Game of Lies

by Amanda K. Byrne

  So there’s nothing to do but wait. Wait and worry and take a trip down the paranoia trail.

  Constantine’s radio silence stabs me in the side like a thorn. Thorns can’t sink very far below the surface, but they can still do plenty of damage. They can tear the skin as effectively as a knife and leave you exposed to further threats.

  Just because he had his phone turned off doesn’t mean he’s behind the shooting. But the random spray of bullets is the third one of its kind that’s happened since I met Nick. Two times is a coincidence. Three is a pattern, and it’s one I can’t ignore.

  I lower my head to my hands. I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to find the clues I’m looking for, and I’m afraid I’ll look too hard at Constantine and miss something huge. Like the actual killer. To top it off, what information I do have is shabby and pitiful and not nearly enough to confront him with. He’d get all insulted, and if I’m wrong, I’ll have ruined our friendship for no reason.

  I start with the list. The fucking bullet-point list I made for Nick, back when I was far more certain Constantine was behind everything. It was a list of the deals that Nick had to step in to save over his cousin’s protests or they would have ended up in the toilet. It was a good enough reason for me to want to dig deeper. Just how far is that deeper, though?

  A noise from the bed catches my attention, and I lift my head. Nick’s pulling the covers back over his legs, and the doctor’s beating a slow retreat from the bed. Nick must have taken the time to adjust his hospital gown, since it no longer looks like it’s going to fall down. “You look ready to keel over,” he comments.

  “Gee, thanks.” He’s right, unfortunately. With the adrenaline high gone and my shock under control, I’m tired. I want food and a bed. “What’d the doctor say about your leg?”

  “To stop putting so much stress on it and let it heal.” He rakes a hand through his hair. “No word from Con?”

  I guess my doubts must not be very important to Nick if his cousin is still one of the first people he calls when there’s trouble. “No. Not yet, anyway. I can try calling him again.” In the background, an intercom squawks, calling Doctor Raleigh to the ER.

  The moment we can leave this hospital can’t come soon enough.

  Nick frowns. “Don’t bother. If he’s not with my mother, I’ll call him then. Someone will be by soon with discharge paperwork and another set of crutches, unless the paramedics brought in the pair I was using.” He glances at his lap. “Can you pull the curtains shut? I think I’m allowed to get dressed.”

  “Aw, you don’t want your ass hanging out?” I tease, and his grin is surprised and quick and bright.

  “Only person I want staring at my ass is you, love. Curtains?”

  I get up and tug the curtains shut, then find his clothes neatly folded on a chair on the other side of the bed. “Have you spoken with your mom at all?”

  He shifts his legs over the side of the bed and reaches behind him for the ties holding his gown together. He yanks at them, and they snap. “Phone’s busted. Had it in my front pocket instead of the back, and it cracked when I went down. Won’t turn on.” He pulls the top of the gown to his waist and picks up his shirt. “Soon as they spring me, we’re going upstairs. I think the OR is on floor five.”

  When he slides off the bed and lurches forward, I dart around to the other side and catch his shoulders. “Wait a second, okay? I just got you back in one piece. I’d really like to keep you that way.” He lifts his right arm, and I duck under, bearing his weight as he struggles to pull his bloody jeans on with one hand. When he gets them to his knees, I grab the waistband and drag them up to his hips.

  The curtains part as he’s settling on the bed, turned sideways and ready to leave the moment the doctor says go. It’s the same nurse who tracked down a doctor to fix his stitches, and praise the tiny baby Jesus, he’s come bearing forms and crutches.

  “Andreas Kosta is still in surgery,” he says, passing over the forms. “Fifth floor. Please stop by the desk before you leave.”

  Nick signs the paperwork without reading it and grabs the crutches. He tucks them under his arms as he gets to his feet. He jerks his chin to the paperwork lying on the bed. “They’re all yours.” And he swings out into the corridor.

  I offer a pained smile to the nurse, mumbling my own “thank you” as I go after Nick. Even on crutches, he’s fast, and I have to lengthen my stride to catch up. “Nick. Slow down. He’s in surgery. He’s not going anywhere. You’ve got time to take care of the paperwork.”

  Nick stops abruptly and glares at me. “I know that. But my mother’s up there, my sisters are probably up there, and someone else has got to be able to give me more fucking information than that.” I stare after him as he hobbles toward the elevator.

  He’s jabbing impatiently at the elevator button when I walk up. I keep my mouth shut as we board the elevator and trail behind him when the doors open seconds later.

  The waiting area is nicer than a hospital waiting area should be. Situated next to a large window, table lamps provide extra light rather than harsh fluorescents, and the couch and chairs are covered in a soft dark blue fabric. Lia jumps up from her chair and runs over, bypassing Nick to throw her arms around me. The air in my lungs huffs out in surprise, but I hug her back tightly.

  “You’re okay?” she whispers.

  My surprise increases. “I should be asking you that. Are you okay? How’s your mom?”

  Lia releases me and pulls me aside, and I watch Nick’s other sisters fuss over him as he lowers himself to the couch next to his mother. “Mom’s… I guess she’s okay. She hasn’t said much.” She glances over her shoulder. “Nicky’s okay? You’re okay?” she repeats.

  “Nick pulled some stitches. We were down in the ER getting him patched up. I’m fine. Some scrapes from where Nick pushed me down. Are you sure you’re okay?” She hadn’t actually answered the question.

  Tears well and spill down her cheeks. She swipes her fingers under her eyes. “If I’m not thinking about it, yes, I’m okay. Dad was stable when they took him in. That’s good. It’s good, right?”

  The pleading note in her voice hurts. Hurts. It’s a knife in the heart, and I almost lift a hand to rub away the pain. “Yeah, it is.” Better than Turner got. I nudge her toward her family. “Go sit down.” I need a minute alone. Several minutes, to be honest. The worry and fear for Andreas is quickly being replaced by jealousy. He’s still alive. He has a fighting chance.

  Nick needs me, and he doesn’t need my anger over something he can’t control. Lia’s brows draw together, and I work up a smile for her. “I need to call my mom,” I lie. “I’ll be there in a bit.” Expression still uncertain, she wanders over to her family, and I walk down the hall in search of a quiet, secluded spot.

  I find the exit for the stairs and scan the door for an alarm. Finding none, I step into the stairwell and let the door shut behind me. Then I slide down the wall. My butt hits the polished concrete hard enough I wince.

  The human mind can take only so much stress and chaos before it starts developing coping mechanisms or shuts down higher thought. How much more can I take? What other horrible things have to happen before my mind and body finally say stop?

  I stretch my legs out in front of me. The coolness of the concrete seeps through my jeans, the sensation traveling up my spine to wind its way around my head. I’ll do this as long as I have to. Because my only other option is to give up, give it all up, and that’s no option at all.

  * * * *

  Someone’s murmuring my name and shaking me awake. Ow. There’s a crick in my neck, a bad one, and I wiggle my jaw to work out some of the stiffness. “Hmmm?” Falling asleep with my head on Nick’s shoulder sounded sweet and romantic. Really it’s just painful.

  Nick’s expression gives away nothing of what he’s feeling. “Dad’s awake. We’re going to see him.”

  Relief that Andreas survived the surgery wars
with a resurgence of jealousy. “Oh. Good.” I stretch away from Nick and tilt my head back and forth. “I’m going to walk around a little.” Without waiting for an answer, I kiss his cheek and stand, then hurry for the stairwell. A couple flights of stairs will wake me up and give me a chance to work out the residual anger.

  I want to hurt something. Punch it, strangle it, rip it apart. I shove open the door and sprint up the stairs. I push my rage into a corner with each step, my mind calming even as my heart rate climbs. Whining and crying over the unfairness of life won’t do me any good. Maybe someone would have caught up to Turner eventually. Maybe the outcome was inevitable.

  Six flights later, I no longer want to smash my fist into the wall. I turn around and walk slowly to the fifth floor landing. I’ll call a cab to take me back to the car. It’ll give Nick a little more time with his family and me more time away from them.

  The waiting area isn’t empty as I expected. Constantine has his back to me and his phone at his ear. I quiet my steps, hoping to hear something that might convince me one way or the other that he isn’t behind the shooting this evening.

  “No, we need to finish the server tests first.” A pause. “I don’t fucking care how long it takes, Peter. They need to be done before the launch.” Another pause. “We’re not pushing the date back again. We already did it once. We do it again, we’ll lose consumer confidence.” His shoulders tighten, and I hold my breath. “Get it the fuck done and stop bitching to me about it. You can sleep when the launch is over.”

  He disconnects the call and shoves the phone into his back pocket. Point about consumer confidence aside, Constantine’s attitude just then strikes me as…off. Harsh and unbending. Not something I’d normally associate with him, but then Nick did say he’s impossible to live with in the weeks before a product launch.

  “More sleepless nights ahead, huh?” I ask.

  He whips his head around. Icy fury races across his face, followed by a weary smile. “More like we can sleep when we’re dead.” He steps toward me, arms outstretched, and I stiffen involuntarily. He doesn’t notice and hugs me as tight as Lia did. “You’re okay?” he murmurs.

  “Some scrapes and bruised knees. Nothing I won’t recover from.” I wiggle free of his hold as discreetly as I can. “Since you’re here, can you tell Nick I went to pick up the car and I’ll be back soon?”

  “Wait until he’s done. I’ll drive you both over.”

  I’m already backing away. “No, it’s okay. I’ll take a cab.” The elevator pings off to my right, and I jog to catch it before the doors close.

  Leaving Nick alone with his cousin—well, alone with his cousin, his mother, and his sisters—is a calculated risk. If Constantine is the one behind the shooting tonight and the attempt at the house the night before, he likes a plan. I’m counting on that need for a plan to hold off the spontaneous urge to get rid of Nick as soon as the opportunity presents itself.

  Besides, all three mass shooting incidents had a certain amount of anonymity. Whoever ordered the shootings wants some distance between him and the killing so it would look like an unfortunate accident, though I wouldn’t call murder an accident.

  The elevator opens onto the first floor. I dig my phone out of my pocket and call for a cab, pleased when the dispatcher tells me one will be here in two minutes. I leave through the ER and walk to the curb, eyes glued to the street out front.

  Motive. I need a motive. Coming up with a motive will give me—us—something to work with. It could be as simple as wanting the power Nick has, or revenge for a deal gone wrong. It could be something obscure neither of us could guess in a million years.

  I stick with the simple and move power and revenge to the top of the list. Greed, lust, fury… They’re strong emotions, strong enough to push a person to do something they normally wouldn’t do. Revenge rode me hard. It makes sense that whoever’s after Nick is being chased by the same nasty demons.

  The cab pulls up, and I climb in and give the driver the closest intersection to where I parked the car. My phone buzzes in my hand. I squint at the name on the screen as I try to accept the call. “Neese?”

  “Who else would it be?”

  “I dropped my phone and the screen cracked. Think I need to replace it. It doesn’t like it when I try to do, well, anything on it. Anyway, what’s up?”

  She murmurs something unintelligible, and a lower voice answers. She must be talking to Charlie. “Our semi-annual tradition. Pizza? Bad movies?”

  Crap. Denise and I always start each semester with a large pizza and the worst movie we can find on Netflix. The harder our classes get, the more important it becomes. Spring semester junior year, it turned out to be one of the few nights we actually got to do something fun. It was like the moment we set foot on campus, our profs threw weeks-long projects and fifteen page papers at us. “Right. Sorry, it’s been a crazy couple of days.” The cab rounds a corner. “My place isn’t really ready for company. Can we do it at yours?”

  “I was going to suggest that. I was also going to suggest you bring Nick with you.”

  Our relationship has been all over the place recently. A night of doing nothing together might bring us back to a level playing field and repair some of the damage. As I open my mouth to say yes, Constantine’s conversation echoes in my head. We can sleep when we’re dead. “I’ll ask, but he’s been swamped at work. I don’t know that he’ll have time.”

  Literally? Or figuratively?

  The cab rolls past Nick’s office, the crime scene tape gone, the bloodstains still visible, even in the dark. I turn away from the window. “I gotta go. I’ll see you tomorrow? Around six?”

  “Six it is. I’ll order the pizza.” We hang up, and it occurs to me this is the first time in weeks she didn’t ask me how I am.

  Chapter 20

  I’ve been here before. The familiar hazy, languid heat cloaks me like the blankets on our bed. I know those hands, that mouth, the sweet whispers where the words don’t matter, only the intent. His intent is to wake me enough I swear I’m dreaming, and it’s working.

  I’d know his kisses anywhere. Pre-Nick, I had good kisses and bad, a few fantastic ones that left me dizzy and breathless. Nick took what I knew and destroyed it. He’s my high bar, my impossible achievement, and if he knew his lips on mine had the power to short circuit my brain every time, he might take advantage and turn me into a pleasure-craving zombie.

  Something about the way our lips fit together makes me absolutely certain I will never find this connection with anyone else. Tonight, there’s an urgency in his kiss, pushing me closer to the frantic surge and swell of lust and farther from dreamland. It washes away the strain and mutual mistrust we’ve been operating under and tears it down to basics: him, me, fucking. He’s not toying with me. Using teeth and lips and tongue, he devastates my mouth, and I claw at his shoulders in an attempt to get closer.

  He skims a hand down my side, hooks his fingers under my knee, and props my leg on his hip. The move traps his cock between us, and I want to stroke it to bring him some relief. He rolls onto his back, bringing me with him.

  And I finally open my eyes.

  The room isn’t so dark I can’t see his face or the need expressed there. “Cassidy,” he whispers.

  I trace his lips with my finger. “What do you need?”

  His gaze focuses on my mouth. “You.”

  “Then take me.”

  But he doesn’t. He doesn’t even move. I let my finger drift away from his mouth and trace the line of his jaw. “Nick? Is something wrong?” His jaw tightens under my hand. “Talk to me,” I say softly.

  The words come haltingly, his eyes never leaving my mouth. “I was dreaming. I knew I was dreaming.” He walks his fingers up my leg to my hip. “We were being shot at again. Only instead of the bullets hitting my dad, they hit you. They hit you, and you wouldn’t open your eyes.” He lifts his gaze, and I see the wild desperation in them. “I keep coming too
close to losing you.”

  It’s a big fear of his, and it’s one I’ve heard before. There also isn’t much we can do about it. The life he leads invites danger to stalk him. Fuck, it practically knocks down his door.

  He’s not done talking, though. Hands running over my skin, gaze roaming my face, he continues. “I was glad it was him. For a good, solid minute, I was glad my dad was the one who was shot. Because it wasn’t you.”

  He threads his fingers through my hair, pulls my head down to his, and takes my mouth with all the fury he’d shown earlier. The heat shoots through me and I groan. We’ll talk later about this fear of his. Right now I need him as much as he needs me. Feeling daring, I suck his tongue into my mouth. My reward is a hard, firm jerk of his hips, the thick length of his cock rubbing my clit. I rock on him, his length growing slippery with my arousal. He can’t keep his hands in one place. They’re everywhere, stroking, gripping, teasing. They pause at my hips to encourage my rhythm, to speed it up, and I do.

  His injury keeps him somewhat immobilized, making him more demanding. My head must tilt this way to give him access to the sweet spot under my jaw. He works his hand between us so he can tug and pull at my nipple. “Sit up,” he rasps.

  I don’t. I trail my tongue up his neck and suckle a kiss to the soft skin over his racing pulse. He grabs my hair in a loose ponytail and tugs my head away. “Sit up, love.”

  I try to bring my mouth back to his and get my hair pulled for my trouble. “I don’t want to,” I whisper.

  “One more time.” The hand on my breast slides lower. “Sit. Up.” I let out a stuttering moan as he presses firmly on my clit. “Or I’ll stop.”

  I sit up.

  He immediately follows. I swallow my whimper as my hardened nipples brush against his chest. The change in position doesn’t do much to widen his range of motion, but he doesn’t let that stop him. Bunching my hair in his fist again, he tips my head back, scraping his teeth lightly down my throat to my collarbone. I squirm on his lap. I feel trapped with his hand holding my hair and the other gripping my wrists behind my back. Trapped, but not scared. The opposite, actually. I’m eager, nerves buzzing in anticipation.