by Ella Miles
Vicious Lies
Lies Book 1
Ella Miles
Copyright © 2020 by Ella Miles
EllaMiles.com
[email protected]
Cover design © Arijana Karčić, Cover It! Designs
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Contents
Lies Series
Prologue
1. Liesel
2. Langston
3. Liesel
4. Langston
5. Liesel
6. Langston
7. Liesel
8. Langston
9. Liesel
10. Langston
11. Liesel
12. Langston
13. Liesel
14. Langston
15. Liesel
16. Langston
17. Liesel
18. Langston
19. Liesel
20. Langston
21. Liesel
22. Langston
23. Liesel
24. Langston
25. Liesel
26. Langston
27. Liesel
28. Langston
29. Liesel
30. Langston
31. Liesel
Also by Ella Miles
About the Author
Lies Series
Lies We Share: A Prologue
Vicious Lies
Desperate Lies
Fated Lies
Cruel Lies
Dangerous Lies
Endless Lies
Prologue
Once upon a time, I fell in love.
She was feisty, radiant, and reckless. She had nothing. She came from nothing. And unless she found a rich husband—it would take everything she had to pull herself out of poverty.
I wasn’t rich.
I had less money than her.
I had no college degree.
No job prospects.
All I had was five dollars in my pocket and the clothes on my back.
None of that mattered.
Our love was enough.
We vowed to love each other forever.
We got married.
A baby followed.
I thought our life together was so happy.
I thought we could make our marriage last.
I thought…
I sigh.
I thought it was enough.
Turns out, you can’t live on love.
You can’t eat love.
Breathe love.
Live under a roof made of love.
You need money.
We tried to make more of ourselves. I went to a community college.
It wasn’t enough.
She worked three jobs.
It wasn’t enough.
Our baby deserved more.
We deserved more.
So we started hunting for a way out.
Hunting.
Hunting.
Hunting…
Until finally, we found a way out.
We had more money than we could have ever imagined.
More money than the suits who used to look down on us as we cleaned their homes.
More money than the executives who those suits reported to.
More money than the queen of England.
We thought we had it all. We thought we knew what came next.
But all that came next was defending what we had stolen.
Our love wasn’t enough.
Fighting our enemies wore us down until we had no energy left. Until we had no desire to fight. Until our love dissolved into ash, and our hearts were torn apart.
Sometimes fairytales turn into nightmares.
Listen to my warning, child.
Don’t search for it.
Don’t seek the fairytale.
Don’t seek the money like your mother and me.
Run, Liesel.
Hide.
Don’t hunt.
Above everything else, don’t ever tell anyone the truth—who you are or what you know.
“I don’t understand,” Liesel says.
I wish I could explain everything to her. I wish I had more time. I wish I could ensure she didn’t make the same mistakes her mother and I did.
But there is no time.
And I can’t make her decisions for her. I’ve failed as a father in more ways than one. All I can give her now is my advice and hope she makes the better choice, becomes the better person.
“It’s all in here.” I hand her an envelope.
She stares at it with big eyes as she begins to remove the letter from the envelope. “What is it?”
I put my hand over hers, stopping her.
“Later. Read it later, when you’re alone. Then burn it. Forget about going after the money, the treasure. Lie to anyone who asks you about it.”
I want to ask her to promise me, but I don’t. That’s too much to ask of her. Someday, she may choose to go after the treasure. She may think it’s worth it. My only hope is that it is—for her.
Just please, God, don’t let it destroy her like it did me.
“I have so many questions,” she says.
“I know, and I wish we had more time.”
“Is this goodbye?”
“It is, my sweet daughter. It is.”
I lean forward and kiss her on the cheek. I wish I could apologize for all the shit I’ve put her through. There is no apology big enough to earn her forgiveness.
“Go,” I say.
She takes a step out of the tiny house that she and her mother lived in for years when she was little. A house I lived in with them when she was first born, before I made the worst mistake of my life.
It takes everything inside me not to chase after her.
But I pulled myself out of her life a long time ago. I don’t get to come back into her life now that she’s an adult.
Liesel runs down the porch without glancing back.
She heads toward her car, and just before she reaches it, a boy approaches her. No, he’s all man. Tall, dressed in dark clothes, but his hair light as the sun. The tenseness on his face and vein bulging on his forehead says he’s pissed.
He stops her.
I want to protect her, save her.
I can’t.
This is the life she was born into. I have no way to save her.
But my Liesel is more than capable of handling her own with this man. She yells back, pointing her finger at him as she storms around him to the driver’s side of the car.
There is more yelling I can’t make out, before she climbs into the car. He catches the door right before she slams it in his face.
One tense moment.
He slams the door.
She drives away.
The man stands there a moment—watching her.
And then he turns and looks right at me.
I glare back.
I see what’s in his hand—a ripped piece of paper.
He must have torn part of the envelope when they were arguing.
I told Liesel to keep it a secret, but it’s too late now. Now someone knows.
Now she has no choice but to lie.
Lie, Liesel—it’s the only way to stay alive.
1
Liesel
I will kill you.
I read the words on the piece of paper in my hand. Who puts death threats in the mail anymore? It seems archaic and old-timey. There are so many better ways to send a threat: a phone call, a text message, an email.
An in-person act of violence really sends a
message too, if you really have the balls.
Why write a letter?
Because he’s a coward.
I consider tossing the letter in the trash and not taking the issue any further, forgetting that it even happened. But I didn’t survive this long by tossing away idle threats.
I will kill you.
This isn’t the first time someone has made a threat like this against me.
I will kill everyone you love.
Again, not new. I just thought I was passed this part of my life. I thought I was done living in this dangerous, vicious world. One where there are no winners—at least, I never win. I just survive.
I thought, just like letter writing, this part of my life was buried in the past.
I tap my painted red nails against my desk as I read the letter over two more times. Nothing hints at who the author is. There is no name scrolled across the bottom. Like I thought—wuss.
But that doesn’t mean there aren’t hints of who my enemy is. The way the letter is scribed tells me it’s a man who wrote it. It was scribbled quickly with a pen almost out of ink on a piece of computer paper. This note was written last minute; it wasn’t thought through.
And it didn’t arrive in an envelope in the mail. It was stuffed loosely into the mailbox. I wouldn’t be surprised if I found fingerprints.
Whoever sent this is an amateur, or at least, wants me to think he’s an amateur.
I’m not an amateur. As much as I never thought I would know how to hold a gun, fire a weapon, hunt down men, rescue myself, I’ve never had a choice in the matter. My entire life I’ve lived in a cruel underworld of men who controlled everything. Men who had no right to own anything. Men who ruled with guns and darkness in their hearts, taking no prisoners. Taking what they wanted without concern of whom they hurt.
I used to be a princess in a world filled with dangerous men. I used to have friends who would protect me above everything else.
But things started slowly changing when my best friend, Enzo Black, fell in love. And then Zeke, my other protector, fell in love next. It’s only a matter of time until Langston, the playboy of the group, falls in love.
I could call any one of them to take care of the man who sent this threat. Enzo, Zeke, or Langston all have the power and abilities to handle this man without lifting a finger. That’s what they do—kill dangerous men. They protect their family, which used to include me.
Until they failed me.
Until they fell in love.
Until I decided I didn’t want to be a damsel in distress, waiting for a man to come and rescue me.
I saved myself.
I picked up every broken, shattered piece and put myself back together, painstakingly, piece by piece.
I’m whole now—even if the pieces don’t fit together the same as they did before.
I’m a survivor—that’s the term used to describe me. It’s a term I hate, because I didn’t just survive, I thrived. I fought back; I rescued myself. I’m a fucking knight in red high heels.
So while I could call my friends to save me and take care of this, I’m not going to. I haven’t asked any one of them for help in years, and I’m not going to start now.
I lift my glass of scotch from my desk and swirl it around until the single ball of ice shifts in the glass, making a delicious rattling sound before I take a sip. I’m a woman in a man’s world, but that doesn’t mean I let the men rule me anymore. I won’t give any man power over me—never again.
So that leaves me two choices. I can toss this letter in the trash and ignore it completely. There is a large chance whoever sent it will never grow enough balls to actually act on his threat. Or I go back into the world I never thought I would enter again.
A world of danger.
Cruelty.
Vows.
And lies.
A world that once consumed me. A world that turned me into the cold, heartless woman I’ve become. A world that took everything from me, yet gave me my power.
I thought I was done.
I thought this chapter of my life was over, buried.
I could leave it alone. For years, I’ve done everything I can to stay out of this life. To stay away from the evil that lurks in the night. Not because I’m afraid of the darkness hurting me. Not because I’m afraid that the man making the threat will actually succeed. Even if he did succeed, I’m not afraid of death.
No, I’ve stayed away from the darkness because I haven’t wanted to become the villain I’m capable of being. Once the darkness surrounds me, I’ll no longer be the princess. I’ll become the evil queen. Once I let it in, there is no way to get it out. That’s why I’ve put up walls around my heart, to keep the vile out, the wickedness I can become.
But why?
Why can’t I turn into the evil queen?
My friends and family are gone. The only man in my life is more than capable of taking care of himself.
I shouldn’t go back to this life.
I should crumple the letter up and toss it into the fireplace to burn.
I should forget the threat until it comes true.
But I feel the walls lowering around my heart. All the men in my life are able to stay safe and protect those they love, because they don’t fight the worst parts of themselves.
Enzo is a controlling bastard, who rules his world by loving Kai.
Zeke protects those he loves no matter the cost it inflicts on himself.
And Langston hurts others to protect himself.
All three men have done more than survived; they’ve become kings. They’ve languished and destroyed their enemies. They’ve gained enough power that no man dares to make threats like this.
It’s time I try their tactics.
I toss the rest of the scotch back into my throat before slamming the glass down on my desk with a sinful grin across my red-painted lips.
The evil that I locked in my heart is free. I’m going to use every bit of its power to take care of this threat myself, so no man or woman will ever threaten me again.
2
Langston
I sit in the darkness.
I love the darkness, but I hate waiting.
I’m not a patient man. I leave that to my friend, Zeke.
But my excited anticipation keeps me seated in this pine smelling office. I glance around the room as my eyes quickly adjust to the lack of light.
The office is just what you’d expect from a rich prick with no taste. A large mahogany desk with an oversized office chair in the center of the main wall with the large oval-shaped window behind the chair. Why wouldn’t you want to look out the window when you work? It’s all for show.
The same with the large bookshelf filled with self-help books, classics, and business books. None look like they’ve ever been read.
There is a piece of art by Picasso finishing the room. But I know how big the man’s bank account is. At best, it’s a print; at worst, it’s a complete knock off. A fake—just like this room, just like the man.
And then I spot the one thing in the room that looks like it has been used—the liquor cart.
I get up from my chair and pick up the bottle of scotch sitting on the cart and read the label. Highland Park Orcadian—an expensive bottle that’s been aged a long time.
My eyebrows shoot up in pleasant surprise as I pour myself a glass. I walk back to my chair, my wait greatly improved now that I have an excellent glass of scotch to keep me company.
I take a sip and then spew the liquid everywhere as I lift the glass to eye level to get a better look. I sniff the liquid, and it smells as retched as it tastes. There is no way this is what’s listed on the label.
I shake my head in disbelief as I set the glass down on the desk, making sure not to use a coaster so a ring will form on the ridiculously ugly desk. That’s what he gets for trying to trick people into thinking they are drinking expensive liquor when I doubt he paid more than fifty bucks for that shit.
My patience is w
aning when I finally hear the front door open.
“This condo is amazing,” the woman with him says, shouting too loudly and giving this condo way too much credit. The condo is a mass-produced, overpriced box.
“Not as amazing as you are,” he says back.
I roll my eyes at the ridiculous line. But it’s not going to take much to impress this woman. She’s drunk and clearly impressed with what she perceives as his wealth. She doesn’t know real wealth. She doesn’t know that real money is passed through generations and earned by spilling blood of others.
This man is barely a millionaire. He doesn’t have the billions that flow through the Black empire, my employer.
My plan was to wait in the office for him to come to me. He works in security. He should easily realize that his security system was turned off already when he came in. I purposefully scuffed my shoes along his rug until the corner lifted, and turned the frame crooked on the wall in the office hallway.
He should know I’m here within minutes.
If this were my home, I would know the second the alarm was turned off.
So I try to remain patient and let him come to me. But, again, I’m not patient. From the moaning and groaning floating down the hallway, it doesn’t seem like he is paying attention to any of the clues I left for him.
I open the office door and walk down the hallway, not hiding the sound of my footsteps. I walk toward the living room where I find them making out on the couch like horny teenagers. The kisses are sloppy, and from the way he’s manhandling the poor woman, there is no way she’s going to get off tonight from him.
