99 Lies

by Rachel Vincent

  “No way.” Maddie takes a bite of her cereal and speaks around it. “I’ve had enough of live television for one lifetime. And I don’t care if I never see Holden again.”

  That makes two of us.

  We’re going to get through this.

  MADDIE

  There’s no press at the hospital when I arrive, and I don’t know whether that’s because it’s not even eight a.m. on a Sunday, or because Genesis and Holden’s rescue has overshadowed the media’s obsession with Luke and me as the forged-through-hardship All-American romance. And I don’t really care which it is.

  My mom’s door is ajar, but I stop outside when I hear a male voice from inside, assuming it’s a doctor or a nurse who might not speak as freely if he knows I’m listening. But then I recognize the voice.

  Uncle Hernán.

  “Did you see him?” My mother’s voice sounds nasal, like it gets when she’s been crying.

  I should go in. But if I do, they’ll stop talking about my father, to shield me, and I’m not going to settle for that anymore. Not after sixteen years spent idolizing a man who turned out to be a monster.

  “Briefly. Daniela, this is only going to upset you,” Uncle Hernán says. “We can talk about something else.”

  “No,” my mother insists. “I want to know. I need to know.”

  I ease closer to the door until I can peek through the slim opening, and I see her pushing herself upright on the mattress. The tray next to her bed holds an untouched plate of pancakes, sausage links, and the ubiquitous hospital lime Jell-O.

  “Daniela . . .” My uncle sinks into the chair next to my mother’s bed. He takes her hand, and something about the gentle way he holds it—how badly he obviously wants to comfort her—makes me wonder if I’ve been too hard on him. I don’t know the story behind his connection to the Moreno cartel. I don’t know why he ran drugs for them, or how long that lasted. For all I know, he did it to keep Gael Moreno from hanging Genesis from a bridge, as he did with several of his enemies back during the height of the cartel’s power.

  Maybe it was never about the money. Maybe it was always about family.

  “We’re going to get through this,” my uncle whispers, and I have to ease closer to the door to make sure I won’t miss anything. “We still have Maddie and Genesis to think about. We have to be there for the girls right now. They lost him too.”

  They?

  Genesis was never very close to my father, and I doubt being taken hostage by him improved their relationship.

  They’re not talking about my dad. The understanding sneaks up on me, like a sound you don’t even know you’re hearing until you realize you can’t hear anything else.

  They’re talking about Ryan.

  I have one hand on the lever, ready to push the door open and go in.

  “I know. They lost a brother. I just don’t know how . . .”

  They lost a brother? I don’t hear the rest, because I can’t stop hearing what she’s just said.

  Genesis didn’t lose a brother. What the hell is my mother talking about?

  “We need to be there for them, but no one’s going to begrudge you this one day. Take care of yourself today, Daniela,” Uncle Hernán says. “Or let me take care of you. This is our loss too.” His voice cracks, and his next words rip me open like a knife to the chest. “We lost a son.”

  It’ll be like old times.

  GENESIS

  “Are you ready?” the woman in the headset asks me. She’s an assistant producer. Or a production assistant. I wasn’t really paying attention when she introduced herself. “We’re going live in five minutes.”

  It’s not like I’ve never been on TV. I’ve been on camera at fashion shows in Paris and Milan with Neda and her parents. I’ve been filmed at the Olympics with Penelope. Twice. I’ve been at three movie premieres and two fifty-thousand-dollar-a-plate charity dinners with Holden and his family. I’ve been photographed in the hottest Miami nightclubs and backstage at all the best concerts. I’ve had my hair and makeup judged by Jared, and once People magazine declared that I wore it better than Selena Gomez.

  They were not wrong.

  Also, it should be noted that I wore it first.

  But I’ve never actually been in a television studio, on a live feed. I’ve always planned to be famous someday, so this moment was inevitable, but I never thought I’d be doing it with Holden. For Holden.

  Although, negotiating with him for our mutual benefit did feel frighteningly familiar. Somehow, though we’ve broken up, we’re still jockeying for position. For dominance.

  “She’s ready,” Holden says from my left, before I can answer for myself. I glare at him. It used to be easier for me to let him believe he’s running things. I used to be happy pulling his strings from the sideline, because it was enough for me to know who truly had the upper hand. But we’re not together anymore, and this time he actually has the advantage. Because he’s willing to destroy me and my family to get what he wants, and he has the ammo with which to do it.

  “May we have a minute?” I ask. I’ve been trying to get Holden alone since we got here, but he’s managed to dodge my every attempt at a private conversation.

  The woman with the headphones frowns with a glance at her watch. “You can have two and a half minutes. Exactly.” Then she heads over to talk to the cameraman.

  The studio is smaller and quieter than I expected, and a lot more . . . empty. There are only a handful of employees, including a single camera operator and a tech guy who tests and adjusts the microphones and the bright overhead lights.

  There’s no news desk or snack table. There’re no hair and makeup artists. This isn’t where they broadcast the local news. This is a small space set up for exactly what we’re about to do: transmit a local feed to a national network.

  Looking around, it’s hard to imagine that millions of people will be staring at me in just a few minutes. A month ago, I would have loved every second of this, but now I just want to get it over with and get Holden off my back.

  “What’s the plan?” I whisper. “You actually expect me to lie for you on national television?”

  Holden shrugs. “I expect you to tell truths that will make us both look good. And if you play nice, so will I.” The threat in his tone is as cold as the glint in his brown eyes. This isn’t just about making him look like a hero.

  He’s angry. He wants me to suffer.

  I want to press him for more details, but I’m not going to say anything I don’t want picked up by my microphone. In case it’s already hot. “So this is it? One interview, and we’re done?”

  “I never said that. Raina has several more lined up for us.”

  It turns out that while I was visiting my aunt in the hospital and trying to make up for several days of near starvation, Holden and his parents were hiring a publicist. If I’d known he was going to drag me on camera, I’d have done the same thing.

  “Holden . . .” I groan through clenched teeth.

  His jaw tightens. His eyes narrow. His voice is a hard-edged whisper. “You told Sebastián to kill me and save that cowboy drifter. Is it really so hard for you to pick me this time, Gen?”

  “That’s not how it happened,” I whisper, but he’s not listening.

  Holden pastes on a smile like flipping a switch, and suddenly there’s no sign of the vengeful asshole who’s threatening to destroy what’s left of my family. “The spotlight loves us. It’ll be like old times.”

  Except that I’m ready for some brand-new times.

  The woman with the headphones returns just as Indiana and Neda get back from the vending machine with a bottle of water and some kind of wrapped snack.

  “I mean seriously, who’s even going to be up to watch this early in the morning?” she complains.

  Indiana shrugs. “You’re up.”

  “I’m working.” She has her phone out, filming “behind the scenes” footage of our interview for her webshow. But what she’s really hoping to captu
re is a throw-down between my ex and my next.

  I almost hate to tell her that I’m here to avoid drama.

  “Sorry.” Indiana smiles as he hands me a protein bar. “I’m sure you’re tired of these, but it was this or an out-of-date cinnamon roll.” He thinks I need to eat. He’s not wrong. Unfortunately, the lady with the headset is gesturing to Holden and me, which means we’re out of time.

  “Camera off,” I tell Neda.

  She pouts, but shoves her phone into her pocket.

  “You’ll be great.” Indiana runs one hand down my arm, then pulls me close for a kiss. “When this is over, you can put the whole thing behind you. Including Holden,” he whispers.

  Indiana was there when I found out Holden was cheating on me with Penelope. He was there when Holden suggested I sleep with one of our jungle captors as a distraction so he could steal one of their guns. He knows exactly how badly I don’t want to be seen with my ex on national television. Or anywhere else.

  I don’t have the heart to tell him that this interview is just the first in a series designed to punish me for choosing his life over Holden’s.

  The lady with the headset stares at us in surprise. I don’t know what Holden told her before we arrived, but she clearly had no idea that Indiana and I are together.

  Holden’s phone rings, and he frowns at the screen. Then he answers. “Hello?” The voice on the other end sounds female. He listens for a second, then his gaze flicks toward me. “How did you get this number?” he demands softly. A second later, he hangs up.

  “Reporter?” I haven’t had any media calls yet, but Maddie and Luke both have.

  “Yeah.” Holden shakes his head as if to clear it. “Let’s go.”

  “Indiana should go on with us,” I tell Holden as the woman adjusts the microphone already clipped to my shirt. “He’s part of the story.”

  Holden opens his mouth to argue, a storm brewing behind his eyes, but Indiana beats him to it. “No thanks. I’m allergic to the spotlight, but I’ll be cheering you on from backstage.”

  “Who are you?” the production assistant asks, when Indiana steps back.

  “No one,” he says with a quiet smile.

  “Okay, then, let’s go.” The woman guides me and Holden to a pair of chairs set up in front of a large green screen. “Just speak at a normal volume,” she says. “The microphones will pick it up.”

  There’s a voice in my ear, coming through the earpiece an assistant fitted me with, but it sounds like another producer running through a series of checks. I can’t see Susan, the talk show host who’s going to interview us, and I can’t hear her yet either.

  This is a strange kind of one-sided event from my perspective, but I know it’ll look normal to everyone watching at home. I saw Penelope do a bunch of stuff like this after she won her Olympic silver medal.

  “Okay, take a deep breath,” the woman in the headset says. “It’ll all be over in a few minutes.”

  That’s probably exactly what they say to prisoners awaiting execution.

  The battery pack rubs my back beneath the waistband of my jeans, and the little microphone clipped to my collar is ruining the lines of my blouse. But there’s no chance to fix either of those, because by the time we sit in the chairs set up for us, the man behind the camera is already counting down. He gets to two, gives us a silent “one” with his index finger, then points in our direction.

  We’re live.

  “Hi, Holden and Genesis, thank you so much for joining us!” Susan’s upbeat voice says into my ear, and I smile for the camera. “The world is captivated with your story, and I wanted to start by asking about this picture of the two of you!” Her voice rises with every word until her delight rings in my ear like the high-pitched squeal of a trapped animal.

  We can’t see the picture, but I know damn well which one she’s talking about. I can’t escape that shot. Holden, who was willing to let Sebastián and Silvana blow up half of the United States rather than help me get rid of the bombs, carried me for less than the span of a city block, and now the world is hailing him as a hero.

  “Can you tell us what was happening in that moment?” Susan asks in my ear. “It’s such a moving story. Boyfriend and girlfriend taken hostage together. Escaping together. And the photo is so romantic. Like the cover of a novel . . .”

  I open my mouth to tell her the truth—that my actual boyfriend was two steps behind us in the jungle—but Holden takes my hand and squeezes it. Hard.

  “The truth, Susan, is that Genesis and I have had rough patches just like any other couple, and the roughest of those came while we were in the jungle. Having a gun held to your head is pretty stressful, and I said some things I’m not proud of. But then Gen got hurt while we were trying to escape, and I realized exactly how much she means to me. I couldn’t leave her behind.”

  Holden gives the world a disarming shrug, then turns to me with a smile that I might actually buy, if I didn’t know him. “So I picked her up and started running.” I swallow revulsion as he lifts my hand to kiss my knuckles. “And it turns out nothing heals a wounded relationship like escaping certain death. Together.”

  I can only smile at the camera through clenched teeth.

  Holden may think he’s safe, now that he’s out of the jungle, but he brought the biggest threat back with him.

  I’m going to kill him.

  Holden is a hero.

  MADDIE

  We lost a son.

  My uncle’s words echo through me like a bolt of thunder. My travel mug crashes to the tile. Coffee splatters everywhere. A chair scrapes the floor as Uncle Hernán stands, but I’m already running down the hall toward the elevator.

  “Maddie!” he shouts as the door to my mother’s room squeaks open. But I keep going. I can’t even turn and look at him.

  Uncle Hernán is Ryan’s father.

  Was. Uncle Hernán was Ryan’s father.

  The elevator is too slow, and I can hear my uncle’s footsteps thumping toward me. So I take off for the stairs at the end of the hall. Pushing the bar on the door sets off an alarm, but I’m only one floor up. I hit the midpoint landing before the door closes behind me, then I’m on the ground level racing toward the nearest exit. Which is the ER.

  The TV mounted in the waiting room is tuned to a news station showing that picture of Holden carrying Genesis out of the jungle. There’s no volume, but I know what they’re saying. Holden is a hero. Genesis needed to be saved.

  The world no longer makes sense, and I can’t get out of here fast enough.

  I bump into a man in a white lab coat on my way down the hall. “Sorry!” I call over my shoulder as I run, and the apology costs me my balance. My hip hits a cart standing in a doorway, and something clatters to the ground, but I can’t stop to look.

  Tears blur my vision, and by the time I burst through the ER doors into the parking lot, they’re rolling down my face.

  In my mother’s car, I start the engine and suck in several deep breaths until I’m calm enough to be behind the wheel. Then I slam the gearshift into drive and pull onto the street. I have no idea where I’m going. As I change lanes and take turns, blinking to clear fresh tears from my eyes, I realize that every single thing I thought I knew about my life has been a lie.

  My father is a terrorist.

  My brother is only my half brother.

  My mother cheated on my father.

  And she would rather be dead than be alone with me.

  My phone buzzes on the passenger seat, but I ignore it. It’s either my mother or my uncle, and I’m not ready to hear their explanations and apologies. All I can think about is that Genesis and Ryan were born six months apart. Which means that for the overlapping three months, my uncle had two women pregnant with his children.

  Does my father know?

  Does Genesis know?

  Is this why Uncle Hernán has always thrown money at us? Why he paid for Ryan’s rehab and my insulin pump? Because he felt guilty? Or obligated?


  My phone rings again, then slides off the seat onto the floor when I take a sharp left turn. A minute later, I pull into a parking space and stare through the windshield at the ocean. I don’t know how I got to the beach. I can’t remember much of the drive. But this feels like the right place to be when my world is falling to pieces all around me.

  Everything here feels normal. Here, parents sit under umbrellas and kids play in the sun with no idea that I’m hiding the sixteen-year lie that has been my life.

  I get out of the car and shove the keys into my pocket. Leaving my sandals on the ground beneath the car, I walk barefoot onto the beach, waiting for the steady pulse of the waves to calm me.

  My father. My mother. My uncle.

  I sink onto the ground and bury my toes in the sand. If the people I love most—the people who raised me—have been lying to me for my entire life and I had no clue, how am I supposed to trust anyone else, ever again?

  “Maddie?”

  Startled, I look up to find Luke frowning down at me, one hand shielding his face from the sun. “What are you doing here?”

  “Your mom called to ask if I’d seen you. I figured that meant something was wrong.” He drops onto the beach next to me, kicking up a tiny wave of sand with his sneakers.

  “She didn’t tell you what happened?”

  “No, but she was crying.”

  Good.

  I don’t mean that.

  “How’d you find me?”

  “I made a good guess. In the jungle, you told me this was where you came after your dad’s funeral. To think.” He frowns, but looks more amused than anything. “It’s weird to think about him having a funeral, since he’s not actually dead.”

  “Weird doesn’t even begin to cover it,” I mumble. I can’t believe he remembered this place. I must have told him a hundred random things about myself as we hiked through the jungle, to keep from having to think about Ryan, and about our infinitesimal chances of making it out alive.