue slips past my lips little by little. There is no rush in his movements. My eyes are still closed when I feel myself whimper from his mouth leaving mine. Opening my eyes, I watch him walk away like he has no care in the world.
“See you around,” he tosses over his shoulder.
I haven’t moved, and for the first time in months, I have a real smile gracing my lips. I was getting worried I’d become trapped in a dark fog. My arm pinches as Mistress pulls me back, dragging me toward the school.
She snatches my package of cigarettes and places them into the hidden pocket of her long skirt. I bet the pack will be gone by tonight.
Her facial features are all creased as she begins to lecture me. I block her out. I’ve heard it all before.
“A proper lady doesn’t smoke.”
“A proper lady is meant to be seen not heard.”
“A proper lady smiles with her eyes while always standing behind her man.”
“A proper lady has respectable hobbies.”
