Under the Lies

by Green, Sarah E.

Fear.

  “Gabe’s been shot.”

  Fingers wrap around the back of my neck, an arm secure at my waist. Sweaty forehead to sweaty forehead.

  I don’t know whose embrace I’m in, only that their hips grind into mine and my pulse beats in tune with the song.

  Multicolored laser lights zip between us. The weight of his body is enough for me to ignore what will be awaiting me when I venture home.

  The wrath of my keeper.

  This morning he told me not to leave the apartment. As he has told me for the past few days. Ever since Gabe was shot.

  Not that I care what Noah says right now.

  I haven’t cared about anything the past few days.

  Not him.

  Not my sister.

  Not this fake dating thing we’ve put on.

  Not the feelings that have taken root inside me.

  Nothing. I don’t give a single shit about anything.

  Gabe might’ve been the one that got shot but as the hours ticked on that night, the more locked up I became. To the point where even Noah couldn’t provoke a response out of me.

  I don’t even know why I’m like this, other than the fact that I can’t shake the knowledge of a gun being pointed at me.

  They were after me.

  And someone got hurt because of it.

  Gabe’s fine, sleeping the days away in Noah’s other guest room.

  The night he was shot, everyone moved at a frantic pace to get him back to Noah’s where a doctor on their retainer met us. She was able to stabilize him and remove the bullet, but she was concerned about him getting sick or an infection, so he’s been the latest addition to the Kincaid Hotel.

  He’s fine. The bullet missed all major arteries.

  But having him at Noah’s place has just been too much. A reminder that these people who have been trying to help me are getting hurt.

  And maybe I shouldn’t care, but I do because I can’t not. That’s just who I am.

  So when Thea texted me, wanting to go out tonight, I couldn’t respond YES fast enough. Normally, clubs are the last place I want to be but tonight is different.

  I need one night.

  One night to get away from Noah and everything. Where I can be free and numb and just dance.

  A faceless person in a sea of strangers.

  And that’s what I’m doing at Harlots, the rival club to Heathen’s Hell. When Thea asked where I wanted to go, I said anywhere but Heathen’s Hell.

  So, Harlots, we came.

  And I’m having a blast.

  I’ve danced with Thea for half the night. We’ve drunk and danced and laughed, but she got pulled away by some stranger two songs ago and before I could follow, I had a stranger of my own wanting to dance.

  So I did, letting them help forget what a tailspin my life has taken in the recent weeks and enjoying tonight as if it might be my last.

  And it very well could be.

  No doubt Noah knows I left.

  He didn’t really think I was going to listen, right?

  If he didn’t know I left as soon as I got in the elevator, he found out when I slipped the shadows he assigned to me. That’s right, I get put on house arrest and receive two bodyguards.

  How lucky am I?

  As soon as I lost the guards, they probably alerted Noah to what I’m doing. Oh well. I’ll deal with that when the time comes.

  My guy’s hands snake lower, down my sides and over my hips. He pulls me closer as I feel his lips graze the side of my neck.

  I wish I could make myself lean into him, but I can’t.

  His touch is wrong.

  Nice and welcomed, but so wrong. Subtle, not demanding.

  Leading but not wielding.

  He doesn’t hold me like he can’t help himself, drawing himself to me like a magnet.

  His touch doesn’t hold power.

  His touch isn’t Noah’s.

  And that’s the root of the problem.

  I crave the touch of a man who sends me spiraling with a single glare and ignites me with a passing touch.

  I don’t have that man right now, though, so I search for those feelings in the one I have, leaning into him—pushing aside who I want for what I have.

  But no matter how hard I pretend, the hands on me still feel amiss.

  I close my eyes, pressing into him harder, wishing they felt right, when he pulls away.

  Before I can turn around, hands slide around my waist. Different hands. Familiar hands.

  I stop dancing. Chest heavy.

  My former dance partner now stands in front of me, brushing off his pants. He shoots a glare over my shoulder, hands balled into fists before his eyes widen at the person behind me.

  “This is why you disobeyed my request? To dance?” His voice is thick, his laugh cruel. “Then let’s dance.” His hips roll once, twice—embers crackle within me.

  I try to pull away from Noah in frustration, but his hold on me is tight, keeping me locked to his body.

  “Let me go.”

  His head dips low as he answers simply, “No.”

  I begin to struggle, but his grip doesn’t relent, only tightens. I spent time dancing with the other guy wishing his touch was like Noah’s, but now that I have Noah’s arms around me I want them gone.

  It’s a vicious cycle.

  “I told you to stay at home, Sayer,” he rumbles at the low octave, rich bourbon on ice.

  Too bad all I feel is the ice. “Just because you said it doesn’t mean I’m going to listen.”

  His fingers sting my skin. “Does it?” He sounds amused.

  With his head dipped low, I feel his scruff scratch the shell of my ear.

  He missed his shave today.

  “It’s not going to work.” If I had control over my arms, I’d cross them.

  “What is?”

  “You trying to intimidate me.”

  “Is that what I’m doing right now?” he asks, his hips move at a sensual pace. “Here I thought I was trying to get a pretty girl to dance with me.”

  Pretty girl.

  My heart leaps, the first reaction I’ve felt in days.

  I twist in his arms. Chest to chest.

  Looking into his eyes, I find myself shocked at what stares back.

  With a face carved like his, it’s always going to be hard, but there’s something in his expression that has me sucking in a breath. A look that robs me of thought.

  An openness that he’s never shown me before. Cupping my cheeks, he brings our foreheads together. Our noses touch.

  “I want you to come back to me, Sayer.” His hands move from my cheeks to the back of my neck. “I don’t like you like this. So close but so far out of reach.”

  It’s the realist he’s ever been with me. “Noah—”

  His mouth crashes against mine, shutting me up and stealing my words. Cradling the back of my head, he devours me like I’m his last meal. I cling to him, opening for more. My nails bite his flesh.

  He’s not kind or soft. He’s possessive and in control.

  And it awakens pieces that have wilted within me.

  His touch is sin. His kiss poison. And I’m too busy drowning in him to care about a cure.

  Breaking the kiss, but not going far, Noah’s thumb caresses my pulse. “I can’t believe you’re making me do this in fucking Harlots.”

  We’re still close enough so my lips brush his as I say, “I’m not making you do anything. I just wanted to dance.”

  “By dance, you mean grinding your ass on some other guy’s dick to get my attention.”

  “Let’s get something clear, Noah.” I push against his chest, wanting out of his grip. He doesn’t twitch. “I didn’t do anything to get your attention. Didn’t even know you were here! So, go deflate that big ego of yours and take a step back. Not everything is about you.”

  He tilts his head.

  “Maybe,” I continue, unable to not tempt the tiger. “I wanted to dance with him. For his hands to be on
me instead of yours. Maybe he makes me feel things that you don’t.”

  My words are bitter.

  A taste Noah doesn’t care for.

  “You wanted to dance with him. You wanted him to touch this.” He runs his hands down my body.

  I step out of his grip and his eyes flash. “Wanted him to touch my body?” I correct. “Yeah.”

  Never mind the fact that I wanted the touch to be yours.

  “I don’t share.” Slowly, he curls his fists.

  “There’s nothing to share when I’m not yours, Noah!”

  The air turns to ice as Noah’s eyes flash and his jaw ticks when he hears my words. It was the wrong thing to say, I knew that the moment I said them but I couldn’t stop myself. A kernel of me wanted it. Wanted to say the words and inflict some kind of reaction.

  To prove me a liar.

  He’s not a man of words, they’re his weapon and he only knows how to inflict pain with them.

  He’s a man of touch, his hands speaking a language that’s foreign to his tongue.

  And my words…they struck a chord.

  “Wrong thing to say,” he growls, grabbing my arms and hauling me to his chest. “You think I do this for anyone? Let someone come into my home and leave their clothes, books, fucking strands of hair everywhere and making a mess in the order I’ve created.”

  My breathing turns labored and not because of all the dancing I’ve done.

  “I didn’t need you to get Harlow back,” he continues. “I didn’t need all the chaos you created when you came back into my life. But have I complained once about helping you? No. Why? Because I wanted you. I want you.”

  His admission shocks me, robs me of speech.

  Staring at him, my eyes frantically look for the lie. His tell. But he’s steady as ever. Of course, he’s calm in the wake of his words. Why not? He’s melting the ice in me.

  And he’s not done.

  “You’re mine because you fucking own me, Sayer Brooks. And I’m pissed as hell that you’re making me say this in fucking Harlots.”

  I blink, suddenly remembering where we are. Not alone, but in a club. Standing still while madness moves around us.

  And it’s too much.

  It doesn’t feel real.

  Maybe it would if we weren’t in public. If it was just him and I, but I can’t trust anything that leaves his mouth when we’re in public.

  None of this is real.

  His touch can lie as much as his words.

  And I don’t believe his hold now.

  I tear away from Noah.

  He tries to grab me, but I dart away, spinning into the crowd.

  Pushing and shoving my way through, I hear Noah shout behind me, but I don’t stop and soon I have the exit in view.

  “Sayer.” Noah grabs my arm, stopping me from escaping.

  “Let me go, Noah.” I keep facing forward until he doesn’t give me a choice, turning me around.

  “Sayer—” Someone knocks into him and the hold on me loosens. Not wasting a second, I pull free and all but run to the exit.

  However, I get stopped again when a very tall man steps in my path. I slam into his chest and his arms shoot out to steady me. Not letting me go.

  Blinking up at him, it takes me a minute to process who it is.

  Seamus grins down at me. “Going so soon?”

  He’s bigger than I remember, bulkier where the leather of his jacket strains against his shoulders. More bruised too. I’m close enough to realize that his face isn’t just covered in bruises and his hands aren’t only home to tattoos, but also freckles. Small, light freckles.

  Noah’s freckles are better.

  I start to back up, but he follows me like a snake charmer, weaving his body to the music while making my exit impossible.

  My back hits the table’s edge and the charmer’s arms go on either side, a cage of ripped muscle and soft leather and smoky cloves.

  “How rude of me. You and I haven’t been properly introduced.” He leans down. “I’m Seamus.”

  When I don’t say anything, he tsks. “This is where you say who you are.”

  “You already know who I am.” My jaw aches from how hard I’m clenching it.

  “Indeed, I do. But what I don’t know is: what does he want from you?” His voice sends a shiver down my body. And not from the sensual sound of the octave or the timbre that shakes his Adam’s apple against my shoulder. “What makes you so special?”

  “What does who want from me?” I play coy. It’s not hard to guess who he means, though.

  “Aw, don’t play dumb, blondie.” He sounds disappointed. “That’s such a stereotype.”

  He leans even closer. “Let me be more—”

  A fist skims my face as it protrudes from behind me—slamming into Seamus’s nose.

  “Motherfucker,” he roars as he stumbles back.

  A cold hand grabs my shoulder, pulling me back.

  Noah.

  The face of a seething man stares down at me for a moment, his eyes swirling with hatred.

  “Go back home, Sayer,” he whispers. He doesn’t wait to see if I listen before turning his back on me and gave his full attention to Seamus.

  I stay where I am even as the neon EXIT sign beckons from across the floor.

  “She’s not a part of this, Seamus.”

  “How I beg to differ.” Seamus leers at where I still stand over Noah’s shoulder. His attention wracks over my body.

  When Noah looks over his shoulder to find me still here, his eyes narrow.

  Seamus mumbles something low. Too low for me to hear, but by the slits that once were Noah’s eyes, I’m guessing it’s not good.

  Noah swings around and decks Seamus again. With a hook packed with enough force that I cringe at the sound of it connecting to his jaw, Seamus falls to the ground while cradling his face.

  It’s like fight night all over again, except Noah appears more unhinged.

  Noah steps forward, but a body slips between and makes a grab for him. Gabe.

  Reeve, Thea, and Gabe circle around us. Gabe, who was bedridden for most of the day, has his arms wrapped around Noah, restraining him. Barely.

  Seamus stumbles to his feet, spitting blood. “She a better lay than Harlow? Maybe I’ll have a go of her when you’re done.”

  Noah yells and lunges. Gabe grits his teeth, trying to keep his grip.

  My cheeks flame as I feel Thea touch my shoulder. I twist around in time to watch her school her face, concealing the emotions she doesn’t want anyone else to see. But I do. And I frown.

  Thea doesn’t see. She’s stuck on Seamus.

  Seamus continues his taunting, “What do you say, Brooks? Want another round of your sister’s sloppy seconds?”

  I recoil. My sister…and Seamus?

  “Leave her out of this, Seamus,” Noah growls, lunging for him again. Gabe’s skin looks clammy as he struggles to hold him, with beads of sweat lining his forehead.

  Reeve, who’s been standing next to a stunned Thea, steps between them. He pushes Noah into Gabe, keeping him back.

  “Go home, Sayer,” Gabe sneers over his shoulder, adjusting his hold on Noah, arms wrapped around his neck and sternum. “We got this.”

  Noah grunts, struggling to get free.

  I catch Thea’s eyes and know that this is long from being over. Noah’s just getting started, especially when Seamus rasps, “Don’t you want to know where Harlow is?”

  It’s like a flip switches Noah’s focus. He stops struggling against his friends. “You don’t know where she is.”

  “Are you willing to bet on that?” Seamus’s eyes flick to me.

  Noah’s not. He never got answers from the other night.

  And it’s not just because of me.

  It’s about my sister. It’s about revenge. Justice.

  My time here is done.

  So I turn around before Noah can answer. I don’t need to stick around to hear it. I don’t have to.

  He’s
going to say yes.

  Because Harlow will always win. Even when she’s not here.

  Without a backward glance, I leave Harlots and hail a taxi to drive me off into the foggy night.

  I knew his words on the dance floor were an act.

  I stare at the chessboard, at the pieces that haven’t moved for days. They’re waiting, like me, for when the next move will be made.

  Noah hasn’t been home in two days. Haven’t seen him since I left Harlots.

  He called a couple hours after I got home that night, saying Seamus came through with a lead on where Harlow was. Since then, radio silence.

  For the past two days, I’ve been nothing but a bundle of questions.

  Where is he? Is he okay? Why hasn’t he contacted me?

  Is it because he hasn’t found Harlow? Is it because he has?

  There’s a hurricane of swirling emotions inside me. Worry from his silence, anxiety over him and Harlow together again, but the biggest one of all? Fury. Slow burning embers roasting over charcoal.

  He left.

  Said all those things to me at Harlots, sent my heart aflutter and pulse into a tizzy and then left.

  Sure, he sent a measly text, but that doesn’t even count. I’m not counting it. He wants to go off without keeping me updated? Fine.

  While the Devil’s away, this siren will play.

  I march into the elevator, hitting the button for the lobby. I’m not going to stay locked in this tower awaiting his return.

  No longer does his penthouse feel like my prison and I no longer a prisoner. I’m comfortable in a place that started out as my cell. I never thought that’d happen, but it did. I like it here.

  No, I more than like.

  I love Noah’s apartment.

  I love the windows downstairs that display the skyline of this messed up town.

  I love the open floor plan.

  And even with the dark decor, I’ve started to find a comfort in it.

  But most of all, I enjoy the man who lives here.

  But without him here it’s too quiet. Too still.

  Too empty without Noah’s arrogant ass to help fill it.

  I don’t know where I’m going as I ride the elevator down, all I know is that I’m bored and hungry and will not waste my life away in Noah’s glass and marble castle.

  And if he happens to return while I’m out?

  Well…