The Truth of a Liar

by Cassie Graham

  “Lark.” He sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m not comfortable with this.”

  I swallow and tilt my head. “What else are we going to do?”

  He crosses his arms. “Fine. But I swear to the Queen if you put us on the chopping block with Logan because you couldn’t keep your cool, I’ll kick your arse.”

  I put my hands up and submit. “Okay, okay. I won’t touch him.” But I make a conscious effort and don’t promise anything specific. I’d take an ass whooping from Logan if it meant I could find Rowan.

  “Three knocks, yeah?” I say.

  “Three knocks,” he agrees and I nod curtly.

  I push the heavy door open just enough for me to slip in and find Fable. With careful steps, I make my way to the side of his bed. His leg is in a sling attached to the ceiling. Which means he either broke his leg or his knee. Either one would do, I suppose. I’m just happy to see him suffering. His long black hair covers one of his eyes and he’s got a deep, angry looking cut on his left cheek.

  “Wake up,” I say.

  Fable startles awake and rushes to find the nurse button but I snatch it away before he can push the little red alert. I pin his hand to the bed with mine, my heart accelerating.

  “Who are you?” I ask, my voice harsh.

  He panics and gulps, his hand struggling to get out of my vice. “My...my name’s Fable.”

  “Styles, right,” I finish for him. “I got that much. You see?” I scratch my forehead. “The funny thing is, I know that to be false. You’re part of Davis’s group. And I know for a fact that there’s no one by the name Fable associated with him.”

  Fable’s eyes narrow and he looks away. “I don’t know what to tell you, man.” His caramel colored skin glistens as he begins to sweat. “I don’t know anyone named Davis.”

  My hand gently rests on the leg holstered above the bed. “Really? None? Nothing comes to mind?” He flinches as I begin to apply pressure to his knee. “First name. That’s all I need.” My grasp becomes tighter and he whines.

  “I can’t.”

  I let off of his leg. “So let me get this straight. You get hurt. Davis or one of his goons can’t fix you up. You come here with a fake ID, one, I’m sure you use often, and get stitched up by a doctor.” I laugh. “But what’s really hilarious is that Davis doesn’t usually allow his entourage to come out in public. As a matter of fact, after all the research I’ve done on you guys, the only time you’ve ever popped up was to kidnap girls.”

  His mouth twitches.

  “Ahh, there in lies the truth, doesn’t it? You aren’t just anyone, are you? You’re Barry.” My mind recognizes the square shaped birthmark on his neck. It was the only quality that stood out to me as I was going through the countless faces in Davis’s file. He’s Davis’s younger brother. At twenty-three years old, he’s apparently quite lethal.

  Fable—or Barry, rather stays silent.

  “Listen, I don’t give a shit who you are. And honestly, you don’t have to tell me. I just need to know where Rowan is.”

  His eyes blaze at the mention of her and he grinds his teeth. He laughs a sour snicker. “That’s why you’re here? For her? That bitch broke my knee!” he shouts, pointing to his very damaged leg.

  If it was appropriate to whoop in public I would. Rowan broke his leg? God, I love that girl.

  But with him calling her a bitch, my hand instantly goes to his throat. I get within inches of his face, my stare menacing. “Give me her location. Now,” I spew in his face.

  I can see his pulse point under my hand beating out of control as he swallows. “You mean, you couldn’t find her?” he says through his laughter but his voice is still strained and I squeeze harder against his neck.

  He coughs.

  I squeeze again and try not to crush his windpipe.

  He sputters, spit dribbling down his mouth. He laughs, again. It’s sadistic and aggressive, sounding way too happy considering the situation he’s in right now.

  “Where is she?” I yell.

  “Oh, we’ve won the battle, sir,” he says, his eyes rolling to the back of his head. He’s losing oxygen but I can’t make myself care enough to loosen up. “And we’ll win the war.”

  I let go of his neck just the tiniest bit. He’s turning blue and I can’t have him passing out on me. The logical part of my brain is working in overdrive apparently.

  “You’re looking in the wrong places,” he says with an air of confidence that makes me want to do something even more violent. Like, I don’t know, bash his face in until there’s nothing left.

  But instead, I release his neck and pull his body up by his shirt. His head falls back. “Tell me!”

  He remains silent, only a smile playing on his lips.

  I can’t stop it. My fist smashes into his face, blood spurting out of his nose. The dark red substance trickles down his upper lip, into his mouth. His teeth turn red and he openly grins. “She’s something to you,” he sneers, getting a kick out of my reaction.

  Another slam to his face. This one rattles him. He groans, but I don’t let his shirt loose.

  “Quit looking north. Look south.” Tears flood in his eyes and he gives up. “I can’t tell you any more or he’ll kill me.”

  I forcefully shove him back into the bed, frustrated, when Liam knocks three times on the door. I point in his face. “I better not see you any time soon, Barry. And I swear to God, I’ll do a lot worse to you than Rowan did. Leave town.” I don’t mean it, I’m going to throw his ass in jail the moment I can.

  His eyebrows shoot up but he says nothing. I know he won’t heed my warning. He won’t have the chance to anyway. But he had to have done something pretty bad to Rowan if she was able to break his knee somehow.

  I shake my head. I won’t allow myself to think about the repercussions she had to go through after she acted out. The scenes running through my head are bad enough. They’re running on a constant loop and it’s taking an enormous amount of effort to not let those worries bury me.

  When I open the door, Liam looks over my shoulder and his eyes grow wide seeing the bloody mess I left Barry in. I don’t give a shit. I don’t stop walking. I rush past him and make my way out the back door. Thankfully Dover’s there and I walk up to him in a flurry.

  “Fable Styles, room one-oh-four. You need to bring him to headquarters and have him questioned. He’s part of Davis’s group.”

  Dover’s eyes are wide in surprise but I don’t wait for his retort because I’m already walking back to the truck.

  I angrily shove my jacket off and pull at my tie, loosening it. And though it’s freezing cold outside and snow flurries swirl around me, my body temperature continues to bubble. I’m far too overheated with the jacket. It’s too constricting and I can’t seem to think with it on. When I make it to the truck, I pull at the door handle and sit down in the seat. Worry seeps out of my body and I can’t control myself, I pound the life out of the dash. Primal screams break free from my mouth and I have the urge to punch my hand through the window. I want to see the shattered glass scatter all over the ground, just like my life is scattered in millions of pieces without Rowan.

  Liam finally makes his way and gets inside. “What in the bloody hell happened?” he asks, his breathing quickened, small puffs of cold air coming out of his mouth.

  “He was Davis’ brother,” I say, getting angry all over again.

  “Davis’ brother?” he asks, stunned. “Barry? I thought the girl at the front desk said his name was Fable.”

  “He lied. Fake ID.”

  “Shit, Lark.”

  “I know. He wouldn’t talk.”

  “So you clobbered him.”

  I stay silent. It wasn’t a question. I’m not going to deny what I really wanted was to break his nose. I maybe only fractured it a little.

  “He didn’t say anything? Nothing at all?”

  I rub my lips together and rub my hand down my face. “He said we’re looking too north. We need to look
south.”

  Liam gives me a confused look and I throw my hands in the air.

  “What the hell does that mean? Do we need to go back to Alabama?”

  I shake my head. “I don’t think so. He said Rowan was the one who broke his knee. They wouldn’t send him all the way here if they were in Alabama.”

  Liam smiles proudly. “Good point. And good for Rowan.”

  I can’t make myself say any more words. I’m damn proud of her for sticking up for herself, but I don’t know what that cost her. Christ, I can only imagine.

  We sit in silence for long minutes, each of us thinking hard about what Barry said.

  We’ve been taught that slow and steady wins the race. We have men on the field and some in town looking for her. It’s our job to get the real information before acting like crazy buffoons. Even the state of Tennessee and surrounding states have been notified. Logan even released a statement to the media to get her face out there. People are searching for her everywhere.

  And even though my instincts are screaming at me to get my ass on a snowmobile and keep looking for her, all that’ll do is make me more worried and give me less time to figure out what’s really happening.

  Liam starts the engine, but the truck is covered in snow. It’s been coming down at a pretty fast pace since early this morning. As the truck finally begins to warm up, Liam gets out of the cab and scrapes off the windshield. And as I watch him, I notice the melting snow moving down the road and into a sewer grate.

  “Shit,” I say to myself.

  “What?” Liam says as he heaves himself back in the truck.

  I laugh. Davis is good. “Barry didn’t mean travel south. He meant up and down. I think he meant the underground tunnels.”

  Liam gives me a dumbfounded look. “There are tunnels in Tennessee?”

  I perk up with the first bit of information lifting my hopes of finding Rowan. “Yeah. They usually flood in the winter, but they’ve had a dry year. Today is the first snowfall, and it won’t be melting off until the snow stops. It makes sense why Rowan’s tracker wouldn’t put out a signal. Listen, call Logan and see if we can get a squad together. I know where to start looking.”

  IT WAS A REALLY BAD IDEA to kick that guy’s kneecap. I know that now. I mean, sure, at the time, it seemed like a fantastic idea. Knock the douchebag to the ground and make an escape. For some reason, they decided to leave me alone with this one guy. They kept calling him Barry, though I assume that’s not his real name, and if it is, they’re morons. But, he creeped me out. His black, beady eyes kept staring at me and every once in a while, the left one would twitch. It took me a good hour to assess him, watch as he moved around the room, and he seemed scrawny—well, scrawny enough. I thought I could fight him off. Only, I didn’t take into account, these guys are probably skilled fighters and can easily fend off a girl. I’m glad to say I was half wrong. I got a good couple of swings and a swift kick to his leg. There was one (other) major flaw in my plan. I had no idea where I was going, and once I decided to bite the bullet and run…I got lost. All it did was get me smacked across the face by a guy who didn’t really seem to want to hurt me, a cut lip, and now I’m tied to a chair.

  It’s been hours since anyone has come to check on me. For the first few hours, they were nice enough. And that’s saying a lot considering they kidnapped me and probably plan to do something awful to me.

  But they brought me a snack and water. It wasn’t until I kicked that Barry guy that the experience began to shift. Though, I don’t feel like I’m in any immediate danger.

  I haven’t seen anyone in what feels like days, and I have to pee. I squirm and reposition myself in the chair, but nothing helps the constant squeezing and pulling of my bladder.

  I bang my head on the back of the chair and close my eyes. I wish I knew what time it was. It’s far too quiet down here. I begin to allow myself to drift off when a dripping sound wakes me. My eyes move about the room, but I can’t seem to find where it comes from.

  Drip after drip, the noise becomes like a stereo in my head and I will my mind to turn my ears off.

  It doesn’t happen. If it’s possible, the drops of water grow larger and the sound magnifies.

  They blindfolded me as we got close to wherever we are, but I know we’re underground somewhere. They had men stationed a good half mile from the location, keeping watch as we pulled up.

  The walls are thick steel and the floor below me is dirty concrete. I don’t recall there being tunnels in Tennessee, but that’s not saying much as this is my first time here. What a lovely damn vacation it’s been.

  I groan. Shut up, water.

  Drip, drip, drip.

  Splash, splash, splash.

  Water is the worst. I hate it. I hate the way it’s coming through the ceiling. I hate the way my throat is screaming for it. I’m so thirsty. I hate the way it’s sloshing around my bladder, mocking me. Water sucks.

  I squint my eyes. The crack in the ceiling providing the water entry seems to be an old crack from many years ago. It’s rusted and weathered. If the ceiling wasn’t made of thick metal, I’d be afraid it would cave in.

  I wonder how far down we are into the earth. I wasn’t quick enough to count my steps, but I’d imagine we are at least twenty feet below.

  God, how is Lark ever going to find me?

  There’s a room attached to the room I’m in now, and I can faintly hear someone on the other side. A door creaks and then slams. Damn, you’d think with walls and the ceiling made of metal, it would be hard to hear what’s going on outside. .

  Thank goodness for me, though. I’m able to make out what they say. They must be right next to me.

  I wiggle my chair over to the freezing, steel wall and place my ear against it.

  “They’ll be here at sun up,” someone says. And who is they?

  “We’ll need to get her ready,” another one chimes in. “Peter slapped her in the face. Hopefully it didn’t leave any bruises.”

  “Peter’s an idiot,” the first man grumbles. “He needs to learn to keep his cool. I told Davis he’d be a problem one day.”

  “He’s young. We’ll teach him.”

  My blood runs cold. Ice shoots through my veins.

  Someone is coming here to see me?

  Oh no.

  No.

  No.

  No.

  They plan on selling me?

  Tears well in my eyes and I begin to cry. I scream. I choke on a sob. It all happens at once. Every ungodly emotion comes at me in waves. Crushing me with all of its force. I hadn’t had a breakdown since I got here but now I know why I’m truly here. This can’t be happening. No wonder they were being so nice to me at first. I’m just another one of their girls to make them money. Why would they hurt something they plan on making a profit from? It’s genius really. You want your products to look the best right before they’re bought.

  “Pretty girls make good money,” Davis had said on our way here. I didn’t think anything of it at the time. I thought they kidnapped me because I’ve been so set on finding them. I thought they’d want to hurt me, maybe demand a ransom. Never in my wildest dreams did I think they’d sell me.

  I allow myself to cry. I can’t really tell true time down here, but I let myself mourn for a good while. It’s all one giant blur. I could have been here for an hour for all I know. But I give myself the appropriate time to grieve my impending fate.

  It was kismet. Lark doesn’t believe in fate or destiny, but look where it led me.

  I sniffle the last bit of sadness I have and sit up straighter.

  If they have to make me look presentable for these buyers, that mean’s they’ll have to untie me. And if they have to untie me, that means I can fight.

  And I know—I know it sounds stupid to attempt it again. But I don’t really see any other options.

  I could let them dress me and make me look appropriate for these people, but I can’t allow my mind to agree to being bought. I’m not oka
y with it. I can’t be.

  So until I’m unable, I’m going to fight. It’s what Lark would want me to do. It’s what I want to do for Lark.

  This isn’t how our story will end.

  “Look at you, you gorgeous little thing,” Peter says as he walks in and clicks the door shut behind him.

  I visibly cringe. My skin shivers and I grind my teeth.

  He finds my reaction amusing and snickers.

  “Don’t worry.” He raises his hands. “I won’t hurt you, again. As a matter of fact, I’m going to enjoy this task.”

  I narrow my eyes and will my body to somehow swallow itself so I don’t have to do anything with, to him or in front of him.

  “Nothing sexual, of course,” he continues, pulling something out of the metal closet on the other side of the room. “Davis would have my ass if I touched you in that way.” He turns his eyes back to me. The deep pools of brown remind me of sludge and my hand itches to clock him a good one. “You’re strictly for the buyer.”

  Christ, hearing him say that word makes me want to lie in the fetal position and pray for death.

  He carefully hangs up a dark green dress on the hook and smiles. Gently running his hands along the inside of the fabric, he does his best to pull out any wrinkles the dress might have. Next, he turns back and walks to the closet, pulling out different necklaces.

  “Do you like this one?” he asks in a sadistic voice, removing two strands of pearls. “Or this one?” He points to a long, gold delicate chain with a heart in the middle.

  I’d prefer neither because they’re both hideous, so I keep my mouth shut. Peter shrugs and chooses the pearls, walking back to the dress, dangling them around the hanger.

  “Shoes next, yes?” he asks, turning to an identical closet next to the one that had the dress in it. “I think we need something to complement those long legs of yours.” His eyes narrow as he scans the lower half of my body.

  I clench my legs together and his eyes light up. But I also get the distinct impression that he enjoys this. Dressing me up. I tilt my head.