Lies (Deceit and Desire Book 1)

by Cassie Wild

  And a hundred other ors, a thousand ugly little scenarios popped into my mind, silencing me.

  “So, what are you talking about?” Trice asked, pressing me.

  I huffed out a breath, feigning irritation. “Oh, okay. I guess it was about Kian. And yes–”

  Before I could finish, a door banged open in the back of the house. I jumped up, startled. There were rules for my working hours, so whoever had just thrown open the back door was either pissed off – that would be my dearest papa – or my sister.

  “Go lock the door,” I told Trice, moving toward the back of the room, the simple white door that separated the two parts of my life. It was locked, and I pulled the key for it from the chain at my neck, fitting it to the lock. The last time somebody had come slamming into the house like that, it had been Gabriel, all pissed off and scared because it turned out the money he’d paid Vano had been a little off, he’d told me. We’d needed another thousand to pay up, or we’d have a few problems.

  I had no idea what those problems would have been, but I’d been forced to stand by as he sold Trice’s car she used for work and the big screen TV we’d splurged on after a particularly good few weeks the summer before.

  Now Trice and I shared a car which wasn’t a hardship since we were rarely allowed to go anywhere that didn’t require sneaking out – that was easier if we didn’t drive – and we had to watch TV on an ancient relic that looked like it belonged back when TVs came with rabbit ears. It also played like it. Needless to say, we didn’t watch much TV these days.

  If he’d gone and miscounted again…

  I finally got the door open but came up short at the sight of my little sister standing there.

  She was sniffling, her big eyes wet with tears. “Papa…” She gulped for air and tried again. “Suria, Papa told me that I have to get married!”

  “Yes, it’s true,” Gabriel Marks said, waving a hand at me, shooing me off like an annoying little fly. His gaze was rapt on the outdated TV, a queer little smile on his face. “Go…you should still be working, Suria.”

  It had taken him almost two hours to come home, and I’d had one client come and go during that time. I’d been so distracted, for all I know, I’d told the woman her lost cat was hiding in the freezer – okay, maybe it hadn’t been that bad.

  But I wasn’t on top of my game, and I wouldn’t be until I handled this.

  “Listen, Papa, you can’t force Joelle to get married. She’s too young!”

  “Ephraim wants her as she is,” he said, sliding that queer smile my way.

  I wanted to shudder but held myself still.

  “Ephraim?” I asked quietly. Please, don’t be who I think–

  “Ephraim Farrar has expressed interest in her.” Now the queer little smile became an all-out, full-fledged thing, a grotesque mockery of a true smile, something filled with satisfaction and pride and greed. “We will finally have some of the respect we deserve, Suria. No more scraping along for a mere pittance of the take, no more scraping on the bottom of the barrel. We’ll be respected.”

  I bit my inner cheek to tell him he could have been marrying Joelle off to Vano’s son, and he still wouldn’t get the respect he wanted. It just wasn’t going to happen.

  But that wouldn’t help either.

  “I’m worth more than Joelle. She’s lousy on the job. Offer me instead. I’ll make Ephraim happier, and he’ll put in a good word about you to Vano.” I took a step forward, summoning up the best smile I could. “I’ll be happy to do it, Papa. Joelle is too young, too scared. She will not make Ephraim a good wife.”

  He scoffed, waving me off one more time. “Do you think I’d give away my best prize? No. You stay here. You’ll only make money for me,” he said, voice going hard when he saw I wanted to argue.

  I wanted to scream at him, but I knew it would be a waste of breath.

  Plus, if he knew the depth of my anger, he’d be more watchful.

  That was the last thing I wanted.

  Pretending defeat, I turned around and walked out.

  But this…?

  No. This would never happen.

  Seven

  Kian

  I’d managed to go maybe an hour without thinking about Suria.

  Maybe.

  I’d been doing good, though, getting some work done – finally – not brooding about how she’d been gone when I woke up. Brooding for not getting her phone number. Brooding that I hadn’t heard her leave.

  Then that damn song came on. The song that had been playing at the club when I kissed her. And now it was like I was reliving the whole damn night all over again.

  I couldn’t figure out why each word felt like a punch in the gut.

  Women didn’t get to me like this.

  Sure, I enjoyed them. I was healthy, straight, and fairly normal. Why wouldn’t I?

  But last night should have just been another hook-up, a woman to have fun with for a little while, then forget about. I had no doubt I was the same for the ladies I’d hooked up with – a guy to dance with, maybe grab a bite to eat, then hit the mattress with for an hour or two before we went our separate ways.

  I wasn’t a manwhore or anything.

  It wasn’t like I had two or three – or more – hook-ups a week, but I wasn’t unfamiliar with how things went.

  This had all the markings of a classic.

  We met at a club, danced a bit, had fun, the chemistry was there.

  As the song came to a close, I tried to push her out of my head so I could finish the job on the Cabriolet. The owner had been given an estimate on having the job done – end of the week. I always overshot by a little, because I preferred the wiggle room, but if I could get my head out of my ass, I might be able to finish this tomorrow. The custom rims for the two front tires, both damaged in the wreck, had come in, and Gus had finished the final coat on the paint job over the weekend. We were good to go. A few more things here and there, get her cleaned up and we were–

  “Son of a bitch!” I swore as my hand slipped off the wrench, smacked into the pavement. Skin split and blood appeared. Swearing again, I got to my feet.

  “You get an owie, boss?” one of the guys called out in a sing-song voice.

  I flipped him off with the hand that wasn’t bleeding as I made my way over to the well-worn, well-used first aid kit. After digging out a bandage and slapping it on, I turned to see Donut in the doorway. He was watching me with a grin and a sucker in one hand.

  “I always get a sucker after I get an owie,” he told me.

  “I got something you can suck,” I growled back.

  A couple of hoots broke out as Donut made kissing noises at me. Rolling my eyes at him, I turned to the guys behind me and shouted, “Don’t you all have work to do?”

  They all broke out into laughter as I headed back to the Cabriolet. “Let’s try this again, old girl,” I murmured to her, getting back down on the ground, wrench in hand.

  That Cabriolet wasn’t going to be finished tomorrow. I’d almost slipped with the wrench again, and if I kept it up, I was going to chip that fresh coat of paint, so in self-defense and out of respect for a beautiful piece of machinery, I’d retreated to my office. I’d rather fuck up paperwork and let Donut sort it out than fuck up a car.

  Of course, all it took to start thinking of Suria again was the simple, elegant, beautiful word…fuck.

  And there I was, thinking about how good it had been to fuck her, to dance with her. To lean over a table as she sipped her drink and laugh with her as she pointed out some of the professional douches – as she’d called them – who had been trolling the dance floor at the club.

  Everything about her had been…good.

  Better than good, really.

  Not that I was one to wax poetic or whatever the saying was.

  I wondered if she’d be at the club again tonight.

  Of course, it was Monday. What normal person went clubbing on a Monday?

  I was thinking about it though. Did
that mean I wasn’t normal?

  Did I even care about the answer to that?

  “Hey, boss? We got a car you need to take a look at,” Donut said through the door.

  “I told you I wanted to get some paperwork done,” I shouted back at him as I stared at the paperwork I hadn’t even started.

  “Well, then maybe you can tell the guy driving the wrecker he should come back…whenever.”

  I scowled, because that wasn’t how I liked to do things. “We didn’t get a call about getting another car,” I said, getting up and going to the door. “We barely got room in the bay for what we have.”

  “I know.” He jerked his head over his shoulder. “The client is out there too. Looks familiar.”

  I glanced past him, caught sight of a familiar face and groaned.

  “Yeah, yeah…”

  Autobody shops probably had frequent fliers, the same way airlines did. Only instead of getting people from point A to point B, we fixed the cars they used to get from point A to point B. And this particular person had delivered his busted car to my shop no less than four times in the past year.

  “Kenny, the wrecker guy, told me that the car owner is already talking about how he’s got to have this car fixed by next week and how you always know to speed things up and blah, blah, blah…”

  “This isn’t going to be no rush job,” I said. “Sooner or later, that douche is going to kill somebody.”

  But I headed out there to take a look at the damage.

  If it wasn’t for the fact that the car was a beauty, a McLaren 675LT, I’d almost tell the guy to go find somebody else. But if I did that…well, hell. I had to drive the car once it was finished to make sure it handled right, didn’t I?

  And I wasn’t an idiot.

  Who was going to say no to the chance to drive a McLaren?

  Eight

  Suria

  I had counted my money three times over, but no matter how many times I counted, it hadn’t magically multiplied.

  If only it would, I’d count it a hundred more times. And happily.

  The few thousand I had managed to squirrel away, including the larger tips I had dared to steal and hope it wouldn’t be noticed, might be enough to buy me a train ticket and give me a new start if I dared. But for me, Trice, and Joelle, we would need more.

  We would need a lot more, and we needed it fast.

  I wished I had picked up gambling because if I was any good, I would just take all the money and go try to double or triple what I had. It was as good a chance as any. And it was a better plan than I had now. Which was nothing.

  But I had never bothered to learn.

  I’ve been too busy learning the con, too busy taking care of Joelle, and then Trice after she and her mother moved in with us. I’ve been too busy trying to survive.

  And now, I had to find a way for the three of us to survive again, and that involved getting out of here. I couldn’t let Joelle marry Ephraim

  The bastard was about as cruel as they came. I didn’t care that he belonged to one of the most powerful families in the clan. Papa might be okay with selling his youngest to an asshole, but I wasn’t.

  But how could I get us out of this?

  A sly voice inside my head whispered, You know how you’re going to do it. Stop playing games and just admit it so you can start planning.

  I wanted to screech at the voice to shut up.

  The problem was…it was right. Whether it was my alter-ego, my conscience, or whatever, it was right.

  I needed to figure out a way to run the biggest con of my life.

  It was a scary thought, and it was also dangerous. It was seriously dangerous to run a con outside the family. Doing something big without their sanction could have serious consequences.

  So does running away…

  And staying here, the consequences would be worse.

  Briefly, I thought about just taking Joelle to the nearest police department and forcing her to tell them what was going on. I thought maybe she would, if I told her to do so. But then she would end up in foster care, and Trice and I would have to deal with the fallout.

  Vano would never agree to give us our freedom.

  If we ran, we had a chance. But if we stayed, Joelle would end up married to that hateful bastard.

  Nibbling on my lower lip, I finally scooped up my money and tucked it back into its safe place before flopping back onto my bed. “So, you do it,” I mumbled under my breath.

  There wasn’t anybody on my client list now that had the kind of money I would need. If all of this had gone down a couple of months ago, it would be different, but the money from that job was long gone, and Papa had been expecting it anyway.

  If I could find somebody else like Eaton, that would be perfect. He had been a son-of-a-bitch anyway, and I wouldn’t mind gouging somebody like that for all they were worth. But I didn’t have time to wait for another bad apple to fall into my lap.

  Bored housewives and lonely old ladies who lost their pets or their husbands recently weren’t going to have the kind of money I needed. And really, no matter how desperate I was, I wasn’t sure if I could really bilk an old lady out of what remained of her life savings anyway.

  I would have to do something that I found almost intolerable though. More than likely, whoever I setup was someone who didn’t deserve what I planned to do.

  Squeezing my eyes closed, I lay there with my hands fisted at my sides. “But we don’t deserve this either,” I whispered. “Whatever did we do to deserve this?”

  We struggled for damn near everything, and we constantly worried that Joelle or Trice would be sold off into marriage like some prize pig at a fair.

  And now it had happened.

  We deserved better.

  If the cost of getting a chance at something better was stealing money from some gadje who was better off than we were, then I’d carry that weight on my shoulders.

  I didn’t like it, but I’d do it.

  Nine

  Kian

  Donut appeared in the bay just as I was finishing up with the Mercedes Maybach. “Phone for you, boss. It’s your mom.”

  A couple of snickers broke out behind me, but I ignored them. My mom had been in the shop more than a few times, and all the guys liked her. I could handle the ribbing because it was just part of working with a bunch of roughnecks like these guys.

  Actually, it was part of just working with people.

  Unless you wanted to work with a bunch of assholes who couldn’t get along. And I didn’t want that. I wiped my hands on the grease rag and tossed it down on the workbench before heading over to meet Donut in the doorway. He had the cordless from my office in his hand.

  I had a rule about cell phones in the bay, and I stuck to it as well.

  “Hey, Mom,” I said as I headed into my office. “What’s going on?”

  “Sweetheart, it’s nothing urgent. It can wait but... well, the lights are out.”

  “Your lights or everybody’s? Because if it’s everybody’s, I can’t help.”

  She laughed. “Well, just mine. I thought maybe I’d forgotten to pay the electric bill, but that’s not it. I was using the microwave, and I went to turn on another light in the kitchen, and everything just went poof. No lights. The lights in my bedroom are working, but I don’t know if I blew something or what.”

  She probably blew one of the fuses in her condo again. I bit back a sigh because I’d shown her how to fix it a time or two, but I’ve also shown her how to change her oil a couple of times, and I didn’t see my elegant mom doing that either.

  Some people just didn’t mix with certain tasks. Me, I didn’t see myself ever sewing a button on my shirt or hemming a pair of slacks that were too long.

  “I’ll be over there soon as I can.”

  “Baby, you don’t have to interrupt your day at work. It can wait.”

  “I’ll be over there as soon as I can,” I repeated. I wasn’t going to leave my mom wondering around a condo with
half the lights off.

  She probably would have been just fine. There were more than a few windows placed throughout that part of the condo, but I felt like a bad son not going over there to fix something that would only take me a few minutes, and it wasn’t like she was on the other side of LA.

  It took thirty minutes in the mid-morning traffic, and it would probably take twice as long to get back since it would be during the lunch hour, but…well, I was the boss.

  It only took a couple of minutes to deal with the fuse, and that included walking into the room where the circuit breaker was located.

  Mom laughed as I came walking out of the room. “Well, don’t I feel silly? You made it seem so easy.”

  I waved it off and smiled when I saw two plates out on the counter. “Was this just a con to get me to join you for lunch?”

  “No.” She beamed at me. “But the lunch is your thank you for coming over. You might as well sit because you know you’ll sit in traffic anyway.”

  “True enough.”

  I joined her at the breakfast nook and helped myself to tomato soup and grilled cheese, the kind of food she’d made me growing up. Still the kind of food I often made myself on the weekends.

  “You will never guess who I got an invitation from,” she said, smiling at me as she dipped her spoon into the bowl.

  “Oh, I bet I can.” I crooked a grin at her and dipped a bit of the sandwich into the soup. “And now the real motive comes out…you’re really just wanting to grill me about girls again, aren’t you?”

  I was right. One of my friends from high school was getting married to a girl he met in college. Which wasn’t new. Almost all my friends from school had settled down. A few of them had married and settled down two times over as a matter of fact.